tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-149454522024-03-13T14:15:18.723-05:00Jane's JourneyJanehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.comBlogger622125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-16456325840882518042024-01-15T19:23:00.005-05:002024-01-15T19:54:17.296-05:00Jesus and Jodi <p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Warning:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>laughter
ahead:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoNE1qtIjBF2Oe-XBHD48Ijyc0Ik0MQ7HUUpkMqBmE3vKG8YVtkszjn_CdzXo1YqhNLfwF92cQ1hPjVHAsR8tDgWM2rylIZl5Rw9oPsgl5u-zarEYvg6RaDxacrS4iXqyA38Gh4KZ1Y6QWoEah2k9WSUUfvO4rQUmKNynVnIxCSsXa0xGOVqPeow/s734/jodi%20haun%20on%20toilet%20at%20SHYC.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="734" data-original-width="549" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoNE1qtIjBF2Oe-XBHD48Ijyc0Ik0MQ7HUUpkMqBmE3vKG8YVtkszjn_CdzXo1YqhNLfwF92cQ1hPjVHAsR8tDgWM2rylIZl5Rw9oPsgl5u-zarEYvg6RaDxacrS4iXqyA38Gh4KZ1Y6QWoEah2k9WSUUfvO4rQUmKNynVnIxCSsXa0xGOVqPeow/s320/jodi%20haun%20on%20toilet%20at%20SHYC.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">The day I met Jodi Haun my life changed forever.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">I didn't know it at the time. And her friendship was only
the tip of the iceberg. But that day set in motion a whole sequence of
events that changed my life.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">And now she has left the earth to go live in heaven
forever. And we will have to figure out how to muddle through on our own.
But, my goodness, the woman was a Christian Educator by profession, by
lifestyle, by hobby and by habit and if she didn't teach us how to be
Christians she taught us a whole lot of other stuff along the way that counts
as just the same. They were inseparable, don't you see. It was her
whole identity and you couldn't identify Jodi without seeing Christ. I can't describe
the woman without describing Jesus. Her close friends took to forbidding her to
talk about work on vacations or wearing church t-shirts. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">I'm not sure there was any daylight between her and
Jesus....except for her rabid love of the Oklahoma State football team.
There might not have been anything Christian in there. Yeah, that might be
where she parked Jesus at the curb. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">I met Jodi in 1991. My pastor had asked me to go to
the Synod Youth Workshop and serve as a small group leader. At the time I
assumed my entrance to the world of youth leadership was because I drove a
station wagon. I walked into the room as someone who went to church every week
and did her best to keep her kids quiet. I had a Girl Scout troop and we
had a lot of fun together. But that's about as deep as my life got.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">When I walked into the room for Orientation at Trinity
University in 1991 the first person I encountered was Jodi Hahn. She
wrapped me in a hug that was different from any hug I had ever had
before. It was no bigger nor tighter than others, so I can't analyze
it. But it was different. Definitely different. But I do remember
thinking to myself at the time: "<b><i>these people are different from any
sort of people I've ever encountered before."</i></b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">And the whole week I got the same kind of hugs from total
strangers. Maybe that was the difference: people I had never met in
my life hugged me like I was an old family member they had not seen in a year.
I had, in fact, joined a family. I didn't realize it at the time but
would come to realize it through the years. I had joined the "Synod
Family." That hug from Jodi Hahn was my introduction and I will never
forget it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Jodi was the mistress of Lights Out. Every time I had hall
duty after hours, she was there. If a kid wanted to challenge her to a
rule, she was game. And she would beat them at it every time. She
could spot a flaw in your plan a mile away: if your light was supposed to
be out and you stuffed a towel under your door to hide the light she brought a
golf club to push the towel away. Don't even think of hiding a friend in the
closet; that's the first place she would look.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">She also could operated on far less sleep than I required
so I never knew how a lot of these power plays evolved; I was fast asleep, I
just know Jodi always won and the kids ended up loving her. She had more energy
than anyone else. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">But, like all the other Christian Educators, she brought a
truck load of equipment that could make an amatuer's head spint. Things
like: staplers, copiers, paper cutters and laminators. A lot of small
group leaders during the summertime were teachers out for the summer but I was
just an accountant and that was NOT my mindset. Post-It notes were about
as fancy as I got for a long time until I upped my game and began to bring my
own accoutrements. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">But it wasn't the equipment that made the event. It
was the conversations. and here is where Synod was different from
anything you've ever seen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Two things happened here. Total acceptance. And
total confidentiality. These two basic principals drove everything else and
Jodi was a master at them. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">I know without a doubt that Jodi took a lot of secrets to
heaven with her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">At Synod Youth Workshop we worked off a covenant that
everyone signed. It assurred the kids confidentiality. The layering
to achieve this was made possible by arranging the small groups so that no one
in the group ever knew the people who were in their group. A Synod in the
Presbyterian Church is composed of large areas; in our case it was Texas,
Louisiana, Arkansas, and Oklahoma. Texas alone has five
presbyteries. It was fairly easy to divide the groups up so that nobody in
a group of 10 had ever met each other before. The stated rule is that I cannot
break confidentiality unless your life is in danger. And I never have. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">I never found out if Jodi infected Synod with that special
sauce or if it was the other way around. She had already been there ten years
by then. But the two fit like hand and glove. They were made for
each other. People who have been around the country have told me that
other youth events in our country do not possess the same spiritual secret that
Synod Youth Workshop has. I could spend a lot of words if you wanted me
to explain it or just tell you that it is the most spiritual experience a youth
can have. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">There were two things about Jodi the world needs to
know: She never gave up. And she knew how to laugh.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">I don't know when her cancer started or where it
started. The first I heard was that by the time it was diagnosed it had
reached stage four. And that was over ten years ago. I have no idea
how many surgeries or chemo or radiation treatments she had. I only
know that she never missed a youth retreat or mission trip that I know
of. And those events are physically grueling. And she kept going
even when she was on a scooter whizzing around running errands for folks.
And that's just the cancer. Then there's the knees. She had both
knees replaced more than once. The last time I saw her was a couple of months
ago when we gathered around a campfire in the cold evening to inaugurate a new
fire circle at Camp Gilmont, her favorite camp. Even with the weak and
bum knees she made it over the rough terrain that most of us needed a hiking
stick to negotiate. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Sometimes her cancer faded into the background and I forgot
about it until it startled me by coming into the forefront.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">In July of 2013 I noticed the cashier in the dining hall at
Synod Youth Workship looked really blue and I asked what was wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found out she was having chemo treatments
for breast cancer and it was causing her to lose her hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we talked I realized it wouldn’t take but
about five minutes for me to rustle up a support group of cancer survivors just
among the Synod small group leaders I knew personally and before the day was
out Shalise had her own personal support group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We met every year after that on the first day of our week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Jodi found out she joined the group and
found us more survivors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It became one
of our most hallowed traditions every year to take our picture.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT1087KRb1fzNcvyi-ewKa4pg93UuRqBBHFRxKW6neev9IRqAVq7ExuSeCWR_7EJYJS0sLID6_zJzCkMdSrGFhgIJGDAHlJjgdpu0rvgi-wqgFrMhEONXE3TKEXphgFfh7FbBtOzwLryxKuc-Ub4db_fmpyVOHWqcDrbg8nTnbWSgrfxp0yROOjA/s960/syw%202015%20shalise%20jane%20jodi.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT1087KRb1fzNcvyi-ewKa4pg93UuRqBBHFRxKW6neev9IRqAVq7ExuSeCWR_7EJYJS0sLID6_zJzCkMdSrGFhgIJGDAHlJjgdpu0rvgi-wqgFrMhEONXE3TKEXphgFfh7FbBtOzwLryxKuc-Ub4db_fmpyVOHWqcDrbg8nTnbWSgrfxp0yROOjA/s320/syw%202015%20shalise%20jane%20jodi.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">But, how she loved to laugh!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">In January of 2014 I went to the Senior High Youth
Connection. It was a weekend retreat held at Austin College. Very
relaxing, low-key, easy. I took my youth from Winnsboro and just set them
loose and was free to do my own thing.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">By this time I had reached that wonderful milestone of
being in the game long enough that some of the youth I had led were now in
positions of leadership themselves. And this year Leslie Yager was the
Director of the event. She may have felt stressed but certainly
having Jodi around helped calm her. So she ask if Jodi and I could help
wash the new communion ware. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Each small group would have communion as a group on the
stage. I had bought new glass goblets for the groups but we felt like we
needed to give them a rinse before we used them for the Lord's Supper. But
where do you wash the new goblets in an auditorium? There was no
kitchen. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">So Leslie and Jodi and I took it all to
an upstairs bathroom. It was out of the way and quiet. Nobody
probably even knew about this bathroom. The bathroom like everything else
in the building was in pristine condition. We're not talking about some
dingy 13th century dungeon. As bathrooms go, if you are going to wash out
glasses for the one of the most sacred acts on Christianity I would recommend
this one highly. There was even a baby changing table I could use to lay
paper towels out for the goblets to sit and dry. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Once inside, I noticed immediately it was a smallish
restroom. We would be tight on space. And then came the
comment: “I’m not sure I’ve ever washed the communion ware in a
public restroom before.” And we started laughing. And we laughed. We
laughed those great gasping spasms that billow from your stomach while tears
run down your cheeks. Yes, we laughed until our sides ached.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"> There are just so many times in youth work that you
do the imaginative, off the wall thing that no one in a million years would
plan but seems to be the perfect answer at the time and indeed ends up a
brilliant move.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Whatever logic appeared within that bathroom seemed
acceptable to Jodi and me. By the end of youth retreats you usually
settled for just about any kind of logic and the standards usually dipped
pretty low. We commenced to take the new glassware from the box and wash
it.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"> But the room was small. There was barely
any counter space. And that’s when it came to me that we could use
the baby changing table. It opened up to provide us with a nice
little table at just the right height. I laid out clean paper towels; everything was very sanitary.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The sight of the glasses there only intensified the
laughter. Then we had a hard time getting the price stickers off the
plates until I dug deep inside my purse and found a crumpled and tattered
envelope with a disposable lens wipe for my glasses. It looked like it had been
run over by a car but it held just enough alcohol that took the sticker right
off. We were finding resources all over the places. You do what you
gotta do and you keep going.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibDW4PTWpMIvy__5nnzf0Cosohd_guMWIbvI70o2yG_WYJ6pvSRFdbHeeMaByTPDWffkI8gRzelzygNaOR5VT9hlDSqEOhgsovtApITH8IOPWyjjhnYTpboniaOv8dwJj0x47xB9K_gdtFUt1BA2a58swebGJ4tEbxKDtIjrBJH5JbFcxbTu7NCQ/s734/leslie%20forbes%20in%20bathroom%20at%20SHYC.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="734" data-original-width="549" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibDW4PTWpMIvy__5nnzf0Cosohd_guMWIbvI70o2yG_WYJ6pvSRFdbHeeMaByTPDWffkI8gRzelzygNaOR5VT9hlDSqEOhgsovtApITH8IOPWyjjhnYTpboniaOv8dwJj0x47xB9K_gdtFUt1BA2a58swebGJ4tEbxKDtIjrBJH5JbFcxbTu7NCQ/s320/leslie%20forbes%20in%20bathroom%20at%20SHYC.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Jodi was laughing so hard by this time that she was doubled
over. This changed her balance enough that her new knee started to
hurt. So she went into the handicapped stall to sit on the high
toilet for a bit. Apparently this was a technique she had used
before because she said height allowed her to dangle her leg. I
finished up the washing and drying. We laughed more about communion
stories. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: center;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: left;">When you’ve been around the block as many times and
Jodi and I have you’ve seen just about every comical mistake in the book when
it comes to communion. A theological tidbit here to my
non-Presbyterian friends: Our communion does not consider the
elements to be literally the body of Christ. It’s only a
symbol. </span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: left;">I'm not asking you to believe the same way I do but just accept
this as my belief. It is merely ordinary bread and ordinary grape juice
that becomes something more through prayer during communion. </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: left;"><i>Until
that prayer</i></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: left;"> it’s still just ordinary bread and grape
juice. And so are the plate and goblets and pitcher we were washing
there in the bathroom sink on the second floor of the gym at Austin
College. Ordinary for the moment. Soon to become
sacred. </span><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: left;"><i>But not just yet.</i></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: left;"> Does this work for
you? Can we relax now?</span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Communion stories are always ripe for a good laugh.
There is something inherently funny about the most sacred rite in Christianity
having some element of simple humanity to it. And not just that Jesus was
a human but that we are such poor imitations of his humanity, such clowns to
his humility, such buffoons. Sometimes it's a pompous cleric leaving the
bread wrapper on a loaf of bread, which can be a mild diversion that can be
swept away with a quip. Sometimes it can go down in church lore like the time
the pastor noticed his fly was open but compounded the error when he surreptitiously
remedied the situation by quietly zipping his fly during a prayer.
However, in this case, he mistakenly included the communion tablecloth in with
the zipper so that as he walked away from the table later he carried the entire
table contents with him: bread, wine, chalice, platen, <b><i>the whole megillah</i></b>
as they say in the Holy Script. </span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"> <br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">My final story was my personal favorite: the time someone
at my church dropped the bread in the choir loft and it rolled under the
organist' pedal as he pumped the pedal: "Get the bread! Get
the bread!," he hissed as the poor loaf became more and more
mangled. My fingers darted in and out underneath his feet until it was
safe to grab the bread. As I looked at what was left of the Body of
Christ all I could think of was that it was a good thing we weren't Roman
Catholic. I plopped the bread back on the plate and kept
going. </span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">God sends us laughter to bless us. To help us
relax when things get tense or we get tired. The laughter bubbles
out and takes a lot of bad juju with it. Laughter is cleansing. I
keep a mental picture of Jesus and His disciples laughing around a
table. In my mind’s eye there is a pizza and some bottles of Coke or Seven-Up, maybe a beer or two, depending on who is around the table. Maybe some grapes or apples. Definitely some Girl Scout Cookies. Either Thin Mints or Trefoils.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrNL-XJ5909rOacMo05uuPzJcN_F6hpI8hf7UQbRBydmDqFIx_63b1C-Ahn9oiE9CKJOAwqaEHHV3VNy7rf0JFFchJb-vMyRQYhZyTTaUR1aQwxrEFejy5HZkDGhxkS7sF-SQxUSe4oNwtyX4INHPTDg-iCiyh96vPR9HLU27zTwru_Vz-qHFLqA/s734/jodi%20haun%20on%20toilet%20at%20SHYC.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="734" data-original-width="549" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrNL-XJ5909rOacMo05uuPzJcN_F6hpI8hf7UQbRBydmDqFIx_63b1C-Ahn9oiE9CKJOAwqaEHHV3VNy7rf0JFFchJb-vMyRQYhZyTTaUR1aQwxrEFejy5HZkDGhxkS7sF-SQxUSe4oNwtyX4INHPTDg-iCiyh96vPR9HLU27zTwru_Vz-qHFLqA/s320/jodi%20haun%20on%20toilet%20at%20SHYC.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">As our laughter died down and took an intermission of
sorts, Leslie and I started organizing the goblets and plates for each
group and prepared to leave, that’s when Jodi finally stood up. We had forgotten where we were
until the automatic flusher went off with her movement and a loud WHOOSH!! rang
throughout the room. And we lost it<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">If our work of oblation in that upper restroom had been an
act of worship, Jodi had provided the benediction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;">Thanks be to God for the life and laughter of Jodi Haun. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-font-kerning: 0pt; mso-ligatures: none;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-13176640626723886852023-12-07T21:40:00.001-05:002023-12-07T22:05:18.637-05:00Listening to Each Other<p>I have such a great variety of friends that sometimes it makes my head spin. I think it boils down to the fact that everybody on earth is really interesting and I was taught all my life to notice that and embrace it and cherish each person I meet. </p><p>However, I touched the Third Rail yesterday. I posted about politics on Facebook. I didn't even tell Beaven because I knew he would say, "Oh, for crying outloud, No Politics!" I was on the phone with a congregant a few weeks ago when she got into politics and I could hear her husband yell in the background, "No politics!" It's the unwritten rule of American culture in the current divisive times that you are playing with fire if you talk politics.</p><p>I think this is a very dangerous situation and I'd like to find a way through this swamp full of alligators. Of all my friends I happen to know I am able to love each one of them dearly and I would love each one of them to be able to accept each other. </p><p>I might be naive. But I have to try. Social media has been a double edged sword: The potential has never been greater to uncover the truth or spread love. And the danger of what happens if we pretend this will just "go away" has never been greater. I don't think these things just "go away." </p><p>Why am I posting now? What got me stirred up?</p><p>This graphic showed up on Facebook:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSyyPPnKs-rK5Oh2xl4PqnSfJ8eGNWQCR4UZfomz-hTnDbq5C3wcrkGyRAC088H6xpbLeM49lBEh1iXmUuV-aWyScwiDJpqh4KRZwH3WjPi1rQyGafdnfqEqtBKVAn6ZOKE2NQ1FBQ05wxU8osmBie-Zh9epI2FAVV50u57knW8uqzIMsgURxsA/s1384/Palestinian%20flag%20graphic%20post.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1384" data-original-width="1098" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSyyPPnKs-rK5Oh2xl4PqnSfJ8eGNWQCR4UZfomz-hTnDbq5C3wcrkGyRAC088H6xpbLeM49lBEh1iXmUuV-aWyScwiDJpqh4KRZwH3WjPi1rQyGafdnfqEqtBKVAn6ZOKE2NQ1FBQ05wxU8osmBie-Zh9epI2FAVV50u57knW8uqzIMsgURxsA/s320/Palestinian%20flag%20graphic%20post.jpg" width="254" /></a></div>I shared it.<div>I thought it innocent enough.</div><div>I was wrong.</div><div>We are living in a very divided world right now.</div><div>And I decided that ALL the people who were responding to the post</div><div>or who were responding to what they thought I said</div><div>or who were responding to what they thought somebody else said</div><div>ALL the people who had their own opinion</div><div>even when they disagreed with me</div><div>or disagreed with each other</div><div>I decided that each one of those people needed to be heard</div><div>so I'm going to read what each one said and listen to them</div><div>and see if I can understand what they are saying</div><div>THEN if I agree with them I will say so</div><div>and if I don't I will still be respectful</div><div>AND if one of my friends answers in disrespect I will call them on it</div><div>(I have done it here before)</div><div>Because every one gets respected here</div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>Let me start with my friend Jane Aslam and tell you how I met her.</div><div><p>In 2015 I was invited to New Orleans to be part of a press panel to discuss the recovery efforts after Hurricane Katrina. As usual, I had misjudged my wardrobe and while most people waiting for the event were wearing professional attire I sat in the lobby of the Sheraton Hotel wearing jeans and my Presbyterian Disaster Assistance T-Shirt. It was bright blue and, while most New Orleans folks were familiar with them, I still stuck out like a sore thumb. I was early so I got a cup of coffee and sat in the lobby waiting for the conference to start. While I sat there a Muslim woman in black robes and head scarf walked up to me and leaned down to speak to me. "I just want to thank you for all you did for us after the storm," was all she said to me. I answered something standard like "You're welcome" or such. I was so shocked I didn't have much else to say. I wasn't really shocked that she thanked me-- actually I was used to that because after the storm, people did that all the time in hardware stores. But this was ten years later and we were in a fancy hotel and this lady didn't seem like your average New Orleanian. </p><p>But once the time came for the press panel came and I went inside the press room I saw the same woman. It turned out she was on the panel with me. I had just met Jane Aslam. And she ended up being one of the Gulf Coast top experts on Disaster Recovery. In fact, since we were both named Jane the press called her "Sister Jane" as a sign of respect. I don't think it's a religious designation in the Muslim faith. I could be wrong.</p><p>And out of the five people on the panel she had the best information on the Katrina recovery, the best answers, the most experience. The press asked her the most questions. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1pAJ5D9xsAIElTrvDZrssxwzaLj-zk2PCsrZsUmOyuNG6huoTP_hNGxRX0QlSyqw4PQuzLjMEY3kxOURxeBvoDCmkyghPBUbLcUg8YOvMznDfSpNH2y_aPz0Ap6Bqr4tjUZenJDk1BqW9StYo7tDL4PEKFCneE0_03eR1r8DwaMTo9D2icSGMg/s940/Jane%20at%20k10%20panel%20in%20NOLA%202015%202nd%20pic.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw1pAJ5D9xsAIElTrvDZrssxwzaLj-zk2PCsrZsUmOyuNG6huoTP_hNGxRX0QlSyqw4PQuzLjMEY3kxOURxeBvoDCmkyghPBUbLcUg8YOvMznDfSpNH2y_aPz0Ap6Bqr4tjUZenJDk1BqW9StYo7tDL4PEKFCneE0_03eR1r8DwaMTo9D2icSGMg/w496-h416/Jane%20at%20k10%20panel%20in%20NOLA%202015%202nd%20pic.jpg" width="496" /></a></div><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">But I made sure to sign her up as a friend on Facebook and we have been in touch ever since. I have come to respect her insights, restraint, and wisdom. </span></div><p>I went home and looked up what ICNA is because I heard about it a lot that weekend. Islamic Circle of North America is very active in disaster recovery. When the city gave a banquet for all the faith based agencies one night up at the Catholic church gym they served 300 people and a good chunk of the folks were Muslim. </p><p>Now, in my variety of friends I have several Jewish friends. You've heard me speak of my friend, Nancy, who was in Jerusalem when this war broke out. Another one was there last year for her son's Bar Mitzvah. </p><p>I have progressive friends and conservative friends. And we have fallen into the bad habit of avoiding politics lately. A while back politics got so divisive that people had to stop talking about it. I've had people tell me that just had to "agree to disagree" and leave it at that. And that's OK. </p><p>But at some point can't we agree that war is bad? That killing non-combatants is wrong? </p><p>I watched a series on TV about evolution and then read a book on the same subject. All this thinking of evolution reminds me of all the history museums I've been to that show ancient weapons. It just seems like aggression is hard-wired into our nature. It is a natural state of animals, too. Male animals fight each other for dominance. Is violence inescapable?</p><p>Are humans no better? Have we not yet figured out a better solution? We have a choice to compete or cooperate. Or could this be our opportunity to take that next step in the evolution of the planet? We seem on the path to extinction if we fail.</p><p> And we have a lot to say to each other. We have already started. Now, Sister Jane Aslam sent me many words to explain her position. And I think (I hope) you will all want to hear what she has to say. She wanted to spare you all a lengthy read so sent it in a Google doc. I didn't want you to have to go off in Googleland so I'm including it here. I'll just change the font so you'll know when we're back here with my voice. She has written a goldmine of information. Do yourself a favor and take time to read it. I plan to re-read it several time in order to really understand it. </p><p>And let me say one more thing about my friendship with most of the people involved here on this conversation. I know you all through some sort of faith-based relationship. In some cases I have prayed with you. We all share Abraham as a forefather to our faith no matter what it is. I trust each one of you here in this conversation and I hope you will be able to trust each other as well.</p><p>Here are Jane's words:</p><p><i>Propaganda is what it is. It has a biased and misleading nature, used to promote and publicize a particular political cause or point of view. As related to the issue at hand, it
seems that there is enough of it to go around, being spread by all
parties involved. As normally found, there are some facts contained
therein. I call it “a pearl in a cowpie”. Meaning, a little bit of truth
surrounded by a bunch of b.s.. God is watching. He knows the truth
and knows the creators of the b.s.. We will probably never know the
entire truth and only the truth.</i></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>Therefore
it is our responsibility to seek knowledge and to seek guidance (an
Islamic directive which we find in the Quran* and in the Hadith** of
Prophet Mohammed). Then we must choose what we are willing to do. Our
intentions and choices, and our actions, are known by Our Creator.
Muslims believe that this is included in what we are judged upon on the
Day of Judgement. (*the Quran is the verbatim message given to
Mohammed by the Angel Gabrial (as he gave to Mary, Jonah, Jesus, and
others); **the Hadith is the common practices and statements of
Mohammed, as recited by observers and others) The Quran and Hadith
serve as guidance to the believers of Abraham, and for the common good
of society and life on Earth. </i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>Yes
Sue, there are many Palestinians that hate Jews. Especially among
those who have directly suffered at the hand of those who occupy the
land of their fathers and forefathers, in Palestine. Especially those
who have been displaced and exiled from the land of Palestine, or who
are trapped and suffering inside Gaza and the West Bank.</i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>Not
all Palestinians hate Jews. Some do. I know both. Although, most
Palestinians (there are always exceptions in everything) hate Zionism*.
(*a movement for (originally) the re-establishment and (now) the
development and protection of a Jewish nation in what is now Israel. It
was established as a political organization in 1897 under Theodor Herzl,
and was later led by Chaim Weizmann.) This political movement has
caused suffering for Palestinian families, their land and livelihood,
and the land, homes, and gardens of their forefathers for a very long
time. Generational trauma, forced immigration, military occupation, and
strong attempts to annihilate their culture and their religion have had
an extremely detrimental impact on their wellbeing. Unfortunately,
these actions have been used by evil forces (in Islam we attribute evil
to Satan) to cause many to succumb to hate. Alhumdulillah (Praise God,
in Arabic), there are more believers who are relying on their faith in
Allah/God to bring them through these struggles (tests of this life)
than those who have succumbed to hatred. They are being strengthened and
are witnessing miracles. We are seeing many evidences of this in our
daily reports coming in from Gaza and the West Bank. (It reminds me of
going through the pangs of labor, while zoning out and being
strengthened in the embrace of The One who creates us.) My heart aches
for them, is almost jealous of them, and prays for them continually.</i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>“From
the river to the sea” is the term used by Palestinians to describe the
geographical outline of the land of their fathers and forefathers, from
which they have been exiled and is now occupied by the Zionist political
party of the state of Israel. This statement is being propagandized to
mean “death to all Jews” by those who want to diminish the actual
meaning and stir hatred. Although I have been familiar with this
statement and its meaning for many years, I first heard of this
degrading interpretation recently.</i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>Hamas
is the political party of Gaza. Like the political party of Israel, it
is a democracy and has elected officials. Like the political party of
Israel the officials are tasked to support the citizens who live where
they live. Even though it is long known and fully recognized that
citizens living in the area of Gaza (and in the West Bank) suffer from
the military and ruling of the well-supported Israeli occupiers who walk
freely in their streets and evict them from their homes, while
controlling their resources for daily living and self-governance. Like
the Zionist Israeli government, Hamas has the responsibility for the
safety and protection of their citizens.</i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>There
are well known bomb shelters and the Iron Dome protecting the Israeli
citizens, supported by U.S. taxation and legislation, and elected
officials. There are no bomb shelters (per say) nor defense domes in
Palestine. Hamas supports mass shelters in what we normally call
“neutral zones”, such as hospitals, schools,
churches/mosques/synagogues, and community centers. Contrary to
propaganda statements that Hammas stores their munitions in neutral
zones and thereby uses Palestinian citizens as “human shields”, it is
well known that their storage of food, fuel, emergency supplies, defense
armory, etc. are to be found in the well known tunnels, underground and
protected. The same place that housed recently released prisoners of
war. This is one of the fundamental evidences of the complaints against
the Zionist regime of committing genocide. Neither substantial weapons
storage or commanders of war were to be found in any neutral zones. The
basement of the hospital, which was propagandized as being Hammas
headquarters were the Administrative offices of hospital operations. The
Arabic written “plans” found in the hospital was a calendar of trash
pick up. These are facts according to Doctors Without Borders staff and
those who read Arabic. These are facts. Not propaganda.</i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>Based
on ongoing and recent reports from our local (Baton Rouge) community
members, friends across the country (U.S), and extended family who were
visiting family in Palestine when Israel began bombing, Hamas has
assisted (not prevented) in evacuations. When the first bombs fell,
there was a minutes-only warning by word of mouth in the neighborhood.
No flyers, texts, television, radio, online warnings as has been
mentioned in mainstream media. Our (extended-) family member’s
apartment complex was fully destroyed. We saw it happen on television.
She is 81-years old, being cared for by her wheelchair bound
cancer-stricken daughter. They heard the panic filled rumors from their
neighbors. Having a premonition, they left her apartment 5-10 minutes
before the bombing. Although, her daughter’s apartment was destroyed
within 48-hours, leaving them to seek shelter in a furniture store for
several extremely difficult days. With medicine, food and water running
low, they were then forced to evacuate to the south on roads that had
been made rubble by Israeli bombs, while bombs were being dropped on the
prescribed evacuation path, and with the sounds of snipers' bullets
along the way. They weren’t prevented evacuation by Hamas, they were
prevented/deterred by the Israeli government. (Many more stories and
much too much to mention here and now.)</i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>I
was privileged to be the Principal of Louisiana's only state-approved
Islamic school (at that time) for several years. The majority of our
student body was Palestinian when I first started. I have worshipped
with the same community for 25-years. I do not know of any children who
were taught songs that reflected hating Jews. I never heard any songs
of such at any cultural gathering where traditional songs are sung. My
son-in-law’s parents were forced to immigrate, leaving their families in
Gaza (still there; still suffering while shoved up against the Egyptian
border)*. My grandchild is not taught any such hateful songs. Their
cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, none, sing such songs. None of
them are taught to hate anyone. Islam teaches us to overcome hardship
through faith and righteous actions. We are taught that suffering is
part of life on Earth. We are born to be tested, so that perchance we
may be found grateful. Are they angry at the Zionist political party of
Israel and those who support their agenda? Surely. Maybe the belief
that Muslims/Palestinians hate all Jews is established by propaganda? </i></span></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>*They
met in Kuwait, while attending college. - Yes, Muslim women are among
the most highly educated women in the world. Islam encourages continued
education for both genders throughout their lives. In Islam, women are
prescribed a wide scope of rights, roles and responsibilities: including
the right of education, the right to own her own business, the right to
work and keep her own money, the right to buy and sell her own
property, the right of inheritance, the right to vote, the right of
sustenance, and many more. Of course, cultural machismo common in many
cultures and religions can and does impair religious guidance.
Especially among communities who are restricted in travel and limited
in educational opportunities.</i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>The
whole of Palestine/Israel is currently inhabited by Jews, Christians,
and Muslims. It is true that some Arabs live in areas where Jews also
live. Although the large majority of them are Christian-Arabs. They
staff the hotels, wait on tables, and clean up behind others. Some
Christians and Muslims own their own small businesses in the bazaar.
The second most “holiest” mosque, according to Islam, is located in
Jerusalem. Muslims are commonly attacked by the Israeli military while
attending prayer services there, and as recent as this week. If a
Jewish citizen of Israel marries a Palestinian the couple is not
permitted to live together in Israel proper (i.e. only in Gaza or the
West Bank). Of course Jews do not live freely in Gaza, as neither do
Muslims while under Zionist occupation.</i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>We
live in the United States of America. We have a constitution that
allows each of us the freedom to practice our religion, congregate with
like-minded people, and the opportunity to share our beliefs with
others. We have laws that attempt to protect us from hate, safeguard
our homes and property, and establish a peaceful environment. Although
they are not perfect nor fully adhered to, we each have the opportunity
to change them via prescribed processes, and punishments are prescribed
for convicted offenders. Muslims and Jews sometimes suffer from
religious persecution in our country (and Christians too). Although
abhorrent behavior, it is not a daily or commonly accepted occurrence as
it is in Palestine. It is usually perpetuated by propaganda influenced
lobbyists to elected officials, those who are financially invested into
warmongering, and/or misled media and social influencers. It is
normally perpetrated by extremely troubled and/or mentally unstable
individuals, or by elected officials with extremist/corrupt views within
the context of their boundaries. (May God keep us from being among
those who are misled and protect us from evil. - Ameen) Most individual
Christians and Muslims, and many Orthodox Jews, consider this country to
be our united-country. Most are not looking to establish any new
country in the name of their religion.* Muslims immigrate and
integrate. This is historically part of our religion and why Islam is
found all over the world.</i></span></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>*
This is why Muslims all over the world created the slogan “Not in Our
Name” when ISIS tried to call themselves the Islamic State. The same
slogan is now being used all over the world by (non-Zionist) Orthodox
Jews and allies of Palestine. </i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>Similar
to all prophets, the followers of Prophet Mohammed were persecuted for
their beliefs. Their homes and businesses were seized, their people
imprisoned, tortured, and killed, and their caravans were continually
under attack. They were forced to migrate. They did not fight-back
until permission was received by Gabriel, to do so. They were also
given the “rules of war” which include how to treat their prisoners of
war, and other guidance. This is why the recently released videos of
prisoners of war (“hostages” by agitprop) being released exhibit the
kindness and protections that they received while imprisoned. The
complaints of Hamas soldiers raping women and killing babies were
debunked by mainstream media, while reporters were being shot and
killed. The possibilities of beheading are a bit higher, due to knives
being the primary weapon of war and due to the lack of guns. Though more
probable that the jugular vein and windpipe were cut, with an
accidental beheading. </i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>The
current assault between Palestine and Israel is being embraced by
Muslims all over the world, due to the long-standing oppression of
Palestine by Israel.</i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>Palestine
is not being supported by the rich Arab countries in the Middle East
because of their economic ties with the United States, which is
perpetuating the anger of Muslims all over the world. Palestine is
being supported in the rhetoric of the religious countries of the Middle
East that have no economic ties to the U.S. and being hailed as heroes
by many. </i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>In
Islam, when we see something that is “wrong” we are supposed to try to
stop it with our hand. Else with our voice. If not possible, then know
in our heart that it is wrong: and this is the least of these. Only
God knows the future and only He knows how. I lift my hands to express
my voice, and I pray for justice and peace for all. </i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p class="c2"><span class="c1"><i>Sincere “Salams”, ✌️</i></span></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c1"></span></i></p><p></p><p class="c0"><i><span class="c4"></span></i></p><p></p><p class="c2"><span class="c5"><i>Sister Jane Aslam</i></span></p><p class="c2"><span class="c5"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="c2"><span class="c5">Here's Little Old Me, Jane, again............</span></p><p> I'm going to start out calling this post Listening to Each Other because I believe deep in my heart and soul that this is what we need right now. We need it individually and as a country and the whole world needs to listen to each other. Just as I finally figured out that every single religion is based on Love at its core the whole world's most basic need has always been communication. Love and Listening feed off each other. Each requires the other, each gives to the other. Love requires Listening. At the same time Listening requires Love. </p><p>Amen.</p></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-43379199894275311972023-11-17T00:49:00.088-05:002023-11-17T00:49:00.140-05:00Patience and Percerverance, Part Two<p> Here is a a blog I first posted in 2011 and I thought I would update it for 2023. </p><p>The reason I need to update it is because 12 years have passed yet very little has little has changed and I take that as a good sign and I want to thank God for a few things. </p><p>Three days ago, on November 12th, we attended another wedding much like the one I mention here. Again, it was a wedding of two kids we feel really good about: I knew the bride years ago as a counselor at Camp Gilmont where she has now returned to be the Program Director, Beaven works with the groom at camp on the staff. So both of us know both bride and groom. I like these kinds of weddings. I'm starting to think November is a good month to get married.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Yesterday we had a great dinner at our favorite restaurant but instead of an evening meal we had one of those mid-day meals old people have at around 3:30 or 4 o'clock. It's a small place where the owner knows us and will stop by to talk. He makes the Creme Brulee' himself and if we go early enough I can have coffee with dessert and it won't keep me awake. We have officially gotten old. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Just to give you a flavor of how time has passed here's what I wrote 11 years ago about our anniversary. It's kind of interesting to rummage through our little time capsule once in a while. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">++++++++++++++++++</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Forty-three years ago I married a man I thought was a dead ringer for Superman, albeit a shorter version of him. Last night I ate dinner with a balding, overweight version of that guy and we spent most of the meal talking about how all the people at our wedding are dead now.</div><br />The best man died ten years ago. My bridesmaid became schizophrenic and the maid of honor became a Tea Party Republican. All of the uncles and most of our aunts are gone as well as a good chunk of the guests. About the only ones left from our wedding are the younger cousins and one or two friends.<br /><br />We spent most of our day apart yesterday and met for dinner at our favorite restaurant in separate cars. We left the restaurant and went to see a movie at the only theatre in town where the popcorn was better than the movie then came home and argued about what we would watch on TV.<br /><br />In years since I first met Beaven Els we’ve watched about four or five wars play out, depending on what you call a war. As we matured our politics have done an about-turn. We watched the first man step on the moon together. On November 15, 1969 personal computers didn’t exist and you could walk right onto a commercial plane with no questions asked.<br /><br />We raised two decent kids and weathered alcoholism, cancer and menopause together. We’ve buried four parents and taken some awesome vacations. We’ve accomplished things we never even thought to dream of and we’ve visited countries we never thought we would find exciting. We’ve remodeled houses with our own hands and learned that we don’t know a damned thing about carpentry but we keep doing it ourselves anyway. About the only technique we’ve really mastered is running wires through walls.<br /><br />We survived two teenagers and they survived us and we will eat Thanksgiving together without much dread.<br /><br />I vividly remember my thoughts as we left on our honeymoon: “I know nothing about this guy.” And, compared to what I know now, I didn’t. We quite frankly lucked out. Probably the greatest thing we’ve learned in 42 years of marriage is to have patience and to endure.<br /><br />This coming Saturday we’ll attend the wedding of a girl we watched grow up in our church. She’s marrying a guy she met on a mission trip who reminds me a lot of a younger Beaven. Forty-two years from now most of the guests at this week's wedding, including Beaven and I, will assuredly be gone. Things Elizabeth and John have never dreamed of will have been invented. They will go places and do things they can’t imagine now.<br /><br />Life always surprises us. Here’s to Happy Surprises. Here’s to Patience and Endurance. The future is uncertain at its very best but it is never boring. He may not look much like Superman to other people but he still does to me.<br /><div>+++++++++++++++++++++++</div><div>What do I thank God for in 2023? For sticking with us when we were busy raising kids and didn't put much thought into our relationship with our Creator. I thank God for it all, every last minute of it, every single iota from each cloud and ray of sunshine, each smile on my daughters' faces, each tiny victory in our lives, each tiny step in the right direction, for holding my hand when things got overwhelming, for those bursts of inspiration and confidence when it all seemed so improbable. </div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-85753898245172738852023-11-13T20:54:00.002-05:002023-11-13T21:31:50.120-05:00You've Got Mail<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCSRPje0MjDk-Ods2uEQYgmnxJuQ7QnkjCjfOQnTL4I9pU1I-HRfrnkqBo-Ij11ZLWIAECNvfYTTYuJIYXNN41iaOWbFCAhXV_KE2Zioe5RPAiE6DA0syHwCyx2viPo1RlG1IU3nC9EiKXp9GGzf2JM1hWco2NONkJogmhQLPcXDgZawIp2sxJtw/s640/mailbox.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCSRPje0MjDk-Ods2uEQYgmnxJuQ7QnkjCjfOQnTL4I9pU1I-HRfrnkqBo-Ij11ZLWIAECNvfYTTYuJIYXNN41iaOWbFCAhXV_KE2Zioe5RPAiE6DA0syHwCyx2viPo1RlG1IU3nC9EiKXp9GGzf2JM1hWco2NONkJogmhQLPcXDgZawIp2sxJtw/s320/mailbox.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I sat down to write a note to a friend this morning and the
project soon grew. Now I realized I have much more to say than one small greeting card would hold.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The friend recently moved and the house came with a rotted
and dying mailbox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So when she and her
son built a new one it seemed fitting to send her mail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t want the mailbox to sit empty and
feel lonesome and cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nobody sends
mail anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You don’t even get bills
by mail anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything is
electronic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About the only thing we’ve
gotten lately have been ads from guys running for political office out here in
the woods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think they are the only
ones who still believe in mail.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">But last night Beaven and I went to a wedding of two young
people we both have grown to love through working with them at Camp Gilmont. I have
known the bride since she was a counselor at the camp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the reception each guest found an envelope
at our seat with a note hand written by both the bride and
groom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guests spent the first few
minutes of the reception practically in tears as we read the touching notes
that captured our relationship with the couple in a very moving way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For Beaven and I, the notes touched on what
they had learned from us as a married couple on what marriage would be like
based on what they had seen in our own marriage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Given that the wedding was three days before
our 54<sup>th</sup> anniversary it was like receiving an anniversary gift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We decided our gift to ourselves this year would be to
re-read them on our anniversary. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">These two coinciding writing events reminds me what a lost
art writing anything by hand has become.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have no idea how many iterations our notes from the bride and groom went
through but there were no mistakes in them; nothing struck through or
second-guessed, yet they were eloquent while simple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And this couple wrote probably 100 of these
notes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have heard that there were only three or four versions of
the Declaration of Independence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paper
was scarce in 1776.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You didn’t just wad it up and toss it in the trash if you made a mistake or didn't like what you had written.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once you
sat down to write you needed to know what you were going to say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The changes to the Declaration of
Independence were mostly difference of political opinion between Thomas
Jefferson, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>John Adams, and Benjamin
Franklin.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I've been de-cluttering our storage spaces. I ran across the letters my parents wrote each other during their courtship and also the ones they wrote during the war. I guess Mother packed them. They are organized by date with a string tying them in packets. Once in a while I'll pick one out to read and it really captures their personality. The gift is especially poignant since my mother died when I was young and I never really knew her. The details are astonishing: prices they paid for things, slang terms, movies they watched, places they went and relatives they spent time with. I feel like I'm reading a special kind of history story: my own history. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Facebook has replaced journaling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our lives are lived in paragraphs instead of
pages. Because we have the ability to backspace and fix anything we want,
sometimes there is far less thought put into what we say before we say it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three sentences later we forget an
insensitive thought and it is sent to the world for display. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">However, because of this same ability, I am now able to
easily compose exactly what I want to say to my friend with the new mailbox,
then print it in whatever font I choose and size the font as large as I want
(the older the friend, the larger the print—my friends are increasingly graduating from 12
point to 14 and sometimes even 16 point print)<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I’ve also started stealing graphics from the internet and
saving them to use for cards—the same cards that I never actually send since I
usually just communicate via Facebook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The only exception being the friend with the new mailbox.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I’m going to need to alert her on Facebook
to check her mailbox now. As soon as I mail it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I know this sounds like a lot of trouble. Eventually, the paper greeting card will get thrown into the trash or recycled. There is simply not enough room on the planet. Electronic communications really is the wave of the future. But, for now, for me, sometimes Old School is the Best School. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><br /><p></p>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-45876652605713821402022-08-07T18:20:00.015-05:002022-08-18T14:14:59.687-05:00Kin*dom Camp<p>I had one more camp left in me for the Great Summer of 2022 and it was the best one of all. It was held at my favorite camp of all, "my" camp, the one I am most proud of, where I spend so much of my time; where my passion lies. </p><p>It would be easy to reel you in by starting off saying that we had drag queens at summer camp. And I could even post an eye-popping photo that would get your attention. I might do that later but it would be a cheap trick to get your attention when the camp was so much more than that. </p><p>In fact, when I think of it, in the thirty years I've been hanging around youth ministry there was far less drama or deep anxiety at this camp than any I've seen. And I really do think it was because the focus of the whole camp was on honesty and acceptance and the kids were more at peace. And I'll get to that in a minute. But, when all is said and done, this was just summer camp. That's all it was-- just camp. Except it happened to be a camp designed for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer/Questioning kids from the ages o<span style="background-color: white;">f 12 to 17.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBG93NPADNk9QSiYsGSmRY6J2HBWrYrgfWXiBVRHQ5Tht7uNBT9lZbZKHSaecRziYawaeKks6w5F4hvHReGppeGhG7AofeK8ilJG-U_5jHPRYPDqJ5x23Yk_epmVjmbUNfwB7Rj_WS151BggIjyIU2FMLkOFK9XayFPFiYCNuSh1OnHcuS0M/s4032/kindom%20cross%20banner.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJBG93NPADNk9QSiYsGSmRY6J2HBWrYrgfWXiBVRHQ5Tht7uNBT9lZbZKHSaecRziYawaeKks6w5F4hvHReGppeGhG7AofeK8ilJG-U_5jHPRYPDqJ5x23Yk_epmVjmbUNfwB7Rj_WS151BggIjyIU2FMLkOFK9XayFPFiYCNuSh1OnHcuS0M/w480-h640/kindom%20cross%20banner.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div><p></p><p>One of the most amazing things I've seen in my life was one time years ago I saw a teenager run down the hall and when he got to the end of the hall he jumped up and just flung his body up in the air against the wall. For no reason. For the sheer joy of being alive. And that's what camp is for, folks: to celebrate life. </p><p>Kids should have fun. At the end of the day we should all celebrate the joy of being alive. </p><p>I love watching kids have fun. </p><p>There was one camp missing from the universe until this summer. And then my good friends fixed it. And I am honored to call these folks my friends: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaGpb-ANHr0ThCDztxihGPE36je0E70wP1Hl08ANjMqiqtD5Tpk0mgXXxbw-Prmc1OkXcChHE2X1bKYVO8PvXe8pKp03lVjK76AY9Dc0ay8pWSCt1TumyjjO1yQ6xMIIfbgmFxVmExjHFQ6yVIIEDkgZqjbGM8o4f6fu8W-YwQVBcJXjttPqc/s960/kindon%20pepa,%20andy,%20garrett.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="960" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaGpb-ANHr0ThCDztxihGPE36je0E70wP1Hl08ANjMqiqtD5Tpk0mgXXxbw-Prmc1OkXcChHE2X1bKYVO8PvXe8pKp03lVjK76AY9Dc0ay8pWSCt1TumyjjO1yQ6xMIIfbgmFxVmExjHFQ6yVIIEDkgZqjbGM8o4f6fu8W-YwQVBcJXjttPqc/s320/kindon%20pepa,%20andy,%20garrett.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Andy, Pepa and Garrett</div><p>I knew Rev. Pepa Paniaugua before she was ordained as a minister of the word and sacrament in the Presbyterian Church (PCUSA). She was an intern and the Youth Director at our church in Garland. I met Garrett deGaffenreid at one of those youth camps where they have shaving cream fights and kids fling themselves against the wall just for fun. I met Andy Hackett about three years ago but he's been coming to Gilmont for the Great Gluten Escape longer than that. I think Andy was the one who came up with the idea. He talked to Garrett, who was a counselor at Gilmont, who talked to Pepa who was busy founding a dynamic new ministry called the Kindom Community. And here we are.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLN-ZQdheA7vqJA0ge-mFaG7Bl16N7MtaMNa7mmENQTNGX3lXIBn8RBnlN1vMq3nwet_o7v-t4DgFkTi39mRbSRRP8yTLKrjsnMCQckfBp1FH3K7YFgNfMrbisRvD1Av1uFBOhP-TIYJpyap8RE32hlzy6qNEfTKbDogfeoN6JAMptBZap8ek/s1945/kindom%20dining%20hall%20banners.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1874" data-original-width="1945" height="616" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLN-ZQdheA7vqJA0ge-mFaG7Bl16N7MtaMNa7mmENQTNGX3lXIBn8RBnlN1vMq3nwet_o7v-t4DgFkTi39mRbSRRP8yTLKrjsnMCQckfBp1FH3K7YFgNfMrbisRvD1Av1uFBOhP-TIYJpyap8RE32hlzy6qNEfTKbDogfeoN6JAMptBZap8ek/w640-h616/kindom%20dining%20hall%20banners.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>The whole camp was alive with rainbow flags. They were over door frames. Ribbons on nametags. Stickers on t-shirts. Necklaces. The kids were allowed to express themselves and be proud in ways they couldn't at school or sometimes even with their family. Barriers fell almost immediately. What was interesting to me is that I expected to see romances blossom but it was the same atmosphere of siblings that I saw at every other camp I've been to. We became a family.</p><p>It took only a few minutes for me to give up on trying to figure out whether a kid was gay, bi-sexual, transgender, or whatever. It sounds silly to say the obvious: you can't tell by looking and it's a waste of time to worry about it. The bottom line is that it's just really none of my business. </p><p>There were a few adjustments to make for this camp:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEhlTn2pxHBL0HkuMQeDJNfcrFWXGglmTzCMv1CfrlmFdVieEvEEzaSlVkrBpRxK6a20m6iknbpguGV1sEiMD4uav9Rt4zjLDAeAiBuDbf0BBjdDqHo6KQFOcQx6USeYUnbx_UiTtelrfHpXxE_x2RV7Xoc3V1vAmUvnWX1xWtcK--p_NIYPg/s1927/kindom%20nametag%20photo.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1217" data-original-width="1927" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEhlTn2pxHBL0HkuMQeDJNfcrFWXGglmTzCMv1CfrlmFdVieEvEEzaSlVkrBpRxK6a20m6iknbpguGV1sEiMD4uav9Rt4zjLDAeAiBuDbf0BBjdDqHo6KQFOcQx6USeYUnbx_UiTtelrfHpXxE_x2RV7Xoc3V1vAmUvnWX1xWtcK--p_NIYPg/s320/kindom%20nametag%20photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Nametags. Every morning we made a new nametag as a means of providing the space for campers and staff to explore facets of their identity. I had to think this one over a bit. I was used to getting a sturdy name tag when I checked in and using that same name tag all week long. However, at this camp <b>every</b> morning, <b>every</b>body made a new nametag. And if it was the same one every day, fine. If it was the name you were born with, fine. But if you wanted people to call you something different, they could look at your name tag and know what that name would be. I decided I like this idea. Camp is the perfect place to test the water for a new identity: you are somewhere that nobody knows you from your school or hometown, not even your family. You can be whoever you want to be. </p><p>I found comfort that, upon reflection, I realized I really like my name. I always have. I can't think what I would change it to. But when parents name a baby they have no idea, actually, who they will end up with. They make a ballpark guess based on anatomy and sometimes, things work out. However, we are learning this isn't a black and white world and sometimes Dick and Jane names just don't work. And it's not just about anatomy. Someone soft and gentle could end up with a really loud and boisterous name. It really is the respectful thing to let a person decide what to call themselves based on who THEY decide they are. Maybe this should be a rite of passage at adolescence, a naming ceremony--kind of like a bar mitzvah. </p><p>Pronouns were the subject of conversation with the staff one meal. We realized pronouns really have no use in society and will probably fall from use someday. Pronouns only get in the way. The older staff, gave up on trying to figure out who was straight and who was gay or trans and even with the pronouns on nametags we found it easier to use "they" and "them". I can't always read nametags without my glasses. Pronouns are really kind of Boomer.</p><p>Then we had the bathrooms. That part was the easiest:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQtm8oHC2JQ8surEAvj2ufcow_O1k6czN32ASszqFYIQJaK2jl19UqEnEWQdKcR30ehrRMO1_hsA95eH2TX6DZ1-1DJTB8Khc4GozJy6Oeg_mYz9oLFtgt9ajRuxuw2MiOyAMnc8XmCiCA0Gy_m76QhXk78yS4qfrNN-pjVecaetiu57ggf0/s4032/kindom%20bathroom%20sign.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQtm8oHC2JQ8surEAvj2ufcow_O1k6czN32ASszqFYIQJaK2jl19UqEnEWQdKcR30ehrRMO1_hsA95eH2TX6DZ1-1DJTB8Khc4GozJy6Oeg_mYz9oLFtgt9ajRuxuw2MiOyAMnc8XmCiCA0Gy_m76QhXk78yS4qfrNN-pjVecaetiu57ggf0/w300-h400/kindom%20bathroom%20sign.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p>Bathrooms were a lot more relaxed, too. And a lot simplier. Every single bathroom was gender neutral. You were expected to go into a stall to do your business in private. Just like you were instructed to change clothes in private. We only had to tell them this once. It was pretty obvious. Easy.</p><p>Security was tight for this camp. We couldn't take photos of the kids' faces. This is a standard rule when working with children. I was used to this rule. They even have this rule for Alzheimer's patients; I know not to photograph anyone who is not able to consent on their own behalf for permission to publish their picture. But, in this case, the camp added the request to not geo-tag the location of where we were. You are seeing this blog only after the camp is over when the rule has been lifted. To my knowledge nobody had made any threats to disrupt the camp but we were in a small town in a red state in a weird time and sometimes the devil just gets bored and goes looking for mischief. We were the first LGBT camp for kids in the state of Texas. Nobody had any idea what to expect. </p><p>And, thanks be to God, nothing did happen. Not so much as a raindrop nor an out-of-sorts honeybee showed up at the camp. I'm not even sure the nurse had to open up a box of Band-Aids. The raindrop would have been welcomed. It was hot as blue blazes.</p><p>We had abou<span style="background-color: white;">t <span>60 kids and 35 staf</span>f.</span> The staff consisted of counselors, a nurse, a media guy, a mental health specialist, a sensory processing specialist (more on that later), two wise elders, and several pastors sprinkled into the mix by virtue of being parents to the kids or youth sponsors. </p><p>Wise elders? That's a job title? That's what they decided to call me and my buddy, Armel, for lack of any actual skills we possessed. It's certainly better than "Old Farts." </p><p>Armel Crocker is my brother in Christ who used to go to church with me, who went through the commissioned pastor program with me, my study partner and now co-pastor at two different churches in North Texas. When I say that we co-pastor churches together I need to explain a little. </p><p>Most co-pastors are married to each other. And that makes things easy. However, Armel and I don't even live in the same town anymore. This makes co-pastoring a lot harder. We can't call across the room, "which page was that quote on?" And the two churches we pastor have two different orders of worship on Sundays thirty minutes apart. In preaching circles this is called a "double-header." We alternate weeks because each of us has another church on the other Sundays as well. So, we consult each other almost daily during the week to keep up with what scriptures and hymns we're using as well as which congregant has what ailment. Fortunately, Armel has a master's degree in Gerontology to go with his big heart. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJECSJE96aBZbn_z8G_IlXWpI8kTraD9dAzTBIEfsX43bMo4esosDwXKJfs10qaiHGrBmKE3__XzqPExApqS3HOopGwB60JfPT9zviG-9DYI-sjsnEYC4Uh6BiTMtfX1_GkJBxg4J1aDMvWkDn-_4eJUtCuLOfwidmDlmI80KquP_a97fcjnM/s3007/kindom%20jane%20and%20armel.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3007" data-original-width="2633" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJECSJE96aBZbn_z8G_IlXWpI8kTraD9dAzTBIEfsX43bMo4esosDwXKJfs10qaiHGrBmKE3__XzqPExApqS3HOopGwB60JfPT9zviG-9DYI-sjsnEYC4Uh6BiTMtfX1_GkJBxg4J1aDMvWkDn-_4eJUtCuLOfwidmDlmI80KquP_a97fcjnM/s320/kindom%20jane%20and%20armel.jpg" width="280" /></a></div><p><br /></p>However, Armel is anything but an old fart. He is a survivor of the San Francisco AIDS Epidemic of the 1980's. I am forever in awe that he is alive. He owned a gay bar and witnessed the worst the disease brought to gay men. When I asked him how many friends he lost he told me it was too many to count. He has a unique story to tell. He had a front road seat to LGBT history. So, Garrett invited him to talk to the kids about his time in San Francisco and a little bit about history and the AIDS outbreak. <div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv_4lCWIjZGspT6519MhE0yEPNSnbbtGBSKMesaIkWxIagn5kXPFXGytb29GD7cMSDOkHgWZrYL3J7vvpBHLTeEn0cKIYpsO4tpN4u5R61oMjBEXFZnu9qdBX0HBuXWkZ89-TBovn0qLVVPV_0mIcIHVldNs_1E3pTKbgVmy6pmDKz0RaIYOM/s4032/kindom%20armel%20and%20garrett.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv_4lCWIjZGspT6519MhE0yEPNSnbbtGBSKMesaIkWxIagn5kXPFXGytb29GD7cMSDOkHgWZrYL3J7vvpBHLTeEn0cKIYpsO4tpN4u5R61oMjBEXFZnu9qdBX0HBuXWkZ89-TBovn0qLVVPV_0mIcIHVldNs_1E3pTKbgVmy6pmDKz0RaIYOM/s320/kindom%20armel%20and%20garrett.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><p>Possessing no special talents other than a big heart, I ended up declaring myself in charge of hugs and announced to the kids that if anybody needed a hug I gave really good hugs and would be happy to oblige them. A little while later a kid came up to me and asked me for a "Non-Homophobic Grandma Hug." It took me a while to think through what she had asked me because the phrase is a real mouthful. We had a great hug. Then the next kid behind her said the same thing. And by this time it had sunk in. A Non-Homophobic Grandma Hug. These kids weren't getting hugs from their very own grandmothers??!! Their Grandmothers!! There are More Than One Grandmother out there (actually three because there was a third kid) who are not hugging their granddaughters because the kid is gay. I have no words. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeSbZQa4nQNtNe1a9-hk79RuBOdO_XugMLALQGPupMVmIhXb8JszAuP_4zRufLO6-X3aFYs9ruV9iV5avBYwi9Riuzh-MxDO0FpVpf0gviac8LW5uZtujA1as4bTcYgoDGyNztOSVFddM4VKjd0DmbLzwOJtFrqzdG7m_JCUF6TnSi6CQGJmE/s640/kindom.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeSbZQa4nQNtNe1a9-hk79RuBOdO_XugMLALQGPupMVmIhXb8JszAuP_4zRufLO6-X3aFYs9ruV9iV5avBYwi9Riuzh-MxDO0FpVpf0gviac8LW5uZtujA1as4bTcYgoDGyNztOSVFddM4VKjd0DmbLzwOJtFrqzdG7m_JCUF6TnSi6CQGJmE/s320/kindom.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>But I have hugs. </p><p>Now: The Actual "Free Mom Hugs" woman; the woman who started the Free Mom Hugs movement is Sara Cunningham and she came to talk to the kids. She started in 2015 by going to an LGBT pride festival wearing a homemade button that read "Free Mom Hugs." She just stood around and held out her arms just like I was doing. It's so simple. And she got the same reaction I did. Her first hug was from a woman whose mother hadn't hugged her in the four years since she had come out as gay. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5bmf7GfprayW135a7MsNFbf8B0SEUSGLwEKhBCUx_YwH8e--Vowwe5hLXRCz3Id2npb-2GvJOj8ffcZ8jBKih0-wt1l9cvtyVQVU8jsJlC3sl_wKcxqXF-vRr3_o7-DvSSsL4XxQhWEksC7qnRx9WSA_8b6WeahCemEJksuTri328pz3rSI/s4032/kindom%20sara%20cunningham.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5bmf7GfprayW135a7MsNFbf8B0SEUSGLwEKhBCUx_YwH8e--Vowwe5hLXRCz3Id2npb-2GvJOj8ffcZ8jBKih0-wt1l9cvtyVQVU8jsJlC3sl_wKcxqXF-vRr3_o7-DvSSsL4XxQhWEksC7qnRx9WSA_8b6WeahCemEJksuTri328pz3rSI/w480-h640/kindom%20sara%20cunningham.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p>Sara passed out all sorts of bling to the kids. And hugs. </p><p>If you want to join her movement, here's the website: <a href="http://freemomhugs.org" target="_blank">Free Mom Hugs</a> Visit them later. Stay here for now. I have lots more to say. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOjYQriQcNyP2_jil_4iuORRl6_GmOpVgEmz-rEwRFW4iPaNkD18w_aOMYMrNQRAkt2HPr6RSdb92aeypw-yiM3t5kafUMVJZ3kQ0r-A5BzzRoqj1Z457-kB8bHiXjYqBZzrSFO_BJoUjKkdDILe7k7KDm4xNX0GL99WYerEHjA-4k8HTj6M/s2048/kindom%20opening%20ceremony.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbOjYQriQcNyP2_jil_4iuORRl6_GmOpVgEmz-rEwRFW4iPaNkD18w_aOMYMrNQRAkt2HPr6RSdb92aeypw-yiM3t5kafUMVJZ3kQ0r-A5BzzRoqj1Z457-kB8bHiXjYqBZzrSFO_BJoUjKkdDILe7k7KDm4xNX0GL99WYerEHjA-4k8HTj6M/s320/kindom%20opening%20ceremony.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><p>Pepa was very clear that she would be treading a fine line with faith. She made it clear that she understood that some of the kids came from families where faith in a divine being was not part of the family life. And she addressed it with respect. But she was also plain that we would be talking a little bit about the bible because she was a pastor and that was her background. The first day she used the story of Abram and Sarai as examples of people who changed their names. Kindom Community has a new intern with a Methodist background and the next day she told the kids one of the best adaptations of the Joseph story that I've ever heard where Joseph has the cool rainbow coat that his brothers are jealous of and his brother Reuben is his ally who takes up for him and prevents the other brothers from killing him. </p><p>There was no escaping the cross, however. It was everywhere we looked at camp.</p><p><br /></p><p>They had all sorts of resources for the kids that camp doesn't usually have: haircuts. Billed as "gender affirming" haircuts, I found out that they did check with the parents to make sure we wouldn't have any upset parents if someone had their long locks turned into a buzz cut at camp. And I was actually expecting that to happen but it didn't. Nobody really changed their appearance too much. But the two hairdressers who came to cut hair did a really good job. </p><p>They are from the Abstra(kt) Studio in Frisco where they have a Gender Free Haircut Club.</p><pre class="moz-quote-pre" wrap=""><span style="font-family: times;">The Gender Free Haircut Club is part of The Dress Code Project, an initiative to provide spaces for lbgtqia+ to find places in their context where they can shop and be safe.... and Abstra(kt) Studio was the first salon in Texas to be part of that program.
Their stylists, Sarah and Brian, visited us at kin•dom camp 2022.
Sarah Mendoza (who was one of our stylists at camp) is an official ambassador for the Gender Free Haircut Club.
To learn more, visit <a class="moz-txt-link-freetext" href="https://www.abstrakt.studio/genderfreehaircutclub">https://www.abstrakt.studio/genderfreehaircutclub</a></span></pre><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKoZWCbfpT0JZ9V_9QZaQuysOFGE_9HaE_XnU0uO17JKYJnihtKPBiP-5bMy2FEYeLxL6yQfactREcQfTqisZwOVDRwkYYCDMEXbFcUuN40JYIdd9yu6uxSrwvoGFlUGjwKK9ESdchUfzXS_UfD_BsHlU0_3jTve61NcdeD7HbiyKfqJxPtO8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKoZWCbfpT0JZ9V_9QZaQuysOFGE_9HaE_XnU0uO17JKYJnihtKPBiP-5bMy2FEYeLxL6yQfactREcQfTqisZwOVDRwkYYCDMEXbFcUuN40JYIdd9yu6uxSrwvoGFlUGjwKK9ESdchUfzXS_UfD_BsHlU0_3jTve61NcdeD7HbiyKfqJxPtO8" width="240" /></a></div><br />They have my eternal respect for a couple of reasons: they worked outside in the heat all day so they didn't have to worry about leaving hair on the floor inside the building and because the couple of times I walked past while they worked and overheard snippets of conversations I was reminded of the two great confidants of culture everywhere: bartenders and hairdressers. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Qz-omQBLwJroevgs3jdjeAvW0vde5MXtVl6Ba0ryrlzroBP4x9R99F2IrUpw7VyGMGqu7JeCsdsHP3l2WhzD67tIr8IxHm7ferLE84QX1ti8_rwqk5SqtG5pKm2QqYP5kH90iGM_eHnIBRMxHWqXG5TF_j_F_5f6Cjg3hbX0kxgzd3KX7UU/s4032/kindom%20haircuts.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Qz-omQBLwJroevgs3jdjeAvW0vde5MXtVl6Ba0ryrlzroBP4x9R99F2IrUpw7VyGMGqu7JeCsdsHP3l2WhzD67tIr8IxHm7ferLE84QX1ti8_rwqk5SqtG5pKm2QqYP5kH90iGM_eHnIBRMxHWqXG5TF_j_F_5f6Cjg3hbX0kxgzd3KX7UU/s320/kindom%20haircuts.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>They had a room set up for kids with sensory processing difficulties. And, now that I've seen it and how successful it's been I have a feeling the camp might make this kind of room a permanent feature. It added just the right touch and was indispensable for the kids who used it. My granddaughter has been telling me for the last five years or so that she has a sensory processing disorder that she diagnosed herself during college taking elementary ed classes. We knew she had problems with loud noises and crowds all her life. The coming attractions for movies were hard for her because they are loud. We went to a big youth event once and we ended up in the girls' restroom in a stall trying to find a quiet spot where she could find relief from the noise and crowd. So, in that respect, I did have some experience with kids with sensory processing problems. I wasn't an expert but I had respect for their difficulties. </div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK3tc2nwjBq9MmPpG1qFQcrkBWsdBNjuJMPYoYIdPnv6pMAhibpspDURC6l6fo1BrDGyluvz75al6TXvOuKUHFHtmaIVFikvy_boBCBdM1J4gSZSgm0GMTI2Y5FXaAI8fHJPPxeoTde-gU5ZQkxZ5v6xwf-EKlvoFv_4-fi35yXMcNZVGdyg8/s4032/kindom%20sensory%20room.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK3tc2nwjBq9MmPpG1qFQcrkBWsdBNjuJMPYoYIdPnv6pMAhibpspDURC6l6fo1BrDGyluvz75al6TXvOuKUHFHtmaIVFikvy_boBCBdM1J4gSZSgm0GMTI2Y5FXaAI8fHJPPxeoTde-gU5ZQkxZ5v6xwf-EKlvoFv_4-fi35yXMcNZVGdyg8/s4032/kindom%20sensory%20room.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK3tc2nwjBq9MmPpG1qFQcrkBWsdBNjuJMPYoYIdPnv6pMAhibpspDURC6l6fo1BrDGyluvz75al6TXvOuKUHFHtmaIVFikvy_boBCBdM1J4gSZSgm0GMTI2Y5FXaAI8fHJPPxeoTde-gU5ZQkxZ5v6xwf-EKlvoFv_4-fi35yXMcNZVGdyg8/s320/kindom%20sensory%20room.jpg" width="240" /></a></div> </div><div><br /></div><div>And it never clicked until I saw the room. To explain it in simple terms, the sensory room is set up to be a calm place when the world gets too loud and too busy. And doesn't everybody feel this way once in a while? For some kids this happens more often than for others. ...the lights were turned off and it was lit by small LED twinkle lights. They had things of varied texture to touch, each in a separate box: beans, sand, beads..... green plants in the window. pillows to sit on on the floor. ....paper to draw on... <p></p><p>I volunteered to help out in the room and sometimes there could be as many as six kids in the room or sometimes only one. They seldom talked to each other, whispering if they did; preferring to stay quiet. </p><p>And I'm convinced the room helped. Because when it came time to get loud, just knowing the room was there, those kids were able to be in the thick of the loud. And, boy did it get loud on the last night.</p><p><br /></p><p>Yeah. OK, Now, I'll tell you about the drag queens. </p><p> Yes, they really did a drag show. At church camp. And nobody died. And it was the most tasteful, sweet...gentle....loving.......two drag queens and one drag king I've ever seen.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEmwqOUjQxo01NpGmbdNUNjAOg2TXFosIuMj6A_oY3-93-FairiXDRol3w88FWKCve8HrG6tSlTMYaN5KnhQM8rwlys4XHXRP6MlldgS1Y1WABSK10prtzbvxWQwuyVsgC0HuEtm-NR9tpo4XjivbPdAgaek2WLPuiBamMhbyy8qy6kMHlv-s/s2048/kindom%20drag.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEmwqOUjQxo01NpGmbdNUNjAOg2TXFosIuMj6A_oY3-93-FairiXDRol3w88FWKCve8HrG6tSlTMYaN5KnhQM8rwlys4XHXRP6MlldgS1Y1WABSK10prtzbvxWQwuyVsgC0HuEtm-NR9tpo4XjivbPdAgaek2WLPuiBamMhbyy8qy6kMHlv-s/w640-h480/kindom%20drag.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQFs6hBO4IHpyV_mOEkiqKXVd5YANZmkzTNN5jePxRlqoNB8EEIXyzwmR74R87ec0bqSE6YqeX7dFOocbMAbBdEwlRJ3vqyGSqpyr4r_YzFwgIhSnCGaqS3_CbflLEdSOe1vMgwUhwDhhH8adB3OsY3Fh9w8P73Go8tKURjDNWDNbWW9AknKQ/s1264/kindom%20liquoe%20mini.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1264" data-original-width="1124" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQFs6hBO4IHpyV_mOEkiqKXVd5YANZmkzTNN5jePxRlqoNB8EEIXyzwmR74R87ec0bqSE6YqeX7dFOocbMAbBdEwlRJ3vqyGSqpyr4r_YzFwgIhSnCGaqS3_CbflLEdSOe1vMgwUhwDhhH8adB3OsY3Fh9w8P73Go8tKURjDNWDNbWW9AknKQ/s320/kindom%20liquoe%20mini.jpg" width="285" /></a></div><p></p><p>The kids loved it. Especially when they had a Question and Answer session and gave their questions serious answers: What is their preferred pronouns? She and Her when in drag and He and His out of drag. Is drag their main living or do they have other jobs? One works as an airline attendant and the other one supports herself in entertainment. She does voice work in video games. So the kids asked her which games and which characters, then they asked her to voice the character, and then they went nuts. Apparently that character is well-known in video games. We had a Rock Star Drag Queen here.</p><p>AND the show ended with one of them telling the kids a bedtime story. The book was "My Shadow is Pink" by Scott Stuart. I am not kidding. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb2uKMXXuuNWbQq1l_veDNZFjWuoWq8OdtiTXH-879uF4RATrtkE5IpePSwxcfCCPdeB724tPzzBj_Y9zgmS8acfcpCbfBLLAx2vLm5tIOQe0YQI792TcKhB5cRbkE6Mf1C6R-XGTCS72ziwDt65ahBtb8x861PaaHfrxpe_tAWEKYsGrF4XU/s4032/kindom%20danny%20fox%20trot.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb2uKMXXuuNWbQq1l_veDNZFjWuoWq8OdtiTXH-879uF4RATrtkE5IpePSwxcfCCPdeB724tPzzBj_Y9zgmS8acfcpCbfBLLAx2vLm5tIOQe0YQI792TcKhB5cRbkE6Mf1C6R-XGTCS72ziwDt65ahBtb8x861PaaHfrxpe_tAWEKYsGrF4XU/s320/kindom%20danny%20fox%20trot.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>And the message was: don't let anybody else tell you who you are. Be yourself. Be who God created you to be. </p><p>Because who are we to doubt the Creator of the Universe, who made the moon and flung the stars into the heavens? </p><p>As I was walking to my room on the last night with my hands still burning from all the clapping, I looked up into the pines and could see the waning quarter moon shining through the trees. It startled me to hold the two opposites of the artificial world of drag queens with their glitter and sequins and thick makeup in stark contrast to the pine needles and deep sky of the unknown. How does God hold both at the same time? I was more convinced than ever of God's amazing power and love because I had seen it shine through the rainbow colors of the banners with the promise of God's love. </p><p>God has promised not to destroy the world ever again and gave us a rainbow to remind us of that promise. We are worth salvaging even when a small minority of us are cruel and hateful. God came down in person and now I've seen the rainbow banner hanging on an empty cross. God is here. Here to stay. I've seen the Holy Spirit moving all over Camp Gilmont hugging and holding. </p><p>Also, I can't leave without a plug for the group responsible for all of this: Kindom Community. Pepa is their founding pastor. It's a multi-denominational, queer-led, spiritual community that is fully affirming. Led by the Holy Spirit, the vision of kin.dom community is to be an example of what is possible when</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>all people in the margins are seen, heard and nurtured</li><li>all people are safe bring their whole selves</li><li>all questions are celebrated as much as answers</li><li>inclusion, integration and love are the norm</li></ul>You can find out more at their website: <a href="http://www.kindomcommunity.org" target="_blank">www.kindomcommunity</a><br /> <p></p><p>They usually have an invigorating discussion once a month online as well as a treasure trove of recorded videos of past conversations. </p></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-91023368938478643892022-07-13T20:32:00.003-05:002022-07-15T11:03:56.835-05:00I am a Stuart<p><i>.........a continuation of my Scotland stories. The last one before I resume life in the colonies.</i></p><p>So, it turns out I have a castle. This would not have been as big of a deal except that Crysta Brantley, (<i>nee</i> Gillespie), had been dropping stories that when she has visited Scotland in the past she likes to go to the castle of HER ancestors, the Gillespies. She will make a day out of it and walk through the grounds and talk to the current owners of the Gillespie castle. They even have a cat on the premises, and she takes a picture of the cat and enjoys feeling at home. The faint old family ties are really something, however tenuous. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC50dXiUsywdcs7RcS0oZMzaFJMIB6EvkUjlC8JG_YCHtv9WAI1pnystm_N18sTvl4lBtTes5bXeyGjrAc-c-obBZ2rAIfS3Hf_446VHpCcP7FXvQmwRrJxIdY1CLQMVk_-P3IGSCwWtxbKiVEIxiYXyGyUqtmkYiyohxX5sSdK3pK4mYLRZc/s4032/iona%20gillespie%20door.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC50dXiUsywdcs7RcS0oZMzaFJMIB6EvkUjlC8JG_YCHtv9WAI1pnystm_N18sTvl4lBtTes5bXeyGjrAc-c-obBZ2rAIfS3Hf_446VHpCcP7FXvQmwRrJxIdY1CLQMVk_-P3IGSCwWtxbKiVEIxiYXyGyUqtmkYiyohxX5sSdK3pK4mYLRZc/s320/iona%20gillespie%20door.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><b><i><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div>As we drove to St Andrews I spotted this door with a carving over it that said "Gillespie" so took a picture for Crysta. So, maybe her people were all over Scotland. I didn't see any Stuart doors. But, then we had a whole castle. So, there's that.....</i></b><br /><p>When the group extended our Scotland trip to Edinburgh and then added a trip to see the Stirling Castle I didn't think too much of it. I wasn't up on my history at that point. But then they told us this had been the home of the Royal Stuart kings and I came to attention. These were MY people! During the long walk up the hill to the entrance I kept poking people in the ribs and nodding my head toward our destination: "This is MY castle we're headed to." I was quite puffed with pride. </p><p>It was a cool castle, too. I especially enjoyed the big room where they still have events. It has two huge fireplaces facing each other with room for five-foot logs. Santa Claus has a choice of which chiminey he wants to use at this place. I bought a ton of Stuart souvenirs. Our plaid is the classic Royal Stuart. Some may choose to spell it Stewart but not my family. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBtvAXfKQbC_X7GrsEvjEu5_ykxxIonPxdkBI7AnNqQVtWwrLqWBgSbXbyiqyM7juKDtxg_REpyKwxEqGPQ21I64eNNfz3-mgB-1hRWXJ7-UHoZ4VkPIiEYT_Q5P-W-74LdPYyWbJBylLRhnkrZ183b7ptuOKnJaSDewLL0VqurSZ1G3oXwSE/s1024/iona%20stirling%20castle%20fireplace.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBtvAXfKQbC_X7GrsEvjEu5_ykxxIonPxdkBI7AnNqQVtWwrLqWBgSbXbyiqyM7juKDtxg_REpyKwxEqGPQ21I64eNNfz3-mgB-1hRWXJ7-UHoZ4VkPIiEYT_Q5P-W-74LdPYyWbJBylLRhnkrZ183b7ptuOKnJaSDewLL0VqurSZ1G3oXwSE/s320/iona%20stirling%20castle%20fireplace.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><b><i>This is what a fireplace big enough for five-foot logs looks like. It had a twin on the opposite wall.</i></b><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFmKvPD4cKYYq-w6Tw3VPaECBxCJRv09but94_9hPtMhHA8HPuKiquB2dRlkiBQwlxrZTnF5xGDVzIFxyEA65iDGjWvLaJZuSrIUSnAIEdCWtLGGJIRgIXT6wswxlZinrKLnqRYiFe2bD-AGVhh3xzmFrJiGGvsRzE5ivy7WL-jYfZYd0i1Y/s368/iona%20stirling%20castle%20jane%20and%20fireplace.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="232" data-original-width="368" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFmKvPD4cKYYq-w6Tw3VPaECBxCJRv09but94_9hPtMhHA8HPuKiquB2dRlkiBQwlxrZTnF5xGDVzIFxyEA65iDGjWvLaJZuSrIUSnAIEdCWtLGGJIRgIXT6wswxlZinrKLnqRYiFe2bD-AGVhh3xzmFrJiGGvsRzE5ivy7WL-jYfZYd0i1Y/s320/iona%20stirling%20castle%20jane%20and%20fireplace.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> </div><div><b><i>And here I am with my new Stuart stole/scarf......</i></b><br /><p>My own genetic roots have never been proven beyond my grandfather's boasts that were usually followed by an uncle or two taking me aside to remind me that I shouldn't believe a thing Granddaddy said. However, if you look at a photo of JEB Stuart in Civil War history he bears a startling resemblance to all the men in our family. I'm just saying that I would be willing to take a DNA test.</p><p>But being part of a family goes beyond DNA as the world will discover soon enough if we haven't already. Between sperm donations and adoptions and divorces, people are increasingly raised by parents who are not biologically kin to them and we are discovering how totally cool that is. Being a good parent has nothing to do with biology. Being part of a family is a whole mindset. However, I was brought into the mindset of being a Stuart early and clearly as a child. In my case it's in my DNA, whether I wanted it or not. We can discuss the tiny little schizophrenia gene later. </p><p>I think I was around 10 years old or so when being a Stuart was first impressed upon me at a family gathering. I must have been driving everyone nuts, which is saying a lot because whenever my father and his two brothers got the families together it was very gentile and controlled chaos. I learned at an early age how to engage in two conversations at once, sometimes three. Everyone all talks at once to everyone else when the Stuarts get together. All the time. We are not shy people. Raging extroverts might be the best term.</p><p>But on this one occasion, Uncle John handed me a piece of paper and a pencil and told me to go write down this sentence 25 times: "I am a Stuart." To this day I'm not sure why he did this. Maybe it was busy work to get me focused and out of the way. Or maybe I had said something that caused him to think I needed reminding of who I am. But it made enough of an impression on me that I still remember it.</p><p>I am a Stuart.</p><p>Castles are built on hills, not down in hollows. Walking up the hill that day in Scotland I felt a feeling of real pride, thinking, "I am a Stuart." But more than the five-foot fireplace I remembered the reputation my own father had, and my Grandfather, the relatives I knew. I knew they were men of integrity, who kept their word and who treated people fairly. That is what goes into my understanding of what it means to be a Stuart.</p><p>I received word on my way home from the trip that my oldest cousin died while I was in Scotland, possibly while I was visiting our castle. John Thomas Stuart III was one of those guys that people looked up to, not because he lived on a hill but because he had good values. He kept his word. He rose to the top of his profession not just because he was smart but because he was dependable and he cared about people. The last note he wrote to me before I left on my trip was to encourage me and to remind me that I was special.</p><p>The world needs more men like Cousin Johnny. There is a huge vacancy in that department right now. </p><p>Maybe you will fill the void. Of all the things we get to choose in our lives, one of them is to choose who we are and how we act. You get to set your own values and live them out. You get to decide who you are. Maybe you are a Stuart, too. </p></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-49573521189841809022022-06-20T11:06:00.014-05:002023-02-11T23:29:08.312-05:00Community<p>One night near the end of our stay on Iona I met three angels. </p><p>I had already met one of them a couple of nights before. He was a tall very dark black man who reminded me of someone who might be a soccer player. He had closely cut hair around his neckline and ears until the crown of his head where it was short dreadlocks that stood up. He had an athletic build. When I found out he was from Nigeria I asked if he was married. And when he said he was I asked if it was true what I had heard that Nigerian women are very strong-willed women. His response was immediate and animated that Yes! indeed they are strong women! We had a pleasant conversation but I really don't remember much more about it. He was here to study for a while. </p><p>Then the school shooting in Uvalde, Texas happened. And then the shooting at the hospital in Oklahoma happened. And our group was far from home. So we just did what you do. We went to church that night.</p><p>And after worship I saw my Nigerian angel. He was standing with a very elegant dark- skinned woman so I asked him if this was his wife. They both looked a little embarrassed and quickly told me no, that she is another student there like he is. She is from London. Then they were joined by another woman, a freckled faced redhead who is from Scotland. And the three of us talked. They all appeared to be in their thirties. There was an earnestness and a humility about them that made them fun to talk to. But I love talking to young people, anyway. </p><p>And I poured out all of my frustrations over the shootings in the United States and our inability to stop them. I told them that my granddaughter teaches second grade. I told them my daughter works in a hospital at the registration desk and she is the first person anyone entering the building sees. I was feeling so vulnerable. </p><p>They just listened to me. </p><p>In the bible angels do all the talking but here on earth they listen a lot more.</p><p>I don't remember what they said to me. I just remember being able to get a lot of my concerns expressed. I know we talked for a while. And I think I finally think I said something to the effect that I guessed it would be alright in the end. </p><p>I remember leaving with the understanding that everything would eventually be alright. I might not live to see a solution. It's highly likely that I won't live to see solutions to these problems. But I left the Abbey that night with the assurance in my heart that it will come.</p><p>I remembered the Celtic liturgy performed every evening before worship when the children brought in the world globe, a tea towel, a candle and some stones. The stones are to remind us of the story of Jesus' triumphant entry into Jerusalem in the last week of his life when everyone was shouting Hosannah and the authorities admonished him to make them stop. His answer was "I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out."</p><p>I realized the stones in the Iona Abbey building had heard every single hymn sung in that place, every prayer uttered, every word of scripture read aloud. It had soaked in every laugh burst out, every cry stiffled, every whisper muffled and the floor had soaked up tears that no one else saw. For years they have sat in place and waited. </p><p>They sit and wait, these stones. They can be patient. They have no place to go. And now I wonder if the stones might speak for us all. I take comfort thinking the stones might speak for us if we fail.</p><p>Martin Luther King, Jr put these sentiments into memorable words in a speech in a cathedral similar to the Abbey, instead it was the National Cathedral in Washington D.C. on March 31, 1968. </p><p>"...the arc of the moral universe is long but it bends toward justice."</p><p>St. Columba landed on the island of Iona in 563 to bring Christ to a place who had never heard of him. And the changes in the world since that time are countless. If we can't grasp the spiritual growth we can look at the practical growth. The Abbey started with candles. Now they have not only electric lighting but a sound system that has a control board that runs off an iPad, none of which would have occurred to Columba. Indeed, I couldn't have imagined the wireless technology of the iPad myself 10 years ago. </p><p>The world is constantly changing and most of the changes are for the better. Maybe we pay more attention to the bad things that happen because it is not supposed to be that way. The good things are supposed to happen so we nod our head in approval and move on. When bad things happen we wring our hands, murmur disapproval and wonder what we can do to fix it. Sometimes we actually take action. </p><p>All I had to do was consider the people I was spending my time with. Twenty-seven people who intentionally had come to slow their lives down for a week to listen to God in the sounds and sights of Scotland, to listen for what God had to say to them personally that they could incorporate into their own lives and share with others, to "take the good news of Christ to the world." Colomba's work was still going on. </p><p>We weren't on a coracle, the rudderless boat that Colomba sailed from Ireland to Iona on through rough seas that had drowned countless men before him but we didn't have luxurious accommodations, either. We were a jolly group that was willing to cram themselves elbow to elbow on a bus to get where we needed to go. It was an energetic group who loved hiking for the most part but who loved God even more. Who were considerate of each other and prayed for each other. Most were church professionals for whom prayer comes easily, who can default to including God in any conversation.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ZXQmGpiBmw1qOLQEVgC4s9JG_6w2iqUWR1Kwc0oWohl0IMFDrRsC6vGCeSfibLkw3RoZngIUVdCgk39YgQCNEBcgYCbFP2tuBbxEgpSE7kHK7nmme8G_x4n4QR02wfjRE0727gQ4WvZkye8chfmNfYFiQJ5Gg13MuqPkLf6x5n9fePsUsHw/s960/iona%20group%20on%20bus.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ZXQmGpiBmw1qOLQEVgC4s9JG_6w2iqUWR1Kwc0oWohl0IMFDrRsC6vGCeSfibLkw3RoZngIUVdCgk39YgQCNEBcgYCbFP2tuBbxEgpSE7kHK7nmme8G_x4n4QR02wfjRE0727gQ4WvZkye8chfmNfYFiQJ5Gg13MuqPkLf6x5n9fePsUsHw/s320/iona%20group%20on%20bus.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>My own travel was a hodge-podge of time spent with a group in Scotland and the week before spent alone in London. I had worried about the time alone for a couple of reasons: as I've mentioned, I get lost easily and I'm such an extrovert I worried that I would get lonely. Both worries were needless. I was fine on both counts. <br /><p>While I was in London I spent a lot of time walking around and saw a lot of people. London is one of the most racially mixed cities I've ever seen. I saw Muslim women in traditional hijabs. I saw Asians, Africans, Dutch and Eastern Indians. </p><p>And they had a couple of posters up in the Underground promoting Anti-hate and Diversity. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPpI-kM4sxiDVKiRMrppRV8EL90x688hAzWCSTOgieiIAtZiRIhz5nvgMmkHfTUjLnNJ4INE33OOV5HuPCBMCEIyt3ylvOQ5SlS-yRpa0nigmfLOB5GlGvodRIEJdAUivnJ8KEnBtivI5H7LV3JVGxdXhsSUiG9qGmQsw_Per6k6ThrcHZZHI/s4032/iona%20london%20tube%20sign%20diversity.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="455" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPpI-kM4sxiDVKiRMrppRV8EL90x688hAzWCSTOgieiIAtZiRIhz5nvgMmkHfTUjLnNJ4INE33OOV5HuPCBMCEIyt3ylvOQ5SlS-yRpa0nigmfLOB5GlGvodRIEJdAUivnJ8KEnBtivI5H7LV3JVGxdXhsSUiG9qGmQsw_Per6k6ThrcHZZHI/w341-h455/iona%20london%20tube%20sign%20diversity.jpg" width="341" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>There was one poster on the tube that I still haven't figured out why it was up there. A long poem. In case you can't read the last stanza, I'll type it out here for you:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">There is power in our difference,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">We are ready and we are strong,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The future is ours to shape, but....</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Which side of history will you be on?</span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here's a sign they had set up as you walked to the next train in the station.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmxh9wqZi15Evr4gzMKK_8RV86Nra78J8FXRzACiOJLbFRMhlQrbk6LPs8WTiAlO4CnHZzH_7Iw-e1Thf2KflJQC-aPKmYP2hRbIo96RniA5GxHiJEQwacUSdPVHcDPxIOQF6zH264izsPRRczWqYmVNFgt5dMonq63AHfnliPdN0TfSRFS8/s1292/iona%20london%20sign%20no%20hate.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1292" data-original-width="748" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmxh9wqZi15Evr4gzMKK_8RV86Nra78J8FXRzACiOJLbFRMhlQrbk6LPs8WTiAlO4CnHZzH_7Iw-e1Thf2KflJQC-aPKmYP2hRbIo96RniA5GxHiJEQwacUSdPVHcDPxIOQF6zH264izsPRRczWqYmVNFgt5dMonq63AHfnliPdN0TfSRFS8/w238-h412/iona%20london%20sign%20no%20hate.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><br /><p>Then.....I ran across this poster outside on a fence.</p><p>In addition to being diverse, London seems to be comfortable in its diversity.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXKgIJnLhUZ7asnuD2z4bOFy09yVRlzBdCaeL3Lb8yU2FMdJpUMG2dT-rqDSv7BVAx9bG4yOuwbQ30MXjA_BZqwWCkGy2zK8y_UbDzcmaMoDf4sfzn-yhqpYgP6MtUPvEzcORU4vdGQp8BBssF8_hsOWalGoaq-UXFNoH9bBywJdNcbKGhrAc/s2578/iona%20london%20muslim%20thanks%20sign.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2115" data-original-width="2578" height="463" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXKgIJnLhUZ7asnuD2z4bOFy09yVRlzBdCaeL3Lb8yU2FMdJpUMG2dT-rqDSv7BVAx9bG4yOuwbQ30MXjA_BZqwWCkGy2zK8y_UbDzcmaMoDf4sfzn-yhqpYgP6MtUPvEzcORU4vdGQp8BBssF8_hsOWalGoaq-UXFNoH9bBywJdNcbKGhrAc/w563-h463/iona%20london%20muslim%20thanks%20sign.jpg" width="563" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p>The church Beaven and I belonged to for over thirty years recently installed a new pastor on Pentecost Sunday and I watched a recording of the service. This congregation is one of the most racially diverse in America. The rough breakdown would be a third Anglo, a third African (Cameroon and Nigerian mix) and a third Pakistani. There are really more Anglo and a lot less Pakistani but I'm not sure of the actual statistics. The service used about five languages because they are trying to draw in a Spanish crowd from the free breakfast they serve on Saturdays and they are building some friendships there. </p><p>And here's the deal: it works. Everybody is having fun. There may be some tension--One of my friends complained that she can't understand the Pakistani pastor when he prays. And I say she doesn't need to. "It's a prayer. He's not talking to you. He's talking to God and God speaks Urdu." But the good outweighs the bad and people want it to succeed so it works. </p><p>The Presbyterian Church started meeting for their bi-annual General Assembly this week. I watched the opening worship service and noticed that all of the leaders were black. ALL of them. The co-moderator. The preacher. The Stated Clerk. I'm not sure anybody planned it. It just worked out that way. Other leaders are white. The majority of the Presbyterian church as a whole is white. But, yeah, today we were led by a minority that historically has not been allowed to have a leadership role in America. </p><p>Once you understand that our Creator God created the entire world and all the people who live on it and loves each one of us equally you will get it. Everyone on the planet, equally. Take a minute to dwell on this part. It's important. No rush. Take your time.</p><p>Here I'll even put up a picture of the earth for you to look at while you think. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPRVBu_Dzd_n_cfj8sz8r3NlA9IeiUynfZFDKZn5hgWFLQatbhDqJDPj8wTTEF5WOLtC2Rz1LekCxL0L-ccVzaLgrfqsse3wsiqHdBhLiLeGk1PcmXgNBG-kXbIF1qV8vWfuzvWq5v08dVkHmrdWaAxWothbWnQ0u2rJyGez-jv7ZCEIeGvKw/s1280/earth%20photo.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1162" data-original-width="1280" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPRVBu_Dzd_n_cfj8sz8r3NlA9IeiUynfZFDKZn5hgWFLQatbhDqJDPj8wTTEF5WOLtC2Rz1LekCxL0L-ccVzaLgrfqsse3wsiqHdBhLiLeGk1PcmXgNBG-kXbIF1qV8vWfuzvWq5v08dVkHmrdWaAxWothbWnQ0u2rJyGez-jv7ZCEIeGvKw/s320/earth%20photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>All of us. The large and tall. Small and quiet. Pale and dark skinned. Brilliant and dull. Even the people we disagree with. And that is the hard one so take a little extra time on that one. The people we can't understand because they speak a different language than we do. God understands what they are saying. And God loves us all. </p><p>A lot of people get into the habit of thinking that the whole world is only what they experience because that's all they see. Sometimes that's all they ever see because they can't get outside their neighborhood. Maybe they live in a remote location and it takes a long time to physically leave town. Or sometimes because they choose not to because they have everything they need within reach. I feel sorry for people who don't have the resources to travel but I'm mystified by people who <u>could</u> get out and explore the world but for some reason <u>chose</u> not to. The only reasons I can come up with is that they aren't curious or they are afraid or they have a physical reason they can't travel well. And for any of those reasons I feel bad for them. They are missing something so enriching. </p><p>There are ways to work around the inability to escape your neighborhood: reading is a really good one for enlarging your world. And, now with the internet, it is actually easier to embrace the larger world than it is to escape it. You just have to be deliberate about what you are choosing. I would encourage you to avoid fearmongers.</p><p>The world is constantly changing and most of the changes are for the better. Maybe we pay more attention to the bad things that happen because it is not supposed to be that way. And we notice anomalies. The good things are supposed to happen so we nod our head in approval and move on. When bad things happen we wring our hands, murmur disapproval and wonder what we can do to fix it. </p><p>The bottom line is that you get to pick your community. I was recently in a worship service at a conservative church. It was packed. I'll bet there were 600 people there. But I looked around and saw that there wasn't a person of color in the room. And all the men wore white shirts and ties. Not even a blue shirt. All were dressed exactly the same. It occurred to me that this church would probably die within a generation without some sort of radical change. </p><p>Governor Ann Richards is famous for saying that she wanted a government that looked like the people she governed. So she appointed a diverse group of well-qualified people to important positions. I went to Ann Richard's funeral and what I saw was people of every skin tone and manner of dress you could imagine. </p><p>My advice to anyone who wants to live a well-rounded life is to look around you and pick a community who does not look like you. Get an assortment pack. This is the future.</p>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-19503941996319668902022-06-15T12:15:00.006-05:002022-06-15T21:11:18.070-05:00The Abbey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibChtRntsao3g-ak_zyhNz_ehsPLnBEVH0mQzhSCvVVq3GNqjxA-zT6P96jYWetd3qH2l5c_sE7NuQtNVpXfbm8zcYSLKwKJ-49UAtzQeGkNmGHEHiU4PDfcrGX-l55lrzWFNpp-wfI7BvMCKm-C8PuR6Kr7ihO024Wu7gUIpS_G5k61VX4gk/s1106/iona%20%20abbey.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="624" data-original-width="1106" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibChtRntsao3g-ak_zyhNz_ehsPLnBEVH0mQzhSCvVVq3GNqjxA-zT6P96jYWetd3qH2l5c_sE7NuQtNVpXfbm8zcYSLKwKJ-49UAtzQeGkNmGHEHiU4PDfcrGX-l55lrzWFNpp-wfI7BvMCKm-C8PuR6Kr7ihO024Wu7gUIpS_G5k61VX4gk/w587-h332/iona%20%20abbey.jpg" width="587" /></a></div><p>This picture was taken on our first day there when it was windy and cloudy but that was our only cloudy day. The rest of our time on Iona was absolutely glorious. We couldn't have asked for better weather. Scotland is far enough north that when the year turned to summer the days had almost no night. I never saw a dark sky nor stars. I reallly missed stars because we were so remote I can only imagine how many we would have been able to see. But we did have glorious wind! In the evening it got quite cold from the wind. I usually had to wear my coat and a couple of time resorted to a wool hat and gloves. Yes, gloves.</p><p>We stayed in the Columba Hotel which had the perfect location. If we turned right out of the front it was only a short walk up the hill to the Abbey and by turning left and going downhill we passed the Nunnery, a lot of gift shops, the Community Center where we met every evening and eventually the sea where the ferries docked. </p><p>The view out of the hotel was magnificent. Every view on the island was almost the same: blue sky, green grass, tranquil livestock: either sheep or Highland cows ("Hairy Coos")</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpytjaYqKd696s8RuuF0gusyzZMKU0TVQ9B8G3PAoqliQaNZ0hG-sz-Pa4ZrULHuBRWi5t6fQSQIsn-jF2zZxfwtzqXqSlimuWtXaphC4ujGjiRIcJgialc0ODM7YcWc3PqGoIXwtxRtRd4yJxAf9ES8QU4MiIM-z3-9D4JWp49P5wUMpOddI/s960/iona%20view%20from%20hotel%20window.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="405" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpytjaYqKd696s8RuuF0gusyzZMKU0TVQ9B8G3PAoqliQaNZ0hG-sz-Pa4ZrULHuBRWi5t6fQSQIsn-jF2zZxfwtzqXqSlimuWtXaphC4ujGjiRIcJgialc0ODM7YcWc3PqGoIXwtxRtRd4yJxAf9ES8QU4MiIM-z3-9D4JWp49P5wUMpOddI/w304-h405/iona%20view%20from%20hotel%20window.JPG" width="304" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-bQwgori_4CcpqS-UOzdXc_87KGplTovxTYcBrZb_HcOEpH2z4GEqUOKf0lwwoWB4eDID6Pt-hYKYeoVBWn1vtHhPF1YTMMC5_drV179oz57qg90GXOXOTX_gaXEnC1MdMIX8Z16vUz2-EG3zlWZFAaBjyq9PiCKCeWjGZe57r0Yl5btDXyw/s960/iona%20hairy%20coo.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-bQwgori_4CcpqS-UOzdXc_87KGplTovxTYcBrZb_HcOEpH2z4GEqUOKf0lwwoWB4eDID6Pt-hYKYeoVBWn1vtHhPF1YTMMC5_drV179oz57qg90GXOXOTX_gaXEnC1MdMIX8Z16vUz2-EG3zlWZFAaBjyq9PiCKCeWjGZe57r0Yl5btDXyw/w314-h236/iona%20hairy%20coo.JPG" width="314" /></a></div><br /><p>This Highland Cow hung around outside the hotel window enough we ended up giving him a name although I'm afraid I've already forgotten it. Lauren went out to pet it at one point and it ran away, scaring up a flock of geese in the process.</p><p>The Abbey was the dominant building on the island of Iona. We worshipped in it twice a day and I have to say it was one of the highlights of my life to have this opportunity. </p><p>It was built over a period of time. St Columba landed on the island in 563 so that's how old the Christian presence is here. The first Abbey was built in wood, then a stone building from the 1200-1400's, then abandoned, then enlarged, abandoned for a while then rebuilt, and restored and upgraded as needed even as recently as a couple of years ago when it got a new sound system. Anytime I tried to pin down exact dates my head started to spin. Suffice to say that it is old. It is older than St Peter's Basilica in the Vatican City. It is more simple in design but still a very sturdy building made of huge stones. </p><p>The Iona experience begins well before entering the building. Most days are windy and the Holy Spirit of God whips up the hill to greet you as you walk. The Abbey stands alone and you have time to prepare yourself if you are walking alone in thought with the wind as your companion. We were a group of 27 people who had all come to experience God in this place. We attended both morning and evening services the Iona community provided. Our schedule was busy enough and the attendees were used to a busy schedule so that when we transitioned it was a fast transition. </p><p>Now, with two weeks at home and time to reflect I realize what a great opportunity we missed by not taking at least one of these walks to insist each person walk to the Abbey in silence and alone. Preparation for worship in this Abbey should really begin with the glorious walk up the hill, bathing in the wind, washing your eyes with the green of the grass and the blue of the sky.</p><p>I walk slow naturally. But my nature is to walk slowly. Even if I had longer legs and were a younger person I think I would be a slow walker. Henry Thoreau adapted this walk as he went through his woods and called it "sauntering." It's not a new word and I think comes from French meaning "sans terre" ..........something about the earth. I really don't know. I could have just made the whole thing up. </p><p>But you certainly notice more when you take it slow and look around. I noticed the birds who had built nests in the brick walls we passed on the way to our community talks in the evening. The stones were arranged with wide gaps and the birds had built their nests and the babies had hatched so mothers were flying in and out the wide gaps. I spotted one mother flying up to the wall and stopping to look me over and see if I was a safe human before she entered her access hole with a fat worm in her mouth. Once she took too long and I saw a hungry mouth emerge from the hole too impatient to wait any longer for its worm.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmnUMrlAfP6hGG7p3bCwWo9cibUPUA6LYUMlkCSjzjMbmkmCWAJRhjCqBJIGrKsu3fhPOtNbD4qHZ4JATGNZByoQaUjIT4vFcaA_w1XaFprS98iWfFWE5L5gFXnhnMJUqq8CuAlXBonO6moN0E3Bj3gQRnnA85oIZtTdlXvqD876r2QOP7Dz4/s4032/iona%20wall%20of%20bird%20nests.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmnUMrlAfP6hGG7p3bCwWo9cibUPUA6LYUMlkCSjzjMbmkmCWAJRhjCqBJIGrKsu3fhPOtNbD4qHZ4JATGNZByoQaUjIT4vFcaA_w1XaFprS98iWfFWE5L5gFXnhnMJUqq8CuAlXBonO6moN0E3Bj3gQRnnA85oIZtTdlXvqD876r2QOP7Dz4/s320/iona%20wall%20of%20bird%20nests.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>There were flowers everywhere. and the grass was green. And the sky was always so blue. We may have been the only visitors to get a full week of perfect weather because I've heard stories of the exact opposite: a week of solid rain.</p><p>When you get to the grounds there are three massive Celtic crosses. These are the original crosses that all the Celtic crosses are based on. I never noticed the different designs but St Martin's is from the 8th century. Only the base of St. Matthew's cross survives. And my favorite, St John's, is a concrete replica of the original which is only fragments pieced together and kept in a museum. I learned that the circle of a Celtic cross, usually thought to represent the Roman sun god or Christ's halo, also has a practical use: it reinforces the cross arms and keeps them from breaking off. Those Celts were the practical sort. My kind of people. I'm guess they had a lot of experience with crosses. </p><p>The building is mostly stone. The first thing you encounter inside is a huge baptismal font about three or four feet square made of stove. I always used it to steady myself as I dealt with the few steps down into the Sanctuary. there was a narrow center aisle leading to a choir section with wooden seats like the ones I've seen in Westminster Abbey and St Paul's Cathedral. This must have been a standard feature of churches built in that time. I've only seen this section as a tourist but now I had the chance to actually sit in them. I never counted how many times we worshipped in the Abbey but there were rows of wooden chairs in rows all over the room and the choir was my favorite place to sit. The Chancel had a massive stone table. </p><p>Stone, stone, stone...........this made for awesome sound. Deep sound bouncing all around me. The liturgy of the Iona community was on another level and most in our group bought a copy of their worship book. I wish I had brought home a copy of their hymnal, as well. It's possible it wasn't sold in the book store because I think I would have bought a copy. Their music was a mixture of classic as well as simple children's tunes ("Who put the colors in the rainbow?") but made majestic sung in this place. Their hymnal had a collection of classic and new hymns and a lot of John Bell's songs. When I looked up www.iona.org.uk I noticed that he is one of the primary leaders. Suffice to say the music was great. </p><p>Here is my treat for you: I took a video before worship. Each service started out the same: with an announcement that we could take pictures before and after but not during worship (when all the great music was sung) but I get did this one clip of a flute. The sounds bouncing off the stone was just awesome. This video was taken when I was positioned in the choir about half-way. You can see the front door as the camera moves to the left. The Chancel is to the right. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='632' height='527' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzLhgA_rKU9BCNVaux5pomwu-t67tWdZvULm8wl0LcZwaFFA6ZiatLUWVZJqjfr-43F5h4IGrEin88' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div></div><br /><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHdUYe672pdoTC64KtyD3kSg8bD8hc5ZMK4arKaGXjc-J1B6gHmBhqnMxZJnUkJpT9kepFExOBhYJhTGE8ijonlGD7IUd8ueruH-Am2O-V_4yzAGHY1Dt3TYKHdTSiRBJBSRfRprKphyLeI6QDyXmJeMrN19AbaMu49MdLDgbJ9S3TixUBmjo/s4032/iona%20chancel%20and%20table.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHdUYe672pdoTC64KtyD3kSg8bD8hc5ZMK4arKaGXjc-J1B6gHmBhqnMxZJnUkJpT9kepFExOBhYJhTGE8ijonlGD7IUd8ueruH-Am2O-V_4yzAGHY1Dt3TYKHdTSiRBJBSRfRprKphyLeI6QDyXmJeMrN19AbaMu49MdLDgbJ9S3TixUBmjo/w638-h850/iona%20chancel%20and%20table.jpg" width="638" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>If you look closely you will see the ferns growing in the stones of the wall. Built in floral arrangements. In this picture they are preparing for communion that evening. It was the only time they used the table. We took communion twice. This first time they had so many people they ran out of wine. Well, yeah, they ran out of wine and folks had to drink the non-alcoholic clear juice. So, technically they didn't run out. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuAGlY7FnmdhVQPe_Uzh1wO1D8QmOjCYh5LPZA3uNsihV89eZ_N4B3uo1IpLE3SyCYYoEmGPSWbfVAFo_YjCQ7ZfPRaIDTuMAQAUHa1Gy97JcGEM9RxyXHULg2rIV5zQU5Oi94f81XL3iyH1Nj1kDaNfh57suNYWymGHsjiQqT8Yzm4ZTg1xs/s4032/iona%20church%20front%20door.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="820" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuAGlY7FnmdhVQPe_Uzh1wO1D8QmOjCYh5LPZA3uNsihV89eZ_N4B3uo1IpLE3SyCYYoEmGPSWbfVAFo_YjCQ7ZfPRaIDTuMAQAUHa1Gy97JcGEM9RxyXHULg2rIV5zQU5Oi94f81XL3iyH1Nj1kDaNfh57suNYWymGHsjiQqT8Yzm4ZTg1xs/w616-h820/iona%20church%20front%20door.jpg" width="616" /></a></div><br /><div>The worship was so much more than words and music. What you can't see is the community. There were children in worship who I assume were the children of people who have come to live and work for a year or so to study. Each service started by lighting all the candles in the Sanctuary (the Abbey was, after all, built before electric lighting even though it has it now) but also the children have their own part in the liturgy by bringing in:</div><div><br /></div><div>a globe to signify the earth</div><div>a tea towel to signify the community that works together</div><div>a bible to signify where love and justice come together</div><div>some stones to remind us that if we keep silent they will shout aloud</div><div>a lit candle to show that we are glad to be in God's house</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, of course, I didn't remember all of this. But it's in the worship book that everybody in our group bought copies of to take home. </div><div><br /></div><div>The important part for you to remember here is how vital the children are to this community. They had speaking roles in worship. This is a vibrant community. </div><div><br /></div><div>I went behind one of the panels forming a wall of sorts to find a display of some of their work. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here is one of about six or seven bowls--they had them for AIDS, Breast Cancer, Peace, LGBT, Trans and I think there was another one that I can't remember. Each bowl had a jar collecting coins (remembering the pound comes in a coin) for each cause.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnD_mZGNkVCplCvHSFIPwGBaru-SUNXZsumlFcyhTThZscy-tJBi651jhTGNlyS2n-KL75B63eKBki92a-gMe8VBYGHpyZyU8U34EvVoMTfDS1QahS7nUvGA56uZeW7sztIyIKGVFrW_sfwkjMTr-2yx4H9QIVRJvqH-bpH7yiDiqdOkExwx4/s2473/iona%20trans%20ribbons.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2143" data-original-width="2473" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnD_mZGNkVCplCvHSFIPwGBaru-SUNXZsumlFcyhTThZscy-tJBi651jhTGNlyS2n-KL75B63eKBki92a-gMe8VBYGHpyZyU8U34EvVoMTfDS1QahS7nUvGA56uZeW7sztIyIKGVFrW_sfwkjMTr-2yx4H9QIVRJvqH-bpH7yiDiqdOkExwx4/s320/iona%20trans%20ribbons.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>Community. Iona was more than an old collection of stone. It was alive and loving. And that's what I will talk about next.</div><div><br /></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-83744800258841551402022-06-14T11:16:00.000-05:002022-06-14T11:16:11.667-05:00Facing Down the Devil<p>I've been back from my trip to Iona a little over a week now and I haven't posted anything. I keep telling myself that I'm still processing the trip. There is a lot bouncing around in my soul, nothing serious, part being tired from the drudge of travel and part trying to organize my thoughts. And I suspect part may be a little bit of the devil in there trying to keep me from doing what I need to do to send out the good news of the Kingdom of God. </p><p>Because I got a great picture of the Kingdom of God in Iona. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXhQh1387PRt5TY5rKCa8S_jRlhTJWrWfq0kfYB94jdugbHKCxkd1-HwwkLCsmeyb87_BMz7GIUs_gq8dKYWTyq6Qp1vAJ0C-BhvtCk1eCvAeoLUt6Gi8sMmURdLfE-A-F0N7RXSIXfvFeSbkjXHIczJEF_oRZSYqhwC57RhFGJLMgByu9oOU/s2048/iona%20st%20johns%20cross%20at%20abbey.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXhQh1387PRt5TY5rKCa8S_jRlhTJWrWfq0kfYB94jdugbHKCxkd1-HwwkLCsmeyb87_BMz7GIUs_gq8dKYWTyq6Qp1vAJ0C-BhvtCk1eCvAeoLUt6Gi8sMmURdLfE-A-F0N7RXSIXfvFeSbkjXHIczJEF_oRZSYqhwC57RhFGJLMgByu9oOU/s320/iona%20st%20johns%20cross%20at%20abbey.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>I still can't get over my great fortune to see this magnificent abbey and Celtic cross in person. Our group of 27 worshipped God inside the 12th century abbey twice a day. There were not just this one but four of the classic Celtic crosses in front of the abbey, each one different. I was able to see them and compare and now have a preference: the St John's cross seen here. In my next post I'll show you the inside of the abbey because I know that's what you've come to see.</p><p>At the risk of sounding ungrateful from the start, let me just confess that I did not have the dramatic thunderbolt God experience I was hoping for. I guess after all the buildup I shouldn't be surprised to have a bit of a let-down at a merely ordinary fantastic trip. And I wonder if the devil was behind it. </p><p>I know she was all up in my face from the beginning of the trip. Now I know we usually refer to the devil in the male gender but in one instance it was female. This is the age of gender equality, after all. </p><p>I left my house with my one overhead suitcase and small backpack for under the seat, satisfied that I had packed perfectly. There would be no lost luggage. It was just me in the car and I was going to leave the car at the airport. Traveling solo, I felt free as a bird immediately. I knew just exactly what this trip was for: I was headed out to go have a personal experience with the Holy Spirit, and I was focused as all get out and feeling my Jesus.</p><p>I got about two hundred yards from the house and had reached full driving speed, which is around 60 miles an hour on these roads when the German Shepherd from the neighbor's house ran directly in front of the car. She came so fast there was no way I could have avoided her except that at the last possible instant she pivoted and veered off maybe one inch from my bumper. I never even had time to react or slam on my brakes.</p><p>In that instant a thousand thoughts flew through my mind: If I had hit her, it would have been a hard impact because I had already picked up enough speed to do a lot of damage, if not kill the dog. I would have to stop and go to the neighbor's door to talk to them. I knew this was the family dog and they had three little girls and they would have been heart broken. I knew these neighbors just enough to know they aren't friendly and in the two years since they had moved in have rebuffed every effort I have made to welcome them to the neighborhood. They barely answer when I greet them on the road. So, killing their dog would have been a whole new classification of awkward, not to mention leaving a dented and bloody mess all over the car I intended to leave in the Texas sun for two weeks at the airport parking lot. I'm pretty sure the cops would have tagged my bumper, "We want to talk to this lady as soon as she lands." And, just as bad, the whole thing would make me late for my flight. I could only imagine the complications. </p><p>It's amazing how many individual thoughts can fly through your mind so quickly. </p><p>And here's the thing that has stayed with me for the past two week's since it happened: I swear that dog grinned at me. I could see her muscles move along her front legs as she changed direction to pivot away from my car but she looked straight into my eyes and laughed. It was a game to her. I felt a connection with her and she was telling me that the game was on: I should prepare myself. This would be only the first of many obstacles on my trip and I should get used to them. </p><p>Yeah. Thanks for the warning, dog. I could see the devil in her laugh. A challenge.</p><p>She was right. The trip threw obstacles my way. The obstacles were mostly physical, although some were mental. One flight was cancelled and the airline graciously put me in a car to drive me clear across London to a different airport to catch the only other flight available with only 15 minutes to spare. On foot, I enjoyed the intellectual exercises of traveling alone without the tiniest sense of direction. I used the Google map feature on my phone a lot then once when my phone died I realized the bus stops usually had a rudimentary map on them that would suffice. But I think this was also stressful enough that added to my chronic foot pain. My feet don't generally hurt unless I'm under stress. </p><p> I'm home in one piece, which is more than I can say for Joanna whose foot came home broken and for the two guys who came home late due to an unfortunate case of Covid. </p><p>Travel ain't for sissies.</p><p>But I did have a few insights. Come with me as I explore what God had to say.</p><p><br /></p><p> </p>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-12410103176468121902022-05-28T11:28:00.005-05:002022-05-29T16:53:43.863-05:0028<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjV0ywRLFW44Z3ww6HO4HFx_PUYBkvXCGHCzZTJ1mSg8QK21LAaD2tj35UpEbFKAACdwPkCTl2gonP3164j1gulOjQTeJy4u443DUaIk1dG-xt3IufOPyYmYf5D8svbziOsuzPxOrt-f1MPdEYjl7oDRBNM0T9QfCgo3em_zQ5epnlvFw36Js/s2048/iona%20st%20johns%20cross%20at%20abbey.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjV0ywRLFW44Z3ww6HO4HFx_PUYBkvXCGHCzZTJ1mSg8QK21LAaD2tj35UpEbFKAACdwPkCTl2gonP3164j1gulOjQTeJy4u443DUaIk1dG-xt3IufOPyYmYf5D8svbziOsuzPxOrt-f1MPdEYjl7oDRBNM0T9QfCgo3em_zQ5epnlvFw36Js/s320/iona%20st%20johns%20cross%20at%20abbey.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>Today, May 28, is a big honking day for me. I haven't celebrated it lately. But on the 28th of May in 1994 I quit drinking. This will be year 28 and it seems poetic to make it a special year. Twenty-eight on the 28th. </p><p>I used to give a big party for the girls at the local drug and alcohol rehab in town. We had a wonderful time together. Since I love to give parties those parties were sometimes integral in keeping me sober. A reward. I had to stay sober one more year just to give the party. It never was particularly fancy but the rehab always had at least 16 girls in residence and over the years all the graduates knew they were invited so I could have over 20 girls show up for the party. My yard would be full of cars and the yard full of chairs. We'd grill hot dogs and hamburgers. I'd have a big bonfire and gobs of conversations. Somebody would fire up some music. The rehab girls brought their kids and they could ride the golf cart and jump on the trampoline and play in the playhouse. It had a real family atmosphere. </p><p>My sobriety has always been a quiet endeavor. There wasn't any movie-worthy drama like "Days of Wine and Roses." I've had enough drama to last a lifetime after growing up with a mother, father and sister who were all alcoholics and drug addicts. I won't go into the details here because nobody wants to hear them and I don't want to relive them. Let's just say no alcoholic gives up drinking easily. And I've seen enough to know that I can't afford to ever have another drink. It's simply not worth it. </p><p>I have a pretty great life now. I'm not going to do anything to mess it up.</p><p>Right now I'm on a pilgrimage to the island of Iona in Scotland to let my soul talk to God for a while. I will do a little tourism and some resting. My body is really tired right now from hiking up a hill to see nature up close and personal. Some days I feel old and tired but I have now lived longer than either of my parents or my sister did and I feel actually healthier today than I did thirty years ago.</p><p>Twenty-eight years ago I was a very different person. I was pretty angry at God. If you had asked me I would have denied it because I don't think I could have identified it at the time. It took a lot of time, some good therapy and an extremely patient husband to smooth out all the kinks in my attitude. </p><p>At my lowest point, when it finally dawned on me that I was going to have to give up drinking the anger grew and festered and it almost destroyed my marriage. But I kept going to church because that was the only thing I knew to do. And I would feel such anger inside that it really confused me. Sometimes I felt like leaving before the service even started--like, "Why am I even here?" I had to make myself stay. And I discovered that if I could make myself stay until the first hymn I would feel better. </p><p>There was something about that first hymn that always made things better. People always talk about how therapeutic music is and it's true. No matter what the song was, that first hymn would quiet my nerves. It was the sound of the congregation all around me singing that had a calming effect on me. It was like a soft blanket of love, a warm washcloth washing my soul and renewing it. And I would be OK. </p><p>I think this went on for about three months until my soul calmed down.</p><p>And then I got enough better that I forgot how much better I was. And the new sober me felt like the normal me.</p><p>Sometimes when I'm talking about that first miracle Jesus performed when he turned the water into wine I get it turned around and say that He turned the wine into water. I've said it wrong enough times now that I've come to realize it's not a mistake at all. It's been my own private miracle. Jesus turned wine into water for me. And I've come to enjoy a really good glass of water. Especially in a social setting when everyone else is enjoying wine I can stand back and appreciate my glass of water and give thanks for my miracle. </p><p>And here we are 28 years later. On the 28th of May. </p><p>There is not a day that I don't think about it. There's not a day that I don't miss it. But I wouldn't go back for anything. </p><p>There are a lot of things that are special about the congregation of the Garland church and one of them is that they were friends to me when I needed them. They probably had no idea what they were doing. God is sneaky that way sometimes.</p><p>Coincidentally, there is somebody from that Garland congregation here on the pilgrimage with me and I think I will buy them a drink to say "Thank You." They weren't members of the church back them to be my back-up choir for that first hymn but they can stand in for the rest of the congregation. Just because I can't have a drink doesn't mean they can't.</p><p>Thank you, God. I owe you big time.</p>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-18060642479841816042022-05-24T13:40:00.009-05:002022-05-26T11:23:57.378-05:00My Journey to the British Museum That Wasn't About the Museum At All <p> This post was supposed to be about all the stuff I saw at the British Museum but the fact is it took me so long to get there (walking, tube, walking, yada, yada--and I didn't actually get lost this time even.......it's just that I'm old and my feet hurt) and the stairs to this place sometimes go nowhere. I am not kidding. Just try finding Room 41. I dare you. I didn't even make my usual homage to the Rosetta Stone. </p><p>But I did have the MOST interesting lunch and that's what I want to tell you about but I knew if I titled this "Lunch" you wouldn't read it.</p><p>I think I had lunch with somebody famous but I don't know who he was. I never asked his name.</p><p>I got in line at the restaurant and it was kind of busy. There was the usual quiet grumbling about waiting. I noticed everyone was a couple except there seemed to be one guy right behind me in line who looked kind of disheveled....hair needed a shampoo and cut. Elderly. Which is to say, my age. I thought to myself at the time, "If this place gets crowded and they put us at communal tables, I hope they don't stick me with that guy." Which is exactly what happened. Because we all know that God hears everything we're thinking and has a sense of humor. </p><p>So here we are at this big table with about ten other people and the old guy is right across from me. Like two feet from my nose. Eventually, we can't ignore each other and start talking. It turns out he has a membership to the museum and just pops in whenever he is in the mood to see the special exhibits. He's here today to see the Stonehenge exhibit. So we talk about Stonehenge for a while. I know enough about Stonehenge to know it's not the best example of neolithic stone circles. I'm not an expert but I did read In <i>Search of Stones</i> a couple of times.</p><p>He turns out to be an interesting sort of fellow. One subject leads to another. And he ends up to be fascinating. We get to politics and Trump and Brexit. The girls on my right chime in because they're from California and they start foaming at the mouth at U.S. politics and all four of us agree that the world, including Britain seems to have gone mad. </p><p>Eventually, the California girls have to leave. I wave them goodbye, reminding them to be sure to vote.</p><p>The old guy continues talking about Brexit and gets to border issues with Scotland and Ireland and the possibility of Scotland declaring independence. I realize that I am getting an education far beyond my abilities to understand or appreciate what he is talking about. Like, I don't know enough to even start understanding what I don't know about what he's telling me. I figure him to be some sort of university professor.</p><p>So I ask him what he did for a living before he stopped doing it. Trying to find a nice way to ask about retirement. He got this funny little twist to his mouth, like a smile that told me there was something I didn't know. He said something vague like he was a foreign information officer for the British Broadcasting System.</p><p>It didn't really register. And we continued talking. </p><p>They messed up his order and we ended up sitting there for over an hour waiting for his food to even arrive. This wasn't my first time to observe the incredible patience the Brits can muster when waiting for food in a restaurant. I've seen it twice before. Either they are used to horrible service or they really are that polite. </p><p>My education continued while I asked him about what might happen in the inconceivable event the queen dies. That conversation was far shorter, however, than the ones that touched on Russia or Ukraine where he was clearly more well-versed. He kept getting deeper into history of that part of the world and I regretted not knowing enough to keep up with his understanding of the political background. I was getting an education far beyond my limited ability to absorb his extensive knowledge. </p><p>He was starting to look vaguely familiar but one of the reasons I get lost so easily when I explain my testing and diagnosis is that I have "poor design memory." This includes maps but also faces. It could also be that I had been sitting at a table 2 feet across from him for an hour. By this time he was a familiar face. </p><p>Eventually I was stuffed with tea, scones, clotted cream and all the information I could handle on foreign affairs. I had just spent one of the most fascinating hours of my life yet I felt it was a waste because I didn't know enough to appreciate the nuggets of knowledge I had right in front of me. </p><p>I bid him goodbye and told him to tell the Queen "Hi" for me. He got that funny little look on his face again and said, "Oh, I'm afraid the Queen doesn't think too highly of me." </p><p>And that's all I will ever know of my mysterious friend. I haven't a clue what he meant and probably never will. </p><p>I did eventually find Room 41, which is the Sutton Hoo exhibit (if you don't know about it, go look it up.......an Anglo Saxon Ship they dug up in the English countryside) They really don't know that much about it, either. They THINK they do. They THINK they know about a LOT of the stuff in the British Museum but, golly, that stuff is OLD. How do we really know? </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDxH8SIykw_kXq05PIbAJVTk0PJhiBMW8hCGK9uWWDCbM2eBVxLd-aXVDt2SJ7kKB8rgZw_605-7mo3CS4hRFqByoWcMjwbimIvm8lCooNE1QXWWI7zlQw8NtA2GqaYKSswG_wR3jcXAxmdWkpWrVNcYnCC1VYu0_6gmj-tW_tobhDEkbKY68/s4032/sutton%20hoo.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDxH8SIykw_kXq05PIbAJVTk0PJhiBMW8hCGK9uWWDCbM2eBVxLd-aXVDt2SJ7kKB8rgZw_605-7mo3CS4hRFqByoWcMjwbimIvm8lCooNE1QXWWI7zlQw8NtA2GqaYKSswG_wR3jcXAxmdWkpWrVNcYnCC1VYu0_6gmj-tW_tobhDEkbKY68/s320/sutton%20hoo.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><b>And, yes, the dude totally looks like he's wearing sunglasses. </b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>But, actually, that's just an empty spot in the armor.</b></p><p><br /></p><p>But it's there. It's physical things we can see and hold and touch and carbon date to prove it's as old as we think it is. But if we think we know the real story behind the artifacts, we're really just making educated guesses. </p><p>Some things are OK left as mysteries. I had a great lunch with a really cool man. I have no idea who he was. And that's OK. It has to be, doesn't it?</p>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-18918224935405190462022-05-23T15:31:00.000-05:002022-05-23T15:31:15.569-05:00Pilgrimage<p>Now that I've explained what I'm doing as a Wild Goose Chase by introducing the Goose as the Holy Spirit I know you are expecting a hither and yon, break neck speed race around Scotland, maybe squawking once on a while. Let me introduce another kind of Jane's Journey (because there are many and have different names for each.)</p><p>Our leader has also described our trip as a pilgrimage. And I'm sure he will elaborate in the coming days in ways that I'll be able to share with you. For now, I have words of my own. </p><p>For my own pilgrimage you need to know that I get lost easily. </p><p>I was tested for this once and scored solidly that I literally have no sense of direction. I can compensate for it with maps and electronic devices. But I'm so handicapped I sometimes have trouble even reading the maps. Sometimes the best method is actually to think of what my gut tells me to do and then do the opposite. That part has been known to work as well as anything else. </p><p>So, when I set out in one of the largest cities in the world alone, it was a true faith journey. </p><p>I had an Oyster card which is an all-purpose transportation pass, good for the tube and the bus and even some trains. I had a credit card and my phone. And that's really all I needed.</p><p>I have never been one to carry a purse. A purse is only something to get stolen. It hangs around loosely stuffed full of useless things like old Kleenex and gum wrappers. My mother-in-law had her purse stolen in the grocery store. She had such a headache replacing all the things inside her wallet I haven't carried a purse since. They're going to have to stick their hands inside my pocket and get close to my body parts to get my stuff. That's enough to scare off most robbers. </p><p>I once went out in Rome in search of the church of San Pietro in Vincoli with only a subway card and a map. I forgot my wallet so I had no money and no ID. I found my way to my destination after getting lost about five times. The subway card got me there and back. I never needed money. I never needed to speak to anyone which was dandy because I can't speak Italian. I popped in to see the statue I was looking for, took its picture, said a quick prayer and went back to the hotel. These things are complicated only if you make them so.</p><p>Today, I figured out what to call these events: they are "Confidence Building Events." And, because I survived that day in Rome I knew I could wander around London by myself. </p><p>It's all a Pilgrimage. </p><p>I checked the dictionary to make sure I wasn't too far off base here. The consensus being pretty generic right now, is that a pilgrimage is a special journey to a special place.</p><p>Today I had a special place in mind the minute I woke up. I've had a spot in London I've wanted to visit for a long time but couldn't get anyone interested to accompany me. It goes back to my first trip here when I noticed a guy on our Rick Steves tour bus looking at a map. Then I over heard him telling the story that has now become so familiar to me that I could almost explain it better myself:</p><p>As an ancient major city, London has had many outbreaks of contagious diseases that wiped out significant parts of their population. The most popular culprit has always been the bubonic plague, spread by rats. Specifically, the fleas on the rats. The Great Fire of London in 1666 stopped a major plague when it coincidentally killed all the rats. This must have scared all the fleas to death because they never had another major bubonic plague after that.</p><p>But they did have cholera. And in 1854 it was killing everyone. And that's where the map comes in and my own pilgrimage. In those days the best scientific minds thought that disease was spread by the air. They hadn't come up with a "six feet of distance" rule but it wasn't for lack of trying. The Italians had elaborate leather masks made to narrow the intake of air into your face. It looked like a combination of bird's beak and funnel.<br /></p><p>Enter Dr. John Snow, an anesthetist in London who thought the culprit was in the water. He did a bit of medical sleuthing and came up with a map of every death from cholera. Then he did some research on where people who died had gotten the water they drank. Not everyone drank the water from the well nearest their own house--some preferred specific wells because they "tasted better." Once he assembled all this exhaustive research, he overlaid the two maps and BINGO there was one specific well that the majority of deaths had in common. </p><p>John Snow went to the city fathers and, after a battle to get them to believe him, they agreed to remove the handle from that well's pump, disabling the citizens' ability to drink from that well. </p><p>Jane. Jane. Jane, what in the <i><b>world</b></i> does any of this have to do with anything? What kind of a Wild Goose Chase have you led us all on?</p><p>It's not what you're thinking. This is a Pilgrimage. It's a special journey to a special place.</p><p>I've been fascinated with plagues for years now and I can't get it out of my system. Don't know why but I just had to go see the famous spot where this all happened. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">Because they have preserved it, you know. It's famous. Known as The Broad Street Pump, it's not actually on Broad Street now. For some reason, the street has been re-named Broadwick. No big deal. I found it easily enough on my phone app. It only required a short walk, a ride on the tube, another short walk, and another bus ride, then a third walk. Turn right, left right, left. Hold the phone upside down to orient what direction I'm supposed to walk, that kind of thing. Did you know sometimes you don't get a cell signal in the tube system? Sometimes you do but you can't depend on it. And without the cell phone I was flying blind. I might as well have been in Alaska.</span></div><p>But I eventually found it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguessEfnNOuObCwSdVJ7pYeem9dqk_-zT9BySq897HHMSt8_dOZjEtzFHGCjZUE47VEZK0DEYRA2T44rA2Ox4dKyS8wQXhigwgwBigjodx_2nIZ1AzlLa7E6qV84Wpz7dS5w0e1EBjMVJkljqlf7mOswIPwRj_TOCeglUAemJqmyp4nJ3_GFM/s4032/broad%20street%20pump.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguessEfnNOuObCwSdVJ7pYeem9dqk_-zT9BySq897HHMSt8_dOZjEtzFHGCjZUE47VEZK0DEYRA2T44rA2Ox4dKyS8wQXhigwgwBigjodx_2nIZ1AzlLa7E6qV84Wpz7dS5w0e1EBjMVJkljqlf7mOswIPwRj_TOCeglUAemJqmyp4nJ3_GFM/s320/broad%20street%20pump.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>And, lo and behold, there is a handy public house right in front of the pump. Called..... wait for it:.... the John Snow Pub. I got an order of Fish and Chips and was ready to go.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVdu0bO7GqgVpXwfRNsX8x-tsKGuOzfamPv3r36vgi_PwOc7Gaa1qqgwykE9N8KfzIP8c5UTHUGVrvfLhspjPKy5iFwQOt9z3Son-jEklQg9FrJU8AbZYAE7mvc-1thglPdP8NvuAeePEW5rNzABf4tUYXN5A65nrgiudpxhFnxVCZTcYDFs/s4032/broad%20st%20pump%20sign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHVdu0bO7GqgVpXwfRNsX8x-tsKGuOzfamPv3r36vgi_PwOc7Gaa1qqgwykE9N8KfzIP8c5UTHUGVrvfLhspjPKy5iFwQOt9z3Son-jEklQg9FrJU8AbZYAE7mvc-1thglPdP8NvuAeePEW5rNzABf4tUYXN5A65nrgiudpxhFnxVCZTcYDFs/s320/broad%20st%20pump%20sign.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>I got lost going back to the hotel, too. </p><p>But while I was eating I figured something out. The reason it was a true pilgrimage. A special place for a special reason.</p><p>My father was a doctor. His specialty listed on his business cards and on the sign outside his office and everywhere else said "Internal Medicine and Diagnosis." It wasn't until about five years ago that I realized I've never heard <i><b>one single doctor on earth</b></i> describe themselves as having a speciality of "diagnosis." I think I may have asked him one time about what that meant and he told me that if another doctor couldn't figure out what was wrong with someone they could send them to him and he could figure it out. Mind you, this was back in the days when about the most advanced testing equipment was the electrocardiogram and some blood work. </p><p>My father would have been fascinated by the forensic medicine of today. As I sat there in the John Snow Pub I realized that the apple hadn't fallen too far from the tree and my DNA had drawn me to pay homage to the spot in London where somebody had figured out how to stop a plague. </p><p>As I headed back to the hotel I wondered what new adventure I can now put on my bucket list. Because a true Stuart knows that anytime you cross something off your bucket list you need to add something else. I think Uncle Henry made the mistake of completing his list and had to start a whole new one. I intend to just keep a running tab. </p><p>Here's what I think: I don't think a pilgrimage really ends. If life with our Creator is the goal then it won't. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-82206834244245703222022-05-22T09:44:00.007-05:002022-05-22T09:55:10.263-05:00My Wild Goose Chase<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg1OBewI2MP9ZjioTJFYvrA9rHUGkQbJDfsDJlusVAu7uaco328ZLlQcjJGsVtfmo0knzKMsdmNyTWsAyOKvJJpkS5jecQ7gkJWIP5UyJ4MAJusSzz_IJJIsyPENTUGv-HmywAciFVnAovRDFZ_pDJSONW7v2esg_8OFOdB5K3ZEbEIyLCDKt8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="960" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg1OBewI2MP9ZjioTJFYvrA9rHUGkQbJDfsDJlusVAu7uaco328ZLlQcjJGsVtfmo0knzKMsdmNyTWsAyOKvJJpkS5jecQ7gkJWIP5UyJ4MAJusSzz_IJJIsyPENTUGv-HmywAciFVnAovRDFZ_pDJSONW7v2esg_8OFOdB5K3ZEbEIyLCDKt8" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: times;">Hello friends. I'm on another adventure and thinking I will post to my blog to keep you updated with photos and philosophies. Not everybody I know is on Facebook so I'll put it all here and I can send the link out on email so everybody can get all the juicy bits. </span><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">The first thing I need to do is explain the Wild Goose Chase part. This trip was organized by Grace Presbytery and composed of mostly presbytery staff but they let in a few civilians like me. There are about 28 of us in all. We might end up a rowdy bunch.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">Because this rowdy bunch is also religious they are doing study and what better subject for a place like the island of Iona, Scotland than the Holy Spirit?</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">I've heard Iona described as a Thin Place: one of the places on earth where the distance between God and humanity is so thin you can almost reach out and touch the Divine. I have always wanted to go to Iona. I want to touch God. I want to go to this wild place and feel God's Holy Spirit blow against my cheek as the wind blew into the disciples in that upper room at Pentecost.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">The most common symbol of the Holy Spirit is the dove. But I recently found out some people think of the Holy Spirit as a Wild Goose. Instead of a mild mannered and gentle thing like a dove the Holy Spirit can be wild and blow hither and yon changing direction daring us to chase after it in a way that requires all our senses and determination. Of course, we need alert bodies and quick bodies. I get exhausted just thinking about it. To be honest, I'm not sure I'm up for this project right now. I may be getting too old to go chasing around after something like that. Send me in when you've got the dove back. Right now I've got a bad case of jetlag.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span>Other sources tell me that the wild goose, in addition to the dove, is a Celtic Christian symbol for the Holy Spirit. Sometimes God's Spirit hovers comfortingly like a dove. But the Spirit also surprises us and disturbs our plans. Like a wild and unpredictable goose, the Holy Spirit sweeps in unexpected, astonishing directions</span></span><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;">.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: times;">Whereas the dove has a reputation for gentleness and calmness, a wild goose will attack if it feels threatened. It’s wild and untamed. In the same way, the Celtic believers in the British Isles believed that the Holy Spirit is unpredictable, upsetting the status quo and leading people toward a new adventure with God. They found evidence for this interpretation in John 3:8:</span></p><div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; line-height: 30.6px; margin: 0px 0px 20px; text-align: left;"><i style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="font-family: times;">“The wind blows where it wills, and you can hear the sound it makes, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes; so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”</span></i></div><div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; line-height: 30.6px; margin: 0px 0px 20px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times;">Another blog that I read, Kathy Schiffer, posed the question, "So what best represents the Holy Spirit? On the one hand, the Holy Spirit is gentle as a dove — he can come silently, planting the seeds of wisdom in our hearts. On the other hand, the Holy Spirit is sometimes rambunctious as a goose — wresting us from our sedentary ways, disturbing the status quo, injecting the fire of God’s love."<br /></span><span style="color: black; font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; line-height: 30.6px; margin: 0px 0px 20px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: times;">Interestingly, the ancient Celtic people saw the Holy Spirit not as a hovering white dove but as a “wild goose.” The meaning behind this peculiar choice is because they saw how the Holy Spirit has a tendency to disrupt and surprise. The Holy Spirit moves in our lives in an unexpected fashion, similar to the actions of a wild goose.</span></div><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; line-height: 30.6px; margin: 0px 0px 20px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: times;">It sounds like "The chase is on."</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; line-height: 30.6px; margin: 0px 0px 20px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: times;">I've been taking notes and started having spiritual experiences five minutes after I left my driveway headed for the airport. And, ever the one to place my total trust in God, I have already managed to get lost in London more times than I can count. Then, in one trip alone, I ended up on the other side of London, ran my phone battery down to nothing, had my credit card fail the cab driver with no actual cash to pay him. Yet, here I am back at the hotel room alive and well and in a good mood; ready to re-charge my phone and head out for round two. (The credit card eventually kicked in after re-booting his terminal three times. We all know I'm too old to survive on my looks alone.)</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #333333; line-height: 30.6px; margin: 0px 0px 20px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: times;">I'm going to post this now and go get some more material. Stay tuned.</span></p>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-67835280613680008922022-03-09T18:18:00.005-05:002022-03-09T18:18:35.450-05:00Wilderness<p><span style="font-size: large;"><b> Wilderness</b></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;">a sermon preached at the First Presbyterian Church of Winnsboro,
Texas on March 6, 2022</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Luke 4: 1-13</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I recently heard about one of the most unusual
Ultra Marathons in the world. Part running and part hiking, it’s called the
Barkley Marathons and it’s actually five</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">20-mile marathons , run consecutively. </span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">on an unmarked course </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">that changes each day </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">in the mountains </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">of Tennessee in the autumn. </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The weather can be raining and cold. </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The course goes through brambles with mud,
thorns and gravel, </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">up and down steep terrain. </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In the last 36 years over 1200 people have run
the course but only 15 have actually finished it. </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">It’s easy to get lost so runners carry
flashlights and a ompass.</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I forgot to mention that half of these five runs
take place at night. OH---and also that once you arrive at the
starting line they don’t tell you when the race will start.</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> It could be anytime within a 12-hour time
period </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">so runners set up a tent and try to rest until
the signal goes off to indicate the start of the race. </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And if you are confused at this point, that’s
one of the things that makes the Barkley Marathon so unique. </span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And if you think the <u>design</u> of
the marathon is confusing, </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">the <u>execution</u> is also confusing </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">because the five 20-mile runs over a 60 hour
time span </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">are back to back without a break--</span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">so sleep deprivation is a huge factor by the
time you get to the end. </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">And it’s what made me think of our scripture
today. It reminded me of Jesus’ time in the wilderness. </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">THAT is what Jesus did immediately after he was
baptized. </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He went into the wilderness to be tested.</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Except the scripture says he</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">“<u>was led by the Spirit into the wilderness.</u>” </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Remember that part. </span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We will come back to that part later.</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The scripture says that Jesus was there in the
wilderness for 40 days. We are able to break down what happened
during that time into three parts:</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -0.5in;">(1)</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -0.5in;">He ate nothing at all during those days, and
when they were over, he was famished. <b><sup>3 </sup></b></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">This would have been a temptation we are all
familiar with: hunger. </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .75in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .25in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">(2)</span><span style="color: black; font-family: ""Times New Roman"",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Then the devil led
him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. <b><sup>6 </sup></b>And
the devil said
to him, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been
given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. <b><sup>7 </sup></b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This would have been the temptation to have
power. I think we’re seeing this one play out in
Ukraine. And again Jesus did not succumb to it.</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -0.5in;">(3)</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; text-indent: -0.5in;"> Finally………Then the devil</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-indent: -0.5in;"><span style="font-size: 15px;"> </span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">took
him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him,
“If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, </span><b style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><sup>10 </sup></b><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">for
it is written,</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">‘He will command his angels concerning you,<br />
to protect you,’ <b><sup>11 </sup></b><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This last one has been called the temptation of <u>Ego or
Pride</u>. And we have seen a lot of people who desired to be placed
on a pedestal if not the pinnacle of the temple. But Jesus would not
give in to it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .25in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">So, the devil gave up and left. </span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Because Jesus wouldn’t take his bait.</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">And I would ask you now…..</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="color: #538135; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What is your wilderness?</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: #538135; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="color: #538135; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What could the devil tempt you
with? Where do you find yourself weak or lost and
confused? Feeling small or overlooked? Tempted to go
against the values you know are not your own? When or where do you
find yourself alone and afraid?</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The spiritual journey is not linear or smooth
and predictable. It’s messy and does not come without
cost. Spiritual growth is messy, meandering and
awkward. It sometimes involves other people and sometimes to an
embarrassing degree.</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">You can get cancer or another kind of
illness. You can end up depending on someone else in a way you never
planned to or anticipated that you would ever have to depend on other people.</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">You might even find yourself in a wilderness
with other people. </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">We can turn on the TV for a quick example of
people who are sharing their wilderness experience with others. Last
week we saw a lot of women on trains in Ukraine with other women and their
children who have been reduced to their lowest level they thought possible
locked into a wilderness they never planned with other women in their own
wilderness. Those women shared the same wilderness. </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">And it’s a wilderness not of their own making
while the whole world watched and none of us have been able to do much to help
them even though we want desperately to and none of us know how much longer
this wilderness is going to last. And if you are tempted to call one
man, one human being by the name of Satan I might not argue with you at this
point.</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We will sing a hymn at the end of the service
that says... "Jesus walked this Lonesome valley. He had to walk it
by Himself....." alone, nobody else walked it for him……….but
it is important to point out that <u>in this scripture today it doesn’t
sound like he was alone out there in the wilderness. </u></span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">He was “led in the wilderness” by the holy
spirit” . He never was really alone. God’s Holy Spirit
was with him the whole time. And that part is important for us to
remember here today. Because as lonesome as our journey into the
wilderness of our own lives gets, we’re never ever alone. Even when
we can’t see God or touch God. </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">We may feel like we’re in a wilderness alone but
I want you to know today that we are never alone there.</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">When we read and absorb Psalm 139 and the words,</span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> We realize this:</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.8pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">O <span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span>, you have
searched me and known me.<br />
<sup>2 </sup>You know when I sit down and when I rise up;<br />
you discern my thoughts from far away.<br />
<sup>3 </sup>You search out my path and my lying down,<br />
and are acquainted with all my ways.<br />
<sup>4 </sup>Even before a word is on my tongue,<br />
O <span style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span>,
you know it completely.<br />
<sup>5 </sup>You hem me in, behind and before,<br />
and lay your hand upon me.<br />
<sup>6 </sup>Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;<br />
it is so high that I cannot attain it.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.8pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><i><sup><span style="background: yellow; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">7 </span></sup></i><i><span style="background: yellow; color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Where can I go from your
spirit?<br />
Or where can I flee from your presence?<br />
<sup>8 </sup>If I ascend to heaven, you are there;<br />
if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.8pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <sup>9 </sup>If I take the wings of the morning </span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.8pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.8pt; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><i><sup><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">10 </span></sup></i><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">even there your hand shall lead me,<br />
and your right hand shall hold me fast.<br />
<sup>11 </sup>If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.8pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> and the light around me become
night,”<br />
<sup>12 </sup>even the darkness is not dark to you;<br />
the night is as bright as the day,<br />
for darkness is as light to you.</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 13.8pt; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Reading this beautiful psalm we come to know
that there is not a place we can go that God has not already been there.</span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And there is no place in our minds, no matter
how dark or dreary or horrible the mood or our state of mind, that God will not
accompany us to. </span></b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">If you’ve been watching any of the television
news of the Ukraine invasion in the last week, you will see that in the midst
of such horrible physical atrocities one country can do to another
physically, there has sprung up another beautiful and hopeful sign
of the resilience of humanity. </span></b></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><span><span> </span></span><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Our planet got a little smaller this week
as the bright blue and yellow of the Ukrainian flag started showing up in
places we’ve never seen it before. </span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><br /></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhp7ha4H5NBgZGY-lVAm19c83o-TGbbMsWLQdMrMDkz6QlTdMuSzTkZE1G0eg9_c2FQcIuawpFZDcgrpoeewZfhR1fAjCqENCycVUOCGkH4e3Zt_Bhzwd2FiJ0MFwDfqUefpSIJ_jkB1XbG_iIGW2q7CYkweeebBbXNEDACxCOH9m0ygAoh46c=s709" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt; font-weight: bold; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="709" data-original-width="463" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhp7ha4H5NBgZGY-lVAm19c83o-TGbbMsWLQdMrMDkz6QlTdMuSzTkZE1G0eg9_c2FQcIuawpFZDcgrpoeewZfhR1fAjCqENCycVUOCGkH4e3Zt_Bhzwd2FiJ0MFwDfqUefpSIJ_jkB1XbG_iIGW2q7CYkweeebBbXNEDACxCOH9m0ygAoh46c=w418-h640" width="418" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span></b><b style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">People were not created to be alone. God took one look at Adam and knew he needed a partner.</span></b></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><b><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">When we close worship today we will sing a
beautiful old Spiritual, “Jesus Walked This Lonesome Valley”. I love
the song and the tune. But as I looked closer to the lyrics in light
of today’s scripture I realize that Jesus wasn’t alone when he went into the
wilderness to be tempted. He was led into that wilderness by the
Holy Spirit. And, in spite of what the song says, we will not walk
the lonesome valley alone. Jesus accompanies us on our own
Journey. We are never alone on our journey. The Triune
God, Creator, Son and Holy Spirit is always with us. </span></b></b></p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><b><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></b><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Let us pray. Holy Brother Jesus, walk
with us on our Journey through the Lenten season as we seek to draw closer to
you. Melt into our minds, hover over our hearts and sustain our
spirits as we seek a deeper relationship with you. Amen.</span></b></p><p></p>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-13140027271131797272020-03-24T09:49:00.002-05:002020-03-24T10:24:59.119-05:00Shadows<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zy5w3E92_I4/Xnjm4YdeW2I/AAAAAAAAC_Q/KS-RhUcUJRs1uQum1hpErdXxsuFSQS1MACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/pooh%2Bgoing%2Bhome.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="768" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Zy5w3E92_I4/Xnjm4YdeW2I/AAAAAAAAC_Q/KS-RhUcUJRs1uQum1hpErdXxsuFSQS1MACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/pooh%2Bgoing%2Bhome.JPG" width="256" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We had to cancel our services at my home church in Winnsboro but I ended up “going
to church” more than ever<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>while being
quarantined for Covid-19.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through the
miracle of electronics I was able to watch a variety of worship
services last Sunday. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are several different ways to do this: some live and some recorded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched one of my former pastors who is now
preaching in Michigan on their church website and it was balm for my soul to hear her reassuring voice again. My other previous home church in Garland had a zoom conference call, kind of an online Passing of the Peace and we ended up spending 30 minutes waving at each other like we were in kindergarten. I watched two or three other churches through a variety of video recordings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Then just in case they were getting it all wrong I went to one of my most trusted sources, a Luthern pastor with a national following who looks nothing like a Lutheran pastor, Nadia Bolz-Weber. And</span> I ended the day by lighting
a candle and watching a Taize’ service broadcast from France. It may be a
silver lining to the cloud of this quarantine that we have found a multitude of
ways to gather as the body of Christ. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Now that I'm on the preaching circuit I'm constantly in search for what others are doing with their own sermons. And the folks preaching from the Revised Common Lectionary on Sunday indulged me by all preaching from the same scripture. There are usually 50 different ways to explain the bible; some better than others and I'm always on the lookout for new insights. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">When we came to Psalm 23 on Sunday </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I immediately honed in on that one phrase:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the
shadow of death, I fear not, for thou art with me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Right now the whole world is in the middle of a sickness that
hovers over us and that threatens all of us with the shadow of death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are all walking in a time of dark
uncertainty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t know when, how, or
even if, this virus will affect our lives. It’s a pretty safe bet the answer is
that it will but the uncertainty of how much is a huge shadow looming over the
valley we walk through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know
about you, but I will admit that I’m a little afraid.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I remind myself of two things:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God is still in charge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The all-powerful God who created the universe, including every star I can see when I look at the darkest night is the same gentle God who knows the scar on my ankle that I got falling off my bike when I was nine years old and was there with me when I got it. This God created everything and loves us more that we can imagine. And God always gets the
last word. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">And I remember a quote from the movie, “The Best Exotic
Marigold Hotel.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hotel manager was
fond of saying “Everything will be alright in the end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if everything is not alright then this is
not yet the end.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Thinking of this gave me the courage to look at the passage
with new eyes and see something I had missed:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>it’s only a <b><i>shadow</i></b>. I stopped being afraid of shadows a
long time ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have no power over
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Once I sorted all this out in my mind I turned off the TV. I sorted through the groceries I have in the house and cancelled my hair appointment. I've got enough DVDs and unread books in my house to last far beyond what I suspect I will need to stay put. I have an excellent connection to the internet. </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">It's spring. I'm going for a walk. </span></span></div>
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Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-78738573527748796562019-08-22T13:00:00.003-05:002021-06-09T15:24:18.204-05:00D Day<div><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;">One of my goals on this trip was to see the D Day beaches. I’ve long held the opinion that any baby boomer who was able to should go to that shore if possible and stand on that beach and say “Thank You.”</span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;">And I am a full-fledged baby boomer. The neighborhood I grew up in was built after the war by mostly veterans and populated by hoards of kids my age conceived as soon as their fathers got home from the war. I knew what branch of service everybody's father had been in and we combined all their old equipment to play with. David and Tommy Russell, next door, had their dad's old Navy hammock and we hung it up between two trees in their backyard for all the kids to lay around in on hot summer days. My school book bag was an old Army green canvas ruck sack that Daddy had brought home.</span><br style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;" /><br style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;" /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;">Beaven's father and his uncles had deferments from the war because the family's wholesale bakery was classified as essential to the war industry and that was fine with Papa Els. My father's reserve position was activated and he was gone so long during the war that my sister didn't know who he was when he got home. There were seven years difference between my sister and myself. It was a long war at my house. But Daddy didn't see much combat except for supervising hospitals behind the lines. </span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;">They say the way to tell a hero is to check the guy in the corner who isn't talking. Most of my father's stories were about hospital administration. He was neither hero nor coward. </span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;">But I learned a lot about heroes on our D Day tour. We caught a bus for a tour outside our hotel. </span></span></div><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><div><span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>The town of Bayeaux, France is packed with history. Their cathedral dates back to William the Conqueror and the 11th century. It is still beautiful after all these years and untouched. Bayeaux is one of the few towns in France that was untouched by World War II mostly because the mayor made sure the allies knew there were no German troops stationed in the town. Then they were the first town liberated after the war so they were never bombed. Consequently, some of the buildings are medieval. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The cathedral is very much like Notre Dame and the other great Gothic icons but in many ways better-- it's smaller and just slightly less grand so not as haughty and intimidating-- a lot more relatable. We walked over on Saturday afternoon and they were starting mass. I lit a candle and sat a while. I felt like part of a congregation instead of a tourist. </span><br />
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<br /><br /><div><span style="background-color: white;">Our guide put us in a small bus and told us some great stories while he drove us to Pointe du Hoc and Omaha beaches and finally to the American Cemetery.</span></div><div>
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The two battlegrounds have very different terrain even though they're only a few miles apart. Pointe du Hoc is a steep cliff and Omaha is a real beach where people sunbathed while their children played in the sand. And, in fact, that day the beach was filled with families playing together when we drove up.<br />
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Growing up in a land-locked city I needed a short lesson on tides. D Day was timed for a day that would have both no tide and a full moon. They had postponed the landing once because of the weather and rough seas. If they didn't go on June 6th they would have had to delay it for months and morale would plummet. <br />
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The guide took us through the strategy and execution of the day. He referred back to the movies Saving Private Ryan and the Longest Day as the two best reference materials on D Day.<br />
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He talked about the bombing prior of the invasion--how they were trying to take out the big guns that would be able to pierce the armor of the battleships and the Higgins boats that would be coming in on D Day. That was an important task before the main event could even start. It was a startling realization 75 years later how rudimentary the technology of the day was compared to what we have now. Even though they could see the 6 guns they wanted to take out it was hit a "hit or miss" method of releasing the bombs: if you over shot your target you could hit the civilians in the town; if you released the bombs too early they would either hit the Allied forces in the water or land useless in the sea itself and not hit anything. <br />
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The craters the bombs left still have pockmarks on the beach.<br />
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In the end what got those guns was the bravery of the men who came in on foot to do the job when the aerial attacks failed. He spoke of a thousand men unloading on the beach every hour. Of the blood in the water and stepping over dead bodies on the beaches. And how as the day wore on how the advantage of the day gradually changed as a thousand men kept coming in every hour.<br />
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Once the troops got past the beach the objective was to get into the town. They were able to land tanks onto the beach to drive into the town but the next obstacle for the tanks was the hedgerows.<br />
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I got to see the hedgerows up close. These are fences made of vegetation.<br />
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I had heard how hard it made it for the tanks to advance beyond the beach and into the town. Now I know why. And I'm not even sure the photos will show; it's something you almost have to see in person. The vegetation is so thick you can't really make out anything. Hedgerows are the most dense foliage I've ever seen in my life.<br />
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Hedgerows weren't something a farmer went out and built one day to keep cows out of his pasture. They developed since medieval times as the farmers plowed everything inside and left the rubble alongside the edge of his property. They are natural fences made of dirt piled up over centuries with trees, vines and brambles growing inside the piles of dirt. Centuries. Centuries of time for foliage and vines and bark and trees to grow and tangle in and around each other. Centuries for a farmer to pile dirt from his field to the edge of his plot of land. A tank would hit the pile of dirt, turn upward and then either fall backwards like a turtle on its back or balance atop the row; either way it was rendered immobile and helpless. Or it would hit a tree so thick it couldn't knock it down.<br />
<br />In person, I was able to see that once the troops made it alive passed the beach, the hedgerows still slowed their progress toward the cities. D Day was not a walk on the beach.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The last stop on our tour was the American Cemetery. We got there at dusk just as they played taps. It wasn't quite the ceremony you might expect for these heroes. The land for the American Cemetery was given to the United States; we own it. But it is operated by a French civilian organization. Taps was played via a recording over the PA system and a civilian lowered the flag respectfully. And that was about all the ceremony.<br />
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<br /></div>But we heard stories.<br />
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We heard that when a relative (now more grand kids than children) comes to visit a grave they get a personal escort who takes them to the grave. (Otherwise, no one is allowed to go to the individual graves. They are roped off.) There at the grave the cemetery personnel have several ceremonies they perform for the family. They are presented with small flags they can either leave at the grave or take home with them. A cemetery representative will rub sand from the beach into the name on the gravestone to make the name show up better. As time goes by the sand dries and blows away but for a few days you can tell that someone has had a relative visit the grave.<br />
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Our guide knew so many stories of the men in the graves that he told us one guy had had family come visit the other day and he sounded almost like it was his own family.<br />
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He told us the story of the town of Bedford, Virginia who lost more men on Utah beach than any one town that day. About a third of the young men in their town died on June 6, 1944.<br />
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And the stories of multiple sons in one family who died. The plot of Saving Private Ryan was based on the Niland brothers. When Robert, Preston and Edward Niland were reported dead the military sent in troops to bring home their sole surviving brother Private Fredrick Niland.<br />
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There was a fascinating story about twins who both died on D Day, one on the beach and one on a battleship. The one who went down on the ship was reported as missing in action and presumed dead. Seventy years later, using modern technology and a lot of detective work a researcher predicted which part of the boat he would have been in, divers found a body and using DNA identified the body as his. His body was recovered and was buried with his brother, becoming the only person to be listed twice in the cemetery, once on the monument as Missing and once in the ground under a gravestone.<br />
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But my own hero is the guy in the corner who never talked about his story. My step-father, Terry Mehaffie, was a lot like my husband--a quiet guy. All he ever said about his time in the war was that he was training to be a paratrooper but shattered his ankle on a practice jump. He spent D Day in the hospital. It was also his birthday. The only complaint he apparently ever made was that he didn't get the extra paratrooper pay because of some technicality.<br />
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But in his last few days of life, well into his 90's, he did very quietly tell that of all the guys in his outfit not one of them survived the day. They were all lost on D Day. Terry only survived because he messed up a practice jump and was in the hospital. He got to go home and have three boys. He got to die in his own bed. And he never spoke of it.<br />
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I don't know how many men are in a platoon. But I do know that war makes men close. There's a lot of talk about survivor's guilt. But it's also kind of sad that Terry never had those guys to reminisce with after the war.<br />
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It's sad that 20 guys from Bedford, Virginia died. And that 20,000 died on D Day. Or 85,000 died in WWII.<br />
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Death is a lonely-maker. Maybe that's why those heroes in the corner are so quiet.<br />
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I did say Thank you at the beach. We went to Pointe du Hoc and Omaha beach and the American Cemetery. Each time I looked out at the water and quietly said "Thank You." I looked up into the sky at Terry Mehaffie's friends and said "Thank You" and the next day I went to the Bayeaux Cathedral and told God "Thank You."<br />
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I am one of those kids who played with left over war goods. My Daddy came home. I get to have Jewish friends. And Muslim friends. I just visited a united Europe and sat in an airport where I was surrounded by five different languages in an atmosphere of peace.<br />
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Thank you to all the men and women who make that possible. <br />
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<br /></div>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-61764892249102693232019-08-15T14:19:00.001-05:002019-08-17T06:07:08.774-05:00The LouvreOf course all visits to Paris must include the best, finest, largest art museum in the world: the Louvre. We knew this. So we prepared. We bought a Paris Museum Pass. This let us "skip the line" in all the other museums, some of which were really, really long. It felt real good. We just sailed past all the other suckers who weren't as savvy as we are and walked right into Saint Chapelle, Musee d'Orsay, Napoleon's Tomb, etc.. etc.....<br />
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But not the Louvre. Oh, no, not the Louvre.<br />
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Not in August.<br />
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The busiest month of the year even Parisiennes go on vacation. And probably half of them are at the Louvre. And, even with the Museum Pass you gotta make reservations to get into the Louvre.<br />
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So we did. The first available entry time was 12:30 of our last day in town.<br />
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Bright and early Thursday morning we got up and on the Metro and out to the museum. We loitered about in town a bit. We had plenty of time. It turns out the regular city bus #69 has a reputation for passing a lot of tourist sights and for the price of just an ordinary bus ride you get to see what the $30 tourist rides show you. Then we stopped for a leisurely lunch in the courtyard at the Louvre. It overlooks the vast staging area for the massive lines. We could tell it would be packed by just looking at the lines.<br />
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There were two lines. The longest was for the unlucky ones who had not bought tickets ahead. That line looked like it took about an hour or two to complete. Our Lucky Line for Special People with the Museum Pass zipped us through without even stopping when 12:30 arrived.<br />
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However, it was a false sense of specialness. Once inside everything came to a dead halt. The building was packed to near gridlock. I've been in some crowded places: two come to mind that I won't bore you with here but this one came close to being elbow to asscheeks.<br />
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The Louvre does its best. They probably consulted the Disney people. I heard that one technique would be to limit our time in front of the Mona Lisa to 20 seconds per person. A tour guide I know timed it on a video. And, for somebody who is not in grad school for art history that's probably enough time. Keep the line moving, folks.<br />
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My first need was a bathroom and I spent over 30 minutes in line. I heard talk of "area 51." OK, maybe that was me but it made sense. I found out later that some women did rebel and barged into the men's room. I enjoyed Beaven's account of the expressions on the mens' faces when this happened.<br />
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By this time Beaven had been standing long enough on his bad leg that he needed to rest. (Guess what girls: Gramps has developed a "bad" leg. He didn't have one when he left home but he does now.) So we went in search of a place to sit and drink a Coke before we started our art loving in earnest. The first Cafe we found had not just a line to get into but I spotted people littered around outside sitting on the floor. eating and drinking. The next one we found was a Starbucks that was just as crowded and doesn't even sell Cokes.<br />
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By this time we had spent an hour inside the Louvre without seeing any actual art.<br />
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And I was starting to notice how crowded the place was. I'm a firm believer that the only real enemy in travel is getting sick. And this is from someone who has had her pocket picked, her billfold stolen and lost her phone. Things can be replaced. But if you feel miserable you lose the experiences of enjoying yourself. And the Louvre was starting to look like the common cold on steroids with a few cases of Ebola thrown in for good measure. I usually start a regime of Vitamin C a week before travel and continue it during and the week after I'm home mostly just because of the airplane germs. There wasn't enough Purell on the planet to combat what I was going to pick up in this place.<br />
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I decided we might need one of those audio guides to tell us what we were seeing after we found ourselves in a room that was itself a work of "art" in that they just scrapped down to underneath the building and found some old ruins of the original city wall and declared that art history. This place was starting to look overwhelming. It was older than Jesus Christ.<br />
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So, we went to the audio guide line and got in line. Three Chinese teenagers broke in front of me but I let it pass for international well-being even though this isn't even my country. But when I finally got to the human I needed to talk to he told me I needed to have a ticket for the audio guide first and needed to go to the "other" place to pay and get a "ticket" then come back to get an actual audio guide.<br />
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Let me pause for a minute and explain something about Beaven to you. I married an introvert. I also gave birth to two introverts. One of whom then gave birth to two more. This means that I am the only extrovert in our entire family. I usually love crowds. I revel in them. A crowd like we faced at the Louvre this day was an occasion for me to party with 1,000 new friends. Let's all see how many different languages we can listen to and try to understand at once! Let's see how many people we can talk to without knowing their language!<br />
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But what good is 50 years of marriage if you can't reach a point where you come to understand what the other person in the marriage is thinking or feeling?<br />
<br />
It was at that moment I realized that I did not have a 50th anniversary gift for my husband. My rock. The guy who can guide me to any point on the planet when I can't find my way out of the garage. Who can forgive my flightiness with the patience of a saint. But a quiet man who hates crowds. And I thought of the perfect gift right there on the spot.<br />
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"Beaven, let's just leave."<br />
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There was a flicker of hope in his eyes.<br />
<br />
"Are you sure? I know how much this means to you."<br />
<br />
"Look around us. This is stupid. No art is worth this."<br />
<br />
And so we left. We didn't even go to the gift shop. Not even a refrigerator magnet.<br />
<br />
We walked out. Got on the Metro and never looked back. And it was marvelous.<br />
<br />
The trip wasn't a total loss. I have come up with a list of four things to make the Louvre a better Museum. I had a lot of time to think while I was waiting in line at the restroom. You can sent the Nobel Prize to my house. If I'm expected to attend the ceremonies I'll have to find someone to go with me besides my family of introverts.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Four Things to Improve the Louvre</b></span></div>
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1. <b>Get rid of the men.</b><br />
Don't allow men inside. This will immediately eliminate not only half of the people but double the available restrooms. Men don't usually want to visit art museums anyway, if they're honest.<br />
<br />
2. <b>Get rid of anyone under 30.</b><br />
They are a nuisance. They move too fast and too much. They laugh and talk too loud. They don't appreciate art any more than the men do. The walk around talking on their phones and wearing clothes ripped at the knees on purpose. It's a waste of floor space to let them in.<br />
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3. <b>Get rid of the marble floors.</b> Replace them with soft carpet. Once the building is inhabited by older women we will tell you our feet hurt. It would cut down on noise, too.<br />
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4. <b>Get rid of the Mona Lisa </b><br />
OK, you don't have to get rid of her, just give her a separate building. Half of the people who come to the Louvre are here just to see her. Moving her to another building will cut the crowd in half again. She's not really that great anyway. She was at da Vinci's bedside when he died which tells you he wasn't finished painting her. Even he wasn't totally happy with the painting. It's too dark.<br />
<br />
I have now cut the crowd into less than one-fourth of the size with only one less painting. Same amount of art, less crowded. The only expense would be new flooring.<br />
<br />
You're Welcome.Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-8680112388124115382019-08-12T07:46:00.006-05:002019-08-14T09:29:30.077-05:00StairsI have had my pocket picked in all the great cities.<br />
<br />
And when I wasn’t a victim I managed to just plain old lose stuff through my own stupidity.<br />
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The classic was losing my camera by way of a roomy pocket and a bright blue Columbia jacket and pink ball cap that all but screamed "Stupid Gringa" in the most crowded building I’ve ever been in at the Guatemala State Fair.<br />
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The last time we visited Napoleon’s tomb in Paris I fell in love with the stairs and spent most of my time photographing them. Followed by leaving the phone containing the snaps on the counter when we bought Metro tickets. By the time I realized my mistake I didn’t think there was much point in going back to see if the phone was still there. The photos were lost.<br />
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So, the first thing I wanted to do in Paris was get a re-do on my Napoleon pictures.<br />
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The guy does not disappoint. I understand he’s inside about six coffins.<br />
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As I looked around I realized there’s not an inch of wood anywhere to be seen the entire building is stone. Most likely all marble. But remembering it was the stairs I came to see I made sure to get those snaps. Clearly this Napoleon fellow was important.<br />
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I love stairs. I love the way they look. I love the feel of walking them. OK- maybe not so much for myself now that I’ve gotten older but I love the graceful action of a young person walking up stairs. I love that scene in Gone with the Wind when Rhett Butler grabs Scarlett O’Hara and carries her upstairs. I know how to build a basic stair and know the formula of 6 inches of rise for 7 inches of run. </div>
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We just left Amsterdam where those people don’t seem to grasp that concept or they use their available space under another somewhat twisted manner because they use something like 9 inches rise and 3 inches run which is a lot more like a ladder than anything you would carry a woman up to ravish her. No-- they guys who built Napoleon’s tomb knew what they were doing. These steps were made for ball gowns and gliding gracefully up and down.</div>
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I love the ancient stone steps that have been ground down by centuries of feet carrying just enough sand crystals to add their own slight swipe of sanding. I’ve climbed the tower in Pisa made of the same soft marble Michaelangelo used to carve the David. By my definition I think this qualifies me to say that I have carved Carrera marble, however microscopically. </div>
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The other thing stairs do for me lately is remind me my knees and lungs still work. </div>
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Seriously. I’m at the age where my list of dear friends who have left me for a better life with the angels is growing and I miss them. And I always think of Linda McCormick when I climb stairs. She had both knees replaced and by the time her knees got better her lungs gave out and finally it all went south for her. I realize with each 6 inch rise that I have been given a gift that Linda is missing. I may huff and puff sometimes but I still appreciate the mere fact that I’m here. </div>
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Maybe this is how I will get to heaven. Yes. This is how I would like to go.</div>
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Amen.</div>
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<span class="rangySelectionBoundary" id="selectionBoundary_1565614222414_7479934072867067" style="display: none; line-height: 0;"></span>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-25314868513504905892019-08-10T12:12:00.003-05:002019-08-10T12:53:49.077-05:00Brussels<p>Our last real meal in Dallas was our traditional TexMex at El Fenix on our way to the airport. That was Wednesday. Today is Saturday. In the ensuing time we have not had a real meal that our mothers would approve. Fortunately, both of our mothers have gone to the Great PTA meeting in the Sky. We’ve had several each of crepes, waffles, Belgian fries, croissants, gelatos, and pancakes. Beaven has had one beer whose name he can’t pronounce and I have drowned myself in the freshest orange juice you can imagine. For breakfast I operated the machine myself and cut two oranges for my first glass then went back for a second glass. OK, our mothers would probably approve of the orange juice.</p><p></p><p></p><p><br></p><p><span id="selectionBoundary_1565457046061_0184629541098964" class="rangySelectionBoundary" style="line-height: 0; display: none;"></span><br></p>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-66047105997026986752019-08-09T10:15:00.005-05:002019-12-20T08:56:24.361-05:00MuseumoramaForgive me if this is a little disjointed. I’m working off an iPad zipping along on a train that only has WiFi when the neighborhood it travels through allows. Editing is going to be hard<br />
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Our trip starts in Amsterdam with the Stedlijk museum of modern art Then we hit the biggest one Rijkstadt for the classic Dutch masters the dear Van Gogh and finally we visited Anne Frank's house.<br />
<br />Amsterdam is the place to go when you want to pick up a few more of the classic paintings you may have missed in other places. And I had an extra one I was very curious to see in person<br />
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I’ll grant you your own taste in art. But this chick has captured me. It’s called Lady with a Brain and Marie Lessnig has even more entrancing art in the museum. One of my tricks when I visit museums is find books in the gift shop then order them from Amazon. Which I did. My book on Lessnig<br />
will be waiting for me when I get home and I don’t have to schlepp it in my suitcase through the next two weeks.<br />
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The Lady with a Brain is one of those paintings that just reaches out and grabs you and won’t let go. It's been on my friend Debbie's Facebook page since her son came to Amsterdam earlier this summer. He even brought her home a postcard. The minute I saw this painting I knew I had to see it in person when I had the chance. And here I was. She did not disappoint.<br />
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Once we had the first museum out of the way I reverted to a technique Elizabeth and I developed years ago. You might call it the Cliffnotes of museum visiting. Stop by the gift shop BEFORE going inside. This helps you hone in on what you want to see and not waste valuable time on other paintings. Our theory is "If your art isn’t good enough for a refrigerator magnet why should I walk all over your hard marble floors to find it."<br />
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Thus armed with my remedial Art History 101 trick we went to check out the next two museums. I discovered to some horror that the Dutch Masters were a bunch of chauvinist pigs. One of their<br />
biggest and most famous Rembrandt paintings-- not the big one but a lesser painting--depicted them meeting about their administration of a women’s prison. Women were. jailed for stealing or begging and forced to spin fabric for them.<br />
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I am always shocked to find that Beaven enjoys art, too. We spent a little time looking for his favorite then we both heard a pastry calling our name.<br />
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After what some might call dessert but we considered lunch we had a timed entry to the Anne Frank House. You weren’t allowed to take pictures but I have developed a technique for which I do NOT apologize because I AM A JOURNALIST. There really and truly things that people need to see and jus because they can’t go there themselves I provide a photo.<br />
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And for some reason the photo I took isn’t loading. It was the yellow Star of David patch that all Jews were required to wear on their clothes. Required. They had one ondesplay in Anne Frank’s house. The house her family had to hide in for three years. And remain silent during the day because downstairs was a business with people coming and going. Three years for fear of their lives.<br />
Pretend there’s a picture here<br />
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Here. Here it is This really happened. The German Government forced some of their own citizens to wear an identifying patch on their clothes to set them apart. To deny them full inclusion in society. To degrade them because of their religion.<br />
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And I want to say that we’re in danger of something similar happening again.<br />
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THEN to touch my last nerve a couple of teenagers came into the room where we had lined up to see the actual diary the line was so long and the room so small that the line had the curve around. Maybe if you were a teenager not paying attention to ANYTHING THEY HAD SEEN IN THE ENTIRITY OF THE HOUSE SO FAR they might not have slowed down enough to notice there was a line. At any rate they cut in line right in front of me. Never one to make a fuss I waited. But they they started laughing and joking and moving around too fast for me. I reached out and tapped one on the shoulder. "Where are you girls from?" That seems to focus them and they said they were from Washington DC. I said I bet there were a lot of museums there. Small talk ensued to keep them focused on talking to me. I ended with "you know a lot of people consider this place to be sacred ground." And I got zero response from them. Nothing. Nada.<br />
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I despair.<br />
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<br />Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-54991472521447915522019-08-06T07:21:00.006-05:002019-08-10T12:56:00.298-05:00A Trip 50 Years in the Making<p>Leaving: Tuesday August 6, 2019<br>
When we married in November of 1969 we went to Mexico City on our honeymoon. And we’ve been traveling ever since. We took our kids camping in tents then a pop-up trailer. Then a cruise. And when everybody got older a couple of years ago the ETC (Els Thomas Carrell) clan went to Europe together. </p><p>And while it’s great to take your teenaged granddaughter to Europe it wasn’t the experience two seasoned travelers want, either. As we sat there in a McDonald’s in Paris I looked at Beaven and said the next time let’s just you and me go. I’m ready to just travel alone. <br>
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So now we’re back to a honeymoon. And this time we have the benefit of 50 years worth of experience in knowing each other like the back of our hand (and still thinking that person is wonderful) of knowing that we travel well together, pack in synch, of finding wonder in new things and appreciation in the beauty of the classics.</p><p>
I know what buttons we will push. He will walk ahead of me in a crowd. I will linger when we’re on a tight schedule.</p><p><br>
We are traveling to five cities in 14 days taking one single carry-on each. I am the queen of packing light. I also don’t mind wearing the same clothes for 2 weeks. We have plans for 3 museums in Amsterdam alone and a couple of tours in Paris that some may not know about but I’ve always wanted anted to see--like the Sewer tour. Who needs the Eiffel Tower when you can visit an abandoned sewer? My Waffle Workshop in Belgium got cancelled but that won’t keep us from eating them nonstop and, possibly most important-- the real bucket list item, the main reason to go: I want to visit the D Day Beaches. I’ve long held the opinion that any Baby Boomer worth their salt needed to go to that place and stand there and say "Thank You." <br>
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We’ve spent a year planning this trip. Come along as I add photos to this scrapbook of a blog<br>
</p>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-82551610682776125162019-06-20T08:28:00.000-05:002019-12-20T08:30:10.144-05:00Danger! Baptism Ahead!<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">I’ve had the
utter privilege of hanging around in one congregation for over 30 years and
watching a generation and a half pass before me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of the folks I know at my previous
church home have been here for five generations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their roots go deep and they wouldn’t dream
of being anywhere else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is their
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is their family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s easy for a new member to feel like
family in this atmosphere.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">If I were to
preach <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>on the occasion of a Baptism I
would want to grab everyone by the collar and warn them:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Be careful!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Be very careful!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What you are
about to do will change you for the rest of your life.”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">For sure,
baptism changes the child we put the water on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But the congregation?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How?</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">In a
Presbyterian congregation there is a section of the baptism where the
congregation answers this question: “Do you, as members of the church of Jesus
Christ, promise to guide and nurture, (calling the child by name) by word and
deed, with love and prayer? And the congregation then answers “yes.”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Then another
question”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Will you encourage (calling
the child by name again)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>to know and
follow Christ and to be faithful members of his church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, the congregation answers. “yes.”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">This is
dangerous territory, folks!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are
promising to love this kid!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, guess
what?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re also promising to teach a
Sunday School class or two, or , at least a Vacation Bible School session or—at
the <b><i>very</i></b> least bake some cookies for it. Now, how are you feeling
about that baptism?</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Now, add the
fact that this is an <b><i>infant</i></b>—a <b><i>total stranger</i></b> and
you have no idea who this kid is going to turn out to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could end up a serial murderer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe something else you might have a problem with like a member of another political party (gasp!)….or....gay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yeah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then where are your
baptismal vows?</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Because that’s
what I watched unfold at that church where I hung around for well over a
generation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I watched the most
beautiful, array of love-waves wash up on the shore. It usually happened around college. Someone we had know their entire life would let it be known they were gay. This news would be received by the First Presbyterian Church of Garland with a giant
wave of love and support. Because they had know this kid all their life. And nothing changes that kind of love. Then a few years later, the same thing happened with another kid. The same giant wave of love. Then another kid and another wave of love. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">It was
an example of what my trans friend Jeff (<i>nee</i> Jennifer) told me years ago
when he was in the process of coming out, “When you know someone’s name you
cannot hate them.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was explaining the
AIDS Quilt Project in Washington, DC. The more you know about someone, the less
likely you are to let labels get in the way.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">In a church
congregation, especially a close one, when you have watched someone from birth—when
you have attended their baptism—their coming out can be simply new information akin
to changing their major in college or being left-handed.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The baptismal promises still stand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if it is hard for you....well,
the promises still stand. You might need to go sit a spell and think things
through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those promises will still be there
when you are finished thinking.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">When we
baptize babies we don’t know how their life will unfold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t know if they are going to grow into outstanding examples or criminals or schizophrenics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Or just ordinary, taxes-paying, TV-watching, God-loving, still-sinning ordinary people. </span>But we say “yes” to the promises anyway and
pray to God that we will find a way to love them if it ever becomes hard for us to
do.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">There is very little we’re ever going to be able to change about other
people and science has told us over and over that we can’t <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>change their sexual orientation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our best bet is to change our own attitude;
try to get a better one.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Any kid, the most ordinary vanilla variety of kid will break your heart without meaning to. They will do insanely stupid things; make gargantuan out of the box decisions they will regret or have random accidents that aren't their fault. In any ordinary congregation with teenagers you are almost guaranteed a visit to the ICU waiting room for some sort of accident involving a teenager. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Anyone who hangs around teenagers is promised to have their heart broken at least once for something they can't control.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">At baptism
we are handed a wrapped package that we get to open a little bit each
day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re not allowed at any point to
grab the wrapping paper and start wrapping the kid back up and say “wait, this is not turning out the way I wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s
wrap you back up and put you back under the tree.”</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">The next
time you walk into church and see a baptism on the schedule at church, you
might want to think twice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Run for the
hills if you like. Or stay and gird your loins.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Stay like I
did and watch someone’s life unfold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Help
in the nursery. Teach Sunday School. Buy all the fundraisers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Send graduation gifts or cards. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look them in the eyes</span><span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and tell them you are proud of them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be part of their lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be brave.</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 107%;">Oh, and for
Pepa,--- She was baptized, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And her baptism
transferred to every church in Christendom wherever she finds herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Yo</span>ur care extends as though that baptism happened in your own sanctuary. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-55473958778178586892018-08-09T17:12:00.000-05:002019-06-26T23:56:11.159-05:00Life in the Fast Lane<span style="font-family: "calibri";">OK, so I set the pasture on fire
yesterday but it’s out now and that’s the main thing isn’t it?</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I mean, “All’s well that ends well” dontcha
know?</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yesterday was supposed to be an easy day.<span style="margin: 0px;"> The only two things I really had scheduled was a visit to the old folks' home and a doctor's appointment to check on my broken ankle. </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I started out with the exercise class at the retirement
home.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Becky and I decided we would make
that an easy way to do outreach for our church and so we would join in with the
class to get to know our members who live there. How hard can an exercise class
at the old folks home be? Becky walks 10 miles a day and she figured it would
be a piece of cake.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It turns out the
class is harder than you would think.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It’s
run by a physical** blinking** therapist. We spent a good hour moving just about
every body part that would move and some that I’m not sure were designed to
move and I was frankly beat afterwards.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Then, to be extra healthy I went to the gym and ran through
the circuit training a couple of times because I had just signed up earlier in
the week and I’m still on that "commitment high" that will fade in two
weeks.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I went home thoroughly exercised and ready to just rest for
the remainder of the day.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Then I noticed it was going to rain for the rest of the week
and I had plans to treat my bees for the dreaded varroa mite but first I needed
to harvest just one more frame of honey from each hive.<span style="margin: 0px;"> I wanted to get as much as I could from this year's harvest because it was an especially tasty year. </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I expected it to be easy.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Just bop in, get the frame, put it in a
plastic tub, thank the bees and leave.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>No biggie. I wasn’t even going to harvest the honey.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Just get the frames and let them sit in the
box until I was ready. I didn't even take my cell phone for photos. I didn't even wear my glasses.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Then I would take a nap until the doctor's appointment.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I had a very relaxing day planned.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I lit the smoker and took the lid to the hive off but after a few puffs the
smoker went out.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As I kept pumping it to
get it going I noticed the wire of the base got caught in my bee suit. A flaw—either
in the smoker or in the bee suit. I made a mental note:<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>these smokers are dangerous.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S8BO1Vb_rHA/W2yyxti2GzI/AAAAAAAAC3g/dy_YMhCPfE0Wn7NUmcU-uOQl_e-5xYfSwCLcBGAs/s1600/smoker.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-S8BO1Vb_rHA/W2yyxti2GzI/AAAAAAAAC3g/dy_YMhCPfE0Wn7NUmcU-uOQl_e-5xYfSwCLcBGAs/s1600/smoker.JPG" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We had bought the new
and improved kind of bee suits with holes that are ventilated—bee suits can get
really hot and these new ones have puffy holes that the bee’s stingers can’t
reach past even though air can flow through them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Very high tech.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But very poor design for getting your smoker
caught in them.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I spent a little time untangling
my smoker from my bee suit.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I picked up some more pine needles and stuffed them loosely
in the smoker.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I didn’t need much smoke
since I was only after a single frame of honey.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>It wasn’t like I was going to do a full inspection of the hive.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Honestly, I didn’t intend to spend that much
time.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I took my blow torch and lit the
smoker again.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-joik8uAbvmI/W2yy-qvg-II/AAAAAAAAC3k/sxDatONnv6sTwtfU39B7gXvSqaJxZKRKACLcBGAs/s1600/torch.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-joik8uAbvmI/W2yy-qvg-II/AAAAAAAAC3k/sxDatONnv6sTwtfU39B7gXvSqaJxZKRKACLcBGAs/s1600/torch.JPG" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We have stopped using matches—too wimpy—a blow torch is
really the only way to go when you’re lighting a smoker.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>One flick of a blow torch and you’ve got the
smoker lit.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Voila!<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I had great gobs of flames –flames shooting
out of the top of the smoker, spilling out of the top.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I tried to shut the lid while I pumped it to
get smoke and this only produced more flames.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Now I noticed the smoker was tangled in the bee suit again and this time
the flames shooting out of the smoker looked a lot more ominous to me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="margin: 0px;">This was the point at which I said to myself, "Girl, you are a-bout to set your self on fire." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="margin: 0px;">I thought about that for about one second. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I turned the smoker over to get a better look
at the wire cage where it was caught in the bee suit and flaming pine needles
spilled out of the top of the smoker onto the dry ground. By the time I
untangled the smoker I noticed the grass was on fire.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I started trying to stomp the fire out and
noticed it had surrounded the propane torch which I figured was probably explosive,
so I decided to avoid it and go stomp out flames in another area since the fire
was spreading in several directions and I had my choices of places to stomp.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My bee’s hives are at the fence line between our grassy
pasture and my neighbors’ woods.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>On the
other side of their woods is their beautiful house, barn and valuable horses—nothing
you want to burn down.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>If I was going to
save anything it needed to be the woods.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Fortunately I had driven the riding mower out to the hives
since I’m still limping around from the broken ankle so I drove over to get the
garden hose.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Emily has started a
butterfly garden nearby and has a garden hose but it wasn’t long enough to
reach so<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I had to drive around to find another
hose and dig it out of the underbrush.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I
finally took my bee suit off while I was at it.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I figured the bees were busy with their own problems by now since the
ground around them was ablaze and I might not need the suit anymore.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Back at the fire I connected the hose but only got a trickle
of water. The hose I had connected had been run over by a mower years ago and
had multiple holes in it.<span style="margin: 0px;"> There was more water coming out of these holes than the end of the hose, forming a sprinkler of sorts--not much for fire fighting. </span>So I ditched
that hose and went up to the house to get another one.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>By now I realized it was time to get my phone
while I was at it and call the fire department.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We live on the county line and it’s always a toss-up as to who
we get when we 911. It’s also hard to tell them where we live.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Our house is in Wood County but our mailing
address is in Hopkins County.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The Winnsboro
fire department used to know where we live.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>We went through a spell about 20 years ago when we were still clearing
the land and had to call them about once a year, one time twice in one
day.<span style="margin: 0px;"> Those were</span> the good old days, “Yeah,
lady, we know where you live.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">But this day I ended up with the Coke-Pleasant Grove
volunteers who had no idea where to come. Our mailbox is nowhere near where the
fire was. They called me on my cell and asked where the fire was...…..they could see the smoke but couldn't find a gate into our field. This was mostly because they were on the wrong road so I ended up having to drive out
to the county road to meet them and guide them out to the neighbors’ house and
into the woods.<span style="margin: 0px;"> After I got off the phone with them I called the doctor's office and told them I wouldn't be able to make my 3 o'clock appointment because my pasture was on fire. Fortunately I have the doctor on speed dial because I'm old and old people live this way. "Did I want to re-schedule?" she asked. I told her I would have to think about it later when the ground beneath me wasn't ablaze. </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">By the time I was able to meet up with the fire truck <span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">I had managed to put out the grass fire in our
pasture and the fire in the underbrush was moving very slowly towards the
neighbor’s house.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> </span> I guided them through the neighbor's front yard and into the woods that separate us. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">There were about three men and one women. The woman told me to go home and drink some water and lay down while they took
care of the fire.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Less than five minutes
later she called me to say the fire was out and make sure I was OK. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">When I went out this morning to check on the bees I was
delighted to see the boxes intact--<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>the
thing could have been so much worse; frames of wood and b<span style="margin: 0px;">eeswax. You know they make candles out of that stuff.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CEocRBz-O-c/W2y33FHkmOI/AAAAAAAAC38/X3Fj5_vZBiw-7ZAe8S-L1hOoQln6MKcMQCLcBGAs/s1600/hives.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: left; color: #0066cc; float: left; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-right: 16px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CEocRBz-O-c/W2y33FHkmOI/AAAAAAAAC38/X3Fj5_vZBiw-7ZAe8S-L1hOoQln6MKcMQCLcBGAs/s320/hives.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DE5vz_4Kyzk/W2y3cHr6-qI/AAAAAAAAC30/caI-8gel2dg1hRh47h-ffOJVVXPMQT9CgCLcBGAs/s1600/hive.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DE5vz_4Kyzk/W2y3cHr6-qI/AAAAAAAAC30/caI-8gel2dg1hRh47h-ffOJVVXPMQT9CgCLcBGAs/s320/hive.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="margin: 0px;"><u></u><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CEocRBz-O-c/W2y33FHkmOI/AAAAAAAAC38/X3Fj5_vZBiw-7ZAe8S-L1hOoQln6MKcMQCLcBGAs/s1600/hives.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">There are hundreds of dead bees
on the ground below the entrance. Yet of the remaining 9,000 or so bees I saw several
carrying pollen into the hive like nothing had happened.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I won’t be taking any more honey this
year.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And if you get a jar from me for
Christmas you should be impressed.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The
2018 crop was an experience.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I did take a jar to my neighbor-sort of a peace offering.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She is still speaking to me.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri"; margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">In fact, she says the honey is delicious.</span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span>Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-13614180218471071062018-06-06T08:11:00.001-05:002018-06-06T08:11:32.591-05:00Remembering Robert Kennedy's DeathI can still remember vividly how I felt when Robert Kennedy died. I knew it was coming. He had been shot the night before. There was only a slim chance he would survive the head injury. I had to go to work all day knowing the world had changed yet again. It was the spring from hell. Martin Luther King had been killed just two months before and we were only beginning to recover from JFK's death. It was too much. Too much. I worked all day in a daze and came home to my apartment on Live Oak in Dallas. I didn't say a word to my roommate, changed immediately and walked to the pool and dove into the water with the intention of never coming out of the water. I wanted to stay down there forever. It seemed the only safe place, where there was no sound, no TV or news. I didn't want any new information. <br />
<br />
It seemed like all the heroes were gone. All the good guys who could tell us what was the right thing to do, the good and honorable and decent thing to do; they were all gone now. What direction did we turn now? <br />
<br />
The summer of 1968 was bad. Except for getting engaged, it was the worst summer of my life.<br />
<br />
Beaven was working at the TV station and saw the raw footage of the Democratic convention and told me the stuff they couldn't show on TV was pretty bad. The college kids were mad as hell and throwing feces at the cops. It seemed like the country was going to explode.<br />
<br />
Yet here we are today. By golly, here we are. We've survived Viet Nam and Watergate and September 11. We landed on the moon and outlasted AIDS. And sometimes I want to dive into a swimming pool and block out the sounds of the world around me. <br />
<br />
I really don't have much choice. About the only thing I control is that I can vote. I can post on facebook and share my opinions. But the only real tangible thing I can do that will change anything is voting. <br />
<br />
And smiling at the check out stand at the grocery store. I can do that. That counts for a lot.Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14945452.post-36109460067109060822018-04-04T13:13:00.001-05:002018-04-04T13:13:54.139-05:00Rodney Phillips was my Friend
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Rodney Phillips was my friend.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the 50<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> anniversary of the death of Martin
Luther King I feel compelled to say that.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>I can’t get it out of my mind and I have a feeling I won’t rest until I
tell the world that simple fact.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So
there I ‘ve said it and now in 2018 through the miracle of the internet I’ve
said it to a lot more people than I was able to say it to at the bus stop in
1965--the time I should have said it.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>When it would have mattered.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I was in high school I was in a creative writing group
that met at the Dallas Public Library and was led by Miss Siddie Joe Johnson,
the head of the library system.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Miss
Johnson was a published author of several children’s books and much in demand
as a creative writing teacher.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>She had
only one condition:<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>the class had to be
integrated.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In 1963 in Dallas none of the high schools were
integrated.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Nothing was.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So that was where I met Rodney Phillips, a
negro boy my age who went to Booker T. Washington High School.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This was before that school was named a Performing
Arts school where Erykah Badu became famous. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Rodney stayed to himself in the writing class and I didn’t
know much about him other than his writing style was way out there.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Where most of us wrote poetry Rodney was into
short stories and wild fantasy despite Miss Johnson’s admonitions to us all to “write
what you know.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One evening after class <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Rodney and I walked to the bus stop together
to wait for our separate busses going to our very different parts of town to
our very different homes.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>As we waited
we continued our conversation about school or writing or whatever we had been
talking about in class.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>It was a very
natural thing for us to do:<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>two students
the same age with the same interests.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As we stood there a man approached us and asked me, “is this
boy bothering you?”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I was so taken back
and knew immediately what was going on.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>So many thoughts and words swirled through my mind that all I could
think to say was a simple “no.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And that
was it.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I immediately wished that I had said “No, he’s my friend.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But the moment was over.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Rodney, of course, understood.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We were both mindful that in other cities, in
other moments, the guy could have, might have, pulled Rodney aside and beat him
to a pulp or worse. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s over 50 years later and sometimes I despair that we
haven’t made any progress at all.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In
many ways people are meaner to each other than ever before.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But I do know one thing: <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>racial identity will eventually
disappear.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>There is too much
intermarriage to believe otherwise.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Racial
purity is a thing of the past and eventually everyone will be the same skin
tone.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So people are going to have to
find another way to identify the folks they are going to hate.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the meantime, I’m afraid I lost track of Rodney after
high school.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He was interested in
dancing as much as writing and he had a dancer’s body and moves.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I hope he found a way to pursue his
passions.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>He was my friend. </span></div>
Janehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10657703172332398915noreply@blogger.com0