It had rained and then grown cold overnight. The sun rose on a frosty landscape, turning the front yard of the home place into a sculpture of sparkling winter jewels. Dee Anna had awakened before daylight, missing Madeline. She wondered what was happening in Little Big Foot, finding it strange to wake up on a Sunday morning and have nothing to prepare for, no expectations, and no sermon notes to review.
After spending some time looking at the silvery scene outside the window, she had settled back into bed and pulled up the blankets. “Good morning, Lord. Thank you for the beautiful scene outside. I guess it’s church for us today.” She sighed. “If I’m honest, and I might as well be since you know it already, I’m not exactly looking forward to it.” She turned over in the bed and fluffed the pillow, picturing the little church in which she had grown up, remembering it as a good place for a child but later seeing it as too rigid, too legalistic, and just too small-town.
A memory of a long-ago visiting preacher swam into focus. It had been a week of summer revival meetings and the preacher had pretty much roasted the congregation at every sermon. Dee Anna, aged thirteen, had disliked him on sight, and she would have chosen to stay home, but her parents would not hear of it. Phil played sick, she recalled. How had he fooled them? He sure didn’t fool me!
After the first service of the week, she had overheard the visiting evangelist berating the pastor’s wife for wearing “earbobs.” That good woman had obediently removed them for the duration of the week. Dee Anna figured that the preacher was proud of himself for straightening out Sister Ellis. Dee Anna shook her head a little, recalled that the earrings had returned the next Sunday after the preacher had departed. Then she recalled the good things Lupita had recently shared with her about the congregation’s kindness to her family, the assistance the pastor had given, and even how her mother had been a blessing. She actually thinks my mom is a wonderful person and that it was a compliment to me to say how like her I am! Ah, if Lupita only knew how many ways I tried not to be like my mother.
“Oh, I give up!” she exclaimed and sat up. “Dear God, I pray for a good day with the family, and for a heart that is focused on you and ready to worship. Be with my little Madeline today, and the people at North Woods Chapel. Be with Daddy this morning and continue to heal him.”
Half an hour later, she was mixing pancake batter in the kitchen, singing a song she had not thought of in years.
This world is not my home,
I’m just a passin’ through,
My treasures are laid up,
Somewhere beyond the blue,
The angels beckon me from Heaven’s open door…
As Ricky Rooster crowed loudly, she burst out laughing. “Oh man, I have reverted to a Texas church lady in one week! Someone rescue me!”
“Don’t look at me for help!”
She whirled around, a little embarrassed. Phil had spent the night in his apartment, promising to return for breakfast with his mother and sister, which was one way to let them know he would attend church with them too. Now he stood in the doorframe, grinning at her with affection. “I mean, look at me. I’m wearing a western shirt and boots and I admit to having a cowboy hat in my car trunk.” He moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a bowl of eggs. “Those hens do lay some good eggs!”
As his sister flipped pancakes in a vintage 1960 electric skillet, Phil scrambled eggs at the stove. Soon they were both singing with exaggerated country twangs.
O Lord, You know,
I have no friend like you,
If Heaven’s not my home,
Oh Lord, what would I do?
The angels beckon me from Heaven’s open door,
And I can’t feel at home in this world anymoooooore.
Like their father, both of them had nice singing voices and they were happily aware of the sunshine, the fragrance of coffee and pancakes, and of each other’s company. How far we have come in a few days, thought Dee Anna. So much different from how it seemed at the airport. Phil even looks different. Thank you, God, for your goodness in bringing Phil and me together again.
“How can a woman sleep with all this racket!”
As their mother entered the kitchen, Phil and Dee Anna both turned toward her, feeling guilty. Then they saw that she was smiling. They exhaled at the same time, and both smiled back at her, surprised.
“Just like your daddy, singing away at th’ crack o’ dawn! She pulled plates from the drain rack by the sink and placed them on the table. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you two,” she went on,” but Dr. Martin called last night when y’all were at your Uncle Chuck’s house. Your daddy is coming home today. “
________
On the back seat of Bernice’s Buick, Dee Anna’s cell phone played Ode to Joy. She quickly picked it up, looking at the display. “Oh, it’s Jim Johnson calling. He’s one of the North Woods Chapel deacons,” she said to the two in the front seat.
“Hello?...Oh, yes…It is good to hear your voice, Jim. Thank you for thinking of us…Please tell the people at the church how much all of us appreciate their prayers for my father and the family. He is doing amazingly well...Yes, I think so. He’s coming home today and I’ll be able to fly out in a day or so, I expect…Sounds like Madeline is having fun at Dana Sullivan’s place, and Tom and Brenda told me their kids want to adopt Charlie!…Yes, I heard you all had quite a snow since I’ve been down here…Of course…Greet Lorene for me….I sure will!…Yes, bye now.”
“Sis, do you know how annoying it is to drive down the street listening to one half of a cell phone conversation?” Phil griped good-naturedly.
“Just hurry up,” snapped Bernice, “ We’re gonna be late for church. Some things never change with you two!”
In the back seat, Dee Anna turned off her cell phone and placed it in her purse, wondering why her mother’s words, while a little sharp, held no sting for her. Something has happened, that’s for sure. It’s not like she’s become all sweetness and light, but…” A sudden jerk of the car and Phil’s voice, swearing, abruptly interrupted her thoughts. “Sorry, Mom, “said Phil. “That just slipped out. I was afraid that idiot was gonna run the stop sign.”
Yes, not all is sweetness just yet, but that's all right. Dee Anna laughed softly and leaned forward to pat her brother’s shoulder. “And on Sunday too!” she teased. Phil replied, “Well, I am sorry. I’m trying to do better, and mostly I am.”
Even Bernice had a tiny smile playing on her lips as they pulled into the parking lot of the church. ___________
Entering the little foyer, they were immediately greeted by a plump and pretty Hispanic woman about Bernice’s age. Her eyes sparkled, and she held out her hands in welcome. With secret amusement, Dee Anna noted that she was wearing bright red earrings. Some things do change.
“Oh Bernice, I am so glad to see you this morning, and with both of your children!” The woman smiled broadly. “Good morning, Phil. Nice to meet you at last! And this is Dee Anna! I have heard so much about you! Your mama and daddy sure are proud of you.” Before Dee Anna could absorb that remark, the woman patted her cheeks, exclaiming, “You are just as striking as your beautiful mother.” She went on, “You two don’t remember me. That is okay. I am Deloris Garcia. Lupita is my daughter.”
Phil smiled a little nervously, and Dee Anna finally spoke, “Ah! I should have known. It is lovely to see you, Mrs. Garcia. I was happy to get reacquainted with Lupita over at the hospital. You must be proud of her.”
Bernice gave Deloris a hug, and Phil and Dee Anna glanced at each other in surprise. Their mother did not hug people. Well, not that either of them could remember. Mrs. Garcia gave both of them a church bulletin and a Welcome Visitor card. Dee Anna noticed that the picture on the front of the card was of two men in suits and ties, shaking hands. I’ll bet there’s still plenty of women in this place. Wonder when they will get into the Twentieth Century? As Lupita came around the corner, Dee Anna was immediately sorry for her critical thoughts.
“Oh, good morning, all of you!” Lupita’s face lit up in a smile even broader than her mother’s had been, and she immediately gave Bernice a hug, which appeared to be warmly returned. Two hugs for Mom in less than a minute? What is going on? thought Dee Anna, now completely astonished. Lupita nodded at Phil, who still had not uttered a word. She reached out for Dee Anna’s hands as she said happily, “I am so glad I am not working today. I wanted to be there when your daddy was discharged, but I wanted to be here with all of you in church even more!”
Before long, three more people had greeted Dee Anna and Phil, and Lupita had introduced them to two of her brothers. As they entered the sanctuary, Dee Anna saw that a plaster nativity set sat on a back table and a small artificial tree stood in a corner. How long since I was here?
She had no time to think about it as several people they knew greeted them warmly and asked about their father. Phil was looking acutely uncomfortable, and Dee Anna slid into a wooden pew and beckoned to him. Uncle Chuck, their mother’s brother, waved to them from the sound booth. They waved back, and just as they were about to sit down, a tall middle-aged man approached with the unmistakable air of a man in charge.
“Good morning, how nice to have you here with us today.” Glancing at Phil he questioned, “It’s Phil, right?”
“Yes sir” They shook hands.
“I am Pastor Daniel Wallace. And you are Bernice and Bud’s daughter? Dee Anna? It is Pastor Dee Anna, correct?”
Dee Anna nodded. “I haven’t been here for some time. I remember Pastor Don Ellis was still here when I was home last.”
The organist, an elderly woman Dee Anna remembered teaching in the Children’s Church long ago, began to play, and Pastor Wallace said to Dee Anna, “I’ll have you greet the folks,” as he moved away and headed to the platform.
Greet the folks? Oh…what to say? What do they know about me? Too much, no doubt! Phil was grinning mischievously, and he whispered, “I’m glad you are the preacher in the family and not me! I’m just a plain ol’ prodigal son!” Dee Anna gave him a small push as their mother entered the pew with a disapproving look.
“Y’all shush up now. I taught you how to behave in church!”
“Yes, Ma’am,” whispered Phil and Dee Anna.
The service proceeded with a prayer, a worship chorus, two hymns, and one Christmas carol. As the offering plates were being passed, Pastor Wallace announced, “We are so happy to hear that our dear Brother Bud is doing well and will be coming home from the hospital today.” There was a general murmur of approval, a couple of “Praise the Lord” exclamations, and several heads turned in the direction of Bernice and her children. “It is a joy to have the family with us today. Both the children, Phil and Dee Anna, are here. Of course, they are new to me, but I realize many of you have known them for years. Dee Anna is pastoring a church. We are all proud of you, Pastor Dee Anna. Would you like to greet the folks?”
Greet the folks…here it is… Dee Anna was feeling like she had travelled back in time. The small piano and the electric organ were the same, and each stood exactly where it had the last time she was here. There were new faces, true, but the missions map was still featured on the back wall, the same songs were sung, the same offering plates passed. Dee Anna felt about ten years old and for a moment she wanted to sink under the pew. Help, Lord! she implored as she stood to her feet. She took a deep breath and smiled, looking around.
“Good morning, friends! It is good to be here to worship with you this morning.” Her eyes travelled over the familiar scene. Many people had entered after she had been seated, and now she saw that she knew several of them. There was her dear Sunday School teacher, Mrs. Newbill, white haired and stooped with osteoporosis, but with the same smile of love for Dee Anna. She saw a few people that she remembered from days in the youth group, now with spouses beside them. There was Lupita and some of her family. And there were others, some whose names she recalled and others she wasn’t sure about. She noticed a young African American man sitting near the back with two small children. She smiled, acknowleding again that some things had changed. Suddenly she realized that the words she had just spoken were true. It was good to be here. Sudden tears stung her eyes, and she swallowed a lump in her throat.
“It has been a long time since I have seen some of you.” Nodded heads. “And a lot has happened to me in the years since I was a little girl in this place.” More nodding and a few smiles. “Thank you for being here for me when I was a little girl, for teaching me to love the Bible and to love God.” She smiled at Mrs. Newbill as she continued, “and for putting up with me, and Phil too, when we were teenagers. And for sending me care packages when I went off to Bible College. Some of you may remember that I served as a youth pastor in Lubbock and maybe you also heard that I headed to seminary but left and went through a bad time. For those of you who prayed for me, I thank you very much,” and with a sideways glance at Phil, she added, “My brother and I both thank you. We know some of you never stopped believing in us. God’s endless grace is new every morning and God’s mercy never ceases.” She paused, feeling a rush of emotions—among which was gratitude.
“I wasn’t always faithful to the Lord, but He did not give up on me. He rescued me from my own foolishness, and he gave me a wonderful husband and daughter. A couple of you met them last time I was home. Michael is with the Lord now, but Madeline is the joy of my life. And I rejoice that I am now serving a small Pentecostal church up in the northern part of Wisconsin. Yankee country! We thank you for praying for Dad.” She paused and then gestured to the congregation. “I see so many people who are dear to me. It was here that I first knew Jesus loved me.” She smiled at Mrs. Newbill again, and turned to smile at the elderly organist. “I thank you for the spiritual foundation I received right here in this little church.”
It was all true. Every word. Dee Anna sat down, feeling a little breathless and realizing with fresh astonishment that her mother was surreptitiously wiping tears from her eyes. Hugs and now tears? Dee Anna thought, feeling happily perplexed.
Phil gave her a quick pat on the hand. Pastor Wallace was standing at the pulpit asking for volunteers to make cookies for the Christmas bake sale. Then he went on, “I want to talk about our heavenly home. Before we continue with the message for this morning, turn to page twelve in your hymnals…” And soon they were standing together, listening to the wheezy old electric organ and singing,
This world is not my home,
I’m just a passin’ through,
My treasures are laid up,
Somewhere beyond the blue…
Phil sang with an exaggerated drawl and grinned at his sister, “Yep, some thing just never change.”
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Prison Praise and Prayer
Every Tuesday I visit the prison where my husband is the chaplain to lead a group called, "Principles for Successful Living." We are slowly working our way through the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus' "principles for successful living." Last week we started our perusal of what is commonly called "The Lord's Prayer" or, by Catholics I know, "The Our Father" (from the first two words).It was, as always an interesting mix of people.
A. is the gracious, grey-haired, educated and erudite one, probably older than his smooth dark skin would reveal. He's been inside a long time. He was educated before he came in, a professional person who used his position to commit a terrible crime. He is straightforward about how he wrecked his own life, and he offers no excuses except to acknowledge that he was arrogant and prideful. He is a pleasure to have in the group. He hopes to be moving to another institution soon, preparatory to finally going home to Milwaukee. Not a week goes by that he does not mention his beloved wife, a church-going, pillar of strength who loved him dearly in spite of his sins. It was a while before I realized she died while he was inside.
B. is a little scary. Oh, not in the group. I am never afraid when I'm there. Like A., he has been in prison a long, long time. I don't know what he did to get there, and I don't know if I want to know. He is a man who longs to be a better person, who wants to help others, who faithfully attends church, sings in the choir, comes to every study he can. He is also moody, and he has a "dark side" that I can, sometimes, see. He knows it and I think it is scary for him too.
C. is a tall, lanky, black youth who looks like a sort of goofy "kid next door." He doesn't seem to have a mean bone in his body, and I suspect he is one of the many felons who got caught up in a life of crime by helping someone else with more brains and brawn. He always tells me he is praying for me. Sometimes he tells me more than once. He has big dreams of doing "great things for God." I just encourage him to do small things in a big way. He makes me sad.
D. is quiet, pale, always leaning forward as if he doesn't want to miss a word. When he does speak I am surprised at what comes out. He does listen well!
E. is a little cocky. He has some talent, and it seems that every inmate with a little talent blows it up into a MAJOR talent. Pride and arrogance are epidemic inside the walls of prison. But he listens too. Interesting guy. Chatty, smart, and also has a barely concealed dark side.
There are more. It is never the same group, though there are some who are pretty regular. Inmates come and go, get new work or school assignments, and so on, so I know they may only sit in that small room with me once or twice. I try to make it count. I try not to waste words. I try not to be judgemental, but I also want to be straightforward. They don't need a "do-gooder" who feels sorry for them. (I do, but I try not to let that ever be uppermost.)
I'm heading over there after I go cast my vote in the primary.
Last week our discussion of the Lord's prayer was powerful. Much more honest than what often happens in a church. Our conversation centered on being thankful for blessings, even in unlikely places (like prison). Jesus' teaching prayer shows us, among many other things, that we begin by acknowledging it isn't all about us. Our thoughts first go to God, God's holiness, rule, provision. Only later do we turn prayerful thoughts to others and to ourselves. Prison prayers are often about needs and asking for things. This time we just thanked God for something.
The last prayer, from A., was a praise for being in prison. He thanked God for stopping him before he did more damage, for humbling him, for protecting him from himself, for saving his life by "sending" him behind bars. He then thanked God for those who have taught, loved, mentored, and "set him straight." "Thank you God, for this place" was his last sentence. I have genuine hope for A. It takes a humble man to thank God for prison.
They teach me something every week. I do not know if I understand anything about true gratitude!
Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Dinner With the "Carnies"
The kitchen/fellowship area of our church smelled wonderful last night. The tables were set invitingly. Large glass bowls contained a colorful fruit salad. There were crock pots of side dishes. One large roaster held fragrant rice and another contained chicken breasts and homemade gravy. Sodas were chilling in ice chests; coffee and milk were on a side table. Another table held an amazing array desserts. We were ready for visitors, who soon began to arrive, some in cars and others on a yellow school bus.
My daughter, Kris, and my little granddaughter, Trinity greeted our guests. These guests were the carnival workers who come to town each year for the annual county fair, held for four days surrounding Labor Day weekend. This was about the eighth or ninth year that Christian Life Assembly of God has held these dinners as a way to thank, bless, and honor people who provide entertainment for the town. The carnival workers, or "carnies," show up a few days in advance, and they work in the hot sun doing heavy labor. Some live in carnival "bunk houses" and those more fortunate may have some sort of small RV or trailer.
On Monday, some of us wander around saying hello and passing out bags of homemade cookies along with an invitation to dinner. Others cook or set up. Still others greet and serve and talk with our guests. Each year we see some familiar faces and some new ones.
Last night I met a young couple who were working their first year "on the circuit. They had left two children with relatives back in Florida and they are running a ride for the carnival because, as the young wife said, "There just isn't any work. Even at McDonald's. The economy's hit our town hard." Next to them sat a scrawny man with sinewy muscles and leathery skin burnt brown by too much time in the sun. He had about half of his teeth, which he regularly revealed as he laughed and smiled, joking with everyone. When I brought my plate over and asked if I could eat with them, he gave me a quizzical look and said, "You want to?"
Next to him sat a pleasant-looking woman about my age wearing a worn tee shirt and jeans. Her companion was bearded, talkative, the brunt of many good-natured jokes and, it seemed, a bit of a fatherly type to the others at the table. He had a tattoo of praying hands on his arm, with a gaudy rosary on the hands and MOM beneath. He told me, more than once, that we were "amazing people." I had an interesting conversation with a man directly across from me who was handsome in a sad sort of way. He told me proudly that he was "born and raised" in Wisconsin and that his daughter was attending Marquette University in Milwaukee. He's a little concerned about her and as he told me why his large eyes grew soft. His eyes were remarkable, very beautiful and expressive. He wants his daughter to stay in school more than he wants anything else, and he sends her some of his wages to help with the tuition.
A few tables over sat a large black man who looked a great deal like Shaquille O' Neal. He was quiet and very polite. Not far away was another black man, this one alarmingly thin and with a wild mass of hair. Next to him sat a man with wrinkles etched deep into his cheeks, long straggly hair and beard and an alarming amount of grease on his hands.
Like any society, this one has its own culture, inside jokes and lingo. The ones who run a ride, the jocks, tend to hang out together. Down a rung on the social scale are the "jointys" who man the booths of carnival games. Some run food booths, serving up mini donuts, cheese curds, cord dogs, and so on. Some people own their own food stand and they tend to set themselves apart from the rank and file "carnies." Carnival workers are often invisible to the townspeople who ride the rides, play the games (or try to) and eat the carnival's junk food. Like homeless people, we tend to simply not "see" them.
Each year they seem genuinely grateful for the home style meal, the conversation, and the chance to cool off in air-conditioned comfort. Some are obviously trying to clean up their language or be more polite for us church folks. Others use profanities with complete oblivion to their surroundings. They are, many times (most times?) broken people with tragic mistakes and circumstances in their lives. Some would not survive outside the hard-working, hard-drinking and partying world of the carnival and have been there for many years. Others hope that their stint with the travelling shows will be short. Some don't think beyond the next day.
As they left, Kris and I said good bye and Kris offered hugs. Some declined, almost looking afraid. Other hugged her like their lives depended on it, sometimes with tears in their eyes. It made me wonder if the last hug a couple of them had received had been a year ago when they came to dinner.
Kevin, Ken's brother who lives with us now, spent several years on the road as a carny after he had burnt his bridges with most of the family. He told me a story of what happened once when, remembering going to church with Ken and me when he had lived with us for a year (as a teenager), he tried visiting a church once when he wasn't working on a Sunday (rare). What happened wasn't pretty.
God loves them, and they are some of "the least of these" for whom Jesus lived and died. If you see some of them, look at them and say, "Thanks for helping us have some fun!" They don't hear that very often.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Remembering the People of the Gulf Coast
Last night I watched the National Geographic channel's decomentary Witness: Katrina. I had to turn it off before it was finished, because it was just too painful to watch. Seeing people headed into the Superdome, assuming that they would be uncomfortable but safe, was wrenching. Seeing people say, while holding a toddler by the hand, "I survived Camille so we will be fine...." made me feel almost ill.I can hardly comprehend that five years have passed since my husband and I, watching the television coverage of events in New Orleans and the surrounding area, determined that we just had to help somehow.
We had heard that Convoy of Hope, one of our favorite relief organizations, was trying to get there, and we determined that we would hook up a trailer full of whatever we could gather and head for one of the places COV was setting up a base of operations.
My congregation collected water and medical supplies, and made shoebox packages for the boys and girls of the area. Each box contained some toiletries, something like crayons or a small toy, and each was brightly wrapped. We also had a washing machine that someone donated, and we figured that somewhere or other, there would be electricity and people who needed clean clothes.
Many phone calls and emails later, we headed for Gulfport and the First Assembly of God church there. We figured we would work in Gulfport, but plans changed after we arrived. We ended up spending our nights in Gulfport, in the ravaged but still partly usable church (and they did have electricity so got the washing machine), and travelling to what was actually the smack-dab center of Katrina's landfall, the little town of Waveland, MS. Waveland had been demolished. We saw only one home that looked like it might be habitable. Every single business was completely destroyed, except for one heavily damaged gas station that did manage to stay open.
What we saw was nearly indescriblable, and this was about two weeks after Katrina visited. I cannot even begin to fathom what the days immediately after were like. When we arrived it was still largely chaotic. I wrote a series of posts about our expereiences. If you should feel inclined to see them, and the pictures, you can click on "current events" in the sidebar, then scroll down and click "older posts" till you reach the Katrina series. I took many pictures, a few of which are posted in that series. As I said to a family member as I watched the National Geographic special, "Pictures just don't do it. Even these shots from people waiting out the storm and refusing to evacuate (!) don't do it. You can't imagine the stench, the piles of garbage, the eerie sight of orange grass and totally bare trees in 90+ degree heat and Mississippi humidity."
Sometimes I think of people we met in Waveland. I see the faces of my fellow workers, exhausted and drawn from hours of being on our feet in temperatures most of us were not accustomed to. I see the faces of children--Steven (called Bubba), the Alecia Keyes wannabe, the beautiful little blonde with the haunted eyes--and of people like the gorgeous 91 year old who sat down, exhausted and asked for ice water. I recall the nurse in a little makeshift clinic at First AG in Gulfport who almost cried when I brought her a glucometer. She was trying to help a diabetic woman, but she had no way of knowing what her blood sugar really was.
I remember the smiles and joking of doctors and nurses who were staffing a M.A.S.H. type tent in Waveland for hours on end with few supplies, the young National Guard soldiers, the two kind and very young policemen who had come to the Gulf from Ohio, FEMA volunteers who were really just ordinary citizens who had enlisted for the duration of the emergency and were trying to help with little backing.
Convoy of Hope worked in the K Mart parking lot. There was a makeshift store and a food tent. We handed out groceries, tents, clothes, "shoeboxes" to people from about six area towns. We saw some of the worst of human nature (hoarding, greed, selfishness) and some of the best.
I also was stunned by the level of invisibility and even disrespect from some church leadership there that seemed to happen just because I was female. I never wrote about it (seemed petty to write about it at the time, in the face of such misery), but it was eye-opening and disturbing. I sadly determined that I would not be leading a team there anytime soon, and I hoped that my male counterparts would do so instead.
I lost part of my heart to some of those dear, gracious, kind people who had nothing but still smiled, thanked us, and said, "God bless you people." One woman cried because I gave her a tee shirt that fit. She was pregnant, had nothing but the (filthy) clothes on her back, and it was her due date. I wonder where that baby was delivered?
I wonder about First Assembly, Waveland. It was completely destroyed by mold, and the pastor did not know who of his congregation had even survived. The Presbyterian Church was spared (a strange story indeed). Here is a bit of the story, copied from one of my blog posts from five years ago:
We stopped by to see how they [the AG pastor in Waveland] were doing, having been told that the church was a total loss. It was standing, but completely destroyed by mold and will have to be torn down. The pastor and his family are living in a little camper. The Presbyterian pastor was there too, and his beautiful, white-haired wife. The two families are good friends. The Presbyterian pastor's wife was the only woman I saw all week who had a "full face" of makeup on. Her hair was neatly combed, and she was casually but impeccably dressed. It was so unusual as to be striking....she showed us her only remaining possessions, five decorative plates that had been a present from her grandmother. She was trying to remove the remains of Katrina's mud, a sticky smelly substance that stuck fast. The AG church had some running water, so she was there using the garden hose. It was a very sad sight. Tears filled her eyes as she told us they had lost everything, but she smiled when she told us that the Presbyterian church had, miraculously, been totally spared--an amazing story. A man who was not part of their church, in fact had not darkened the door of a church for many years, was riding out the storm from somewhere near the church. He told the pastor and his wife that he watched the storm surge coming in, watched it part and go around the Presbyterian Church, and come together again as it passed!
I wonder if that pastor's wife got her plates clean?
When I got back I posted about it all, saying I'd likely never be the same. And I am not. I expressed a hope that one day I could travel to the place of horror I saw and view it in better times. I am thinking of that again, and I would love to take a trip to Waveland, Mississippi. The photogrph up above is from Waveland--my favorite of those we took. Please stop for a moment and join me in praying for the people of the Gulf Coast. Many neighborhoods in New Orleans are still ravaged, overgrown, uninhabited. Many people have lingering physical and emotional struggles because of what happened.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Dorm Life Fridy Five
Yesterday Songbird returned her middle child for his second year of college and some of what she saw there got her thinking about dorm life. Here are her questions for todays RevGalBlogPals Friday Five.
) What was the hardest thing to leave behind when you went away to school for the first time?
I didn't go very far. I moved in with my sister who lived about an hour's drive away from my house. What I left behind was a comfortable bed!
2) We live in the era of helicopter parents. How much fuss did your parents make when you first left home?
None. That is because, sadly, my family was disintegrating and was in so much upheaval that me heading off to school was a minor blip. My poor dad, who was probably close to a total breakdown, was probably releived. Not happy memories.
3) Share a favorite memory of living with schoolmates, whether in a dorm or other shared housing.
I never lived in a dorm. I left school and got married, and then later both Ken and I returned at the same time so we lived in married couples housing, us and our two small children. But those were, looking back, delightful times. The kids were totally safe and all ran up and down the little street lined with mobile homes with impunity. We made wonderful friends and had good times.
4) What absolute necessity of college life in your day would seem hilariously out-of-date now?
HA! My cassette player?
5) What innovation of today do you wish had been part of your life in college? Computers. Small computers, not PCs yet, were new. No one had one. A laptop would have been heaven. And how much easier to type and produce neat papers with a computer and printer instead of our clunky typewriter!
Bonus question for those whose college days feel like a long time ago: Share a rule or regulation that will seem funny now. Did you really follow it then? Doesn't just feel like a long time ago, it WAS a long time ago. LOL! As for the regulation, NO JEANS! Imagine no denim on a campus? Yes, I followed it, or I would have been in trouble. Oh, maybe I should mention the NO PUBLIC DISPLAY of affection rule at our strict church-sponsored college. Ken and I flouted that one regularly. I mean, that even meant no hand holding. We were married, and Ken pointed that out to one prissy prof.
) What was the hardest thing to leave behind when you went away to school for the first time?
I didn't go very far. I moved in with my sister who lived about an hour's drive away from my house. What I left behind was a comfortable bed!
2) We live in the era of helicopter parents. How much fuss did your parents make when you first left home?
None. That is because, sadly, my family was disintegrating and was in so much upheaval that me heading off to school was a minor blip. My poor dad, who was probably close to a total breakdown, was probably releived. Not happy memories.
3) Share a favorite memory of living with schoolmates, whether in a dorm or other shared housing.
I never lived in a dorm. I left school and got married, and then later both Ken and I returned at the same time so we lived in married couples housing, us and our two small children. But those were, looking back, delightful times. The kids were totally safe and all ran up and down the little street lined with mobile homes with impunity. We made wonderful friends and had good times.
4) What absolute necessity of college life in your day would seem hilariously out-of-date now?
HA! My cassette player?
5) What innovation of today do you wish had been part of your life in college? Computers. Small computers, not PCs yet, were new. No one had one. A laptop would have been heaven. And how much easier to type and produce neat papers with a computer and printer instead of our clunky typewriter!
Bonus question for those whose college days feel like a long time ago: Share a rule or regulation that will seem funny now. Did you really follow it then? Doesn't just feel like a long time ago, it WAS a long time ago. LOL! As for the regulation, NO JEANS! Imagine no denim on a campus? Yes, I followed it, or I would have been in trouble. Oh, maybe I should mention the NO PUBLIC DISPLAY of affection rule at our strict church-sponsored college. Ken and I flouted that one regularly. I mean, that even meant no hand holding. We were married, and Ken pointed that out to one prissy prof.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Little Big Foot: The Tree
Dee Anna and Phil rested in companionable silence, Phil at one end of the grey plaid sectional couch, and Dee Anna stretched out at the other end, legs swinging over the sofa’s worn arm. They had turned the lights off and were gazing with satisfaction at the glowing Christmas tree that stood in the opposite corner.
Their mother had gone to bed a couple of hours before, but neither of them had felt sleepy. Phil had tromped down to the basement and Dee Anna had heard some bumps and scrapes, along with vague exclamations from her brother. A short while later he had appeared at the top of the stairs with three large boxes stacked precariously in his arms, light strings trailing down the stairs from the top box.
“Careful!” his sister had exclaimed, rescuing the light strings, but then she had laughed.“Bro, you have dust webs in your hair.”
“You would too, if you’d been down there. I don’t think anything’s been moved in about a decade. Leastways, not judging by the cobwebs and dust.”
His loud sneeze had made Dee Anna laugh again, and she had impulsively ruffled his hair, shaking the dust into the air until she too had sneezed. Her gesture, reminding them both of days when they had been inseparable, had made Phil smile. Not long after, the two of them had dusted the boxes and removed the lids, half in expectant pleasure and half in dread. It had not been difficult to find a rhythm of working together. Phil, taking his father’s usual role, had checked the light strings and draped them over the branches while Dee Anna found hooks for the ornaments.
After they had placed everything on the branches, Phil had decided that the tree still looked bare and Dee Anna had headed for the kitchen and rummaged in the cupboards until she located a jar of popcorn. She’d popped it the way they always had, shaking a saucepan of kernels vigorously back and forth over the gas burner. She had dumped the fragrant popcorn into a large metal bowl and Phil had returned to the basement where he had found his mother’s needles and thread in a cigar box atop her long-unused Singer sewing machine.
It had taken time to make two long strings, and the conversation had flowed easily between them, dispelling the last vestiges of awkwardness. Phil had surprised himself by talking about his new A.A. friend, Sarah. He had hesitantly asked about Madeline, and this had led to Dee Anna sharing a little of her life in Madison and her sorrow at Michael’s untimely death. Phil’s eyes had grown soft, listening to his sister.
“I’m sorry, Dee Anna, so sorry.”
“What?”
“I should have been in your life, should have helped you, should know my niece…you know. I’m just…just sorry, that’s all.”
Dee Anna had patted his arm, smiling reassuringly. “Oh, Phil…” she’d stopped, fighting tears. “I’m the one who is sorry. I mean where was I when you were working out west, when you were…in trouble?” She’d paused and shaken her head. “I wasn’t an angel, sweetie. I was boozing it up and acting like a fool down in Dallas. Maybe I didn’t end up in rehab…” She’d stopped, afraid she’d hurt his feelings, but he had nodded. “But Phil, I had my own stuff to deal with. Not so different, really.” She had blown her nose and continued, “Thanks to an anonymous Catholic priest and a friend who lived in Wisconsin--and thanks to my sweet Michael, God found me.”
“God never lost you, Sis.”
“Well, no.” She had smiled, “You are right. God never lost me. I just finally realized, I guess, after all my running and trying to forget this town and this house and…all of it, I guess I found out that God was still there. Still waiting.”
“Right.” Phil had nodded again, encouragingly.
“And you know what else?” A kind of joy had filled his sister’s face. “God’s calling was still there.” She paused, and shook her head, looking a little dazed. “After all the--all the crap.” she grinned,
“After all of it, God still had a place for me.”
That had led to talk of Eastside Methodist Church and then, as they had draped the popcorn strings across fragrant branches, of Little Big Foot.
“Dang it all, Phil, “ she said now, swinging her feet, “I already did the small town thing.” She gestured vaguely. “You know about that, same as me.”
“Yep.”
“And there was no way I was gonna go back to some hick town…you know?”
“Yep. Sure do.”
“But I did. Can't say why, exactly. It's an odd place, but I think I really kind of like it. Still kind of finding out about people and stuff.” After a pause, she added, “ And I’m starting to miss them all. And Maddie, of course.” Her voice trailed off as she realized just how much she was missing her daughter. ]
“Are they being nice to you?”
“Um,” she paused. “Mostly, so far.
"Ha! Just wait till they start actin' like holy rollers!"
Dee Anna pulled a couch pillow from under her head and flung it at him. "That is so not happening!"
They both laughed. The tree lights touched their faces softly as they grew silent once more.
Their mother had gone to bed a couple of hours before, but neither of them had felt sleepy. Phil had tromped down to the basement and Dee Anna had heard some bumps and scrapes, along with vague exclamations from her brother. A short while later he had appeared at the top of the stairs with three large boxes stacked precariously in his arms, light strings trailing down the stairs from the top box.
“Careful!” his sister had exclaimed, rescuing the light strings, but then she had laughed.“Bro, you have dust webs in your hair.”
“You would too, if you’d been down there. I don’t think anything’s been moved in about a decade. Leastways, not judging by the cobwebs and dust.”
His loud sneeze had made Dee Anna laugh again, and she had impulsively ruffled his hair, shaking the dust into the air until she too had sneezed. Her gesture, reminding them both of days when they had been inseparable, had made Phil smile. Not long after, the two of them had dusted the boxes and removed the lids, half in expectant pleasure and half in dread. It had not been difficult to find a rhythm of working together. Phil, taking his father’s usual role, had checked the light strings and draped them over the branches while Dee Anna found hooks for the ornaments.
After they had placed everything on the branches, Phil had decided that the tree still looked bare and Dee Anna had headed for the kitchen and rummaged in the cupboards until she located a jar of popcorn. She’d popped it the way they always had, shaking a saucepan of kernels vigorously back and forth over the gas burner. She had dumped the fragrant popcorn into a large metal bowl and Phil had returned to the basement where he had found his mother’s needles and thread in a cigar box atop her long-unused Singer sewing machine.
It had taken time to make two long strings, and the conversation had flowed easily between them, dispelling the last vestiges of awkwardness. Phil had surprised himself by talking about his new A.A. friend, Sarah. He had hesitantly asked about Madeline, and this had led to Dee Anna sharing a little of her life in Madison and her sorrow at Michael’s untimely death. Phil’s eyes had grown soft, listening to his sister.
“I’m sorry, Dee Anna, so sorry.”
“What?”
“I should have been in your life, should have helped you, should know my niece…you know. I’m just…just sorry, that’s all.”
Dee Anna had patted his arm, smiling reassuringly. “Oh, Phil…” she’d stopped, fighting tears. “I’m the one who is sorry. I mean where was I when you were working out west, when you were…in trouble?” She’d paused and shaken her head. “I wasn’t an angel, sweetie. I was boozing it up and acting like a fool down in Dallas. Maybe I didn’t end up in rehab…” She’d stopped, afraid she’d hurt his feelings, but he had nodded. “But Phil, I had my own stuff to deal with. Not so different, really.” She had blown her nose and continued, “Thanks to an anonymous Catholic priest and a friend who lived in Wisconsin--and thanks to my sweet Michael, God found me.”
“God never lost you, Sis.”
“Well, no.” She had smiled, “You are right. God never lost me. I just finally realized, I guess, after all my running and trying to forget this town and this house and…all of it, I guess I found out that God was still there. Still waiting.”
“Right.” Phil had nodded again, encouragingly.
“And you know what else?” A kind of joy had filled his sister’s face. “God’s calling was still there.” She paused, and shook her head, looking a little dazed. “After all the--all the crap.” she grinned,
“After all of it, God still had a place for me.”
That had led to talk of Eastside Methodist Church and then, as they had draped the popcorn strings across fragrant branches, of Little Big Foot.
“Dang it all, Phil, “ she said now, swinging her feet, “I already did the small town thing.” She gestured vaguely. “You know about that, same as me.”
“Yep.”
“And there was no way I was gonna go back to some hick town…you know?”
“Yep. Sure do.”
“But I did. Can't say why, exactly. It's an odd place, but I think I really kind of like it. Still kind of finding out about people and stuff.” After a pause, she added, “ And I’m starting to miss them all. And Maddie, of course.” Her voice trailed off as she realized just how much she was missing her daughter. ]
“Are they being nice to you?”
“Um,” she paused. “Mostly, so far.
"Ha! Just wait till they start actin' like holy rollers!"
Dee Anna pulled a couch pillow from under her head and flung it at him. "That is so not happening!"
They both laughed. The tree lights touched their faces softly as they grew silent once more.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Dog Days Friday Five
I'm hosting the Rev Gals F.F. today.Here in the snow belt state of Wisconsin we long for the first signs of spring--perhaps a crocus poking up through the snow, or a pussy willow bud popping out even beneath ice. The first appearance of robins, that most cheery little hopper of birds, causes widespread rejoicing. Spring is followed by summer, a time for home-grown tomatoes, watermelon, corn on the cob, all sorts of "fests," back yard "fry outs" (what they call a barbecue here, for some reason) and trips near and far.
I love summer, and wait anxiously for it every year. So how is it that we have arrived at the hot and humid "Dog Days" of August, and I have not done nearly enough of what I planned to do? I want to pack in as much as I can before snow flies once again.
How about you? And what is happening for those of you who are in a different hemisphere than I, and it may be cold?
1. What is the weather like where you live?
One would think we were in the southern states instead of cool Wisconsin. It has been hot and steamy for days on end, and almost constant rain. Mosquitoes are dive bombing us. People are grumpy about it. ;-)
2. Share one thing you love about this time of year.
It isn't cold. I am a California girl, born and bred, and it doesn't matter that it has been many decades since I was a "girl" nor that I have lived in Wisconsin for about 30 years (how did that happen?) I still get very cold in the winter and I still like heat. Humidity--not so much.
3. Share one thing you do NOT love about this time of year.
Did I mention mosquitos? I mean, it is very frustrating, the way we long for spring and summer and being able to go outside and then when the summer months finally arrive we can hardly go outside. Very irritating. Both Minnesota and Wisconsin consider the mosquito to be our "state bird." Not nice.
4. How will you spend the remaining days leading up to Autumn?
I am still trying to get my home office organized. The summer has not gone as planned. We do have a couple of camping trips planned, other than that it is working at home and trying to get it all done before snow flies.
5. Share a good summer memory.
Ah, I have so many. One that is vivid after nearly fifty years: Heading down beautiful Malibu Canyon towards the Pacific Ocean in my late sister Darlaine's little red convertable. We were singing at the top of our voices along with the radio, a bag of Italian meatball sandwiches was in the back, and we were anticipating a day of sun, sand and surf. I will never stop missing her.
Bonus: What food says SUMMER to you?
Watermelon, corn on the cob, tomatoes from the garden, oh, just one?
Friday, July 23, 2010
A Decision-Making Friday Five
It has been a while since I've played a Friday Five. Since I'm soon going to start hosting one time a month again I'd better get in the swing of things! Songbird shares an easy one today. She says:
Since I've been in the midst of a discernment process, I've done a lot of reflecting on how we make decisions. But don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to reveal a dark story about a poor decision, or a self-flagellating story about an embarrassing one. Let's keep it simple and go with five word pairs. Tell us which word in the pair appeals to you most, and after you've done all five, give us the reason why for one of them.
Here they are:
1) Cake or Pie
Pie
2) Train or Airplane
Train
3) Mac or PC
PC
4) Univocal or Equivocal
Equivocal
5) Peter or Paul
Paul
Just one? If you have seen any of my Friday Fives over the years, you know I do not do well with "just one." Okay, I'll be obedient. Maybe.
Train or plane...first response was train. I had to think of why. Nowadays, though I have always loved to fly, airports and air travel are stressful, full of extra and annoying fees, overcrowded planes, delays, and so on. Train...ah...evocative of an earlier era. I rode on a train from Los Angeles, California to Abilene, Texas when I was only three years old. The sad reason for the trip (me and my mom) was that my grandmother was gravely ill. I do have dim memories of being frightened when I saw her in the big bed in the hosptial room (painted a horrid minty color I still recall). Grandmother about to die is my only memory of her. Too bad. But I also have memories of the train. There was a dining car with white tableclothes and a dark brown man in a white coat who brought me a glass of milk. There were intereting seats. People. A tiny place to curl up and sleep at night with Mommy.
Trains make me think of travel across Europe (will I ever get to fulfill that dream?) and a more relaxed time when the journey was part of the fun. I'd love to take a trip on a train to somewhere lovely and exciting, reading a book, watching the world go by, chatting with a good friend who has come along with me, and anticipating the arrival.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Happy Birthday, Rev Gal Blog Pals
The Rev Gals have been blogging for five years! I have shared prayers, laughs, tears, insights, sermon notes, silly stuff, met some in person, and all in all have been blessed beyond the telling by this wonderful group of preaching women and their friends. I've reposted, slightly changed, a little limerick I wrote a while back. I LOVE YOU, REV GALS!
Five years ago today,
RevGals was on it's way,
The preachin' gals,
And preacher's pals,
Made history that day!
The blogs are fun to do,
The Preacher's Party too,
And Friday Five and all that jive,
Give us a place to play!
We gripe and pray and blog,
And sometimes go whole hog,
With cyber parties, real ones too,
There's always something new!
So Happy Birthday, Gals,
And Happy Birthday, Pals,
Five years today--Hip hip hurray!
It is a party day!
RevGals was on it's way,
The preachin' gals,
And preacher's pals,
Made history that day!
The blogs are fun to do,
The Preacher's Party too,
And Friday Five and all that jive,
Give us a place to play!
We gripe and pray and blog,
And sometimes go whole hog,
With cyber parties, real ones too,
There's always something new!
So Happy Birthday, Gals,
And Happy Birthday, Pals,
Five years today--Hip hip hurray!
It is a party day!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Well-Intentioned False Teachers
If you look in my sidebar you will see 17 posts under the heading "Egalitarian Marriage" and 33 under "The Gender Debate." The marriage links are partly from a series of sermons about this issue. One of the posts, which you can read here if you like, is about an unbiblical teaching that is everywhere in certain church circles these days. This teaching refers to husbands as "priests of the home." (Interestingly enough, this post received 34 comments. Seems I hit a nerve or something.)
In that post I have already written about why I believe this is a false concept. What has me writing again is three things: 1) a commenter, after reading one of the marriage or gender debate posts, asked what I believe to be the role of the Christian husband. 2) My husband and I recently took a second look at a popular book for Christian men and I noticed something, and 3) as I was driving to work this morning I heard a Bible teacher I respect giving some very good advice to men who want to be good husbands and fathers. Nothing remarkable. However, the same mistake was repeated all three times. What was the mistake? Bolstering a reasonable word of instruction with a quite unreasonable and unblblical assumption.
Number one: Someone who read a post saying that the husband is not the "priest" apparently thought that perhaps I don't believe there is any appropriate biblical instruction for husbands. On the contrary, there are many. I just don't think being the "manly priest" (yes, I actually heard this term) is one of them. More about that later.
Number two: The book I referenced has some good suggestions, even some insights into the marriage relationship. Some of our friends were recently praising the book, which is why I took a second look and Ken read it for the first time. Some suggestions I would disagree with, but some were simply sound (if a bit simplistic) insights into relationships between husbands and wives.
Number three: The Bible teacher's radio program was excellent, right up to the point where he closed by saying that husbands need to remember that they are the "priest of the home"and will be judged accordingly.
I have a question. Why, if one's reasoning is sound, is it necessary to add to the words of scripture with poorly thought out and potentially dangerous falsehoods? I recall some serious warning about that very thing.
"You shall not add to the word which I command you, nor take from it, that you may keep the commandments of the Lord your God which I command you." Deuteronomy 4:2
"...if anyone preaches any other gospel to you than what you have received, let him be accursed. For do I now persuade men, or God? Or do I seek to please men? For if I still pleased men, I would not be a bondservant of Christ." Galatians 1:9-10
"For if he who comes preaches another Jesus whom we have not preached, or if you receive a different spirit which you have not received, or a different gospel which you have not accepted, you may well put up with it!" 2 Corinthians 11:4 [i..e. don't tolerate heresy]
"Whatever I command you, be careful to observe it; you shall not add to it nor take away from it." Deuteronomy 12:32
"If anyone adds to these things, God will add to him the plagues that are written in this book; and if anyone takes away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part from the Book of Life, from the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book." Revelation 22:18-19
"Every word of God is pure; He is a shield to those who put their trust in Him. Do not add to His words, lest He rebuke you, and you be found a liar." Proverbs 30:5-6
I do not want to be rebuked by God nor called a liar! Sounds like serious stuff to me!
Here is a scripture about examing things for ourselves, something sadly lacking in the church today:
"Then the brethren immediately sent Paul and Silas away by night to Berea. When they arrived, they went into the synagogue of the Jews. These were more fair-minded than those in Thessalonica, in that they received the word with all readiness, and searched the Scriptures daily to find out whether these things were so. Therefore many of them believed." Acts 17:10-12
There is plenty in the Bible for us to study, ponder, work on, internalize, pray about, and seek to live. There is absolutely no need to tack on things that simply are not there. Why is it dangerous to do that? I only have time right now to mention one result. Recently, Ken was leading a group study which veered off into talking about husbands and wives and "who gets to be in charge." One individual was upset to hear that he disagreed with the teaching that the husband is the "priest" and the "leader." It seemed he was dismayed that Ken does not believe he was responsible for all decisions, all spiritual growth, all instruction. It was, frankly, a discussion of who gets the power, the control, the "say." That is what can come of adding to what the scripture says.
Guys, by all means, be a strong, faithful, loving husband. There is plenty for you to do without taking on a "role" that simply does not exist.
I'll post some more postitive things about this soon.
In that post I have already written about why I believe this is a false concept. What has me writing again is three things: 1) a commenter, after reading one of the marriage or gender debate posts, asked what I believe to be the role of the Christian husband. 2) My husband and I recently took a second look at a popular book for Christian men and I noticed something, and 3) as I was driving to work this morning I heard a Bible teacher I respect giving some very good advice to men who want to be good husbands and fathers. Nothing remarkable. However, the same mistake was repeated all three times. What was the mistake? Bolstering a reasonable word of instruction with a quite unreasonable and unblblical assumption.
Number one: Someone who read a post saying that the husband is not the "priest" apparently thought that perhaps I don't believe there is any appropriate biblical instruction for husbands. On the contrary, there are many. I just don't think being the "manly priest" (yes, I actually heard this term) is one of them. More about that later.
Number two: The book I referenced has some good suggestions, even some insights into the marriage relationship. Some of our friends were recently praising the book, which is why I took a second look and Ken read it for the first time. Some suggestions I would disagree with, but some were simply sound (if a bit simplistic) insights into relationships between husbands and wives.
Number three: The Bible teacher's radio program was excellent, right up to the point where he closed by saying that husbands need to remember that they are the "priest of the home"and will be judged accordingly.
I have a question. Why, if one's reasoning is sound, is it necessary to add to the words of scripture with poorly thought out and potentially dangerous falsehoods? I recall some serious warning about that very thing.
"You shall not add to the word which I command you, nor take from it, that you may keep the commandments of the Lord your God which I command you." Deuteronomy 4:2
"...if anyone preaches any other gospel to you than what you have received, let him be accursed. For do I now persuade men, or God? Or do I seek to please men? For if I still pleased men, I would not be a bondservant of Christ." Galatians 1:9-10
"For if he who comes preaches another Jesus whom we have not preached, or if you receive a different spirit which you have not received, or a different gospel which you have not accepted, you may well put up with it!" 2 Corinthians 11:4 [i..e. don't tolerate heresy]
"Whatever I command you, be careful to observe it; you shall not add to it nor take away from it." Deuteronomy 12:32
"If anyone adds to these things, God will add to him the plagues that are written in this book; and if anyone takes away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take away his part from the Book of Life, from the holy city, and from the things which are written in this book." Revelation 22:18-19
"Every word of God is pure; He is a shield to those who put their trust in Him. Do not add to His words, lest He rebuke you, and you be found a liar." Proverbs 30:5-6
I do not want to be rebuked by God nor called a liar! Sounds like serious stuff to me!
Here is a scripture about examing things for ourselves, something sadly lacking in the church today:
"Then the brethren immediately sent Paul and Silas away by night to Berea. When they arrived, they went into the synagogue of the Jews. These were more fair-minded than those in Thessalonica, in that they received the word with all readiness, and searched the Scriptures daily to find out whether these things were so. Therefore many of them believed." Acts 17:10-12
There is plenty in the Bible for us to study, ponder, work on, internalize, pray about, and seek to live. There is absolutely no need to tack on things that simply are not there. Why is it dangerous to do that? I only have time right now to mention one result. Recently, Ken was leading a group study which veered off into talking about husbands and wives and "who gets to be in charge." One individual was upset to hear that he disagreed with the teaching that the husband is the "priest" and the "leader." It seemed he was dismayed that Ken does not believe he was responsible for all decisions, all spiritual growth, all instruction. It was, frankly, a discussion of who gets the power, the control, the "say." That is what can come of adding to what the scripture says.
Guys, by all means, be a strong, faithful, loving husband. There is plenty for you to do without taking on a "role" that simply does not exist.
I'll post some more postitive things about this soon.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Little Big Foot: Home Matters
An unexpected Texas snowfall had deposited about an inch of white on the hospital's front law. The sky was grey and scattered snowflakes drifted lazily down. As her brother, Phil, pulled into a parking spot near the entry, Dee Anna, in the back seat, glanced up at her mother, seated on the passenger side of the car, head back against the seat and eyes closed.
"Mom," Phil said, "we're here."
"I know. Do you think I'm sleeping? As if I could sleep!"
"Just letting you know."
Inside, Christmas carols played in the entryway, an odd reminder for all of them that the season was proceeding more or less without them. The hospital gift shop, just to the right of the entrance, was filled with Christmas items and festooned with white lights. A pink-clad volunteer looked up and waved as they went by. "Hello, Bernice! I hear Bud's doing well. Do y'all need anything?" Phil and Dee Anna kept walking as their mother stopped for a moment of conversation with the white-haired volunteer.
"She's edgy today," said Phil. Dee Anna nodded, saying nothing.
Entering their father's room, they found Dr. Martin reviewing their father's chart. Bernice came in a few moments later, lips compressed. Dee Anna kissed her father's forehead and then stood at the window, absently watching the snow flakes drift past.
She smiled, remembering Madeline's voice on her cell phone earlier. Little Big Foot was "snow bound," she'd crowed with excitement, and they had already received more than a foot of snow in the morning hours. More snow was in the forecast. School was closed, and she was hoping to go out to make a snow fort with her friend, Dana, and some other children. Charlie the dog was having a wonderful time being petted and played with over at the Halverson household. The Advent wreath had arrived and looked beautiful. The Whitewaters had company and they'd all come to church. One of the boys was cute. Sunday's preacher was kinda boring. She was okay and was having fun at Dana's house, she had said, but hoping her mom could come home soon so they could do some Christmas shopping. Dee Anna had finally been able to interject a question or two, but it seemed Madeline was doing fine without her.
Now, gazing out at the light snowfall and thinking of home, she suddenly realized, with momentary sadness, that Madeline had not asked about her grandfather, except to wonder how long it would be before Dee Anna took a flight back to Wisconsin. Well, it wasn't like Madeline really knew her grandparents, and that hadn't really been such a bad thing. Maybe now it could change. Could her family's uncharacteristically gentle communication possibly last? That question was chased away by the awareness that she had just thought of Little Big Foot as home. She turned, hearing Dr. Martin clear his throat and begin to speak.
"Mom," Phil said, "we're here."
"I know. Do you think I'm sleeping? As if I could sleep!"
"Just letting you know."
Inside, Christmas carols played in the entryway, an odd reminder for all of them that the season was proceeding more or less without them. The hospital gift shop, just to the right of the entrance, was filled with Christmas items and festooned with white lights. A pink-clad volunteer looked up and waved as they went by. "Hello, Bernice! I hear Bud's doing well. Do y'all need anything?" Phil and Dee Anna kept walking as their mother stopped for a moment of conversation with the white-haired volunteer.
"She's edgy today," said Phil. Dee Anna nodded, saying nothing.
Entering their father's room, they found Dr. Martin reviewing their father's chart. Bernice came in a few moments later, lips compressed. Dee Anna kissed her father's forehead and then stood at the window, absently watching the snow flakes drift past.
She smiled, remembering Madeline's voice on her cell phone earlier. Little Big Foot was "snow bound," she'd crowed with excitement, and they had already received more than a foot of snow in the morning hours. More snow was in the forecast. School was closed, and she was hoping to go out to make a snow fort with her friend, Dana, and some other children. Charlie the dog was having a wonderful time being petted and played with over at the Halverson household. The Advent wreath had arrived and looked beautiful. The Whitewaters had company and they'd all come to church. One of the boys was cute. Sunday's preacher was kinda boring. She was okay and was having fun at Dana's house, she had said, but hoping her mom could come home soon so they could do some Christmas shopping. Dee Anna had finally been able to interject a question or two, but it seemed Madeline was doing fine without her.
Now, gazing out at the light snowfall and thinking of home, she suddenly realized, with momentary sadness, that Madeline had not asked about her grandfather, except to wonder how long it would be before Dee Anna took a flight back to Wisconsin. Well, it wasn't like Madeline really knew her grandparents, and that hadn't really been such a bad thing. Maybe now it could change. Could her family's uncharacteristically gentle communication possibly last? That question was chased away by the awareness that she had just thought of Little Big Foot as home. She turned, hearing Dr. Martin clear his throat and begin to speak.
--------------------
One day before, Tommy and Brenda Halverson had taken an evening walk into the woods around their little house. It was cold and beginning to get late, the flat grey sky getting darker. The snow that would so delight Madeline the next morning had already begun to fall, so they went about their Christmas tree selection quickly. Making their way around a large woodpile at the side of their home, they half walked, half slid down a short embankment and entered the woods, holding hands and laughing as they heard one of the kids yelling from the back door, "Get a really, really, really big one, Dad!"
Tommy had cut down a medium sized tree with a small hatchet he had brought along for that purpose. They had shaken the snow from the branches, but the tree was covered, before the made it up the bank, around the house and up the steps to their back door. "It's really startin' to come down now," Brenda had said, and Tommy had grinned and answered, "That's the way to cut down a tree, ya know? In the snow, just like a Christmas card!" Brenda yelled and the kids laughed at he shook the tree's branches, spraying them with wet snow.
The next morning Tommy had secured the tree into its stand before leaving for the paper mill. Now he was back, stomping his feet as he shook the snow from his blaze orange knitted cap and peeled off his gloves. "Dad's home!" yelled Doug, the youngest of their four children, pulling him into the warm living room where Brenda was opening boxes of ornaments. "They closed up th' mill and let us go home," said Tommy. " Looks to be a really heavy snow and blow." He crossed the room in his stocking feet and kissed his wife, who pushed him playfully and said, "Tommy, stop it! Your mustache is covered with ice!"
Not long after, Tommy had finished his yearly decorating duty of stringing the lights across the floor and checking for burnt-out bulbs. After stringing the lights around the tree he contented himself with directing Brenda from his recliner. Jeremy, the oldest boy, carefully removed the ornaments from squares of Kleenex and passed them to his sister, Lois, who inserted a metal hook. She, in turn, passed them to their mother, who placed them on the tree. Periodically she stepped back to inspect her work. "Not a bad day to be home from school, kiddos," said Tommy from his chair. "Do we need another log in the wood stove?"
Tommy had cut down a medium sized tree with a small hatchet he had brought along for that purpose. They had shaken the snow from the branches, but the tree was covered, before the made it up the bank, around the house and up the steps to their back door. "It's really startin' to come down now," Brenda had said, and Tommy had grinned and answered, "That's the way to cut down a tree, ya know? In the snow, just like a Christmas card!" Brenda yelled and the kids laughed at he shook the tree's branches, spraying them with wet snow.
The next morning Tommy had secured the tree into its stand before leaving for the paper mill. Now he was back, stomping his feet as he shook the snow from his blaze orange knitted cap and peeled off his gloves. "Dad's home!" yelled Doug, the youngest of their four children, pulling him into the warm living room where Brenda was opening boxes of ornaments. "They closed up th' mill and let us go home," said Tommy. " Looks to be a really heavy snow and blow." He crossed the room in his stocking feet and kissed his wife, who pushed him playfully and said, "Tommy, stop it! Your mustache is covered with ice!"
Not long after, Tommy had finished his yearly decorating duty of stringing the lights across the floor and checking for burnt-out bulbs. After stringing the lights around the tree he contented himself with directing Brenda from his recliner. Jeremy, the oldest boy, carefully removed the ornaments from squares of Kleenex and passed them to his sister, Lois, who inserted a metal hook. She, in turn, passed them to their mother, who placed them on the tree. Periodically she stepped back to inspect her work. "Not a bad day to be home from school, kiddos," said Tommy from his chair. "Do we need another log in the wood stove?"
Scott, the middle boy came around the corner from the kitchen. He was holding Charlie by the collar. "Hey, Dad, I wish Pastor Dee Anna didn't want this dog. He sure is a good one, though." He came over to his father's chair, "Do you think we could have a dog, huh?" Tommy tousled Scott's blond hair. "Did you ask Santa for one?" he teased.
Brenda stopped and turned with a concerned look on her face. "I hope Pastor Dee Anna's father will be all right. Have you heard anything? It's a shame, her having to leave just as we were getting ready for Advent. "
Brenda stopped and turned with a concerned look on her face. "I hope Pastor Dee Anna's father will be all right. Have you heard anything? It's a shame, her having to leave just as we were getting ready for Advent. "
-------------------
Jim Johnson woke precisely at six in the morning, wishing that he could sleep in. "Why," he wondered aloud, "does my body think it still has to get up and get to the school? Wonder how long it'll be before I can actually sleep in without feeling guilty?" Lorene was already up, and she came into their bedroom from the hallway. She was wrapped in a terry cloth bathrobe and her grey hair, usually piled on top of her head and sprayed stiff, was pulled back in a thick ponytail.
"I've been up a while. Have you looked outside? It's snowin' to beat th' band out there. The coffee's on. Seems like a good day to make a batch of stew with some of that venison Tommy Halverson gave you last fall."
"There will be no school today," said her husband from long habit. "Guess I won't be heading to Rhinelander to buy your Christmas present today either." After a pause, he said, " I think I'll call Pastor Dee Anna in a bit to see how it's going down south."
Lorene came to the side of the bed and leaned over to kiss the top of Jim's bald head. "Get up, Honey. We have decorating to do." Jim sat up and wrapped his arms around his ample wife. "Or you could come back to bed instead," he said with a grin. "It's cold in here."
"I've been up a while. Have you looked outside? It's snowin' to beat th' band out there. The coffee's on. Seems like a good day to make a batch of stew with some of that venison Tommy Halverson gave you last fall."
"There will be no school today," said her husband from long habit. "Guess I won't be heading to Rhinelander to buy your Christmas present today either." After a pause, he said, " I think I'll call Pastor Dee Anna in a bit to see how it's going down south."
Lorene came to the side of the bed and leaned over to kiss the top of Jim's bald head. "Get up, Honey. We have decorating to do." Jim sat up and wrapped his arms around his ample wife. "Or you could come back to bed instead," he said with a grin. "It's cold in here."
--------------------
Chad lived in a little house just around the corner from North Woods Chapel. He was using his unexpected day off from the mill to prepare for the upcoming holidays. He had tried to go back to sleep after he heard he wouldn't be working, but it hadn't worked. So he'd donned a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and after making himself a bowl of instant oatmeal, had started dusting the living room. His house was rather bare, but it was neat and organized. He made his way around the room, dusting the small end tables, lamps with bases made of tooled leather, and a picture of a wolf in snowy woods. He ran the vacuum quickly over an oval braided rug and mopped the small kitchen.
Satisfied, he headed to the basement to begin hauling up boxes of Christmas items. After about an hour he had erected a small artificial tree, had it lit, and was arranging his mother's collection of Norwegian trolls in front of the books that lined shelves covering most of one wall. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare stood beside the Little House books. Those had come to him from his mother, as had the hard backed volumes of the Chronicles of Narnia series, bound in several deep colors and with the titles etched in gold on the spines. Chad touched the books gently for a moment as he placed the last troll. "I miss you, Mom," he said quietly, "and you too, Dad." He smiled as he added, "And Dad, I do appreciate your books too." He was referring to several books for the home handy man, a series purchased over several months from The Readers Digest. These stood on the bottom shelf next to a red checked volume of Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook.
Satisfied, he headed to the basement to begin hauling up boxes of Christmas items. After about an hour he had erected a small artificial tree, had it lit, and was arranging his mother's collection of Norwegian trolls in front of the books that lined shelves covering most of one wall. The Complete Works of William Shakespeare stood beside the Little House books. Those had come to him from his mother, as had the hard backed volumes of the Chronicles of Narnia series, bound in several deep colors and with the titles etched in gold on the spines. Chad touched the books gently for a moment as he placed the last troll. "I miss you, Mom," he said quietly, "and you too, Dad." He smiled as he added, "And Dad, I do appreciate your books too." He was referring to several books for the home handy man, a series purchased over several months from The Readers Digest. These stood on the bottom shelf next to a red checked volume of Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook.
Next, Chad opened the lid on a boxes of ornaments and removed a handmade snowman with CHAD printed in block letters on the bottom. Third grade, he recalled. He had been so proud of it, wrapping it carefully in tissue paper and bringing it home from school in his backpack, along with a handwritten card for his mother.
Suddenly he realized her felt tired and sat down on a small brown sofa. His thoughts drifted to the day his family had moved into this house. He had been seven or eight years old, maybe about the age of Madeline Hanson. What a long time it seemed since his parents had been gone. Opening his eyes, he looked sadly at the box of ornaments. Almost every one of them had a story. He wished there was someone with whom to share them.
-----------------
Dennis and Marla Whitewater were cleaning up from their departed company. Marla pulled sheets from the bunk bed in the loft and and piled them in a laundry basket. Uh oh. One of the cousins had left a sweatshirt under the bed. "Good thing everyone got out of here yesterday. If they had stayed one more day they might have had to stay put till this snow ends" she called to her husband. They were alone in the house; their two sons had spent the night at a friends and had called to say they were staying put till they could get their truck out of the driveway.
"I love your sister and her family, Babe, but I must say I'm glad to have you to myself again. Besides," Dennis said, grinning and poking his head around the door of the spare bedroom, broom in one hand and a dustpan in the other, "you know what they say about relatives. Just like fish...they stink after three days." He ducked as a pillow sailed across the room.
Marla laughed, "Just be glad it wasn't both sisters! And with all the relatives you have around here you are the last one to talk!" Then she grew suddenly serious. "Speaking of visits and family, I wonder how it is going with our pastor and her family? Have you heard from her?"
------------
Lee Coats had finished his morning milking and settled things in the barn so as not to have to go back out anytime soon. Now he was paying bills. Or that was what he was supposed to be doing. He was sitting at his computer warming up with a cup of hot coffee, checkbook open and bills spread across the desk. After fifteen minutes he had still not entered his bank password. He was staring out the window as the snow grew more and more intense and the wind increased, making the house creak. The words of an old Barry McGuire song came into his mind:
I walked a mile with pleasure,
She chatted all the way.
Left me none the wiser with all she had to say.
I walked a mile with sorrow,
Never a word said she,
But oh, the things I learned from her,
When sorrow walked with me.
"I don't think I'm learning anything!" He spoke aloud and his voice was angry, surprising him.
"The weather knows how I feel," he thought to himself, dropping his head into his hands. He could hear that Mary had finally gotten up and was in the shower. "What am I going to do about Mary, God?" He felt sorrow rising in his chest like a wave, and he choked back a sob. "God, you know how I love her, and how hard I have tried to be a good husband, to be a loving leader, to help her become the beautiful person I know she is. I've encouraged her to pray, to stick with her devotions, to get more involved, and nothing seems to work. Every December it gets even worse. What more is a Christian husband supposed to do?"
The only answer was the whistle of the wind around the corner of the house and the rattle of the window pane. Lee heard the shower stop, and he lifted his head and typed his password on the keyboard. Might as well get something accomplished. Maybe later he could get Mary to work on Christmas decorating. Or maybe not. Maybe this year they would skip the tree.
--------
"Oh, this is good news!" Dee Anna put an arm around her mother and smiled at her. "Phil and I will get the Christmas tree up tonight, and it will be all set for when Daddy comes home next week." She turned to Phil who was sitting on the foot of their father's bed. "Won't we, Bro?"
"Uh, sure. I guess so. Right now I need to get myself to work." He stood to his feet and moved to the head of the bed. "Dad, I'll make sure things are set for you and Mom." He kissed his mother lightly on the cheek, surprising himself. She smiled faintly and patted his arm. "See you right after work, Dee Anna," he smiled at his sister, "It sure would be nice if you make some spaghetti for tonight."
"Hey," interjected their father from the bed, "I want some spaghetti too!" He frowned. "And how are y'all gonna get the lights to work on that tree? Nobody ever seems to get it right except me."
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Father's Day Thoughts
Happy Fathers Day!
I remember my father once telling me that as he aged he thought more and more about his long-deceased father, dreamed about him, missed him. How strange it seems today that I am about the age my dad was when he told me this, and I find it to be true for me as well.
My father has been gone for a long time. At the time of his death, more than 20 years ago, he was an active, healthy 72 year-old, teaching the Bible, visiting the sick and involved in life. My sisters and I thought we'd have our father for many more years, but an aneurysm turned him into one of those "healthiest guy in the cemetery" statistics.
Funny, 72 seems even younger these days than it did then.
My father was a bundle of contradictions. He was loving but could be hurtful. He was wise and he was foolish. His uncompromising and sometimes rigid attitude was frustrating, but we always knew where he stood. He was ahead of his time, and he was hopelessly old-fashioned. He once told me, in a surprising conversation, to dream big dreams, but he was distressed that I left the Southern Baptist fold, and even more distressed when he learned I thought women could preach. He was warm and funny and tender hearted, a man who cried easily. He was also a man who would speak up for what was right, or what he thought was right, without fear of consequences. And then he could be dangerously indecisive when it counted most.
He loved God, and he loved his children, and he loved people and he loved life. I miss him.
Here is a poem from Rev Abi, one of the Rev Gal Blog Pals who writes here. I'm using this prayer at the prison chapel today, where many of the men who will be at services will be struggling with memories of absent, abusive, uncaring fathers--and some will be struggling as they face the fact that they themselves were an absent, or abusive or uncaring father.
God,
We today pray for Fathers near and far.
We pray for Fathers alive and Fathers who are dead.
We pray for Fathers who were present with their children and those who were absent.
We pray for new Fathers and old Fathers.
We pray for those who loved well and those who did not love as well.
We pray for Fathers who play(ed) with their children and those who don’t.
We pray for those who take their fathering seriously and those who don’t.
We pray for biological dads and dads who raised us.
We pray for those who don’t get to be dads at all.
We pray for Fathers who were let down by their dads,
We pray for Fathers who were not loved by their fathers.
We pray for Fathers who missed out on the presence of fathers.
We pray for fathers whose fathers did not play with them.
We pray for Fathers who may be caught up in this recession and lost their jobs.
We pray for Fathers who serve in the military in far away places and lands.
We pray for Fathers who may be trapped by addictions.
We pray for Fathers who are serving in prison away from their children.
We pray for Fathers who are all wrapped up in their work too busy for their children.
We pray for our fathers.
We pray for them to have strength, wisdom and courage.
We pray for them to raise their children in the way that they should go.
We pray for them to love, laugh, play and live.
We pray for forgiveness for our fathers, for their shortcomings, their weaknesses, and their abuses.
And God we pray that we may then be able to pray to you Abba Daddy.
Amen
I remember my father once telling me that as he aged he thought more and more about his long-deceased father, dreamed about him, missed him. How strange it seems today that I am about the age my dad was when he told me this, and I find it to be true for me as well.
My father has been gone for a long time. At the time of his death, more than 20 years ago, he was an active, healthy 72 year-old, teaching the Bible, visiting the sick and involved in life. My sisters and I thought we'd have our father for many more years, but an aneurysm turned him into one of those "healthiest guy in the cemetery" statistics.
Funny, 72 seems even younger these days than it did then.
My father was a bundle of contradictions. He was loving but could be hurtful. He was wise and he was foolish. His uncompromising and sometimes rigid attitude was frustrating, but we always knew where he stood. He was ahead of his time, and he was hopelessly old-fashioned. He once told me, in a surprising conversation, to dream big dreams, but he was distressed that I left the Southern Baptist fold, and even more distressed when he learned I thought women could preach. He was warm and funny and tender hearted, a man who cried easily. He was also a man who would speak up for what was right, or what he thought was right, without fear of consequences. And then he could be dangerously indecisive when it counted most.
He loved God, and he loved his children, and he loved people and he loved life. I miss him.
Here is a poem from Rev Abi, one of the Rev Gal Blog Pals who writes here. I'm using this prayer at the prison chapel today, where many of the men who will be at services will be struggling with memories of absent, abusive, uncaring fathers--and some will be struggling as they face the fact that they themselves were an absent, or abusive or uncaring father.
God,
We today pray for Fathers near and far.
We pray for Fathers alive and Fathers who are dead.
We pray for Fathers who were present with their children and those who were absent.
We pray for new Fathers and old Fathers.
We pray for those who loved well and those who did not love as well.
We pray for Fathers who play(ed) with their children and those who don’t.
We pray for those who take their fathering seriously and those who don’t.
We pray for biological dads and dads who raised us.
We pray for those who don’t get to be dads at all.
We pray for Fathers who were let down by their dads,
We pray for Fathers who were not loved by their fathers.
We pray for Fathers who missed out on the presence of fathers.
We pray for fathers whose fathers did not play with them.
We pray for Fathers who may be caught up in this recession and lost their jobs.
We pray for Fathers who serve in the military in far away places and lands.
We pray for Fathers who may be trapped by addictions.
We pray for Fathers who are serving in prison away from their children.
We pray for Fathers who are all wrapped up in their work too busy for their children.
We pray for our fathers.
We pray for them to have strength, wisdom and courage.
We pray for them to raise their children in the way that they should go.
We pray for them to love, laugh, play and live.
We pray for forgiveness for our fathers, for their shortcomings, their weaknesses, and their abuses.
And God we pray that we may then be able to pray to you Abba Daddy.
Amen
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Little Big Foot: More Surprises
It had been an amazing few days, Phil thought. Meeting his sister at the airport had been difficult, but a relief. She had seemed genuinely glad to see him, and they had already begun to regain their friendly footing with one another. Then there was the realization that their mother actually loved their father, then her astounding revelation of an side they never dreamed existed, culminated with an unexpected and distressing pregnancy, then the nurse’s phone call and a relived reunion with his father as the family had arrived at the hospital to find him awake and wanting to talk.
Their conversations were necessarily short, of course, but had been uncharacteristically straightforward but gentle. It almost seemed as though something had happened to his father when he was unconscious, Phil mused. He was more serious, but in a good way.
Bud had beckoned his wife to come close and then had cupped her face in his hands. As their parents had both began to weep quietly, Dee Anna and Phil had left the room, glancing at one another in a kind of wonder. Later his father had taken his hand and said, “Son, I am sorry I criticized you so much. I know you are a good man.” To Dee Anna he had said little but had simply enfolded her in a long embrace and stroked her hair. Something, it seemed, was happening.
Phil rose from a vinyl hospital chair, hearing the approaching voices of the children’s choir from First Baptist. He glanced over at his father, who was sleeping, and then he peeked out the door and down the hall. Sarah was leading Christmas the children in singing “Go Tell It on the Mountain.”
Phil had encountered the choir director at an AA meeting. He had been surprised, remembering her as the daughter of a man known as a”hell-fire-and-brimstone preacher.” She had nodded and smiled at him, and after the meeting, they had somehow ended up eating ice cream at the Dairy Queen. Sarah had shared a little of life after she had left home to attend Texas State University, and she had acknowledged that she had heard of his drug problems and his subsequent return to their home town. Her father was now a resident at Shady Acres Convalescent Center, the victim of Alzheimer’s disease, and her mother was enjoying a happy and healthy 70th decade. She had intended, she said, to stay away, but had shrugged as she added, “It’s been all right. I came home to help Mama, and she is the one who’s helping me.”
Sarah looked over and saw him, and she waved as she sang. Shyly, Phil waved back, feeling like a kid caught being sneaky. He chuckled at himself, wondering if this meant he was infatuated. His mother had gone to speak with Dr. Martin, but he wasn’t sure what had happened to Dee Anna.
Deciding to go look for her, he headed to the family lounge, wondering if he had a dollar to spend on a Coke. He was a few steps inside before he realized that his sister was talking intently with the same pretty nurse they had seen before. Hadn’t they gone to school together? He thought he remembered her from choir, a freshman perhaps, when he was a senior.
He backed out of the room and wandered towards the carolers.
----
Dee Anna and Lupita were reminiscing. Lupita's shift was over and she should have gone home, but she had stayed to talk with her old schoolmate. They had settled into a couple of chairs in the lounge and sipped overpriced soft drinks from the vending machine while they talked of mutual acquaintances, and Dee Anna had wondered who was still in town and who had moved away, who had married, who was still single, who had been a surprising success. After a while they ran out of things to say and grew silent.
After a few moments of sipping their cans of Dr. Pepper, Lupita shifted in her chair, leaning forward with a serious expression as she asked, "So, it is true then, you really are a pastor?" Dee Anna nodded, and Lupita went on, "I always knew you'd be someone special."
"I'm not special," replied Dee Anna, surprised. "Well, no more than anyone else."
"Some are more special than others, Chica!" said Lupita, grinning. "I remember you from grade school, with your red hair and beautiful green eyes. I used to wish I looked like you. And that my mother looked like yours--still so lovely isn't she? Your mother was always good to us."
Dee Anna laughed, "I hated my hair." Then she quietly asked, "And what happened to your mother? Is she living? Is she well? Or..."
Lupita looked surprised as she replied, "Oh my! Y'all don't know? My mother is doing very well. Thank you for asking. She almost died...and then she just started to get better and better and after a while she was her old self, only more alive than I'd ever seen her. She lives with her sister now, and the two of them are enjoying each other, shopping, going to the movies, getting their hair done..." Lupita chuckled, "Well, doing the things they never had time or energy to do when they were younger."
"Oh, I'm so glad to hear that. I know it must have been hard for you when we were seniors and she was ill and you had brothers and sisters at home." Dee Anna paused, wondering if she was getting too personal, but Lupita nodded.
"Yes. It was very hard. I was tired all the time. I pretty much dropped out of everything. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to go to college, but after your mother invited us to church and helped us so much, I..."
"What?"
Lupita went on, "It made such a difference to us to know that th' folks at your church cared. Your mom came over one day, and I...I was so embarrassed that the place was a mess. And she just shushed me, and she asked where the broom was and I still remember how she put her hands on her hips and looked around and said, 'We are fixin' to get some work done!'"
Lupita's eyes sparkled as she added, "I was amazed at how she got all us kids organized and working, and pretty soon it looked like a different place."
"My mother?"
Lupita looked puzzled, "Sure! Didn't you know?"
"Um," Dee Anna took a deep breath, "Well, no."
"Oh my yes! She got all of us going to Sunday School, and one Sunday when Mother felt better she came too. Everyone welcomed us, and made us feel at home..." She paused, "well, you know...it's changed, but back then we thought maybe they'd expect us to go to Templo Calvario. I mean....well..."
"Yes, I understand" said Dee Anna simply, reaching to touch Lupita's hand. "Are you saying my mother brought y'all to our church?" She was chagrined to hear how easily she was slipping back into the speech patterns she'd deliberately avoided. Still, she had to admit, Lupita's mix of soft Spanish accent and Texas drawl made her feel at ease. Dee Anna went on, "And your mom too?"
"That's what I'm saying, Dee Anna!" Lupita looked surprised, "I mean, I thought y'all knew that."
"No."
"Well, she did, and your dad and Pastor Don Ellis, remember him? The two of them organized some of the men to help with some repairs at the house, and, well...it was the beginning of so many good things. The people loved us, and they prayed for my mom, and she went to a different doctor over to th' Lincoln clinic, and she got better. It was Pastor Don who helped me find out about grants and apply for a couple of scholarships and it worked out so that I could go to nursing school. When I got on the Dean's List, your mama and daddy sent me a card with fifty dollars in it!"
Dee Anna stared, speechless, as Lupita went on, "I guess you take after your mother. She is a no-nonsense lady, but then so are you." She added, a little shyly, "I will never, as long as I live, forget the day when that Hutchinson boy from th' edge of town called me...called me a name...and you came flying by me and smacked him! I like to died!" She burst out laughing, then stopped, noticing Dee Anna's open mouth.
"What is it, Dee Anna? Did I say something I shouldn't have?"
Dee Anna reached out and grasped Lupita's hands. "I...oh no. I just...well..." she took a deep breath. "All this is news to me. It's wonderful, of course. It's just that...well...I'm surprised I didn't know about any of it."
Lupita looked surprised. "I just thought you and your mama probably talked all about it, us graduating together and all..."
Dee Anna thought, but did not say, "I didn't talk to Mom much after I left town."
After a moment in which both were silent, Lupita said, "I know it has been a long day for all of y'all, but...if you wouldn't mind...sometime I'd love to hear a little about how you became a pastor. I know you went off to some school, but nothing much after that. I've never seen a woman pastor before, but, oh yes I did heard that you...married a preacher too. And you have a little girl?"
Neither of them had noticed Phil as he entered, and then exited, the room.
Monday, June 07, 2010
Finding Little Big Foot: Spanish People
Chapter Twenty-Five (and it only took me a year and 4 months to write them). Anyone still reading?
Brrrrrrrt!
Who has a phone that sounds like that anymore? Dee Anna thought, startled. The ringing stifled Phil's laughter and brought sudden silence--as shocking in its way as the laughter had been, except for the phone's jarring summons. For a long moment no one stirred and their expressions stiffened in apprehension. It was Dee Anna who rose and moved to the wall by the back door where a turquoise-hued phone still hung. As Dee Anna lifted the receiver, she felt an odd fracturing in her thoughts. Part of her was cold and still. Another part of her was expectant, almost excited. She also found herself wondering why her mother would redecorate the kitchen yet leave the old phone, rotary dial and all, in place.
It was Nurse Lupita. Dee Anna remembered Lupita as a quiet, pretty girl who did well in school in spite of caring for an ill mother and several younger siblings. She must be working some long hours, Dee Anna thought, remembering that she had been in the hospital the afternoon before. She was glad that the call, whatever it was going to be, was not from a stranger.
In high school Dee Anna, while friendly, had not exactly been close to Lupita. She had refused to engage in the demeaning remarks she sometimes heard and once had slapped a lanky boy who had called their classmate "that beaner bitch." They had both gotten detention. Dee Anna remembered trying to explain to her father why she, for the one and only time in her life, had been required to stay after school. Her father had said little except to pat her on the hand and admonish, "Jesus tells us to turn the other cheek, Dee Anna."
Dee Anna had wondered how that applied to an insult given not to her but to someone else. Wasn't justice important? She didn't ask. She had decided to stay silent and consider herself fortunate that her father had been the one to get the call from the principal. He had not spoken of the incident to Bernice.
Lupita was from "a Spanish family" who lived in an area known simply as "the east side." Her father had died in some farm accident, Dee Anna dimly recalled, when Lupita was about ten years old. Lupita's mother had done laundry, ironing, and housework for many of Bernice's friends. She had become ill--was it some kind of cancer?--and her daughter had dropped out of the Drama Club because she couldn't come to rehearsals. They had been preparing for "Hello Dolly." The rest of the cast had felt sorry for Lupita, who had a lovely voice.
"Spanish" people were considered acceptable in Dee Anna's childhood world, at least somewhat welcome in school and the workplace. "Mexicans" on the other hand, were to be avoided, except when manual labor needed to be done. Mexicans were on the low end of the social scale, just above those with even darker skins who lived in yet another part of town. Both groups attended different churches than the white people.
Dee Anna had accepted all this as normal until about age 14 when she began to be acutely aware of how things were in other places. Once when Bernice had spoken of an electrician as "that Spanish man," Dee Anna had scornfully asked her, "Are there actually Spanish people in these parts?"
Bernice had looked at her as if she'd lost her wits and said, "What are you talking about, Dee Anna? You know very well there are. Aren't you listening? I just told you that the Spanish man who works with your Uncle Chuck will be here tomorrow to replace the wiring on the porch."
"Really, Mother?" Dee Anna had questioned with wide eyes, " From Spain?" Her mother had given her a long, hard look and said nothing.
"They are Mexicans, Mother. Or if you want to get with the times, they are Hispanics."
Bernice had snapped, "Mexicans are field hands" and slammed the door as she left her daughter's room. They never spoke of the subject again.
Remembering, Dee Anna felt an all-too-familiar mixture of frustration and regret. She should have tried to understand her mother. She should have been a better friend to Lupita, whom she had genuinely admired.
She suddenly thought, "What happened to Lupita's mother?"
"Is this Dee Anna?" said the voice on the phone. Dee Anna's thoughts jerked to the present as she ran her hand through her hair. She took a deep breath.
"Yes... Is this Lupita? What is it? Is my father...:?"
"Is your mother awake and all right?"
""Yes. We're all up. Is something wrong?"
""Oh no, Dee Anna."
The voice was unchanged from when it's owner was sixteen, and Dee Anna found that oddly comforting.
"Dr Martin is here. Your father is awake and asking for your mother. Can you come soon?"
Brrrrrrrt!
Who has a phone that sounds like that anymore? Dee Anna thought, startled. The ringing stifled Phil's laughter and brought sudden silence--as shocking in its way as the laughter had been, except for the phone's jarring summons. For a long moment no one stirred and their expressions stiffened in apprehension. It was Dee Anna who rose and moved to the wall by the back door where a turquoise-hued phone still hung. As Dee Anna lifted the receiver, she felt an odd fracturing in her thoughts. Part of her was cold and still. Another part of her was expectant, almost excited. She also found herself wondering why her mother would redecorate the kitchen yet leave the old phone, rotary dial and all, in place.
It was Nurse Lupita. Dee Anna remembered Lupita as a quiet, pretty girl who did well in school in spite of caring for an ill mother and several younger siblings. She must be working some long hours, Dee Anna thought, remembering that she had been in the hospital the afternoon before. She was glad that the call, whatever it was going to be, was not from a stranger.
In high school Dee Anna, while friendly, had not exactly been close to Lupita. She had refused to engage in the demeaning remarks she sometimes heard and once had slapped a lanky boy who had called their classmate "that beaner bitch." They had both gotten detention. Dee Anna remembered trying to explain to her father why she, for the one and only time in her life, had been required to stay after school. Her father had said little except to pat her on the hand and admonish, "Jesus tells us to turn the other cheek, Dee Anna."
Dee Anna had wondered how that applied to an insult given not to her but to someone else. Wasn't justice important? She didn't ask. She had decided to stay silent and consider herself fortunate that her father had been the one to get the call from the principal. He had not spoken of the incident to Bernice.
Lupita was from "a Spanish family" who lived in an area known simply as "the east side." Her father had died in some farm accident, Dee Anna dimly recalled, when Lupita was about ten years old. Lupita's mother had done laundry, ironing, and housework for many of Bernice's friends. She had become ill--was it some kind of cancer?--and her daughter had dropped out of the Drama Club because she couldn't come to rehearsals. They had been preparing for "Hello Dolly." The rest of the cast had felt sorry for Lupita, who had a lovely voice.
"Spanish" people were considered acceptable in Dee Anna's childhood world, at least somewhat welcome in school and the workplace. "Mexicans" on the other hand, were to be avoided, except when manual labor needed to be done. Mexicans were on the low end of the social scale, just above those with even darker skins who lived in yet another part of town. Both groups attended different churches than the white people.
Dee Anna had accepted all this as normal until about age 14 when she began to be acutely aware of how things were in other places. Once when Bernice had spoken of an electrician as "that Spanish man," Dee Anna had scornfully asked her, "Are there actually Spanish people in these parts?"
Bernice had looked at her as if she'd lost her wits and said, "What are you talking about, Dee Anna? You know very well there are. Aren't you listening? I just told you that the Spanish man who works with your Uncle Chuck will be here tomorrow to replace the wiring on the porch."
"Really, Mother?" Dee Anna had questioned with wide eyes, " From Spain?" Her mother had given her a long, hard look and said nothing.
"They are Mexicans, Mother. Or if you want to get with the times, they are Hispanics."
Bernice had snapped, "Mexicans are field hands" and slammed the door as she left her daughter's room. They never spoke of the subject again.
Remembering, Dee Anna felt an all-too-familiar mixture of frustration and regret. She should have tried to understand her mother. She should have been a better friend to Lupita, whom she had genuinely admired.
She suddenly thought, "What happened to Lupita's mother?"
"Is this Dee Anna?" said the voice on the phone. Dee Anna's thoughts jerked to the present as she ran her hand through her hair. She took a deep breath.
"Yes... Is this Lupita? What is it? Is my father...:?"
"Is your mother awake and all right?"
""Yes. We're all up. Is something wrong?"
""Oh no, Dee Anna."
The voice was unchanged from when it's owner was sixteen, and Dee Anna found that oddly comforting.
"Dr Martin is here. Your father is awake and asking for your mother. Can you come soon?"
Friday, June 04, 2010
The Rev Gal Friday Five: Patience
Trying to get back in the swing of blogging, here is my first Friday Five in a very long time. It is brief, but it is here. :-) It comes from Sally, who is looking over her beautiful garden and pondering patience. She says,
"Patience is something that sometimes comes easy and sometimes doesn't, in the case of the garden it is easy, I can see the growth and know that waiting will produce good results. With other things patience is more difficult. Along with looking forward to eating our own veggies, we are also looking forward to seeing four of our children graduate with Bachelors degrees this year, they have worked hard over the three years and stuck at it through some difficult stuff. It would have been easy for them to give up, but they haven't. Persistence often pays off, but we need to be aware that it sometimes turns into sheer pig headedness."
With all that in mind, she offers this Friday Five:
1. Is patience a virtue you possess? If it is then does it come naturally, if not how do you/ did you work at it?
Yes and no. When if comes to people, hoping for improvement, growth, etc. I am very patient. When it comes to situation...not so much. I find, oddly enough, that I am less patient the older I get. I thought it would be the other way around.
2. Being patient with ourselves can be a huge challenge, we are often our own worst critics; is there anything you need to be patient with yourself with at the moment?
About a dozen things. I have mild cerebral palsy which was caused from being premature. Many people don't know unless they pay attention, but it does cause me to have vision problems as well as being basically clumsy! This is getting worse, and causing me concern...and if I fall, as I did recently, even though I (of course) would choose otherwise, I tend to get mad at myself and figure I was just careless. I need to cut myself slack--but that is true in a lot of ways, not just one. I don't know why I can be patient with just about everyone but myself.
3. Are you the kind of person who can/ will persist with a difficult task? How much of this is personality related?
Depends on the task. Math problem? No way! Something that I really need to do, yes. But I can't say it is enjoyable.
4. Can you spot when persistence turns into pig headedness, or do you never get there?
Ha! I think I am never pig headed. Seriously. My husband would say otherwise.
5. Post a song or a poem that chills you out and helps you to re-group, re-focus and carry on? Okay, this is a really bad version of this song, but I used to sing it to my kiddos and I still do...to myself. Not all the verses, just the chorus.
Have patience, have patience,
Don't be in such a hurry
When you get impatient,
You only start to worry.
Remember, remember,
That God is patient too,
And think of all the times when others
Had to wait....for you.
Hmmm...that is about being patient with others. Where is a song about being patient with ME?
"Patience is something that sometimes comes easy and sometimes doesn't, in the case of the garden it is easy, I can see the growth and know that waiting will produce good results. With other things patience is more difficult. Along with looking forward to eating our own veggies, we are also looking forward to seeing four of our children graduate with Bachelors degrees this year, they have worked hard over the three years and stuck at it through some difficult stuff. It would have been easy for them to give up, but they haven't. Persistence often pays off, but we need to be aware that it sometimes turns into sheer pig headedness."
With all that in mind, she offers this Friday Five:
1. Is patience a virtue you possess? If it is then does it come naturally, if not how do you/ did you work at it?
Yes and no. When if comes to people, hoping for improvement, growth, etc. I am very patient. When it comes to situation...not so much. I find, oddly enough, that I am less patient the older I get. I thought it would be the other way around.
2. Being patient with ourselves can be a huge challenge, we are often our own worst critics; is there anything you need to be patient with yourself with at the moment?
About a dozen things. I have mild cerebral palsy which was caused from being premature. Many people don't know unless they pay attention, but it does cause me to have vision problems as well as being basically clumsy! This is getting worse, and causing me concern...and if I fall, as I did recently, even though I (of course) would choose otherwise, I tend to get mad at myself and figure I was just careless. I need to cut myself slack--but that is true in a lot of ways, not just one. I don't know why I can be patient with just about everyone but myself.
3. Are you the kind of person who can/ will persist with a difficult task? How much of this is personality related?
Depends on the task. Math problem? No way! Something that I really need to do, yes. But I can't say it is enjoyable.
4. Can you spot when persistence turns into pig headedness, or do you never get there?
Ha! I think I am never pig headed. Seriously. My husband would say otherwise.
5. Post a song or a poem that chills you out and helps you to re-group, re-focus and carry on? Okay, this is a really bad version of this song, but I used to sing it to my kiddos and I still do...to myself. Not all the verses, just the chorus.
Have patience, have patience,
Don't be in such a hurry
When you get impatient,
You only start to worry.
Remember, remember,
That God is patient too,
And think of all the times when others
Had to wait....for you.
Hmmm...that is about being patient with others. Where is a song about being patient with ME?
Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Re-discovering Calling, Re-discovering Gifts, Finding Our Way Again
Click on the post title above to visit one of my favorite bloggers across the pond, Sally of Eternal Echoes. I just had a conversation with a fellow AG minister who was pondering similar things and concluded, "I refuse to live any longer under the bondage that if I just 'do it right' I will have a big church." He was speaking of our own fellowship, but apparently we aren't the only ones pondering this. Wonderfully written, Sally, as always.
Tuesday, June 01, 2010
Trinity Goes to a Rendezvous Camp
Last weekend we did this --and Trinity came along. Four days away from Mommy and Daddy was a long stretch for a three-year-old, but she had so much fun she did not want to leave. Every Memorial Day weekend, we go to Frontiers Camping Fellowship Family Camp. This one is different than others I've posted about because it is leaders of Royal Rangers (an Assemblies of God boy's group sort of like scouting) and their families. FCF is a group not everyone chooses to join, but those who do are sort of like other rendezvous reenactors I have posted about.
We see friends we sometimes haven't see for a year, have lots of fun, spend time singing and having devotions around a camp fire, and eat too much.
It was great to see you, Tom and Cindy and Bob and Darla and Stew and Debbie, and Gerry and Debbie and Gary and Heather...and so on. Here is Trinity, having a great time.
Mommy made T.'s calico dress, a plains Indian style. Trinity made the "beautiful" beaded necklace and the candy bracelet.
I'm making up my bed, Grandma!
I love it too! Thank you, Papa!
Here is another new dress, actually more Civil War period, but...whatever. Well, it didn't exactly go with the pink plastic Disney Princess shoes, but other than that she looked like a doll.
Dancing with glowy things at night! Blow out the lantern, Papa, so we can see!
Four days of nonstop fun with lots of other children, necklace making, "glowy things" each night, marshmallow roasting, learning new words and new songs and socializing with the entire encampment, and Miss Trinity was exhausted by Monday. This is about 8 a.m. She showed a very plucky side. She insisted on trying everything the big kids did, including bobbing for apples (I did NOT expect her to stick her head in the water), Frisbee tossing, and many other things she couldn't do--but don't tell HER that. I love her confidence. I love this kid. :-)
We see friends we sometimes haven't see for a year, have lots of fun, spend time singing and having devotions around a camp fire, and eat too much.
It was great to see you, Tom and Cindy and Bob and Darla and Stew and Debbie, and Gerry and Debbie and Gary and Heather...and so on. Here is Trinity, having a great time.
Mommy made T.'s calico dress, a plains Indian style. Trinity made the "beautiful" beaded necklace and the candy bracelet.
I'm making up my bed, Grandma!
Papa bought me a beautiful new dress. Look at my beautiful skirt. It goes out! Do you like it? (T. likes the word "beautiful.)
I love it too! Thank you, Papa!
Here is another new dress, actually more Civil War period, but...whatever. Well, it didn't exactly go with the pink plastic Disney Princess shoes, but other than that she looked like a doll.
Ewww! That ant is eating that dead catta-piller. Don't step on it!
Back to camp. She refused to change into something cooler.
Dancing with glowy things at night! Blow out the lantern, Papa, so we can see!
Four days of nonstop fun with lots of other children, necklace making, "glowy things" each night, marshmallow roasting, learning new words and new songs and socializing with the entire encampment, and Miss Trinity was exhausted by Monday. This is about 8 a.m. She showed a very plucky side. She insisted on trying everything the big kids did, including bobbing for apples (I did NOT expect her to stick her head in the water), Frisbee tossing, and many other things she couldn't do--but don't tell HER that. I love her confidence. I love this kid. :-)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)