A Faithful Friend

In my profile I mention that we have an old beagle, almost ten to be exact. Buddy the beagle ( his name was already selected when we adopted him). Buddy came to us through a kind of winding chain of people who knew people. But the way we came to adopt Buddy is that when he was 4 he was rescued and his first humans were prosecuted for animal cruelty- he had never had any indoor shelter, nor had he ever had a doghouse. Imagine hot sun, raging storms, winter snow, and you are tied to a leash in the yard with nowhere to go. He ended up at the Humane League shelter and was adopted by different households, but the one we got him from was breaking up and no one could keep him. He has adenoid issues from all of the outdoor exposure and Lyme disease that is currently in remission. He used to have a really bad case of thunderphobia, but sadly now is going deaf. This photo is a couple of years old, but he looked so coy here, I decided it was the right shot.

You would think after all of that- lack of permanence, your humans are cruel to you- it would really leave a mark on your personality. Make you mean, vengeful, suspicious. On the contrary, Buddy is the most pleasant, even tempered and agreeable dog you could ever have ( minus some really bad breath). And he is absolutely devoted to me. When I come home, he is at the door, tail wagging so hard his rear end is wagging, and he howls to tell me all about his day and how much he missed me. He thinks he is a lapdog even though he weighs 40 pounds. A happy puppy is the one sleeping on Mom in the sunroom on Sunday afternoon while she reads the paper. Leftover lovingly distributed dog hairs in three colors are sure to be on every outfit so I can think about him when I am not at home. So what’s there not to love?

Unfortunately in the beagle world, perhaps even more than some other breeds, when you claim a loved one, you want to always make sure everyone else knows. Which in dog-speak means, stink up their stuff real good in your scent. One day I was cleaning out my closet and left a pile of shoes out when I went to run errands. Buddy marked the spot in the traditional leg-lift way. He thought he'd done real good.

If I leave my pj’s out on the floor or bed when I am in a hurry, they will be fluffed up and made into a pillow he lays on until I return.

Until recently I could not figure out the scratching of the carpet by my closet door and my dresser. Then one day on our walk, I saw him scratching to mark that he has been there. The light bulb of the epiphany moment flickered on. He is staking out his turf ( as if some other dog might be in the house). He is expressing devotion.

No matter how bad my day was. No matter that I yelled at him for digging in the trash can when I got home, when what he really wanted was a “I missed you, let me rub your belly.” No matter when my husband and I are late getting home and he has been waiting past when the humans should be here. No matter that we give him whiplash on the retractable leash every time he is just about to snatch that really good looking snack on the ground. He is still there, tail wagging and claiming me as his special person.
And in spite of a history of bad human behavior before he came to live with us, he has always had faith in humans to change. Although I suspect this is helped by a good food bowl.

In a lot less smelly canine way, God is like that. He claims us as His own. Even when we seem to reject Him. He still believes in us, even when He shouldn’t. He’s glad to see us even when we have been neglectful of our relationship. And those of us who are marked with the cross of Christ can never be permanently separated from Him – kind of like those little beagle hairs that just dig in and won’t let go.

Hairspray and the 60's

So I went to see "Hairspray" with LC#1. I remember the original John Waters version. Of course the concept has since gone on to Broadway and now the musical is bigscreen. I love Motown and R & B and some of my earliest memories of music were what my Mom listened to on the radio and the hi-fi. The movie was fun and has the redeeming theme of people working together to bring integration to a dance show, and a touch of the coming of age in changing times.

After I left the theatre, I started thinking about the 60's. I was born in 1963 and was early school aged and living in the Midwest. My mother always had on a dress of some kind. The house was always picked up in time for my Dad to come home for dinner. When my parents socialized, the kids ran around like crazy while the adults smoked and drank. As kids we got to slurp the foam off of the beer. We would play all day in the development and you knew you needed to be home for supper and you should never be farther away than you could hear the whistle to come home. We did not have eight million channels on the TV. I remember borrowing the neighbor's station wagon to go get our first color TV for the Super Bowl. My Dad worked in retailing and we got a discount. We didn't have a lot but we had enough. I sang in the cherub choir at church with the white robe that had the really big sleeves that looked like wings if you stretched out your arms. Our church was not built yet in 1963 so I was baptized in the school gymnasium where the congregation was meeting. We had a lot of pancake suppers to pay for the construction. When we went into the big city to shop, I wore a dress and gloves and I had a patent leather purse on a chain for my offering to take to church. We watched all of the space launches. I still have the glass they gave out at the Texaco gas station for Apollo 13. On Sunday after church and dinner, we would take a drive and end up somewhere with ice cream.

But... my Dad bought a rifle because he heard there were race riots in Indianapolis and he was worried. When we took vacation to the Outer Banks, in 1970, we drove across the state of North Carolina. We drove through lots of small towns and I remember asking my parents why the black people got off the sidewalk when the white people were walking by. And my Southern relation would talk about how someone was a Negro, but they were clean, good looking or smart "for a Negro." And good upstanding men in my grandfather's church were in the Klan.

And I did not see or know a single person of color in my wonderful world. Even in college in Pennsylvania, old evils survive. My sorority was the target of a whole lot of ignorant behavior for allowing an African American woman to be a part of my pledge class. If only it was as easy and had the great soundtrack of "Hairspray."

PEI Lighthouses

Playing with new technology. These are some pictures I took a couple of years ago when I dragged the family to over 2 dozen lighthouse sites.

Will I Love Him Still?

I have blogged here before about my friend with the breast cancer diagnosis. It turns out that things are much more monumental than that. A year ago she had not a trace of anything on her mammogram. This year, the breast cancer. But “Radical” “Aggressive” and “Malignant” has spread to her lung, lymph nodes and liver. Now treating the breast cancer is third in line. Liver is first.

The timetable is racing now. Our Happy Hour get together was one glass of wine, the day after her first chemo. And she needs someone to whom she can say the things she does not want to burden her terrified husband with. Her children, who are grown, have taken matters in very different ways. The daughter in the military is braced for anything. The son is angry at God for letting someone who has led a healthy productive life get cancer. As if there were a pecking order by which we value lives. But a natural grief response.

So we meet to talk about her treatment. Her service of Resurrection victory and her desire for a solo/congregation version of “Lift High the Cross” that she wants me to promise to sing. A plan to go wig shopping. And she talks about how blessed her life has been and how thankful she has been every day for what God has given to her and to her family. A loving husband. Grown children who still want to come home and visit. Financial security. Good food, good friends. Grandchildren.

Then she says, “ But how thankful would I be if it was just a crust of bread, just another day of chronic bad health?” It has been easy to be thankful. She wonders if she can love God and thank Him as easily as she heads down a long dark tunnel of treatment? Indeed.

I have been reading The Sacrament of the Present Moment by Jean-Pierre de Caussade, a collection of a Jesuit priest’s letters to a group of nuns in the 1700’s. He speaks of a relationship with God where the more we seem to lose, the more we gain.

"The more He takes materially, the more he gives spiritually. We love him partly for his gifts. If they are no longer visible, we come to love him for himself alone. It is by seeming to deprive us of those gifts that he paves the way for the most precious one of all, because it embraces everything. "

DeCaussade speaks of abandoning ourselves, surrendering to the will of God. When I first read this earlier this summer, I read it in the context of surrendering what I had been doing to answer a call to ministry. But now it seems like a shallow thought in comparison to true surrender. When we pray in the Lord’s prayer, “Thy will be done,” it does include the possibility that God’s will is to call us home even at a time when we were not ready. It is entirely possible to know that heaven is there for you, but still desire to take another turn on the earthly ride with your spouse, children and grandchildren. It is a refining process to see cancer treatment as a way to closer walk with God when so much fear lies ahead. No regrets, just a sadness that this might be it. And yet there is eternal life promised through His grace.

I know that over the weeks to come, my friend and will have many talks and emails. There will be the range of emotions and my role is to listen, support and minister, with a little humor along the way- I suggested a hot pink Mohawk wig was a look she could explore. In the end, I suspect that regardless of the outcome, I will be the one who is taught as much if not more by the Holy Spirit and we will learn in new ways.

Why Can't I Be More Like Her?

One of the fears I have as a forty-something person returning to school is whether I can really do this from an academic standpoint. As I read what others write, hear about all of the times they have already preached, or all of the Greek and Hebrew they already have, I feel more than a little daunted. Maybe I got the wrong message. Fortunately, it is in the midst of all of this doubt, that things and people are placed before me that remind me of how I got here ( which will be the subject of other posts), but for now, I write about Romans. I remember that I have always felt drawn to this path, and finally decided to let God lead. I remember that I felt driven to this change ,and that even so none of us can be all things - we must work as the faithful in community. While I surely do not know exeactly where the destination will be, I put my trust in God to use my gifts.

“For just as in a single human body, there are many limbs and organs, all with different functions, so we who are united with Christ, though many, form one body, and belong to one another as its limbs and organs. Let us use the different gifts allotted to each of us by God’s grace: the gift of preaching , for example let us use in proportion to our faith. The gift of administration, to administer; the gift of teaching to teach; the gift of counseling, to counsel. If you give to charity, give without grudging; if you are a leader, lead with enthusiasm; if you help others in distress, do it cheerfully.” Romans 12:4-8.

It is sometimes hard to figure out why things did not go our way. My teenaged daughter was recently down in the mouth about why something came so easily to her friend, but was a real struggle for her. “Why can’t I be more like her?” As adults, we too know that we sometimes have our heart set on doing a particular thing, whether at work or in our commitments. We may believe very strongly in our own suitability, work very diligently to see it to fruition, only to hear that it is not to be- we have not been chosen, or sometimes even worse , this is not how others see us at all. “Why can’t I be more like her?”

Some years ago I searched long and hard to find the perfect gift to give a nephew. After a lot of thought, followed by traveling to the store, standing in line, to the excitement of wrapping the gift in anticipation of his opening it, I was indeed pleased with my gift. The time came at the party for the wrapping paper to be torn away. My nephew was also excited as the tearing began, until the secret was revealed. Speaking as young kids will, he exclaimed, “ But I wanted the blue one!” Our collective bubble was burst. It was not the gift he wanted. I was hurt- what was wrong with my gift?

Imagine how God must feel as we spend our time ever in search of what we want for our lives, rather than joyfully opening and using the gifts He has carefully selected for us. And how much time do we waste wondering “Why can’t I be more like her, or him?” We should each take the time to allow God to show us how we can best fulfill our purpose here. We are his instruments created for the work of his kingdom. So instead of wondering why you can’t sing, or teach or be handy, or _______________( fill in the blank), give thanks for your strengths and ability ( after all someone else wishes they had it). Say thank you to God by seeking to learn how you can serve best.

None of us is endowed with every gift, yet each us possesses gifts and talents bestowed upon us by God. With some of these skills, we find easily what they might be and set about happily to do them. However, some gifts only become apparent with time , or only come to light at the time they are needed. No matter how much I might wish that I could have the honor or joy of something that is my heart’s desire, my time is better spent discerning God’s call for me here. So it is for each of us.

In my mother’s opinion, you do not really enjoy her gift unless you use it. She frequently buys me clothing and within a week of the giving, the call will come, “ Did you wear it yet?” The suggested answer of course, is always “yes.” This is the second part of the message. Once you have opened the gift, wear it. Embrace it. Use it. You cannot wear it out for God intends it for you. Imagine His happiness as he sees you engaging the gifts He knows are especially meant for you.

Finally, as Paul says, remember that we are a body that should work together. If you have ever run in a three-legged race, you know that the secret to getting to the finish line is in not falling over. Unless you synchronize your running with the person to whom you are tied, the competing physical forces inevitably lead to loss of balance. It is not enough to realize your skill and then use it as though you are an island unto yourself. Just as working in isolation dooms the runners in a three legged race, so we here cannot succeed unless we work in tandem with each other. This requires patience, communication, effort, prayer, support, and sometimes, letting someone else lead the effort to get us started. Each of these skills is someone’s individual gift. Without all of them, the picture and our effort is not complete. Put your heart into working together with others. By so doing, you will be able to learn and to teach and the body as a whole will become stronger for it. This is how the gift comes full circle. Our work together is an offering, a gift to God. If we focus on these things, we and God will rejoice in the gift.

There in God's Garden

I love to create and watch things grow, and I find that my time in the garden is a time with God. Every year I am ready to clean out the flower beds sooner than I should given our weather. In the spring I emerge from the winter doldrums and get started with all of the prepping that needs to happen for the gardens to flourish. I have come to view my flower gardens as a mirror of the people in a congregation. Some things require pruning. Without pruning they will not thrive nearly as well. But I hate pruning because it is hard to get rid of something that is expanding – it seems almost counterintuitive. But without pruning the plant’s energy becomes diffused and is less productive. In the long term, the plant will become tangled or weighed down under all of its efforts. This happens at church when we do not periodically come back to analyze the core of our mission. A good idea goes off in many directions and people add things on along the way, but sometimes we need to step back and say, “ Do we still recognize what we were doing?” Has too much institutionalizing weighed down the program? Are we trying to do too many things at once and are spreading ourselves too thin? Like the plant, are we about to burn ourselves out? So careful pruning must happen.

I have a beautiful patch of white violets. I discovered them as a little clump behind a tree at the back of the property. I carefully dug them up and planted them in a shady spot that I would see and where they could grow more fully. Very enthusiastic plant. Overly enthusiastic. Took over one whole side of the property. Unfortunately, the ferns and hostas were not particularly thrilled with this arrangement. The violets were choking out their ability to rise up and grow. The violets show up first and, without being reminded that they share this space, the ferns and hostas would wither up and die in spite of their own efforts. The violets need limits. Eager, perky, hard-working, but they chase all of the other members of the community away. There are people like this at church too. They don’t just help with something, they own it. They intimidate without even realizing it. They scare off the less outgoing but equally dedicated types. They need to have their energy channeled so that everyone can be a part. Because eventually every year, the violets die back and the only thing that would be left is barren dirt but for creating a space where they can coexist.

Some plants need just the right place to thrive. Finding that place may be a process of trial and error. Patience and nurturing. But you have to know the plant to find where it will be happiest. Reading the tag is not enough. The answer may come over a few seasons, not in an instant. Oh, there will be some plants that just take off right away, but many others that need just the right combination to fit in. When people become a part of our community of believers, some jump right in, while others lay back. It takes time and getting to know them in order to come to a consensus of where they will thrive, what they feel called to be a part of. There is not a sure fire way to discern this. But if you try to make a plant grow where you want it, without considering whether the plant will do well there, you end up with a dead plant. It withers away. So too, if we try to pigeonhole people into our needs without allowing them time to explore.

Sometimes plants are too much of a good thing together in one clump. They need to be divided and spread around. So it is with us, we need to step aside from the “same old” and explore new people and roles in our community. We can certainly stay in the tried and true, but eventually we, and our congregation become rootbound and stuck.

And then there are the weeds. They are always there, growing when nothing else is ready, and going gangbusters when the rest of the garden is wilting and tired. When we are worn out and tired, or weary of our daily walk, this is when the seeds of discord settle in and take root and choke out all of our potential. Gossip, playing favorites, power struggles, mistrust, all can sap the strength of who we are and who we want to be.

So thank God for the compost! For the fertilizer that allows us to be nourished, rejuvenated and strengthened. When we do not get fed, even the best laid plans go stale, lie fallow or stunted. When we fail to care for ourselves, when we fail to pray, and to worship, to experience the joy of fellowship, and to be an active part of the community , we miss out on the fertilizer. And in my own garden I can always tell when my own self-care is lacking. Everything is wild and wooly. I realize that things have started to bloom and grow, or die off, without my noticing. I need to slow down, get my hands dirty, and listen. Some of my best rejuvenation happens in the garden. And when I sit down and listen to everything that benefits from God’s garden, and watch things at work, I can marvel at the Creator who puts it all in motion.

Surely It Is God Who Saves Me

As those who have visited this blog know, I have talked about being thankful for receiving news that I do not have cancer. For the second time in three years, I have had tests and the feeling of looking over the edge of the cliff. The first time, it was the week that a friend's wife died after her 13 year battle with breast cancer. This time, a friend and I both were told we needed to go for tests for abnormal breast screening in the same week. I am lucky. She got the news I dread. And words like "radical", "aggressive" and "malignant" came into conversation. But luckily also "treatable." I even knew before our pastor. But even now, beyond the pastor and family, only I know. She will tell others what she is ready to on her timetable. Armed with this knowledge, I went to the Hallmark store, during the phase of waiting for my own testing date, and bought lots of supportive, but funny cards. Did a lot of laughing in the aisle and was concerned they would begin to doubt my sanity. We have begun a card game. I send one. She sends one back to top it. Etc. This week's question on the card I sent depicting two little old ladies on the park bench, " Is it butt-naked or buck-naked?" "These are the questions I come to you for." And lots of email. I have promised to go wig shopping if needed. And this Friday before she starts treatment we are going out for Friday Happy Hour. Lots to ponder, and pray about. If anyone has a resource that will help me minister to my friend, please give me a shout here. Today, my friend told me, "Doing well, good.. a very positive step OUT LOUD today. I really looked myself in the eye and said "I'M GOING TO BEAT THIS THING!" Cried when I read that email. She also talked about knowing she will be with God in eternity. And so I responded with one of my favorite verses, which also was a choir anthem, that I think was the soundtrack for the month in my brain and now every time I pray for her. "Surely it is God who saves me. I will trust in Him and not be afraid. For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense and He will be my Savior." Amen.