Unfinished Work

I’m sitting at my laptop on a table with a calendar hanging over it.  The calendar sports several pictures from days gone by:  my husband and his sister singing in church at about age 12 or 13, my youngest son strumming a guitar, my husband reading a newspaper with a teddy bear under his arm, and my youngest son leaving the church amidst bubbles with his new bride on his arm.  

It’s the large picture in the center, however, that draws one’s eye first.  It is a smiling 3 year old, my first born son, who is eating freshly frosted sugar cookie.  Outside the window behind him, snow sits on the window sills and the snow on the roofs beyond the window is deep.  In the fore ground are unfrosted sugar cookies: the bottom of a snow man, a couple of candles.  By the turtleneck and long sleeves and the chapped lips on the child, it is clearly mid winter.  

It’s a memory I cherish of my oldest son’s earlier Advent seasons.  The enamel topped metal table and matching red chair upon which my son kneels reminds me of a different time when my children were so very small.  His baby teeth shine in his bright smile.  His eyes twinkle with joy as he “sneaks” a bit of a cookie he’s supposed to be decorating for Christmas.  

Those were very different times. Life was simpler.  The laughter of children in the house made a different atmosphere of daily living.  It was a harder life.  Our income level was only just enough on which to live without receiving welfare; we struggled to pay off our student loans.  It was a time of stress as we juggled the roles of young parents, freshly minted pastors, part time social advocates, and full time naïve young couple.  

As I look at this picture now, I long to tickle that little boy’s tummy with my fingers to hear him squeal with laughter.  I remember all the good times we had in that little house in Pennsylvania.  And it all feels like something I’d want to do again. 

Only I don’t.  Even if it were possible, I wouldn’t repeat those years.  Yes, I remember them fondly. Yes, I feel things were easier then.  But I wouldn’t want to repeat them because it would mean losing out on the experience of today. Today, when my sons are young adults exploring lives of their own. Today, when as empty nesters we have the joy of being able to pick up and go whenever we choose without regard to school calendars or nap times.
 Today, when I am wiser, more mature, and certainly a different person that I was 24 years ago.  Today, while a very different era, still offers its own joys, challenges, stresses, and—yes – sad times.  

I can’t go back; I am not the same now as I was then.  I can’t go back; it is not possible to turn my adult sons into children again.  I can’t do it over; I’m not young and spry, limber and energetic.  I don’t want things to be the way they used to be even if I’m not completely happy with how things are today – because I know in my heart of hearts that I wasn’t as happy then as my memories would like to lead me to believe.  

What is true in life, is also true in the church.  We can never again be what we once were because the world is not the same now as it once was and because you and I are not the same people we used to be.  We have grown older, (hopefully) more mature and more wise, and (hopefully) to a different place on our faith journey.  We can never again be what we once were because the world doesn’t need us as we used to be; Christ needs us in the world as he calls us to be for today.  What worked in the culture of yester-year cannot work in the world today.  

Friends, we’re not in Kansas any more.  We are in a new era when the Church is not dominate in culture (if indeed it ever was in our lifetimes), where the choices of belief systems have developed along side of our capitalistic, consumer based economy, and where people of faith struggle as an alien culture in a strange land.  

Working through the change of the church is constantly unfinished.  When we stop changing we die.  We must remain relevant to the ever-changing world in which we live.  And to do that, we must not focus upon the past or wish that we could repeat it.  Our focus must be on getting out of the church and listening to our neighbors and the strangers around us. The center of our focus must be upon God by living God's mission for this world: loving the world into restoration and reconciliation with one another and in union with God.  We must adapt our traditions so that they speak to the neighbor and the stranger.  And we must develop an attitude of mutuality with which to embrace those who choose to sojourn with us.  

May our work never be finished.  

The Real Threat to Traditional Marriage?

A couple of days ago, President Obama announced that his position on same gender marriage had evolved to one of acceptance of equal marriage rights.  Immediately the blasts came from all corners about this position. Prophesies about the "war on traditional marriage" fill the airwaves and the internet. And I have difficulty understanding this perspective. Has anyone looked at the state of marriage in this country lately?  Have you seen the statistics about divorce?  Really, if there is any threat to "traditional marriage" it is having a nonchalant attitude toward the permanence of the marriage relationship. 

Divorce rates are high.  Some should never have happened to begin with (see my previous post).  I understand why some marriages don't last.    Infidelity happens. People change.  I get that.  There are those who work hard to repair a relationship and just can't work it out for what ever reason.  We are all human and we fail at the perfection test.  

But, there are those who don't try to work at their relationships.  Specifically, I'm referring to those -- particularly certain public figures -- have been through many marriages that have ended in "irreconcilable differences." Is the pattern not obvious to these people?  If at first you don't succeed, learn something from your failure and get it right the next time.  I can't speak from experience here, I admit.  I just seems to me that if a certain celebrity newscaster has been through four failed marriages that there has to be something else going on besides "irreconcilable differences."  I'm just saying....

From this outsider's point of view, it would seem that to these people marriage is viewed as a disposable relationship. "If it doesn't work out MY way, I'll just walk away and pay the lawyers to get me a huge settlement" seems to be the sentiment of all together too many people. Yet certain, more public of these people seem to have the most to say about what threatens "traditional marriage."  Frankly, I feel they have no ground upon which to stand in this conversation. If they can't figure out how to preserve their own marriages, how can they make healthy judgements about what is a threat to "traditional marriage." 

For many, marriage isn't even in the vocabulary.  "Lets live together, raise children together, and avoid all the complications of marriage."  And really, who can blame them given the painful experience they had as children of divorce with one parent playing the kids against the other parent, using them as pawns to hurt the other, or even hurting the children as a means to get back at the other parent.  Without the commitment to permanence there is no marriage, let alone "traditional marriage."

So, with all the concern expressed about the fate of traditional "marriage," here is my response

.

If you want to preserve marriage, start with your own -- do you communicate well, negotiate differences fairly, treat one another with respect and dignity, and act as though you plan to spend your lives together, or are you in the marriage only until things feel uncomfortable? And, if you're concerned upon the effect a marriage has on family values, start in the same place -- practice these same values so your children will learn them and have strong marriages themselves. 

When I posted the first draft of these thoughts on my Facebook page, I started a firestorm of comments from my friends and relatives who have been through divorces and perhaps felt targeted by my comments about divorce.  I hope this clarifies from where I'm coming.  

To Wed or to Bury?

Most pastors would admit that they'd rather do a funeral than a wedding.  People ask why this is so.  Let me tell you my perspective.  

In much of my experience, weddings are occasions where the church is being used for a commercial transaction and not for a faith based covenanting ceremony.  As a member of the clergy, I am too often asked to be a servant of the couple and not a servant of God. 

When a couple decides to be wed, much is at stake.  Huge dollars go out to pay for a wedding.  There are megabucks to be spent on a dress, on a reception hall, rings, invitations, food, a rehearsal dinner, flowers, etc. etc.  There is that fairy-tale event to plan amidst the family politics, differing ideas of parents and their adult children, distances between participants.  There are many people, their calendars, and their whims to choreograph into this big event.

The couple chooses a date, buys rings, and books a reception hall before they ever contact the church or the clergy.  Many couples shop around to find the church that is the prettiest, has the largest seating capacity, or is most convenient for the family.  For many couples, the church is business to be transacted only after the "more expensive things" have been booked.  And couples (or their parents) get very upset when a church is not available on the date they choose.  Or if the church is not open to their renting the building and bringing in their own officiant.  Or if there are premarital counseling sessions required by the clergy.  And especially if there are conditions the couple must meet to be wed in the church.

A lot of planning goes into a wedding.  But little thought goes into the marriage itself.  When a couple comes before me to be wed, I want it to be a faith based decision, a faithful covenant they are making, and a worship service of integrity in which these commitments are made.  I want to be sure the couple has the communication skills and a solid foundation in relationship building before they make those promises.  In a worship setting, the focus should be on God. In a marriage, the relationship is a three-some -- the couple plus God.  

Too often, the couple who asks me to marry them wants a fairy-tale transaction where there is a princess for the day, where everyone is in costume, where each plays a role as if on stage, and anything less than perfection is deemed to ruin the special day.  More energy -- and finance -- is put into the production than into planning for what happens after the honeymoon.  Too many couples have said to me that if the relationship doesn't work out, they'll just go their separate ways.  That's the point at which I would like to cancel the transaction.  

But, if that couple has a church membership (or is the grandchild or relative of someone who has a church membership), saying "No, I will not officiate at this wedding" can and too often does, lead to employment issues for the clergy person.  There could be openly known abuse in the relationship and still a major issue will be made about the pastor who refuses to marry them.  

Weddings have become secular rituals.  And clergy have been made into agents of the state.  It is the state who issues a "license" to marry which is necessary if one wishes for marital "rights" within the state or federal laws.  In other countries, the legal contract of marriage (and it is a "contract" even within the USA) is handled in the court house.  The couple goes to the legal authorities to have their relationship made official.  They then go to the church -- if they so desire -- for the blessing of that relationship and for making their faith covenant to one another in the presence of God and a congregation of faith.  I have no desire to be an agent of the state; I am a shepherd of those who seek to be faithful  (a little like herding cats most of the time).  

So long as these conditions are present in a wedding, I am being used for a secular purpose; I am not doing ministry.  I am serving a couple, not God.

A funeral, on the other hand, is an opportunity to care for people, to provide a ministry, and to support the faith of those who are in doubt.  The family of the deceased are not trying to create a stage production, do not shop around for the best price or the longest aisle, and turn to the faith community for support not service.  They don't spend a year perseverating upon the planning of the details of the funeral.  They don't spend thousands of dollars upon clothing, food, and other cosmetic and temporal details.  They are people at a loss who seek closure and comfort, not performance and perfection.  

No one questions why a funeral is planned with religious integrity.  There is no legal role for the officiant of a funeral to play.  There is no staging about which to argue, no rehearsal to choreograph, no extravagant reception to distract from the purpose. The focus is faith based.  In a funeral, I am doing that to which I am called and for which I was ordained:  Ministry.

Occupy Church!

Occupy.  It’s the “word of the year” chosen by the linguistic gurus at some international press organization.  You’ve heard it used in reference to Wall Street, Little Rock, or perhaps even Louisville.  To “occupy” is to employment, inequality, financial regulation, or whatever else comes to mind for those who “Occupy.” Their claim to be the 99 percent is so inclusive it actually includes anyone earning less than a half a million dollars a year  The movement was inspired by the Arab Spring movement that gave rise to so much tumultuous change in the Middle East.  That movement continues to protest the abuse of power, tyranny, extremism, and oppressive governance. 

Have you heard Mary’s song in Luke 1:46-55? 

“He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”

Or Hannah’s song in 1Samuel 2:4-7?

The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble gird on strength. Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry are fat with spoil. The barren has borne seven, but she who has many children is forlorn. …. The Lord makes poor and makes rich; he brings low, he also exalts. 8He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap, to make them sit with princes and inherit a seat of honor.

Both of these Biblical women sing about the lowly being raised up, the powerful being put in their places.  Isaiah, too, writes about the day of Jubilee when all debts are to be forgiven, the wealth redistributed, and the mighty made low.

The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; to provide for those who mourn in Zion— to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. They will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, to display his glory.

Jesus, too preached about these things in his home town of Nazareth declaring that Isaiah’s prophecy ‘has been fulfilled in your hearing” (Luke 4:21)

My friends, it’s time for church members to join the Occupy movement.  Not on Wall Street, not in Little Rock, not in Louisville or Evansville, but right here at the corner of 10^th and Jefferson Streets in Tell City.  It’s time to take over your church.  It is time to state your concerns, your disappointments, your frustrations, your hurts.  It’s time to give rise to your hopes and dreams for you church.  It’s time for your voice to be heard. 

Six weeks ago, the Interim Assessment was published.  It reflects the issues and concerns that were shared with the Interim Committee over a 12 month period.  It lifted up benchmarks that need to be addressed before a new pastor is called.  It laid out some goals and objectives for a future direction.  Now it’s time for you to speak up.  Your input is needed.  Please plan to attend the Pot Luck dinner following worship on January 15 when we will discern the approaches to these issues. 

The Search Committee also needs your input as they assemble a description of the church.  They will be distributing two different surveys – one demographic by household, the other on the qualities of a pastor to be completed by each member – that will be integral parts of the congregation’s “résumé.”  When you receive these surveys, please complete and return them as soon as possible so the search for a pastor can begin. 

Occupy Church!  It’s time for you to influence the future of your church!  Occupy!

Carly

The Firefight for Life

Every year wild fires tear through neighborhoods and mountain parks. Most of these are started by the forces of nature: lightening striking water starved underbrush and trees and fueled by the winds which are created by the heat of the fires. All too often they are started by a human who has either been careless or who has a need to create a stir for their own needs for power. Both of these fire-starters would love to remain anonymous -- the former out of embarrassment or ignorance of their part in the problem, the latter so they can maintain control over their source of joy.

The fire in Utah this week is a striking example of what I call "consequential ignorance." The commander of the National Guard did not think about the consequences of firing live ammunition into a parched tinderbox of a training ground. There had been posted warnings about extremely high fire risk in that region. But the commander didn't apply it to himself or his troops. He had only in mind that the Guard had to complete the annual renewal of their skills. He only did what he's always done and what he felt was best for his people.

The consequences are enormous. Hundreds of people have been uprooted for their own safety. Homes have burned to the ground. The lives of a whole community have been injured, changed, pained. Firefighters are out there risking their lives to protect and save what they can of their neighbors' -- and their own -- homes. The very National Guard Troops whose leader brought on this disaster are the ones who have to put out the fires, clean up the mess, and bring aid to those whose houses and homes are at risk.

How similar are our struggling faith communities! They are a tinder box of raw sores waiting for relief and renewal. They are struggling for their very survival. The leaders of these communities are trusted with the daunting task of empowering, enabling, and encouraging the community members to be faithful to the mission of Christ. And along comes one who is either not paying attention to the weather conditions or is in need of a control fix. The spark ignites, and the community is aflame in a hurtful and destructive way.

In the midst of the drought of faith-life, our faith communities are at high risk of wild fire. Alarms and the warnings are ignored -- or denied-- by leaders and members alike, and too often work only to draw the attention of those who need control. Otherwise petty and routine issues cause explosive results that rage out of control. They are fueled by the winds of change and panic. They are fed by the drought of trust.

Here am I, a firefighter in the midst of a wildfire. I am hot, exhausted, and in need of a break in the weather. But the sparks are flying into new quadrants while the first fire is barely contained.

Most days I work despite the exhaustion and the seemingly impossible task of a healthy community. These days I am fueled by the hope and promise upon which my faith is built. I am fed by the cool water of visible grace and comforted by the encouraging hand of the Spirit.

But some days I just wish God grant this Body a quick and peaceful death so that I can move on to greener pastures where the risk of wildfire is very low. Some days the sparks are multiplying too quickly for any firefighter to extinguish. Some days the energy of the Spirit is snuffed out by the attitudes or carelessness of communities members.

Today is one of those days. In such times as this, all I can offer is a prayer as I turn everything over to the One who soothes, heals, energizes, enables, and empowers.

God, grant me the...
Serenity to accept things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can, and the
Wisdom to know the difference
Patience for the things that take time
Appreciation for all that I have, and
Tolerance for those with different struggles
Freedom to live beyond the limitations of my past ways, the
Ability to feel your love for me and my love for others and the
Strength to get up and try again even when I feel it is hopeless.

May it be so.

Reclaiming Real Life.

I'm deactiviating my Twitter Account. And my Bebo account. And possibly my LinkedIn account. I might even put Facebook on hold for a week or so. Just to see what difference it makes.


I'm anything but Anti-Social-Networking. I love being able to pull up a screen and see what all my long time friends and acquaintances -- and my more than 70 neices, nephews, cousins, in-laws, and siblings are doing. But I'm wondering if this is a healthy connection. I'm wondering if it isn't superficial, pretentious, or a cheap fix. I'm wondering if I'm missing out on the deeper connections, the deeper listening, the deeper knowing. I wonder if I am really connecting with people or just brushing their sleeve as I pass them amidst a busy and distracted journey.


Don't misunderstand me -- Social Media is a wonderful place for me to put my 250 character thoughts as a witness to my moment on the journey called life. I certainly enjoy the quips and slices of life my connections share out here on the cloud. But these feel skin deep. I am missing the deep soaking rains of face time, the long cups of tea, and leisurely walks where the sinew and bone of life are exposed and examined; where tight and sore muscles in relationships are massaged; and where wounds are cleansed and dressed with gentle care. A computer screen cannot wrap its arms around you with joy, sigh deep sighs, or cry on your shoulder.


Maybe it's the resurgence of hot weather on this September day, or perhaps the distance between my work and home. It could even be that the sentimentality of Fall. What ever the source of the affect, I'm cutting the wires and renewing my claim on face time, on hot cups of tea, on long walks, and real life.


C

The Layers of Life

As I looked at the night stand, I wondered if it was salvageable. It looked ragged and worn, as though it had been through a battle. Scratches revealed raw red beneath the surface. Several gashes in the veneer reveal the old-style of plywood beneath.

This is the night stand given to us when we were married. It came to us well used. It was painted brown to refresh and renew it for our use. It had been in our homes for 26 years, carried through 11 moves, served as everything from a television stand to a dresser. It has lived a long life, served well in its role. It is time to retire it? Or will there be something beautiful and useful beneath all those layers of paint?

Drawers open, the workmanship is obvious: Dove-tail construction at all four corners of each. On the underside, paint splotches speak of some of the cover up time has dealt: brown latex covers a red, oil-based paint. One can only wonder what the wood grain beneath these looked like. Was the veneer finish sanded before that fire engine red oil paint was applied? Or was that step disregarded and the varnish left intact? The brown latex has peeled a great deal over the years; now I know why: Latex doesn’t adhere well to oil paint.

So again I wondered, “Is this tiny chest of drawers salvageable? Can it have a new life?” The only way to find out is to remove the layers of paint. Only then will the quality and condition of the wood beneath be known. Only then can its new future be revealed.

It takes a lot of patience to remove layers of paint. If one uses a traditional paint remover, there will be hours of careful scraping with a soft putty knife and then gentle scrubbing with fine steel wool. This is labor intensive and very harsh on ones hands. There is always the risk of scratching the wood beneath, or scraping off the veneer. Or, if one uses a “dip” or gel that simply “paints” on and changes color when the underlying layers have been softened, the putty knife will lift off the layers of finish very easily; however, if the veneer was sanded before applying that layer of red oil paint, the dip may also soften the hide glue that holds the veneer to the wood beneath. And regardless to the method of removing the paint, one has to be sure the wood beneath is worth the work of removing what covers it.

The time between pastors can be likened to my query about this nightstand. Evangelical church has undergone many changes over the years. Many layers of “paint” have been applied to what the founders of this congregation envisioned nearly 145 years ago. What was their vision? What was their purpose? What did they do as a community of faith and why? And what was the reason for the changes as they happened? How many layers of change have there been and what got covered over in the “remake.” Is there, underneath all the “stuff” that has happened, still a sustainable and promising future?

As the Interim Committee is formed and begins its work, we will try to gently lift the layers that years of use have applied to our community. We will be opening things up and listening to your stories as we interview members. We will be gently scratching off layers of old habits as we gather with you for Congregational Events. We will be looking for the beauty that peaks from beneath to reveal what God has in store for the congregation’s future.

My tiny chest of drawers turned out to be a real keeper. Its walnut veneer is beautiful and shines through its new finish; its sturdy construction promises to serve us well in a new way: as a focal point in our home. The work to reveal this new purpose was worth the steel-wool-raw fingers it took to bring it out. We are better off for all the hard work.

Our churches have some hard work ahead. There will be some rough spots to work through. There may be some sticky places where grace and gentleness are required. There will be some surprises at what beauty lay beneath the surface. And through it all, we will rediscover what God has in mind for this community of Christ in this place at this time. We will get through it by the grace of God and with God’s help.

Shocked and horrified.

I am shocked and horrified. One of my Facebook "friends" has been sexually harassing one of my relatives. The only thing the two have in common is my Facebook page. How did this happen? How could someone that I accepted as a contact, someone I have known in my life's journey, turn into a cyber-stalker and sexual fiend, someone who would go so far as to threaten to pay a visit to this relative if the relative dare tell me that the abuse was happening?
Further, how could this happen to two people on MY "friends" list -- when I am the one who keeps spouting on about how the privacy system on Facebook works well, that Facebook is a safe place for productive and meaningful communication?
First, let me say that I am appalled and dismayed that this has happened. I am absolutely disgusted by the behavior of this acquaintance toward a relative of mine. I would be disgusted if it hadn't been an acquaintance or a relative. The behavior reported to me by yet another relative is rude, lewd, disgusting, and just plain wrong. While I won't comment about possible legal action, the perpetrator is clearly in need of serious psychological counseling. This person, who has a family of his/her own, does know that what s/he is doing is immoral, unethical and flat out wrong. This person would undoubtedly be infuriated if his/her spouse or child was the recipient such behavior. Yet this person has continued to stalk and harass this member of my family.
So, how did this come to be? How did these two otherwise unconnected people ever make contact? Through my Facebook wall. My relative responded to a comment on my wall made by this person from my past. That person furthered the conversation through the Facebook inbox system. My relative responded in good faith; after all, if this person was a friend of mine, it must be safe to continue the conversation. The relative and this person established the Facebook “friend” status between them The conversation was not initially harassing or sexual, but this person became infatuated by my relative.
With “friend” status, more private information is available, including phone numbers and your address – if you are not careful to protect your information. With this information in hand, a person can contact you by phone, by text, by e-mail, and even – if you don’t protect the information – know where you live.
By the time I post this on my blog and in my Facebook notes, I will have contacted the person involved, expressed by disgust and anger, blocked him/her completely from my Facebook account and posts, and told others in my Facebook circle of friends of what has happened so they will be aware of the risk involved in choosing to “friend” someone they have never personally met. And my point in posting this at all is this: Protect you private information on Facebook by setting your privacy settings and being very selective in who you allow into your circle of friends. Learn how to make groups in your friends list and block those who might turn into your stalker.
And to this person who I thought I knew: please choose to get the psychological counseling you so desperately need, confess your wrongs, and make amends.

Henry

We adopted Henry when the family that had raised him from a bottle fed kitten moved to another state and were afraid this this "outside cat" would be eaten by the coyotes or bob cats that lived in the woods behind their new home.  Henry was 18 at the time.  He was declawed and neutered.  He was flea infested, had a matted coat, but was as friendly a cat as I had ever met.  He greeted me every time I walked by his house while I was out walking.  He begged for love when I knocked at the door doing census work.  The humans who brought him this far in life had put him outside because they had acquired two very large dogs who lived in the house. 
We adopted Henry in June.  After a trip to the vet and some de-flea-ing, he was the most affectionate cat I've ever met.  Anyone who came into the house would be "Henry'ed" -- he would jump onto your lap and climb up onto your chest, lay his head on your shoulder and purr.  He could never get enough. 

Just before Thanksgiving, Henry had a stroke.  It paralyzed one whole side of his body.  He could neither walk with balance nor get to the food or litter box.  Henry was not happy even on anyone's chest. 

The day before Thanksgiving, I brought Henry to the vet's for the last time.  He lay across my chest as the I.V. was put into his leg.  He purred as the chemicals flowed from the syringe to his veins.  He clung silently to my shoulder as his last breath left him. 

Henry, you lived a long life.  I can only hope that in your last months in a new home you found peace, love, and care. We will miss you.

This is my community of faith. Could it be yours?

A tasty winter meal.

Several people asked for this recipe.  You're welcome to share it with others, but please give due credit.  Enjoy!

Butternut Squash Lasagna

This recipe could be Vegan with the changes in parenthesis
Sauce:
4 cups skim milk, or low fat soy milk
2 large garlic cloves – or 2 Tbsp minced – no garlic powder!!
1 large bay leaf
1 slice of sweet onion, ½ inch thick
¼ cup fresh parsley loosely packed or 2 Tablespoons dried parsley
4 Tablespoons white flour
4 Tablespoons unsalted butter (olive oil)
Sea Salt & Pepper to taste

Filling:
1 medium butternut squash (2.5 lbs or so)
1 large sweet potato or yam
3 Tbsp olive oil
3 cloves of garlic, chopped – not dried or powder!
1 small onion, chopped coarsely
1 cup finely chopped walnuts or ¾ cup if using black walnuts
1 cup chopped parsley, loosely packed
2 teaspoons rubbed sage or 15 or so big fat sage leaves, chopped
½ nutmeg, grated; or ¼ tsp ground nutmeg from a spice bottle

1 cup grated Gruyere cheese (good tasting soy cheese of a melting Swiss variety)
1 cup freshly grated Parmesan or Romano cheese --NOT out of a green can, please!  (the equivalent in soy)

9 no-boil lasagna noodles

Filling:-- Can be done 2 days ahead
Heat the oven to 400 degrees.
Halve the squash and scoop out the seeds.  Oil the cut sides lightly. Spray a baking sheet with non-stick oil. Place the squash flesh down on the baking sheet.
Poke fork holes in the skin of the sweet potato or yam.  Place on the baking sheet.
Roast at 400 degrees for an hour, or until a fork easily penetrates the squash.
Scoop out the flesh of the squash and the potato and place in a food mill or food processor.  Sieve the flesh to remove the stringing things and any stubborn skin.
In a sauce pan, heat the oil and warm the garlic until golden.  Add the chopped onion and sauté until tender.  Stir in the nuts and allow to brown slightly.  Remove from the heat and add the herbs.  Stir this mixture into the squash mixture.  Season with the nutmeg. 

Sauce:
In a large microwavable measuring cup, heat the milk to scalding – don’t let it boil.  Add the garlic, bay, onion, and parsley.  Cover and allow to steep at least half an hour. Longer if you have the time.  Strain in a tea strainer to remove the solids.  Reheat to about 120 degrees.
In a sauce pan, melt the butter/olive oil and slowly whisk in the flour.  Stir until bubbly but not yet brown.  Whisk in the strained milk and stir until the mixture begins to thicken.  Reduce heat and allow to thicken and flour to cook, stirring occasionally. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Assembly
Heat oven to 350 degrees.
Spray a rectangular pan (10 X 12 or 9 X 13) with non stick spray.  Spread 1cup of the sauce on the bottom of the pan.  Place three noodles on top of the layer. Spread half of the squash over the noodles.  Spread a cup of the sauce, 1/3 cup of Parmesan and ½ cup of Gruyere over the sauce.  Repeat noodles, squash, sauce and cheeses.  Add last layer of noodles, and spread the last of the sauce over the top.  Sprinkle with the last of the Parmesan
Cover the pan with foil and bake for 30 minutes.  Uncover and bake for 25 minutes longer or until the top is golden.  Remove from oven and allow to sit for 20 minutes before cutting.

This is really good served with a dark green Kale or brightly steamed broccoli.

Remembering

A novelty to me when I moved to the Midwest was the tradition within some German heritage congregations of Totenfest: the celebration of the the dead. Usually this is held either on the Sunday nearest All Saints Day, or the last Sunday of the liturgical year, often the Sunday after Thanksgiving -- just before the start of Advent. Call it a Memorial Day for the church, perhaps. In the New England congregations of my younger years, this was not part of my experience. Though I would not consider myself to be liturgical in a traditional way, this is a lovely tradition.

In this season between the traditional times of Totenfest, I find myself remembering my mother. Anyone who knew her well and knows me at all can see traits of hers in my being. Practicality, logic, ration, frugality, eccentricity are all words that could describe either of us. Can do and make do are attitudes I learned from her. Like her, I often forget where I've left my purse; and like her, I've taken to wearing it over my shoulder and across my chest so that it doesn't get away from me. (Unlike her, my purse is tiny and contains the bare necessities instead of anything that might possibly be needed.)

Over the 8+ years since my mother's death, the hole in my being where she lived has become a familiar part of who I am. Early on, I stumbled into it frequently and found myself shedding tears over my loss. That hole is still there: I still long to pick up the telephone and call her for a recipe or to share some good news (shouting it so she'd actually hear it, then explaining it so she'd understand its importance to me). I still miss her e-mail notes with daily itinerary and menus from her days since her last e-mail. When I open my cookbooks or photo albums and find a note with her handwriting -- a piece cut from old file folder turned into a post card with a recipe or an address she sent to me by request-- the vacuum is obvious to me. As my children have become young men with lives of their own, as my nieces and nephews have babies, as my life reaches numeric and chronological markers, I look into that hole and wonder -- even speculate -- what her response would be to these.

The hole has not filled in over time, but it has become familiar and less forbearing. As time has passed, it has even become the source of celebration, of joy, of moments of warmth and loveliness. That does not discount nor make nostalgic the less than happy memories: embarrassment, hurtful words exchanged, inexplicable actions. Those will always be part of the memory and, fortunately, part of the vacuum. Those memories have become markers and reminders of where I need to draw the line between her being and my being.

When I find myself doing or saying something particularly frugal, practical, rational, or otherwise "Evelynesque," I've been know to break out into song -- a particular song with an Easter melody:

She lives! She lives! Dear Evelyn lives today!
She walks with me and talks with me
Along life's rational (or practical or frugal) way!
She lives! She lives! Frugality none too terse
You ask me how I know she lives,
She lives within my purse!

Perhaps that could be seen as sacrilegious. That's not the intent. As with her, there's no malice in my actions here. To me it's a humorous way to honor one whose influence on my life is noticeable in everyday ways, to acknowledge that seed of who I have become and am becoming, and to celebrate the life of one important to me.

What do you do with regularity to lift up and honor the life of someone important to you? Where is his or her life reflected in your actions, attitudes, perspectives, or words? How does a sense of loss become a source of celebration in your everyday living?

Blessings.

So I'm sitting here wondering about how one thing leads to another. We ripped up a piece of carpet and padding in the computer room and found black mold. That led back to a broken dishwasher in the kitchen 18 months ago. The insurance adjuster came and pulled the new dishwasher out from the cabinets and found a lot more mold. He took down a piece of drywall in the computer room and found the base of the wall behind the kitchen black with mold. He lifted the carpet in the living room along the same wall and found more mold. He crawled under the house and found mold on the underside of the floors under the kitchen cabinets and under the adjacent computer room floor.

I've never liked the arrangement of the cabinets in my kitchen. I've always wanted ceramic tile on the floor and a matching ceramic splash guard above the counters. This mess might make it possible. But, it's going to come at a cost. The money isn't the issue. It's the mess and the timing. We're supposed to host Dan's family for Thanksgiving. And, the insurance guy is telling me that once they remove the cabinets and floors, we can't live here. Black mold.

When I was living in Terre Haute in 2007, we had a massive flood. It hit the hardest in an area of town that was not on a flood plain and hadn't seen flooding in the 150 year recorded history of the town. The folks who owned those houses were lower middle class folk, most of them retired and living in houses whose mortgages had been paid off for years. These folks had their houses flooded to the height of window sills. The church I was serving flew into action helping people find temporary housing, organizing work crews from other churches to help us clean up people's homes, helping people put their lives back together.

Work crews were given their task: take everything apart and empty the houses so that we can stop the mold before it starts. Tearing apart the walls was no problem because all that mattered was opening up the walls to get rid of the moisture before mold could form. We used sledge hammers and shoveled everything away into giant dumpsters and trash heaps. We had huge crow bars to lift up hardwood flooring and carpets. Most of their belongings from their main floors and basements were damaged beyond salvage. Furniture was piled on the curbs, food from basement freezers rotted before the water receded. Life long collections of memorabilia was handled by people with N-95 respirator masks and full body protection from the mess. We helped people through the loss -- the shock, the grief, the anger, the numbness, the mindless FEMA paperwork, backlogged adjusters and contractors, and no savings to cover their losses -- not to mention the scammers that such a disaster attracts. And we stayed with the families until they were back into their homes 6, 9, 12, and 15 months later. Those masks and body protection outfits were a barrier between the workers and the mold. They were also a barrier between us and the pain of those home owners.

This is my house. We didn't have a flood. We had (maybe) 30 gallons of water (three loads of dishes in the dishwasher). We're not losing all our belongings; we're only dealing with the inconvenience and mess that's probably no worse than a remodeling job. We have insurance that will cover a large portion of the expense, a bank account to cover the difference, and an adjuster who was in the house within 24 hours of my reporting it, and who was able to take his time and go through the house systematically and thoroughly. We have a list of contractors who are hungry for work instead of being back logged. We'll be back into the house in weeks, not multiple months. We won't be the ones swinging hammers, carrying trash, wearing protective clothing. We're not losing our live-long memorabilia or, frankly, any of our "stuff."

In the midst of all this confusion and mess, I am thankful that I have been blessed with prosperity, with the means to make this happen smoothly. When I complain about the delays and the hassles, I hope I can rejoice that it's not a disaster, the it's only an inconvenience, not a loss. As the kitchen I really wanted to begin with begins to take shape, I hope I will be grateful. And when I'm not, I hope you all will remind me to count my blessings.

Horror

I had an ominous feeling all morning. I really was dreading the trip to Holywell but could not put my finger on why exactly. I was not looking forward to a Roman Catholic Medieval Low Mass for the remembrance of a venerated saint whose head was cut off, rolled down a hill and spouted a well, whose head was reattached and she lived to lead a chaste and charitable life of service to the Church. Add that the mass was to be in Latin and it was less than exciting.

We arrived at the church 30 minutes early. Though we were told that there would be "bus-loads" of people coming from this service and for the marching of the relic from the church to the well, the church was relatively empty. The choir was still rehearsing when we arrived: The choir was indeed the highlight of the service! They were fantastic! Yes, it was all in Latin, but it was wonderful. They sang the Introit and the Collect, the response to the Gospel. It was flawless, the acoustics were perfect, and the 8 voices blended and resonated well.

The scripture was from Matthew, the 10 virgins waiting for the bridegroom. It bore no relation to the rest of the service.....

The the priest stood up to speak. I assume he is a bishop or higher because of his regalia and the fact that all the other priests kissed his hand over and over earlier in the service. He removed his triveca hat and blessed himself with it. A deacon placed the manuscript in front of him. I thought he would preach in Latin. That would have been a blessing. Instead, he began a rant against the evils of the split of the east from Rome, the scandal of the Reformation that began the scourge of secularism, the plot is Islam to take over Europe, and the evils of Modernism. The hate that spewed from this man's mouth! I was at the end of a pew against the wall with 20 people between me and the aisle. I was trapped there! Two of my classmates stood up to leave. Our professor stood up to leave -- but all these were in the pew in front of me and on the end! When spew got unbearable and I could take no more, I too stood up and walked on the kneelers to get out of the pew. I walked down the aisle and out of the church.

When I reached the sidewalk in front of the church my blood was boiling. I was so angry! I caught up to my classmates and professor. We got to the end of the street and wondered what to do. We looked back and 5 more of our class were walking out of the church. All of us who left but one are US Americans. The one Brit who left is a Roman Catholic! The US Episcopals and Church of England folks all stayed in the service.

We who left walked down to the well. We spent some time around the well, washing our hands. We made a circle and prayed. Some of us cried. Some of us stomped our feet. Then we waited, wondering what to do.

When the procession came down the hill with the relic and hour later, we stood beyond the gate where the procession would enter the area of the well and sang, "They'll know we are Christians by our love" over and over and over. It was very spontaneous. We had been just standing there. We received glares from the priest and one woman scolded us. But we continued to sing until the procession was through the gate and at the well.

Folks, I've been angry in my life many times. But this was so very different. Never have I heard such hatred spewed from the mouth of one in the regalia and vestature of the Church. There are people who will follow this man's words as truth. He spoke lies! He is misleading people into a gospel of hatred, distrust, fear. I remain appalled. Yet I am helpless to do anything about it.

No Veritas!! Kyrie Eleison.

--
"I am not here attacking Christianity, but only the institutional mantle that cloaks it." ~ Pierre Berton

Pilgrimage

The theme for today was Pilgrimage. We traveled to some ancient sites now covered by more recent builds. These were primarily sites of ancient Irish and Welsh "saints" who established monasteries. I've posted photos on my facebook page for your perusal. (http://tinyurl.com/momsbm) I will post more complete descriptions at another time.

My "pilgrimage" today has been back and forth to the Loo. All day. Something I ate yesterday caused one of my proverbial "flare ups". I spent much of the night "worshiping the porcelain god." Today I've learned where and how to ask for toilets politely in obscure places. This evening I was still unable to eat dinner (having had tea for breakfast, a ginger "bisquit" for lunch (which did not stay in me)). I've taken yet another benedryl and am eating "calcium caplets" (Tums). I will survive. But it has not been a comfortable. day.

I will post this before my battery dies, but look for a longer note either late tonight (for you) or when you get up in the morning.

Peace out...

Day 2 of the Great Excursion

On this side of the pond it's already Thursday. I've been up for about 2 hours because the cook did not realize there is MILK used as a "filler" for sausage. I ate only one bite of the sausage that was wrapped in a chicken breast at dinner last evening, and spent most of the night in the bathroom as a result. I guess I need to quiz him more carefully about food. I thought this was a non issue...but... I'll be eating only crackers and tea today....
Anyway, here's the blurb I wrote last evening before I went to bed....

They say it rains a lot in July in Wales. I think they mean it too. It was raining when I arrived. It was raining when I awoke this morning. It rained through my reading and writing for class this morning. It seemed to have let up a bit at lunch time, so my classmate, Laura, and I decided to walk down to a local tearoom for lunch. The chaplain at St. Deiniols for this month (they rotate much like Chatuakwah [sp?] in New York does), a retired Episcopal priest from Bucks County PA, decided to join us. (Andrew, thanks for buying my lunch today. I still have about L3 left of what you left at the house -- lunch tomorrow, no doubt!) Then Laura and I decided the weather might hold out and we set off on a walk to the castle in the middle of Hawarden (pronounced Harden). It was a lovely walk and the rain did hold off. Unfortunately, it had rained more than 2" in the previous 24 hours and everything was coated with MUD... And, I didn't remember to bring my camera!!

But, the remains of this castle are really just the outer walls and a watch tower for the real castle which is about 2 miles down the road. Where we walked was through a pompous gate (very similar to the cemetery gate in Hinsdale but with HUGE wooden doors) and into a rather large hilly field. The field was full of sheep. And the sheep left lots of "fertilizer" along the path we were walking!! Laura is NY City born and raised and this was quite upsetting to her! But she soon forgot what she was stepping in and over when she saw all those adorable little lambs. And they were indeed cute.
We walked over a hill and down into a valley along an old road that at one time was paved in stones and bricks. It's now quite washed out and muddy. When we got to the watch tower and climbed up the hill to get to it, we discovered it was behind a locked gate and a second wall with signs every where warning "No Trespassing. Motion Detection Cameras in Use." So we respected the signs and walked back down the hill to the path we were walking.
The path is a designated walking path for those who hold "permits." We had such a permit that the Library had given to us. So we were indeed legal. We followed it down the hill and through a wooded area. At the bottom of the hill, in the middle of the woods there was an old stone bridge over what was once the "valleam" or mote around the property. We actually crossed this mote 3 times before we were done, each time on ancient stone bridges. The walk turned out to be just under 3 miles (by my pedometer, anyway). It ran through the north end of the walled property and then back to town along the outside of the wall on a path above the mote. The original estate was a fiefdom dating back more than 1000 years. It was most recently owned by the Gladstone family. W.E. Gladstone was a 4 time Prime Minister of the UK. He was instrumental in the politics of the Baltics prior to WW1 in saving one of the peoples there from extermination (don't ask me which tribe of Eastern Europeans at this late hour of the day!!).
It was W.E. Gladstone that founded this library called St. Deiniol's where I am both staying and studying. In our orientation this afternoon, we were given the history of this place before our first set of lectures. It seems the Sir Gladstone had always felt called to ministry in the Anglican Church but was pressured by family to follow his male ancestors into politics. He was also very fond of reading and by the time he was in his 40's and PM of the UK he had acquired and read over 30,000 books -- primarily on theology, church, and world history. When a friend of his died, he over heard the family discussing what to do with that man's "extensive library" of a couple hundred books. That family chose to donate them to Oxford. Gladstone decided Oxford had enough books without his, London had enough books without his, and poor little Hawarden had no public library. So he and his daughter moved his 30K books to a large "tin barn" on property in the center of the village. He set up the library for anyone with a hunger to learn to do so affordably. In his will, he willed that instead of the state setting up a memorial to him, they build a permanent building for his public library (which by then had grown to over 100K books). His family then matched the funds and built a residence attached to the new library that would serve for residential guests who used the library from other areas. So, the library, still catalogued according to Gladstone's numbering system (which is logical but not universal by any stretch) now sits in the original building plus an annex with 4X as many books on sliding cases (which Gladstone supposedly invented and sold the patent to).
The library itself is beautiful. It was built in the late 1800's (Gladstone would have been 200 years old this year). The exterior is brown stone, three stories high. The interior is all intricately carved wood pillars and roof rafters, with the second floor open to the first through a large balcony over the first floor and all the way around it. The bookshelves are also intricately carved and stand back to back with a third bookcase on the ends. The area is really well lit with natural light through the windows.

The 30 residence rooms are tiny -- much like monks cells -- with just enough room for a bed, sink, and desk. The women are on the third floor under the rafters -- yes, we have to "mind" our heads as we walk down the corridors because the buttress beams are low. I suspect that at one time these were servants' quarters! But... it's a bed and desk.
The lecturer this afternoon and evening was Ian Bradley, who wrote one of the texts we've read for the course. The first lecture on "What is Celtic Christianity" was interesting; the second was a repeat of much of what is in his book...

There are 17 people in this course. Probably 10 of us are from the States. Several are Anglican Vicars, a few are British Presbyterians. Of the US folks, 3 of us are UCC, 3 are United Methodists, 3 are Episcopal Priests, and one is Roman Catholic (Laura). Of the whole group, 9 are women.

Tomorrow we will be out of the library and on "excursion" to ancient sites. We'll go to Gwynedd to visit Clynnog Fawr, Caenarfon, Penmon, and Beaumaris. Yes, I'll remember to bring my camera! Then after walking around ancient sites of monasteries and churches all day, we have an 8 p.m. lecture by Ian Bradley.... this after a full dinner at 6:45... can you see me sleeping through this????


That's the news from this side of the pond......

Travel across the Pond

I made the trip across the pond. Well, it was uneventful, yet not so. Let's just say I arrived in one piece and with my luggage and passport. But...

The flight from Evansville to Memphis was without problems or highlights (no pun intended). As I walked through the Memphis airport things looked vaguely familiar from other flights through there. There's some cool "jazz" artwork on the walls as you walk from the "smaller" gates (turboprops) to the larger gates. I came into the last gate on the "smaller" area -- we had to walk from the plane to the terminal by walking in front of other parked planes. No big deal.

I found the gate assignment for the flight to Amsterdam. It was, of course, at the farthest end of the most distant terminal. But I found my way there just as they were calling up the first passengers (45 minutes prior to departure). I have an Elite Membership (NW Air's frequent flier program) and so was allowed to board with the first and business class folks even though my seat was neither. I was the sole female in a section of 20+ men who all knew one another and were on their way back to work in Saudia Arabia in the oil fields... a herd of Texas long horns who've been home with their women for a month and returning to work for the next month. I put on my headphones and turned up my mp3 player and took a benedryl. Somewhere over New York State I fell asleep and woke up to the sound of the dissonance of the gaggle of long horns snoring. But the sky outside the plane was bright with sunshine and they were serving breakfast, so I must have slept at least 6 hours. We did a 20 minute holding pattern over the North Sea while waiting for a thunderstorm to pass the Amsterdam airport, then landed in the smoothest landing I've ever been in. I never felt the wheels hit the runway. Very impressive.

I had no trouble getting through the Amsterdam airport. The "Cityhopper" flight from there to Manchester was out of a gate and onto a bus that took us across the airport to a smaller set of runways on a smaller plane. Not as small as the plane from E-ville to Memphis, though! When I arrived in Manchester, things deteriorated.

There was a thunder storm between Amsterdam and Manchester, so we had to circumvent it. This put us into Manchester about 15 minutes late. Then, once on the ground, there was construction on the runways, so taxiing to the gate was another 20 minutes. Customs was no problem. When I got into the main arrival area, I cashed out my US$$ for L... But, I could not find the "car" that was to pick me up. I looked at my e-mail and found the phone number. I was to call them and they would tell me where they were waiting. I found a "red box" and put in 40 pence (thanks, Andrew!) and dialed the number. The number was not recognized. The phone number was missing a digit. So I called St. Deiniol's Library. I got a recording saying the office was closed. So I went back to my computer and e-mailed the person who sent the information about the "car" reservation. But, I could not get an internet connection.

After 2 hours of wandering through the "car park" (parking garage) looking for a "car" service from Hawarden, I went back into the terminal. A scruffy looking guy walked up to me and asked if I was Mrs. Stucklen. I laughed! Who on earth with a cockney accent would be looking for my mother?!!! Of course it was the driver who didn't get my name correct. But we laughed and he walked me to the "car" -- a small bus, really. And I was the only passenger. From the parking fee, I knew he'd been waiting less than an hour.

He got me to the "library" and I turned to pay him. He didn't take a credit card. Cash only. So.... I looked into that magic wallet and found only L20. The fee was L40. So I walked into the village to Lloyds of London and pulled out that trusty ATM card the Credit Union ASSURED me would work in the UK. But there's no ATM machine, or "hole in the wall" as they call it. So I gave my card and passport to the teller and asked if perhaps she could make it work. She did. I have no idea what the exchange rate is,but I think that the 40 minute trip from the airport cost me over $120. There's got to be a less expensive way to get back there!!!

I walked back to the "library" and the driver had left. I left the cash with the receptionist and she assured me he'd be back with other students in the morning and she'd pay him then. Okay.... taken care of. But I was wet and tired.

I crashed for a couple of hours before dinner (6:45). Eating dinner was a bit like eating in Mother's house -- lots of food, many people, and it's all served from the kitchen. The food was, well, British. No seasoning. Just boiled carrots, boiled potatoes, boiled pork(?), and boiled broccoli. I didn't venture to dessert since it looked like a milky pudding.

I will write more about "the library" tomorrow.... for now I'll leave that to your imaginations.

My friend Laura (a classmate from Drew University) and I talked until it was nearly dark (10p.m.). It's chilly. I've put on long sleeves under my sweater, and I've got on full length knee socks and shoes. They all say it was a lovely warm day.... I guess the midwest "heat and humidity" is still inside my bones because I'm anything but warm. They also say it does not get completely dark here. I'm looking out the window into the clouds and still see light behind them.... But morning comes early. So it's time to retire.

There's no internet access in my room (which is a little smaller than Harry Potter's under the stairs room). I have to walk my laptop down two flights of stairs to sit under the wireless router. I'll do that in the morning.

--
"I am not here attacking Christianity, but only the institutional mantle that cloaks it." ~ Pierre Berton

Addictions

Remember that TV ad for Lays Potato Chips?

"Betcha can't eat just one!"

And the challenge is set.

The only thing is, there's no winning it. Lays knew that when they put the ad out. No one can eat just one because fat, salt, and sugar (carbs) are so very addictive.

This all came together for me as I was walking through the grocery store this afternoon. Well, it began before that. As I was parking (in that space that is as far from the store door as I can possibly get), the radio was playing an ad for McD.'s You've heard it, I'd bet.

"This is economics 101. Value is defined as .... as proof, there are McDonald's Value Meals on your desks..... 'I LOVE economics.'.... Mouth watering french fries.... add a cool, creamy hot fudge sundae for just $1.00"


You get the idea. So those are playing in the shadow narratives of my mind. I walk into the store to be greeted by a large display of potato chips and, my weakness, Fritos. "God, save me from myself. I've lost 15 lbs and I will NOT succumb to the fatty salt gimmick... if only You'll help me!"

I walked by. I got to the produce and found a lovely seedless watermelon. Much better. Then a display of lovely local peaches; I picked out ten and placed them into a sack. So far so good.

I pushed the cart past the deli case of rotisserie chicken (I've eaten a whole one by myself in the past), and am confronted with another display of Fritos.

"Come on!! This is too much!"

I pushed on past them to the dairy case. Half a gallon of low fat soy milk goes into the cart. Pushing on past the sour cream and chip dip (yummy -- sour cream on those Fritos!!) and into the coffee/tea aisle. Two boxes of cold brew ice tea bags, a box of flavored Splenda packets. I'm getting closer to the end.

At the end of the aisle there it is again: Potato chips and Fritos display. The same one I saw as I walked in but this time from the back side. Hmm... so very tempting. I think of the scale in my bathroom and push on ahead.

"Wow, this holiday weekend stuff is going too far. I should have eaten some lunch today... my stomach is growling."

Down the soft drink aisle to its end where the plastic wrap and GladWare bowls are stocked. A pack of two large bowls (for the watermelon) go into my cart. Almost home. I round the corner and pick out a quart of yolkless eggs from the cooler and turn left. Here it is: the home stretch. If I can make it down this aisle, I'll be in the free and clear.

I push the cart down the aisle of freezer doors behind which sits fat, sugar, and salt. Some may call it prepared food and ice cream. But since most of it contains either milk or too much fat and salt for me to safely eat, I prefer to tell my brain it's pure fat, sugar and salt. The milk will land me for days in the bathroom. The fat will coat my veins and arteries and shut them down. The salt will push the water content of my blood into the hypertension range. Heart attack #2 stacked nicely behind the glass doors of the freezers.... must walk by... must walk by.

The folks in the aisle look at me strangely -- as they rightly should. I'm talking to myself at this point.

"Fat, salt, sugar. Fat, salt, sugar. Fat, salt, sugar." I'm almost to the end. Almost there.

Then someone calls my name. I turn around. Strolling down the aisle behind me is a 5.0 ounce, 800 calorie bag of Fritos holding in its hands a hot, juicy rotisserie chicken and a Snickers bar. Really! I'm a pastor; I don't lie!! This bag is walking toward me calling my name, offering to give me the Snickers and the chicken if I can eat just one Frito.

"Eat just one and walk away and the Snickers and chicken are yours. And you will know as much as God knows." (oops, wrong story.)

"Must resist. Must resist. Must resist."

The guy with the cart full of beer and potato chips giggles at me. "Crazy lady talking to herself." I KNOW that's what he's thinking. Doesn't he SEE that bag walking down the aisle? What's wrong with him?

I'd better turn and run. So I push the cart faster down the aisle. "Fat, salt, sugar. Fat, salt, sug..."

It's no use. The big bag caught up to me and jumped into my cart. I told it to get out! I don't want it. And wouldn't you know it. It starts to cry. It feels rejected. Big pouty lips....

.....

I made home in one piece. I ate a leg and thigh of the rotisserie chicken for supper. I can honestly say I put the Snickers on the rack at the checkouts, and that not one Frito passed my lips. Not one.

I think I'd better go walk ten miles now.

Tossing Kittens

I was on my way to the office this morning, driving along listening mindlessly to the local morning DJ duo. From beneath the semi in the lane to my right what looks like a white grocery bag rolls/blows around first in my lane then behind the semi. Then, I realize it's a kitten. O My! I slowed down so I wouldn't hit it if it rolled into my lane. It got up on its feet and darted toward the other edge of the road, then turned as if dizzy and ran back into the road. The car behind me swerved and avoided it, and I watched in my rear view mirror as it ran into the grass.

No sooner did I look in front of me than ANOTHER kitten fell or jumped from the underside of the semi and started rolling in the road. This is a 4 lane "expressway" (said with quotes because it has stop lights up and down it -- the Lloyd for you E-ville-ites). And it's 7:30 in the morning as people are on their way to work. This kitten didn't get out of the way of the truck's back wheels and it was hit. In my rear view mirror I see it flopping around in the road behind me.

I cautiously slowed down. Does this guy know he's dropping kittens on the road? I pull up immediately behind him and I straddle two lanes so no one can get by me. Then I slowed down. This really ticked off the people behind me, but if this truck was going to drop kittens on the road, I was going to try to make sure they didn't get run over.

Sure enough-- two more kittens fell from the truck before it turned into a shopping plaza. Both made it to the side of the road.

I followed the truck as it wove to the back of a grocery store. When the driver stopped behind the store, I got out of my car wondering what I was going to say to him. I was livid. I took my tall cup of iced coffee with me and took a long sip before I walked up to his door. I knocked on the door of the cab. He hesitantly looked out of the window then opened the door slightly. I told him what I'd seen.

The man turned sheet white. "Four white and gray kittens? About 3 months old?" There was panic in his voice.

"Yes."

He quickly turned around and looked in the "bunk" back of the cab. He wailed. He pounded the steering wheel.

His sister had given him the kittens to bring home to his daughter. He didn't realize they could get out of the bunk window. His daughter was expecting the kittens that evening.

So if you see a guy in a Keebler Cookie truck crying, you know why.

I'm not sure who I feel more sorry for -- the man or the kittens.

Company is Coming!

I don’t know about you, but three words can turn my house into a frenzy of activity:

Company is coming.

That’s all it takes for the vacuum cleaner to fly out of the closet, the dust cloths spring into motion, window cleaner starts spraying, and Dan starts tossing things out.

“Company is coming” are three very powerful words! They are loaded with meaning, innuendo, and layers of implications. We want to make a good impression on people. So we hide away those things that might say something negative about us, we clean up all the dirt, and organize the clutter. All the counter tops get a fresh wiping, the lampshades get dusted, and the glass end tables and coffee table get the kitty paw prints washed off. The bathroom gets a special cleaning, the soap dispenser gets filled, the extra shampoo bottles get tucked beneath the sink, spare rolls of toilet tissue are put in the cabinet, and the guest hand towels get placed on the towel rack. We want “company” to find our home clean and comfortable. We want guests to be impressed.

“Company is coming” usually means planning a special meal, or at least a special set of snacks and beverages. We probably will make a menu and go shopping for the favorite foods of our guests. We might chill a bottle of wine. We’ll put a table cloth on the table and carefully fold the cloth napkins. All the details of the meal will be carefully plotted out: the time to put things in the oven, what serving spoons are needed, whether dessert will be eaten at the table or with tea and coffee in the living room. Hospitality is important: it tells people we care enough about them to sit and share food and our lives with them.

When we’re expecting “company,” it usually means the family is coming to visit. And company, since they come from a great distance, usually spend at least a night or two with us. Planning where people will sleep, considering their schedule and how tired they will be from their travels, planning options for entertaining them over their visit (do we take them to Mesker Park Zoo, Blue Grass Wildlife Refuge, or to a concert?). How we spend our time with “company” will dictate how much sharing we’re able to do together, how much we can refresh and renew our relationships with one another.

Our Churches ares expecting company! Specifically, we’re expecting new family members!! Are you ready? Does your church home look like you’re expecting company? Will your new family know you were expecting them? Have you got everything planned out?

As you come to worship and Sunday School, or to the church of a meeting or a fellowship group, take a look around through the eyes of someone who has never been to your building before. Ask yourself how a new person might see the things you look at all the time. Does the space invite people to come in? Is there order and cleanliness to the rooms and corridors? Is there clutter anywhere? Are there things “hanging around” that are no longer useful or needed? Will your new family be impressed with your church home? Are you doing everything you can to help them feel expected and welcomed?

Hospitality is important because it tells another that we care enough about their comfort to work hard to achieve it. And, it’s important to make a good impression.

May we see with new eyes all that God is doing amongst us and with us.

Shedding Season

If then there is any

encouragement in Christ,
any consolation from love,
any sharing in the Spirit,
any compassion and sympathy,

make my joy complete:

be of the same mind,

having the same love,

being in full accord

and of one mind.

Do nothing from

selfish ambition or conceit,

but in humility

regard others as better than yourselves.

Let each of you look

not to your own interests,

but to the interests of others.

Philippians 2:1-4

In my younger years, I owned a horse; I was always amazed at how ugly she looked in the Spring as she shed that winter coat. She would have clumps here and there of that not-yet-shed winter coat, and areas where the undercoat of summer was healthy, shiny, and beautiful. The Church of Jesus Christ is also in the middle of a shedding season. In this new era, we too are called to shed our old weather coats.

Just before the trees shed their leaves, we are amazed at the glory of their Fall colors. Once those leaves fall, we are frustrated by the amount of work it takes to clean up the mess!

Not all things shed gracefully. Certainly my horse didn’t! One of my cats inevitably turns up raw, oozing sores when he sheds because he tries to hurry the process along by over-licking himself.

Faith communities are also less than attractive when we shed: we want to cling to our cold weather coats — our familiar ways of doing and being the church — long after the heat of summer has shown itself. Change does not come easy to us. We put on this coat, and we’re really comfortable wearing it, and we don't want to take it off.

Only when things begin to get uncomfortable do we begin to rethink things. We might adjust a thing or two — take off a sleeve, or maybe roll it up — but certainly not look in the mirror to see just how unattractive we’ve become. And, we’ve grown accustomed to our coat and we're not comfortable exposing the body beneath the coat!

We get not very attractive when change is in the air. We've all met people who feel like they own this coat! And they have earned the right to wear it. They pay their dues and work hard to keep it up. How dare anyone ask them for their coat?! They can't imagine life without it!

But alas, the season is changing around us and beyond our control. We can try to keep the space around us cool so we’ll be comfortable in our coat; but it takes more and more energy to run the cooler, to maintain the status quo. And there are fewer and fewer of us who love the coat so much. You can blame it on global warming, but that doesn’t change the fact that we are no longer engaged in the world around us. No one else wants to put on our coat!

Jesus came that we might have life, and have it abundantly in the Realm of God. Not in the world of our own making, not in the coat of our own sewing, not in the comfort of our climate controlled institutions and organizations. We are called to live into God’s Kingdom. And that has nothing to do with us and everything to do with how we reach out to others.

The challenge of our generation is to ready others for the Realm of God. That means divesting of our human made coats and living as the Body of Christ.

May we journey together toward this end.