It's the Little Things

I was driving to the chiropractor's office yesterday, out on the Garrett Shortcut.  As I drove, I was looking at the weeds wildflowers on the side of the road and was taken back in time and place...

...to Somerton, Ohio, where Hal and I first lived together as husband and wife.  We were hosting a gathering of pastors in our home, and Hal had started the ribs.  He offered to go to the store to get flowers.  Now, google maps would tell you that it takes 16 minutes to get from where we lived in Somerton to the nearest grocery store (Riesbeck's, in Barnesville to the north).  They would lie.  Because inevitably, there would be Amish buggies on the road - the curvy, hilly, can't-pass-a-buggy-without-risking-life-and-limb-even-though-the-driver-is-motioning-you-around-because-you-can't-see-what's-coming-around-the-curve-or-over-the-hill road.  I will digress as I remember the morning I got behind TWELVE buggies on the road headed south.  So, it was usually 20-25 minutes at the best, then time in the store (even though the flowers were usually at the checkout line), IF THEY HAD ANY FLOWERS LEFT AT ALL, then 20-25 minutes home.  Because the florist would have been closed at this particular hour and we had failed to call ahead were too darned cheap/broke to buy actual FLORIST flowers at the time.  We were both still in seminary, I was working part-time at my churches, he was earning student-pastor pay. 

So Hal left to go to the store.  About fifteen minutes later he returned with a big grin on his face and a plastic grocery bag he laid on the table.  With weeds wildflowers, roots and all, that he had stopped on the side of the road and grabbed.  I tilted my head and looked at him like he was nuts, and saw his face begin to cloud over.  Realizing that my attitude was hurting him, I grinned, shook my head, and told him that he must have a lot of faith in my flower-arranging abilities.  He grinned again, the clouds left, and said that he believed in me.  I grabbed a bowl and floral foam, then sorted through the Queen Anne's Lace, cornflowers, daisies, and brown-eyed Susans, among others, that he had pulled from a farmer's field on the side of the road, trimmed them, shook off the dirt, ants, and spiders, and put together an arrangement for our table. 

And that day, which I had not thought of in years, came rushing back to me on the shortcut yesterday.  The beauty that Hal brought into my life was not something that money could buy.  It was about being happy with what was right there, free for the taking.  The little inside jokes, the eye contact across a crowded room, the feel of his breath on the back of my neck as he held me...the having to turn away because the smell of my breath after I ate garlic bothered him (you would think a guy NAMED Garlick...but I digress again)...

And I almost destroyed it.  I almost got so wrapped up in my understanding that he would be coming in with BOUGHT flowers, that were actually free of roots, spiders, or ants, that I almost blew off the beauty in the gift he brought me.  The gift of his time, in the middle of cooking a meal, that he took to go and get me flowers to make the table pretty.  The gift of his vision that those rag-tag flowers were more beautiful - and plentiful - than any he could have bought at the store.  The gift of his trust that I would accept his gift in the spirit it was given.  The gift of his trust that I would work with these wildflowers.

Hal gave me a lot of weird gifts over the years - and I gave him a lot of ones that left him scratching his head, too.  It's the little things, folks.  The free, inexpensive, and day-to-day "weeds" that are all around us.  Don't overlook them.  Don't belittle them.  Don't take them for granted.  Welcome them.  Embrace them.  Celebrate them! 

Camping in Sorrow

My dad died when I was 35.  Shortly after his passing, I realized that I was depressed (duh).  I asked a couple of people who knew me well, to give me a few months and check back with me.  Both of them took seriously my need for sorrow, and took seriously my knowledge that I could not forever continue in the depths of the dark woods I was in.  Both checked in on me periodically, not pushing me to come out of my sadness but walking with me.

It is the words of one that comes back to me now.  Over coffee, about 6 months after my dad's passing, this friend asked if I had pulled the stakes up yet.  I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, asking what he meant.  He smiled, and said that I'd been camping out in my sorrow - and that was ok - but it was not ok to permanently move in.  He asked again if I had pulled up my stakes yet - my tent stakes - and after talking for a while, we ascertained together that I had started to pull them up, but had not completely broken camp yet.  And he walked with me a while longer, helping me to break camp and move out of the dark woods I was in.

Fitting, I guess, for this season.  I am camping out in my sorrow.  And folks, that's ok...for now.  I'm not moving there permanently - but if you want to check in on me periodically, that's ok.  That would probably be more than ok.  In return, I promise I'll walk with you - or just sit with you - as you will allow me.  Just remember that you can't pull my tent stakes up for me.  Only I can, and I will, when the time is right.

Sabbatical trip, part one

Hal and I left on the morning of June 1, him celebrating his retirement and me finishing my Sabbatical.

Unable after his heart attack of 2012 to crank up our pop-up camper, and me unable to do it after my wrist surgery, we had sold it.  When we had not received the major grant for which we had applied for the Sabbatical, he hand-built a ledge vardo on the bed of a utility trailer that we have owned since Nebraska.  He had looked at ideas online but had come up with the design and played with it, changing things along the way.  His daughter, Katherine, painted symbols of faith on the outside, and I got out my sewing machine for the first time in a long time and, flying by the seat of my pants, sewed curtains, and  then I crocheted two afghans...finishing one along the way.  With the help of a dear friend, he finished it right at the end of May while we were on the road, and was planning the things he needed to tweak once we got home.

Oh, that vardo!  We had more conversations along the road with people who came driving up to us in parking lots, rest stops, campgrounds.   I had thought he was nuts (after all, folks, he married me, he couldn't have been all there), but have fallen in love with our tiny little home-away-from-home.  In Kentucky, a mulejumper (more on that in another blog post) and his wife prayed with us in a parking lot.  At a gas station, two ladies pulled up and asked if they could take a picture of our "chicken coop" - we both busted out laughing and explained it was a camper!   We had a man in his 70's come up and offer to buy it in a Walmart parking lot in Wyoming - his grandchildren rode the rodeo circuit, and he was looking for something that exact size to take with him. People asked Hal for details and for instructions, and he always took the time to explain what he had done, what he had tried that didn't work, and patiently showed them what they asked to see.

We lost our first set of mattresses because the front window was not as waterproof as we had thought, and ended up leaving them in OK with a friend of mine (that I had not seen since fifth grade) for her to dispose of, and buying a new mattress in Wicheta, KS.  Not a souvenir I had ever anticipated buying!  And I'll admit it was a little unnerving the two times that someone pulled up alongside us and motioned to roll the windows down to tell us the back door was open - thankfully we had lost nothing either time.  The house-door deadbolt lock had loosened from the vibrations (remember, utility trailer, no shocks or struts) so we ended up putting a hasp lock with a padlock on it, after which it never jiggled loose again.
 
We visited along the way, from PA to my sisters and their families in Mount Olive, NC - we celebrated our fourteenth wedding anniversary at the scene of the crime in the town where we were married.  We moved on to visit with Hal's seminary mentor and his wife, people who have become dear to me over the years.  Good food, good conversation, and a rousing game of "Sequence." 

From there, we went to a campground in Paducah, KY where we were serenaded by cicadas and bullfrogs.  We accidentally crossed the Illinois border and turned around asap as we were carrying firearms - legally in most states but not IL - and did not realize that we were crossing the border until it was too late.  Next was a campground in MO that advertised bathrooms and wifi and had neither, but did have a critter skittering across our roof in the middle of the night.  Around the time the critter woke us, we heard a flush - of a toilet that was obviously NOT hooked up to the sewer hook-up right...and were very grateful to have annointing balm - which is good not only for healing annointing, but for annointing the upper lip and praying that the smell of the raw sewage would be alleviated by the soothing scents of the balm.  This was where we discovered that the mattresses were "a little damp," but had no choice but to sleep on them.  Well, that, or find a non-scary motel in the middle of nowhere (seriously, this campground was the stuff horror movies were made of and we were too tired to go on).

My Favorite Things

So I'm sitting here, at 10:42 pm, listening to the news.  The weather report comes on, and they talk about the impending freezing rain, and Hal starts to sing, "Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head."  I, on the other hand, begin to sing, "Raindrops on roses, and whiskers on kittens, bright copper kettles..."

Which led me to wonder, what ARE a few of my favorite things?  An incomplete list, at best, and in no particular order, but here goes:

Hal's arm sliding over me in bed when I'm having a nightmare, and hearing him say, "It's alright, I'm here."  Hal's arm around me, sitting on the couch watching a movie, my head against his shoulder.  Hal.

Laughing with my sisters.  Fixing dinner or cleaning up dinner with my sisters.  Playing games with my sisters.  My sisters.

Spending time with my nieces and nephews.  Particularly when I can embarrass my nieces by bursting into song at the drop of a word - and loving that both of my sisters and I will usually all three burst into the exact same song at the exact same spot.  I think we've only missed once.  And I love that Hal now also bursts into song at the drop of a word.

Getting to spend time with my stepchildren, daughter-in-law, and my grandchildren.   Having had a chance to build relationships with these wonderful people.

Singing a hymn or reading a piece of scripture aloud and having the words hit me in a way that they never have before, and being unable to utter a sound because I am so overwhelmed by the meaning of what should be coming out of my mouth, but cannot.

The dry humor of Hal and my brother-in-law Bill, although when they are together it can be dangerous for any and all involved.

Seeing the light turn on for someone during worship or Bible study.

Holding a book in my hands, particularly a book that others have read before me.  Reading words that someone has put together in order to make me think, to make me feel, to make me grow.

Music.  Listening, playing, singing, moving to it.  Although I know sometimes I scare Hal when I move in the car.  And with the amount of lyrics I know.  Ask him sometime about the night I suggested meatloaf for dinner the next night.

Cats.  Every sneezy, itchy, throat-scratchy, eye-watering bit of them.  Except for hairballs.  Hairballs are most definitively NOT one of my favorite things.

Creating things.  Yarn things, mostly, but also fabric things and food things and paper things and written things.

Taking pictures.  Capturing something that I see so that others can see through my eyes.  Capturing moments and emotions and silliness and beauty and even the dirt and the normalness and the mundane, the order and disorder of life in general. 

Chocolate.

A cup of hot tea, with milk and sugar.

The imagination of children before they learn that they shouldn't pretend.

The October Dress Project, Take 3

"The motto of the ODP is "anti-consumerism, pro-simplicity, anti-conformity, pro-creativity." How do you think ODP affected your thinking in these areas this year? The way you spend your money or think about your wants vs needs. The brain space and physical space you devote to what you wear and how you look. The way the fashion and beauty industry, peer pressure, or criticism and other's attention shapes your clothing choices. The ways you can express joy, beauty, values, or feelings through what you wear. All these different things and more can be affected by simply wearing the same thing for thirty-one days straight-- so how did it affect you?"

This was the question posted by Avery at the end of this year's ODP.  This was the third of the last four years that I participated in this activity.  One dress, thirty-one days.  Although for me this year it was one dress, twenty-seven days (two days that I stayed in jammies, and the last two days of the month when I was told by my doctor that I probably have a torn rotator cuff and I decided that it was probably not a good idea to continue to pull a dress over my head twice a day).  Here are my thoughts, not in any particular order.

The fashion and beauty industry have almost never shaped my clothing choices.  Except for a brief fling with parachute pants (it was the 80's, people, I could not help myself), I have rarely bought into the latest trends.  Perhaps that stems from having been the youngest of 3 girls and getting some hand-me-downs from sisters, neighbors, and older cousins, there was not a lot of choice for me in clothing.  If it was on sale and I absolutely needed it, I got it.

While I didn't, even as a young child, get into fashion, I had - and still have - a sense of what I like and what I don't like.  I still remember getting a sweater for Christmas one year, from an aunt and uncle now departed, that I thought was too childish for me.  It was too big, so we put it up for the next winter - by which time it was too small.  That did not break my heart - but I broke my mother's that Christmas day because I went behind a chair (I didn't want to cry in front of all those people at my disappointment in the sweater) and would not thank them.  I think more than my personal likes, though, that I was afraid I would be mocked at school for it; even though the size was too big, the image on it, to me, was far too "small."  This fear of criticism may have come from the teasing I had already gotten for wearing things that were out of style - whatever that meant to a 3rd-grader.  Peer pressure sucks.

Then I grew up.  Well, to a point ;) And my brother got a girlfriend.  Jane looked at me one day and said, "Fashion is for those who dare to be different."  And she's right.  Not that I haven't ever bought into someone else's idea of fashion to some extent (see former note on parachute pants).  I learned to take what I liked, and make it work for me, not worrying about what others thought about my combinations.  There have been times that I have had restrictions according to where I have worked, but I have kept my sense of who I am within the clothing that I am required to/restricted from wearing.

Part of the time now I wear a "uniform" - as a pastor, at times I wear a clerical shirt with appropriately styled slacks, skirts, or jumpers.  My shirts, my robes, and my stoles are purchased new(except for the cross-stitched stoles that I found at a thrift store), of good quality.  So, a lot of times, people will see me wearing the same things multiple times, even outside of October.  I like the simplicity of knowing what I will be wearing certain days.  When I don't have to think about it, it makes my morning a lot less frantic. 

When not in uniform, I am still mindful of the appearance I present, as I represent not only myself but also my church - living in a small town, EVERYONE knows who I am and what I do. Having said that, the second piece of wisdom I got about dressing was from a former seminary professor.  Asked by a group of female students what advice she could give us, Beth paused, thought, and said, "Always own at least one dress that your congregation would be shocked to see you in."  And I do.  I am, after all, a woman, was one before I became a pastor, and will be one after I retire (if I live that long) (not that I'm being morose, but none of us know when we'll come to the end of our life).  And, frankly, my husband likes to see me dress up.

Honestly, I don't know that anyone would have noticed I was wearing the same dress if I hadn't talked about it.  Which makes me wonder why so many people buy into the fashion industry.  Do any of us really pay attention to what anyone else wears?  I have gotten to a point where I look at my wardrobe much more critically, and doing the October Dress Project three times has helped in doing that.  I am much more likely to spend less time shopping buying than I used to.  I still like to look at clothes - but at yard sales and thrift shops.  And I'm more likely to donate as I'm buying - replacing instead of adding to wardrobe.  I have been buying fewer things of better quality, even at thrift stores.   When an item has worn out (save for crafting) or been outgrown (no, no, shrunk in the laundry, yeah, yeah, that's it)(donate!), I replace it - I generally don't buy something for the sake of buying it.  Except that I have been buying button-down shirts and cardigans instead of pullovers...but that's an age thing.

The biggest thing that I've gotten out of my three years of doing ODP is the sharing of creativity among participants.  I was never big on accessories, but I now own a number of scarves, belts, and jewelry that I have become fond of.  Again, mostly thrifted.  Looking at others' photos, I have become more likely to see different things that I can do that I had never considered before.

To sum up - I've always been anti-consumerism (perhaps because I've never had a lot of money with which to consume); pro-simplicity is growing on me; Marie anti-conformity is my middle name; and, through the community of ODP I have become more creative with my wardrobe choices.  Will I do this again?  Probably - with a button-down dress.  I will be paring my wardrobe down again, though, as I keep looking at things I have only worn once or twice in the last year.  Time to clear my space again, although more to simplify my options than to refill the space.  I am thankful for this community of women who share with and encourage each other.

Sacrificial Rams

Last night in our study/service, we watched the second session of The Story, which dealt with Abram/Abraham and Sarai/Sarah.  In the course of the video and discussion following, I realized something that I had never realized before.

In Genesis 22, Abraham is told, "...take your son, your only son, Isaac..." and go to Mt Moriah and offer him as a burnt offering to God. 

Wait, what? Isaac was NOT Abraham's only son.  Oh, yes, he was Abraham's only son with Sarah...but he had another son.  A firstborn son.  With Hagar.  Remember Ishmael?  You know, the one that was born AFTER Sarai gave her servant Hagar to Abram?  You know, Hagar, the one who Sarai then dealt harshly with after Ishmael was conceived?  Who left, then went back, and then was sent away with her child?  You know, Ishmael, who got the bulk of the inheritance circumcised at 13 (ouch!) and then after being sent away was laying under a bush in the wilderness where his mother put him to die, until God showed her more water so they didn't die in the wilderness?

It didn't please Abraham to put Ishmael out.  God told him to do what Sarah said (happy wife, happy life to the extreme???).

So here we are, back to Mt Moriah and the almost-burnt-offering of Isaac.  Abraham is told to take his only son to the mountain. Those of us who know the story, know that THE ANGEL OF THE LORD showed Abraham a ram caught in the bush AS HE HAD HIS HANDS IN THE AIR ABOUT TO BRING THE KNIFE DOWN AND KILL HIS SON.  So he didn't have to sacrifice his son.

But Abraham had, in effect, already sacrificed his first son, Ishmael - to the elements, to the kindness of strangers.

What do we deny because it's convenient for us?  You KNOW that Abraham could have kept Hagar and Ishmael around, but Sarah would have made his life miserable (yes, more miserable than  being circumcised at the age of 99).  What do we do wrong, then make others suffer the consequences of our choices? Sarai did not have to give Hagar to Abram - but when Hagar got pregnant, Sarai didn't want her around - even though it was HER FAULT (yes, yes, Abram could have said no - but then there's that whole saying no to Sarai/Sarah thing).

We are not asked to take our children to the mountain to give them up as burnt offering.  But there are things we are called to sacrifice.  Are we as willing to give up what we love, what we cherish, as we are willing to give up the things that are inconvenient?

New Normals

So remember that time I fell down back in June?  No?  Well, I do.  When last I wrote typed I had just gotten a splint - and a bad haircut. 

Splint didn't work.  Cortisone shot didn't work.  Third haircut did work. ;)  End of Oct, after almost 3 months in a brace, I had surgery on my wrist to cut the sheath around the tendon to the thumb.

Not going to go into all the gory details.  Let's just say that the brace has been off for 2 weeks and I'm starting to get my hand back...I think.  I don't know.  I've never had this kind of surgery before.  I've never had my hand and wrist immobilized for four and a half months before.  So I can't close my hand into a fist yet - and I can't squeeze a stress ball much (although I'm doing better than the first day that I tried) - and I can't really cut my meat yet - but I can butter bread and put cheesespread on a cracker.  My hand and the knuckles on all my fingers are swollen.  I can't carry a laundry basket upstairs, but I can use my good hand to drag it done, and can use both hands to handle the clothes.  I can fold clothes, and turn a doorknob. Hal had to put up our Christmas trees (yes, that's plural) and take boxes up and down the stairs, and a friend helped me decorate. 

What I'm saying is this:  if you know me at all, you know I'm not a patient person.  Ok, that may be an understatement.  I want "normal" - and I want it NOW YESTERDAY!  I am, though, learning to accept small advances instead of trying to force normal. 

That's so hard to do, isn't it?  We want to force things to be the way we want them to be - the way we are used to them being.  Sometimes we try so hard to do things that we don't allow healing.  Whether physical or emotional, we need to allow time to heal wounds before we move on to the new.

I lost my uncle yesterday.  Two of the people in our church lost family members on Christmas Eve, and a friend lost her grandmother on Christmas Day.  Just as my hand needs time to heal, so do my family and friends.  We think we'll not ever be normal again, that things we did with those loved ones will never be the same.  And we're right - things won't be the same.  But normal will come again.

My hand may never be the same, but as time goes I'll be able to do normal things - either with it, or I'll learn to use my left hand. 

Our lives are never the same after the loss of a loved one, but life will become "normal" again.  It must.  It will be a "new normal" - a different normal - that is, we will still feel the loss, but the memories will live on.  Rest in peace, Uncle Bruce; Rest in peace, David and Jon; Rest in peace, Wilma.  We will miss you, and we will see you again someday.