Pre-Easter Tidbits

It’s spring, which means there are snow flurries happening during Holy Week and I’m currently roasting a turkey.
What? You don’t have turkey dinner on the Monday of Holy Week? Why not?!

Yesterday was my uncle’s birthday, and today is SuperDad’s uncle’s birthday. At 78 and 88, respectively, they are our oldest living blood relatives for each side of the family.
Their birthday cards remain unsent because, while I do make cards, I seem to have trouble actually sending them. And yes, I need to rectify that ASAP.

This is the first year I can remember being truly relaxed during Holy Week without being away on a trip. For many years I sang in a choir and for five of those years, I also worked in a church office, so it was especially busy with multiple worship services and rehearsals. Some years, I would feel guilty for missing those services and rehearsals (small churches need every body) because we would be traveling to or from visiting my dad, but I’m glad we had those times since he has been gone for over 3 years now. Then the pandemic hit and we were locked down at home. Last year we listened to the Easter Sunday service while driving on our annual spring trip. But this year we are home and the only responsibilities I have on Easter morning is bringing a breakfast egg & potato bake and ringing 3 handbells; it feels like very light service compared to years past.

And yet… I overscheduled my Tuesday (tomorrow) with multiple events: lunch meet-up and walk with Side-by-Side, a dentist appointment, dinner with Side-by-Side home groups, and then handbell rehearsal before the end of the dinner group. Except for the teeth cleaning, those things are all enjoyable, but it’s a bit more than I can handle in 8 hours with a smile on my face.
It wouldn’t be too much for a normal, healthy person but I am abby-normal and cannot be upright for more than a few hours at a time without paying the price in pain. Luckily, Wednesday has less happening before Holy Week heats up with Maundy Thursday and Good Friday.**

**Our pastor pointed out yesterday that Christians have weird names for things. While the Good Friday/Tenebrae service is a favorite for some of us, it’s also rather dark and depressing; however, it makes Easter Sunday that much brighter and joyful.

Saying Goodbye with Grace

On Sunday afternoon, we gathered in a circle outside his house — not arm in arm, but masked and standing apart — to pray and sing one of his favorite hymns. Tonight, our friend and Pastor Emeritus is in a hospice house.

He was still downhill skiing at 85 when he retired for the second time. This summer, at 87, he was still riding his bicycle, and three weeks ago he was driving his car around town. Just 10 days ago he was diagnosed with untreatable cancer.

I’m grateful he is not suffering a long illness, and I’m grateful his family could gather and surround him and one another with love over the past week. It won’t be long now until he meets his best friend, Jesus, face to face. He is ready.

What do you want?

Amos 5:21-24 The Message (MSG)

^21-24 “I can’t stand your religious meetings.
    I’m fed up with your conferences and conventions.
I want nothing to do with your religion projects,
    your pretentious slogans and goals.
I’m sick of your fund-raising schemes,
    your public relations and image making.
I’ve had all I can take of your noisy ego-music.
    When was the last time you sang to me?
Do you know what I want?
    I want justice—oceans of it.
I want fairness—rivers of it.
    That’s what I want. That’s all I want.

The Message (MSG) Copyright © 1993, 2002, 2018 by Eugene H. Peterson

Civil Rights Memorial, Southern Poverty Law Center, Montgomery AL

Awaken… Grieve… Act…

The prophet Micah tells us, “He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8)

Yesterday, the President of the United States of America decided he wanted a photo taken of himself holding a Bible in front of an historic church in Washington, D.C. 
Yesterday, people were legally and peacefully protesting when they were attacked by tear gas and rubber bullets, and they were pushed back by armored bodies. Clergy, who were at that church to assist those peaceful and legal protesters, were also pushed away from that church. No permission was asked, no warnings were given.

Should we remind ourselves WHY people were protesting? Brutality. The careless taking of a man’s life by a law enforcement officer while his fellow police officers did nothing to stop him. George Floyd is one man in a long line of people – black men in particular – who have died because they were perceived to be unworthy of justice. He wasn’t the first man in police custody who cried out that he couldn’t breathe while the very people we hire to PROTECT US become murderers.

Yesterday, the President of the United States of America decided he wanted a photo taken of himself holding a Bible in front of an historic church in Washington, D.C., and he wanted it before the mayor’s curfew began, so he gave an order – or a series of orders – that sent armored policing forces into battle using chemical weapons and rubber bullets against innocent American citizens. Are we supposed to be grateful that the bullets were made of hard rubber instead of steel?

The current President of the United States of America is a bully who likes to talk about being tough and using force. Rather than speaking words to calm hot tempers, he stirs the embers of hatred. He sows division instead of sewing us into a united people.

My heart is broken by the years of racist actions and policies in this country and by the realization that I have benefited from this even if only in small ways. I don’t fear the law enforcement officer stopping me for a traffic infraction. I didn’t worry when my sons were growing up and learning to drive that they would be seen as suspicious individuals. Oh, by that point in time I was aware that mothers of black and brown boys had those worries; it saddened me and angered me, but it wasn’t a burden I carried every day until the day it happened to a family I knew and loved. At that point my friends’ burden became my burden, too.

Yesterday, the President of the United States of America decided he wanted a photo taken of himself holding a Bible in front of an historic church in Washington, D.C., so without regard for anyone or anything else, he used his power to bully his way across the street and take what he wanted. Innocent people were hurt. He held up a book that contains God’s commandments to make himself look good.  But inside that book are these words:

“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.”

Speaking of Marching…

On Saturday, people of all ages marched and protested against gun violence.

Show me what democracy looks like.

This is what democracy looks like!

 

 

Don’t let anyone look down on you for being young. Instead, make your speech, behavior, love, faith, and purity an example for other believers.

1 Timothy 4:12 (NIV)

My hope for the future shines brighter because of “kids these days.” I confess to missing the speeches at the park downtown because I waited to leave my house until the livestreaming of the rally in Washington, D.C. had finished. I’m glad I was able to hear the incredibly moving speeches given there but wish I could have also heard our local teen leaders speaking out. There was an estimated 5,000 people who rallied and marched, and I was proud to be one of them.

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November is coming.

 

Women’s March 2.0

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My friend ~A~ and I marched this afternoon.  Our city had its march on Sunday, on the one-year anniversary of the 2017 Women’s March. There were people of all ages, families spanning generations, males and females.  There were strollers and walkers and wheelchairs.

Since we were lucky enough to be near the front of the parade of marchers, we were able to station ourselves near the end and take photos after we were finished marching.  I was lucky enough to have such a good friend who made my sign for me; I gave her the words and she took care of the artistic part.

I didn’t march last year; I’d scheduled that day to visit our grandson. This year, we’d just seen them 2 weeks ago and it was past time for me to put my body and voice where I might be seen and heard because silence is not golden.  Love trumps hate, and I choose to persistantly stand on the side of love.

My feet hurt tonight but it was worth it.

Head Clutter

It’s been ten years since I started blogging. It’s been a month since I wrote anything here. I’ve written several things in my head, of course — which is where most of my non work-related writing takes place these days — but I haven’t come here and put it down, fingers to the keyboard, tappity-tap-tap-tap.

The thing is, my head is full and not all of it is pretty or pleasant. I could spew paragraph upon paragraph, raging about politicians who have sold out for …what? Blood money? Blackmail? Or are their hearts that hardened, to not care about the people they’re supposed to be representing?
An incompetent fool sits in the White House and tweets whatever strikes him off the top of his head (and Fox “news”), then meets with politicians and refers to other nations at “shithole” countries. The entire Republican party is at fault for making him their candidate, for not reigning him in and controlling his abusive rants. A sizeable portion of the voters in this country are also at fault for voting him and his administration into office. #Cult45 is harming this nation — hopefully not beyond repair but it’s going to be a long climb back to respectability.  A misogynist who is a serial sexual harrasser was elected to be President of the United States. He is a compulsive liar and a racist.  He was elected by wealthy people who believed he would bring them even more wealth. He was elected by people who felt marginalized and left behind in times of economic growth, who believed it when he said he’d bring the steel and coal jobs back. He was held up by white supremacy folks as being one of their own and he has proven that to be true by his words, actions, and inactions. The KKK and other groups have been emboldened by his presidency. But the group of people who voted for Number 45 and who bother me the most of all are the people who claim to follow Jesus Christ. It makes no sense at all to me as a Christian to support and excuse someone who sees forgiveness, compassion and humility as weakness, who brags about assaulting and using others, who constantly tears down others in an attempt to build himself up. And yet there have been many people who claim to be Christian — and in whose lives I have seen a desire to follow Jesus Christ — who have chosen to vote for and support this man and his administration. I’m told it’s about the judicial branch and abortion. However, I don’t see the ends justifying the means and I don’t know how to relate to people who continue to support him.

I’m angry. And sad. And frustrated.

Careful…

Admit it…. you laughed.

So did I.

But then I stopped, and paused to reflect.

Mirror, Mirror on the wall

Who’s the busiest of them all?

Busy! Busy! Busy!

Guilty as charged.

I am trying to set aside some quiet moments this season to reflect on why we celebrate Christmas, why we look for the perfect gift for someone we love.  I am trying to be intentional about Advent, this season of preparation. Today we light the “peace” candle on the Advent wreath.

Hope. Peace. Joy. Love.

In the midst of everything happening in our nation and in the world, I need the focus of Advent more than ever.   Peace be with you.

 

Hanging on

Seeing Rainbows

Life isn’t sacred.

Life is precious and wonderful. It can be tedious or exciting. Life, as Glennon Melton Doyle says, is brutal and beautiful… brutiful. But life isn’t sacred. Sacred means holy, set aside, reverently dedicated to some person, purpose, or object.  I’m not saying that life can’t be those things, but general everyday life doesn’t qualify as sacred. However, there are moments in one’s life that are sacred. Birth, when a baby takes its first breath, causes those present to catch and hold their own breaths, waiting for that first cry as air fills the infant’s lungs. Death is also one of those sacred moments; being present as someone takes a final breath is a holy experience and a sacred honor – one which I count myself blessed to have witnessed.

My husband and I discussed some of this a few weeks ago as he prepared to undergo an angiogram. We were filling out paperwork for his Advance Directive in the event things went horribly wrong. He didn’t want to have life indefinitely prolonged via medical support if there was no hope of recovery. We did the hard work of discussing how long I should wait for him to come out of a coma or allow him to be on life support, should those things be in our immediate future.

We experienced sacred moments yesterday. It was a beautiful morning: the smoke was finally clearing from our skies. I wanted to visit friends who were camping in a lovely Riverside spot before they left to journey home, so SuperDad and Moses and I drove the short distance to the state park. I walked the first half-mile with them, smiling at how happy our dog was to be sniffing everything. We parted on the bridge; man and beast continued on their favorite hike together while I returned to where my friends were camped. About 30 minutes later, when I was expecting their return to us, SD called to say the dog was having trouble breathing (this was not terribly uncommon and usually righted itself within minutes) so they were resting before moving on. Ten minutes later, a second call let me know that Moses wasn’t recovering well at all, and could I get a cart to meet them? My friend J and I asked the camp host if there was a cart available but she did not have one, so we drove to my house for our folding wagon, quickly returning to the park with it.  We met SD and the dog on the trail: Moses had slipped into a coma. We gently moved him to a blanket and lifted him into the cart. The trail back was rocky and uneven, and the decision was made for SD to go retrieve the car while J and I walked with the wagon along a smoother path until we could all meet up. At a stopping point in the shade, J reached down and pet the dog; she noted that his heart was beating quickly. By the time I reached down to feel his chest, Moses’ heart had stopped. There was no trauma, no misery – just a quiet ending. He was having a joy-filled morning, walking on one of his favorite paths in the woods until with a final wag of his tail, he laid down to rest. SuperDad was there to give him water and keep him company. When Moses took his final breath, he had a loving hand placed comfortingly on him.

Death is sacred, and in those important, holy moments of yesterday, there were people to bear witness to it. Aside from the fact that he was a 14-year-old Labrador retriever – that makes him the human equivalent of 98 years of age, so clearly his time had come – I think that is why I am so at peace with his passing: he was ushered out of this life with loving hands. Moses now at the proverbial Rainbow Bridge, where he is free to sniff whatever he wants to his heart’s content. We weren’t his first family, so if the legend is true Moses will have at least two joyous reunions in the future. There are some wonderful dogs I know of who went before him, and I imagine there is quite the dog party happening now.