“I
consider myself a stained-glass window. And this is how I live my life.
Closing no doors and covering no windows; I am the multi-colored glass
with light filtering through me, in many different shades. Allowing
light to shed and fall into many many hues. My job is not to direct
anything, but only to filter into many colors. My answer is destiny and
my guide is joy. And there you have me.” ― C. JoyBell C.
from the Princeton University facebook page - January 18, 2016
“For some reason, religious people tend to confuse the means with the
actual goal. In the beginning, you tend to think that God really cares
about your exact posture, the exact day of the week for public prayer,
the authorship and wordings of your prayers, and other such things. Once
your life has become a constant communion, you know that all the
techniques, formulas, sacraments, and practices were just a dress
rehearsal for the real thing—life itself—which can actually become a
constant intentional prayer. Your conscious and loving existence gives
glory to God.”
(Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of
Life ,Richard Rohr)
the rhythm to the creative life is: Create! Call it good! Rest! - Glennon Doyle Melton http://momastery.com/blog/2016/01/20/three-rules-for-a-creative-life/
Always is what you miss. Always knowing where they are. At school. At
play practice. At a ballgame. At a friend's. Always looking at the clock
mid day and anticipating the door opening, the sigh, the smile, the
laugh, the shrug.
I have been luckier than most. My children decided to live at home
during college and grad school, are still living at home. In fact
instead of less people in the house we have more. (That is a blessing
and a curse because you live with how some other mother raised her
child.)
Still, it is not the same. And you know it is only a
matter of time. If not physically gone, the roles change and that is a
loss not understood by men, not understood by the children who are no
longer children and often not understood by other mothers until late in
life. You know the ones...In homeschooling they are the ones counting
down the years, months, days, minutes until they are "done!". They are
the ones who can not wait to use that child's room for their own
workshop-sewingroom-study-getaway-etc. These are the people who do not
understand. The ones who whisper words behind your back. But I know, I
have observed the ones left behind and no matter how busy you are or
how often you see them in the end always is what you miss.
Here is the entire essay.
"It's not a death. And it's not a tragedy. But it's not nothing,
either..."馃挃 I feel like this little boy walked out the door today, not
the fine young man we've raised. Today is hard. Very hard. "I wasn't
wrong about their leaving. My husband kept telling me I was. That it
wasn't the end of the world when first one child, then another , and
then the last packed their bags and left for college. But it was the end of something. ``Can you pick me up, Mom?" ``What's for dinner?" ``What do you think?"
I was the sun and they were the planets. And there was life on those
planets, whirling, non stop plans and parties and friends coming and
going, and ideas and dreams and the phone ringing and doors slamming. And I got to beam down on them. To watch. To glow. And then they were gone, one after the other.
``They'll be back," my husband said. And he was right. They came back.
But he was wrong, too, because they came back for intervals -- not for
always, not planets anymore, making their predictable orbits, but
unpredictable, like shooting stars. Always is what you miss. Always
knowing where they are. At school. At play practice. At a ballgame. At a
friend's. Always looking at the clock mid day and anticipating the door
opening, the sigh, the smile, the laugh, the shrug. ``How was school?"
answered for years in too much detail. ``And then he said . . . and then
I said to him. . . ." Then hardly answered at all. Always, knowing his friends. Her favorite show. What he had for breakfast. What she wore to school. What he thinks. How she feels.
My friend Beth's twin girls left for Roger Williams yesterday. They are
her fourth and fifth children. She's been down this road three times
before. You'd think it would get easier. ``I don't know what I'm going to do without them," she has said every day for months. And I have said nothing, because, really, what is there to say?
A chapter ends. Another chapter begins. One door closes and another
door opens. The best thing a parent can give their child is wings. I
read all these things when my children left home and thought then what I
think now: What do these words mean? Eighteen years isn't a chapter
in anyone's life. It's a whole book, and that book is ending and what
comes next is connected to, but different from, everything that has gone
before. Before was an infant, a toddler, a child, a teenager.
Before was feeding and changing and teaching and comforting and guiding
and disciplining, everything hands -on. Now? Now the kids are young
adults and on their own and the parents are on the periphery, and it's
not just a chapter change. It's a sea change. As for a door closing?
Would that you could close a door and forget for even a minute your
children and your love for them and your fear for them, too. And would
that they occupied just a single room in your head. But they're in every
room in your head and in your heart. As for the wings analogy? It's
sweet. But children are not birds. Parents don't let them go and build
another nest and have all new offspring next year. Saying goodbye to
your children and their childhood is much harder than all the pithy
sayings make it seem. Because that's what going to college is. It's
goodbye. It's not a death. And it's not a tragedy. But it's not nothing, either. To grow a child, a body changes. It needs more sleep. It rejects food it used to like. It expands and it adapts. To let go of a child, a body changes, too. It sighs and it cries and it feels weightless and heavy at the same time.
The drive home alone without them is the worst. And the first few days.
But then it gets better. The kids call, come home, bring their friends,
fill the house with their energy again. Life does go on. ``Can
you give me a ride to the mall?" ``Mom, make him stop!" I don't miss
this part of parenting, playing chauffeur and referee. But I miss them,
still, all these years later, the children they were, at the dinner
table, beside me on the couch, talking on the phone, sleeping in their
rooms, safe, home, mine...." - Beverly Beckham
Today we observe Sabbath rest at Wee Kirk. Last night our reflective worship service was remembering St. Martin and the Martinmas. The worship space looks so nice lit predominately by the lanterns. This year we walked the driveway to the sidewalk and sang the songs of light. The lanterns were made while I was on vacation and they panted them this year. Very pretty. And this year we used battery candles in the walkers candles and the white luminaries which kept the conversation about wind blown lights down and people more focused on the walk. Just before worship the police chased a deer that had been hit by a car on to the church property. Then they shot it (twice) and of course left it there. It was rather disconcerting to hear the gun shots as some of us were inside preparing the worship space for the service.
Unfortunately some of the children and youth who were outside helping to set out the luminaries saw everything. The police gave no warning except to cover their ears, not their eyes. Yet, the ones who were there came back into the church seeming unaffected. The only comment I heard was "gross". Of course it was a mercy killing and the poor thing was put out of it's misery, but there was a callousness.
The good that came out of this is that the deer will be processed and at least a portion of the meat is going to a family who can use help with groceries. This was decided after the service and I was a bit disappointed that the person in charge of the deer removal had to be reminded to share the meat when the sermon had been all about sharing - and food had been the specific example. Sigh.
On another note Wee Kirk as two new folk who are worshiping with our community on Saturday nights. This change has been good for the soul of our little community and it has been a way for our community to reach out and encouraged people to come to this different service of quiet and reflection and gratitude. So now we observe a sabbath rest. I remembered this Enya piece -- it is a perfect Sabbath prayer for my Wee Kirk today ... The words follow with the English translation.....
(English Translation to the right)
Athair ar Neamh, Dia linn (Father in Heaven, God bless us) Athair ar Neamh, Dia liom (Father in Heaven, God bless me) M'anam, mo chro铆, mo ghl贸ir (My soul, my heart, my glory) Moladh duit, a Dhia (Praise be to you, oh God) Fada an l谩, go s谩mh (Long is the peaceful day) Fada an o铆ch' gan ghruaim (Long is the night without gloom) Aoibhneas, 谩thas, gr谩 (Wonder, joy, love) Moladh duit, a Dhia (Praise be to you, oh God) M贸raim th煤 贸 l谩 go l谩 (I praise you from day to day) M贸raim th煤 贸 o铆ch' go ho铆ch' (I praise you night after night) Athair ar Neamh, Dia linn (Father in Heaven, God bless us) Athair ar Neamh, Dia liom (ather in Heaven, God bless me) An ghealach, an ghrian, an ghaoth (The moon, the sun, the wind) Moladh duit, a Dhia (Praise be to you, oh God) M贸raim th煤 贸 l谩 go l谩 (I praise you from day to day) M贸raim th煤 贸 o铆ch' go ho铆ch' (I praise you night after night) Athair ar Neamh, Dia linn (Father in Heaven, God bless us) Athair ar Neamh, Dia liom (Father in Heaven, God bless me) M'anam, mo chro铆, mo ghl贸ir (My soul, my heart, my glory) Moladh duit, a Dhia (Praise be to you, oh God)
A couple of days a go I received a blog prompt from RevGal Blogs: When you were 8(ish), what did you want to be when you grew up? This was my answer: A nun. The Sound of Music had just been
released. Once my parents and Roman Catholic relatives explained that
one to me. (It’s pretty hard to be a nun when you are a Presbyterian.)
…that’s when I truly understood my obsession with musical theatre.
At this point in life (and part of the reason for beginning this blog) is because I am currently in "places" for Act III of this musical of my life. So here is a brief introduction.
Act III Scene: Living in the Mitten State At Rise: Serving "Wee Kirk" (a small little community of believers and
seekers of Jesus Christ) The Cast: The Barrister - partner/husband for the last 30 + years. He is older,
wiser, and one of the most laid back people you could ever meet. A
lawyer by trade, a peacemaker by nature.
Darling Daughter 1 - Sharing space, life and love while working on her
advanced degree and attempting to earn a living with her (vocal) music
degree. She is also an artist. She channels my mother in keeping the
house clean.
Darling Daughter 2 - in her last teen year, a bass major at the local
college (yes another music degree). She is a writer and actor. She is
also a rebel without a cause since her family gives her nothing to rebel
against. Funny, sarcastic. The Dog - small, cute with the personality of a pit bull RevMo - Me.
I have had an on line journal for a long time, but to begin to put
thoughts “out there” for public scrutiny is a completely different ball
game. I haven’t even gotten the set up of this page the way I want it,
but then again, I haven’t been able to arrangement life the way I want
it either.
