Friday Five

RevGal Friday Five...
Just as 1 Corinthians 12 notes that each of us have our own gifts that we contribute to the Body of Christ, we all have something in which we excel. Today’s Friday Five, name five successful areas of your life for which would you win an award or honor that you wish you could win.  Would it be for an athletic feat?  Would your win be a Grammy or another award for musical achievement?  Or maybe your win would be for everyday life achievements – from having the most pristine microwave oven to not passing out at the sight of blood.  As you name your five achievements, who would you thank in your acceptance speech?

1) Theater directing.
2) Worship planning
3) Organization and Administration
4)Worship Leadership
5) Sermon presentation

Five things I love in my neighborhood

This week's RevGal "Friday five challenge" is 
share with us five things that bring you joy in your neighborhood (past and/or present).

I may be more aware of things because as a homeschooler going for a daily "nature walk" was a part of our rhythm. 
Some of my favorite things on our walks would be

- the dead-end road that is a small strip of land between two lakes.  The residents of this little strip have created a cottage area feel, so that each time I walk that way it feels like vacation.

The historical marker of the first school in our township and the story it tells of the friendship of the Native Americans and the first settlers. 

The Lake in my backyard and the beach I can walk to just down the road.

The Custard Corner - enough said. 

No longer there, sadly, we use to be able to walk to a butcher.  loved that and would often go down to have fresh meat cut into steaks, or get freshly ground hamburger.  And you could watch them work!
Now days it is a Mexican store. 

And (number 6) no longer there, a Big Boy. 
  

revelation of tears

Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay the closest attention. They are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, but more often than not God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where, if your soul is to be saved, you should go next.

 

Frederick Buchner, Whistling in the Dark

to know and be known

(A draft and running on thoughts -- to come back to and consider)

This week I attended a meeting of clergy.  I have not attended a like meeting since...1996.  Before that time I was a faithful attendee at all meetings, but then things happened to disillusion me over the years: betrayals of myself and others.  But I digress...THIS meeting had no real agenda except to form relationships.  Our host invited everyone to share where they came from and it was good.

I am probably the only one who came away from that meeting touched.  And I can not say that any real bonds of friendship were formed.  But I loved the stories and I loved the stories that ran between the lines.  I was revealed to hear how the Holy Spirit had worked.  I was moved by the story of a couple who opened their home every week to a before school Bible study for high school youth (does anyone mainline do that anymore?).  I was moved by the continued ministry of one who has faced cancer not once but twice and still returns to the pulpit. I listened and felt an almost relief that one in leadership shares my sadness that the YMCA has forgotten what the "C" stands for in their name.

And I delighted in the dry wit and savvy questions of one, who while I would most likely never see eye to eye on theologically, shared a ministry of heart in our own country and abroad.

 I stumbled through my own story.  I probably sounded like an unenthusiastic slump.  However, when I left I didn't feel that I was actually there to tell my story but hear the others. To be heartened, just a little in ministry.

Most importantly I am determined that one of the most important things we can do in the church is to know and be known -- not only Jesus Christ, but one another. It's not a new idea, but it is one that needs to be repeated and perhaps preached more often.  When we come to know each others stories we become more compassionate.

Reflecting the Light

“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

So many things today to ponder...

  “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

This came up on my facebook news feed.

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..."💔 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