Sunday, March 30, 2008

COMMUNING WITH JOHN AND MARGIE

On Easter's Eve, my friend Beth and I gathered prayer books, our bibles, hymnals and voluminous copies of worship songs and headed to Edward's Hospital to visit our friend Margie's husband, John, who has been valiantly - tenaciously - fighting metastasized brain cancer for the last several months. A musician at heart, I eagerly anticipated the melodies and lyrics whisking John to God's Throne of Grace. He - a musical prodigy and titanically gifted worship leader - if anyone, would be able to appreciate our impromptu Easter Service delivered at hospital bedside. love
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As Beth drove me to the hospital, we prayed about our offering. I sight-read dozens of new hymns (ones not sung at my church) that Beth knew would hold specific Eastertide and personal meaning to our ailing friend. As we roamed hospital halls in search of John's room, I was nervous about singing in front of this musical master and hopeful that our meager offering would be a beneficent and beautiful blessing. Beth prayed that angels would accompany us, filling in thin spots with heavenly colors, timbres and overtones.

Our circuitous sojourn and time of supplication ended at John's hospital room door. With grace and kindness, he (who had, two days prior been lacking his typical verbosity and lucidity) greeted us by name and invited us into the tiny, sterile space. We were elated to find John's friend, Randy, there. It seemed an answer to our prayer that this man, who had written one of the songs Beth had chosen to be part of our organic service, was keeping vigil with John during our visit.

"Randy! Please sing with us," we invited.

After getting John comfortable in his bed; Randy obliged with his James Tayloresque tenor.

Glory!

Beth and I hit most of the notes. Randy greatly helped! John even sang a bit, raising a hand in worship of God the Father. Margie's father, who was there to keep the night watch, wept worshipful tears and said, "This music is more beautiful than that at this morning's Easter service."

Beth and I figured angels must have been accompanying us: filling in the gaps of our shaky soprano/alto inadequacies. The music was a gift to us, to nurses who stopped in John's doorway to listen, to God in whose name we always sing; and, we hope, to John.

For me, though, the most holy and worshipful moment of the evening occurred when I noticed John (whose motor skills have slowed a bit due to his illness) wrestling to eat dinner. As I watched his shaky hand, unsure of what the fork should do; a maternal urging overtook me. I knelt beside John - this man who I've admired for his faith in Christ and voluminous intellect - and instinctively began cutting up his tuna sandwich. Then, I waited in eager anticipation for him to scoop up a bit of sustenance and slide it into his mouth. He didn't move.

From a place of instinct and motherly love a question gently burst from my mouth into the room. "John, would you mind if I just fed this to you?"

Graciously, he opened his mouth, receiving the offering. Three bites into the meal, John looked around the room at his father-in-law, his friend Randy, Beth and me and said, "You are all so generous."

I felt my throat catch with sadness and the feeling that I was in a privileged moment. Randy smiled. Beth turned to another worship song. I offered John another bite of the sandwich and said, "This is just what friends do. You did the same for me when I was in the height of my back pain and you came over and prayed for me."

I scooped up another forkful of tuna. And, I couldn't help but feel, in the moment, that feeding John a quarter of that tuna sandwich (all he could manage) was the closest I'd ever come to breaking the Body of Christ with a friend; sharing the Cup of The New Covenant.

I will never be able to thank John or Margie for the ways they've let me walk intimately with them into the Valley of the Shadow. It is a gift and honor and joy ineffable.
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Yesterday afternoon, as I was shaking in my bed under the nefarious grip of strain B Influenza, Margie called.

"How's John?" I asked.

"He's feeling a little overwhelmed today," she said. "But, I'm not calling about John. I wanted to let you know that I got a belated Easter dinner together for my family. And when I heard you were sick, I made one for you guys, too."
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Last night as I scooped up a forkful of Margie's French twist on Shepherd's Pie and brought it to my mouth, all I could think was, "Do this in remembrance of me."

Thursday, March 27, 2008

THE DAILY DIVINE

The wonder of our Lord is that He is so accessible to us in the common things of our lives: the cup of water . . . breaking of the bread . . . welcoming children into our arms . . . fellowship over a meal . . . giving thanks. A simple attitude of caring, listening, and lovingly telling the truth.

-Nancie Carmichael, Contemporary American Writer

How is the divine present to you in your daily life? I invite you to share, Dear Reader.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

A FEW MORE FRIENDSHIP QUOTES, ETC.

My first post on this blog was a smattering of my favorite quotes about friendship. Here are a few more of my favs - shared today in honor of my friend Cheri's 40th birthday.
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BIRTHDAY BLESSINGS, DEAR FRIEND!

Thanks for years and years and years of walking in faith & friendship. Because of your wise, wondrous, often wacky spirit, I've tasted the rich, flavorful, satisfying feast of friendship! May we come to the table for many years to come!











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Dear Reader, if you have a treasured word about being a friend, feel free to join in the sharing! Grace and Peace and Joy to you as you journey through births and deaths with your friends!!! And, if you're in a season of loneliness or you need some rejuvenation in your friendships, check out FIVE WAYS TO CELEBRATE THE SPIRITUAL SIDE OF FRIENDSHIP, a piece Cheri wrote for a website dedicated to young friends in the thick of mothering. (The piece follows the quotes.)


A friend is one of the nicest things you can have,
and one of the best things you can be.
-Douglas Pagels


I'll lean on you and you lean on me and we'll be okay."
-lyrics by The Dave Matthews Band



One's friends are that part of the human race
with which one can be human.
-George Santayana


Only your real friends will tell you when your face is dirty.
-Sicilian Proverb


The most I can do for my friend is simply be his friend.
-Henry David Thoreau


Friendship isn't a big thing - it's a million little things.
-Author Unknown



If a friend is in trouble, don't annoy him by
asking if there is anything you can do.
Think up something appropriate and do it.
-Edgar Watson Howe


What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies.
-Aristotle



A friend loveth at all times.
-Proverbs 17:17


Nothing but heaven itself is better than
a friend who is really a friend.
-Platus


A good friend is cheaper than therapy.
-Author Unknown


Don't walk behind me; I may not lead.
Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow.
Just walk beside me and be my friend.
-Albert Camus



Hold a true friend with both your hands.
-Nigerian Proverb



The most beautiful discovery true friends make is that
they can grow separately without growing apart.
-Elisabeth Foley



And a friend will not say "never"
'cause the welcome will not end.
-Michael W. Smith & Amy Grant


One thing women do best is FRIENDSHIP! Gifted with a passion for relationship, 'us girls' gravitate toward kinships that honor our secrets, make us giggle, teach us to cry; and to girlfriends who'll admit (when invited) that our butt looks uncomfortably huge in those 'skinny' jeans.

Like the wings of a butterfly, there's something magical about friendship that can't be pinned down, dissected, or explained. A friend is one to whom you confess guilt that french fries are a staple on your family's grocery list; and she gladly 'one-ups' you with a reminder that her kids are on a first name basis with the drive-thru attend at Krispy Kreme. Some friends sit with you week after week while you endure another round of chemo, and listen tirelessly when your marriage comes undone. Others sign you up for the high-ropes courses or belly-dancing classes, inspiring laughter when it's needed most. They can be silly, soulful, compassionate, loyal, quirky, wild or wise. But whatever qualities they wear most comfortably, friends - each in their own way - offer glimpses of unconditional love.

So, why not celebrate friendship as a spiritual gift: one of the best gifts LOVE has to offer?!


FIVE WAYS TO CELEBRATE THE SPIRITUAL SIDE OF FRIENDSHIP

1. Knit a Scarf. As you do, relive some favorite memories with your friend and realize that both the knitting and the warm reflections you have as you weave are a prayer - a prayer she can wear!

2. Light a Candle. Whenever you have a friend over for coffee, dinner, or even a play date, let a candle's gentle glow remind you that through her smiling face you can experience God's warm presence.

3. Start a Tradition. Collect matching candlesticks, pieces of jewelry, or pairs of teacups. Take one and give the other to a friend. The missing piece will remind you both that you're never alone.

4. Hand Write a Note. E-mails and phone calls are quick and easy; but writing by hand can be a spiritual exercise. Find a comfy chair, play some quiet music, and express the qualities you love about your friend with a few care-fully chosen words. Don't forget to drop the note in the mail!

5. Share a Story. Dig up some of your favorite childhood photos, and share them with a friend. Ask your friend to do the same. By trusting each other with some of the key memories and experiences that have shaped who you are today, your hearts will be sealed in a special way.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

Looking for Cardinals

Spring is peeking in green through thawing earth, sweetening air with birdsong and pollen perfume. So, I've begun searching for cardinals. It's an obsession that has been growing - dare I say nesting - in me ever since high school.
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For some reason seeing the red winged beauties, hearing their 'purdy, purdy, purdy' metallic cheep or their clear, slurred whistle phrases, 'what-cheer, what-cheer ... wheet, wheet, wheet, wheet'; gives me a sense of God's providential presence in my life. When a bright red aviary angel wings his way across my path it feels as if all will be well in the world, God's promises will be kept, Grace will continue to light on the branches of our hearts.

In our book, Walk with Me: Two Friends on a Spiritual Journey my friend Cheri and I share some hilarious bird poems and escapades that are worth checking out (pages 73-74).

I’ll share two of the poems here. The first is Cheri’s ode, written when a robin decided to make her nest in my front door wreath. Knowing that I’m inclined to have maternal feelings toward anything – including wildlife - she told me, “Sal, I would take that nest down now, before that bird lays her eggs in it. It’s either that or you’ll have to play midwife to a nestful of hatchlings. And just think how traumatized you’ll feel when those new birds start to fly and one of them splats, beak first, onto your porch. Then what will you do?”

I ignored my friend's wise advice and routed all household traffic through the garage for several weeks while my baby birds gestated. The ‘Bird by Bird’ reply following Cheri's threat is my responsorial poem, written in the voice of Mama Robin.

ODE TO A MISGUIDED BIRD

Oh misguided bird on Sal’s front door wreath,
With no leafy branches to rest beneath,
Your nest has been built without even an inkling,
About your dear neighbors and what they’ve been thinking.

Maybe they’ll see you as ‘Martha’ décor
Blue eggs to match with their lovely blue door.

Worse yet, they might have a peculiar taste,
For scrambled bird eggs in their ‘blue’-berry crepes!

You might get adopted – oh just wait and see,
I heard Ben wants a pet with a sweet melody.

Have my scare tactics worked?
Do you believe?
Pack up your bags and MATERNITY LEAVE!!


A “BIRD BY BIRD” REPLY TO THE WOMAN OF WORDS

Three eggs I’ve laid in front door wreath nest
With feathers and twigs, I’ve done my best

To make a home, a residence
That in my bird-brain makes perfect sense

Misguided, I’m not, though you may think it’s absurd
That I haven’t read What to Expect, When You’re an Expectant Bird

An emu, flamingo, penguin, or grouse
Might be stupid enough to forsake a full house

But, I’ll ‘maternity leave’ when baby robins take flight
Roosting’ll not end ‘til the moment is right

I know that your words about Martha, crepes, and pets
Are simply deluded, vain empty threats

So, please leave me alone, or Sally might stop
Bringing me pickles, worms, and ice cream with cherries on top

Since this poetic battle, Cheri and I have written a few more odes to the feathered harbingers of spring. The first is one Cheri wrote for me after I saw two male cardinals on one of my walks. They seemed, to me, to promise that two of my long-rejected manuscripts would find their way toward publication. The second is my poem, written after Cheri told me the story of a Bluejay who seemed to minister to her mother during her dad's battle with Cancer.


Two birds, flushed red, side by side fly

a promise given that your words too

will be bound, together -

showing others how to soar in the beauty

of a Son-filled sky,

dipped in the gift of

crimson-covered friendship.


The Birds

A lighting promise on a branch

that brings hope to the soul,

When fear and doubt have muted faith

a song of God's control.


The dove came back to Noah's ark

two cardinals wing the words,

of hope and bluejays wing of health:

ministry of the birds.

Feel free to share any bird/wildlife stories of your own. And, blessings to you as you look for the crimson promise of cardinals in your life.



One of my favorite wedding gifts:

a male and female cardinal painted by my dear friend Heather's mom, Carol, on a Longaberger picnic basket.

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

WELCOME TO THE WORLD, DURHAM TYLER!









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At the beginning of March, I took our firstborn son, Ben, to California to meet my brother and his wife's, firstborn son, Durham Tyler. One of the ways we welcomed the little guy to the world was with a basket filled with our favorite children's books. Included were the likes of Shel Silverstein's Giving Tree, Sam McBratney's Guess How Much I Love You, All the Places to Love by Patricia MacLachlan and a handful of silly Sandra Boynton board books.
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Along with my brother, Rob, and his wife, Kristin, we hope that little Durham will be a life-long learner. We long for him to find joy, adventure and truth in the books that are read to him and that - one day - he will read. We want him to get lost in Story and the Tangles of Love and Loss experienced by our favorite characters: Lucy and Edmund, Pooh and Tigger, Meg and Charles Wallace . . . Our prayer is that Durham will know and live the reality that truth is deeper, richer, and more life-changing that facts will ever be.









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WELCOME TO THE WORLD, BABY DURHAM!
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We wish you Giving Trees to climb, Wardrobes that lead to imaginary lands, Bridges, and Friends who love you enough to write about your radiance in their webs.

Saturday, March 08, 2008

HANDKNITS EQUAL LOVE

This may sound a little cliché. But, as God was knitting my nephew, Durham, together inside my sister-in-love’s womb; I was busy knitting an oat colored baby poncho to keep him warm during his debut into the world.

As I knit, I was reading a hilarious and heartwarming knitting memoir titled YARN HARLOT: The Secret Life of a Knitter by Stephanie Pearl-McPhee. She writes:

Knitting is more than it seems. Knitting is a complex and joyful act of creation in my everyday life.

It really does seem so simple. Knitting is only two stitches, knit and purl, yet with those two ordinary acts we knitters can take a ball of yarn and a couple of pointy sticks and create something useful and beautiful. An average sweater takes God-only-knows-how-many stitches to make, each of them a simple act. Wrapping yarn around needles over and over and over again disconnects me from my cares. Knitting makes something from nothing, and it’s usually such an interesting something.

Even when it isn’t going well, knitting can be deeply spiritual. Knitting sets goals that you can meet. Sometimes when I work on something complicated or difficult – ripping out my work and starting over, poring over tomes of knitting expertise, screeching “I don’t get it!” while practically weeping with frustration – my husband looks at me and says, “I don’t know why you think you like knitting.” I just stare at him. I don’t
like knitting. I love knitting. I don’t know what could possibly have led him to think that I’m not enjoying myself. The yelling? The crying? The fourteen sheets of shredded graph paper? Knitting is like a marriage (I tell him) and you don’t just trash the whole thing because there are bad moments.

I love knitting because it’s something that can be accomplished no matter how poorly it’s going at any given moment. It’s a triumph of dexterity over string. I can’t make my kids turn out the way I want; I have no control over my editor; world peace remains elusive despite my very best efforts; but– I can put a heel in a sock and it will go exactly the way I want it to go. Eventually, at least.

In general, I am a process, rather than a product knitter. I like the feel of the wool, the smell of the wool, the ritual of sorting through patterns, choosing the right needles, and casting on. I like the moment when the yarn tells you what it would like to be. I like getting past the first little bit of the knitting, to the point when I can see the pattern develop and start getting a sense of what I’m making. I like how much knitting is like a magic trick. You have string and sticks; you wave your hands about, and there you have it – a sweater, a sock, warm mittens, a blanket, a shawl. I admit that it can be slow magic. Sometimes you have to wave your hands around for a really, really long time.

Knitting is magic. Knitting is an act of creation and a simple transformation each and every time. Each knitted gift holds hours of my life. I know it looks just like a hat, but really, it’s four hours at the hospital, six hours on the bus, two hours alone at four in the morning when I couldn’t sleep because I tend to worry. It is all those hours when I chose to spend time warming another person. It’s giving them my time – time that I could have spent on anything, or anyone, else. Knitting is love, looped and warm.


My poncho for Durham is love, looped and warm. It's prayer and hope: a handcrafted welcome to the world! I can't wait for him to be wrapped in the wishes stitched into it.

It cracked me up, as I stitched the hood together, secured the pocket and wove in the loose ends when I came to a section at the end of YARN HARLOT titled PARENTS AND KNITTERS. I smiled as I read the pages, excited for all of the knitters and parents in the world . . . especially for my brother and his wife!


PARENTS AND KNITTERS

The top ten ways why being a parent is like being a knitters

1. You have to work on something for a really long time before you know if it's going to be okay.

2. They both involve an act of creation involving common materials, easily found around the home.

3. Both knitting and parenting are more pleasant if you have the occasional glass of wine, but go right down the drain if you start up with a lot of tequila or shooters.

4. With either one, you can start with all the right materials, use all the best reference books available, really apply yourself, and still get completely unexpected results.

5. No matter whether you decided to become a parent or a knitter, you are still going to end up with something you have to hand wash.

6. Parents and knitters both have to learn new things all the time, mostly so that they can give someone else something.

7. Both activities are about tension. In knitting, the knitter has control of the amount of tension on the object in progress. In parenting, the opposite is true.

8. No matter how much time you spend at knitting or parenting, you are still going to wish you could spend all your time at it. Which is odd, since both activities are occasionally frustrating enough that you want to gnaw your own arm off.

9. Knitting and parenting are both about endurance. Most of the time it's just mundane repetitive labor, until one day, you realize you're actually making something sort of neat.

10. One day, you will wake up and realize that you are spending hours and hours working at something that is costing you a fortune, won't ever pay the bills, creates laundry and clutters up your house, and won't ever really be finished . . . and the only thing you will thing about is that you can't wait to get home and do more.











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This is the finished poncho, made with love, for Durham. Here's the link to the free pattern.
http://www.lionbrand.com/patterns/70361AD.html?noImages=

Saturday, March 01, 2008

March's Prayer

The other night I was reading a A Child's Book of Prayers, illustrated by Michael Hague, with Emily before she went to sleep. The art is beautiful, all pictures of children playing in gardens & sand, fishing, following butterflies, sleeping, dreaming. One of the pics is of a little boy in red shoes with a sailor's hat. He's dangling a long stick with a string attached to its end into a pond. The string is hooked to a tiny red boat with an eensy weensy sail that the boy is pulling around in the water.

March's Prayer is for times when we feel like our life is a tiny boat on a big wavy body of greasy green waters:


PRAYER OF THE BRETON FISHERMEN

Dear God, be good to me,

The sea is so wide and my boat is so small.