God wants to know us... in total depth and reality, the darkness as well as the light, the anger as well as the love. Morton Kelsey
It was a wonderful week at the beach... for all twelve of us. Our three children, Megan, Alison and Adam with their partners in life, Mike, David and Michelle... the four grandsons, Matthew, Mason, Mead and Aidan... and us, the grandparents under one roof, slept and ate and played and laughed and yelled and were happy and grumpy together all week long. Every day was an adventure in family living.
Remember the Waltons? That T.V. family in the Virginia mountains who were scrappy and plucky, full of love and generosity even in the midst of the Great Depression? The ones who got crossways sometimes but always seemed to work it out in an hour or so? I loved the intergenerational family unit on that show, partly because my grandparents were such an important part of my childhood and I always wanted them to live near us, and partly because there was always someone else to go to besides your parents for affirmation and instruction.
Real family is never so neat and tidy as the Waltons. Our differences, gifts from God, pose challenges to our own particular ways of being. We have to move over, share, hush up, bite our tongues, smoosh together sometimes when we would rather be alone, give up the illusion of being the sole controller of our fate. We come into being in families and we live in the reality of being known by those who birthed us and those who watched us grow... parents, siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents. They know us in ways that are blood kin ways of knowing, living with us for a lifetime, seeing us stumble and rise to walk again, loving us through all of life.
This knowledge can be clear sighted or it can be caught in a myopic pattern that allows no room for growth or change. Most of us grow out of our childhood ways of being and become adults influenced by our past but not children any longer. Sometimes families keep us type cast as the princess, or the problem child, or the athlete, or the funny one, or the peacemaker. Those pieces of who we were/are rarely define our whole selves as grownups. It can be lovely to visit the Land of What Once Was (perhaps) but it can be deadly to live there.
Our families can be lighthouses illuminating the journey, a turning dynamic light that allows us to see what might lie ahead. Or, they can be a fixed source of light with only one path lit up and not much room for exploration. Both kinds of families have darkness as well as light and choose different ways of moving through it.
Morton Kelsey’s quote reminds me that we are all part of a much larger family, the Family of God. In this family there is room for all of who we are and a saved place at the table for family meals. We just have to show up, wounded, weary, wicked and whomped though we may be, to be loved and soothed. We can bring our funny, joyful, smart mouthed selves to the table and everyone will laugh at our jokes. God will see and know our angers and hurts, our dark places that live next to our light filled loving selves and all will be well. So today, I give thanks for families, our initiation into the world and a practice time for the Family of God.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Busy summer time...
It has been a busy summer here at Sabbath Rest Farm. With normal amounts of rain, we have had a regular hay season. Pastures that were once full of weeds and scanty grass have been lush and full. Fertilizer and regular cutting have encouraged the grass to grow and some of our pastures are now really pretty. It has been several years since we were able to fill our barn with our own hay. This year we may get a second cutting and if the rain comes again, a third cutting in the fall. Hay baling is hard sweaty fun work with visible rewards... a barn full of hay bales.
My perennial border by the front walk has been beautiful this year. For the past few years I have planted flowers with varying degrees of success. The combination of drought and hard red clay were tough on flowers. I laid newspaper down, covered that with thick layers of mulch and have begun to reap the rewards after three years. Earthworms live in the flowerbed. There is a layer of dark, rich dirt topping the clay and the flowers are crowding out the weeds. I still have weeds but not nearly as many as before. It has been an explosion of color, texture and form since the daffodils bloomed in the spring.
As I look out my window, I see garlic(allium) blooming on tall graceful stalks. Bright yellow daylillies bloom in a sea of bright pink achillea. Sweetly scented pink phlox surround the blue hydrangeas with yellow yarrow floating above left over blue bachelor buttons. The old English rose blooms tucked in among the achillea. Pink Echinacea is in full bloom. Black eyed susans and orange daylilies are on the verge of blooming. They will come about the same time the butterfly bushes bloom in front of the porch. There are blossoms everywhere and the busy bees, hummingbird moths, and hummingbirds add movement to the kaleidoscope of color. Sunday morning I picked a bouquet for worship from my front walk flower beds.
The field behind our house that was graded for the stable was a sea of red mud for most of the winter and spring. I seeded and spread hay... twice. Michael fertilized it. Now we have green grass growing sprinkled with milkweed. Where do all the weeds come from? To a butterfly, milkweed is a grocery store full of the food it needs so I leave most of them but the thistles have to go. Finches can find plenty of thistles in other places on the farm. In another year or so, the horse pastures will be like the perennial border, lush and green. It takes time, rain, good growing conditions and a lot of sweat equity to grow a pretty pasture.
The pond has been restored and now hosts a veritable tide of tadpoles. Everywhere you look you see squirming wiggling black dots of future frogs. There are no fish yet in the pond but that is the next step. The waterfall and wading hole for dogs and small children offer a refreshing place to sit a spell with your feet dangling in the water shaded by the oak tree. The turtle is back home after his extended road trip. The cranes and ducks have not yet gotten the word but I trust they will come again. With Charles’ and little Michael’s help, we have moved rock, shoveled gravel, planted grass seed and sprinkled hay (again), crafted a beautiful little pond that is a place for the soul to rest.
None of these pretty places came into being easily or quickly. It has taken months and years with hard work to bring the vision into reality. It is so much easier to dream something than it is to work it up and out. The same rule for gardens and pastures and ponds holds true for my spiritual life. I dream of becoming a faith filled serene joyful presence in the lives of those who come my way, a pleasure for God, a person who is the same inside and out. Making that dream come true takes longer than three years and needs more than seed and mulch. I have to work for that dream, devoting time and effort, sweat equity, to see my spirit’s flowers begin to bloom. The weeds will continue to grow but if I spend some time every day in my soul garden, I know the flowers will begin to fill in the empty places.
Prayer, time spent everyday in cultivation and weeding, connection with others who are searching as I am, reading my Holy Book, listening with my third ear, seeing with my third eye, being willing to “grow where I am planted”... these help my soul garden grow. The rain does fall on the just and the unjust alike but the just know enough to say thank you. So I say thank you... thank you, God, for all the fertile places on the farm and in my soul. I can hardly wait to see what blooms next. Peggy
My perennial border by the front walk has been beautiful this year. For the past few years I have planted flowers with varying degrees of success. The combination of drought and hard red clay were tough on flowers. I laid newspaper down, covered that with thick layers of mulch and have begun to reap the rewards after three years. Earthworms live in the flowerbed. There is a layer of dark, rich dirt topping the clay and the flowers are crowding out the weeds. I still have weeds but not nearly as many as before. It has been an explosion of color, texture and form since the daffodils bloomed in the spring.
As I look out my window, I see garlic(allium) blooming on tall graceful stalks. Bright yellow daylillies bloom in a sea of bright pink achillea. Sweetly scented pink phlox surround the blue hydrangeas with yellow yarrow floating above left over blue bachelor buttons. The old English rose blooms tucked in among the achillea. Pink Echinacea is in full bloom. Black eyed susans and orange daylilies are on the verge of blooming. They will come about the same time the butterfly bushes bloom in front of the porch. There are blossoms everywhere and the busy bees, hummingbird moths, and hummingbirds add movement to the kaleidoscope of color. Sunday morning I picked a bouquet for worship from my front walk flower beds.
The field behind our house that was graded for the stable was a sea of red mud for most of the winter and spring. I seeded and spread hay... twice. Michael fertilized it. Now we have green grass growing sprinkled with milkweed. Where do all the weeds come from? To a butterfly, milkweed is a grocery store full of the food it needs so I leave most of them but the thistles have to go. Finches can find plenty of thistles in other places on the farm. In another year or so, the horse pastures will be like the perennial border, lush and green. It takes time, rain, good growing conditions and a lot of sweat equity to grow a pretty pasture.
The pond has been restored and now hosts a veritable tide of tadpoles. Everywhere you look you see squirming wiggling black dots of future frogs. There are no fish yet in the pond but that is the next step. The waterfall and wading hole for dogs and small children offer a refreshing place to sit a spell with your feet dangling in the water shaded by the oak tree. The turtle is back home after his extended road trip. The cranes and ducks have not yet gotten the word but I trust they will come again. With Charles’ and little Michael’s help, we have moved rock, shoveled gravel, planted grass seed and sprinkled hay (again), crafted a beautiful little pond that is a place for the soul to rest.
None of these pretty places came into being easily or quickly. It has taken months and years with hard work to bring the vision into reality. It is so much easier to dream something than it is to work it up and out. The same rule for gardens and pastures and ponds holds true for my spiritual life. I dream of becoming a faith filled serene joyful presence in the lives of those who come my way, a pleasure for God, a person who is the same inside and out. Making that dream come true takes longer than three years and needs more than seed and mulch. I have to work for that dream, devoting time and effort, sweat equity, to see my spirit’s flowers begin to bloom. The weeds will continue to grow but if I spend some time every day in my soul garden, I know the flowers will begin to fill in the empty places.
Prayer, time spent everyday in cultivation and weeding, connection with others who are searching as I am, reading my Holy Book, listening with my third ear, seeing with my third eye, being willing to “grow where I am planted”... these help my soul garden grow. The rain does fall on the just and the unjust alike but the just know enough to say thank you. So I say thank you... thank you, God, for all the fertile places on the farm and in my soul. I can hardly wait to see what blooms next. Peggy
Monday, June 29, 2009
Scootching along...
Without the contemplative dimension in our lives, we cannot be fully human. Mother Mary Clare
It had been a perfectly lovely Sabbath day. Worship with our church family, lunch, reading the Sunday paper, nap, international soccer game, lawn mowing of the walking path, brushing horses and donkeys, a trip to Barnardsville to check out the ten acre hay field we will be baling on Tuesday, visiting Vince and Tina who are still under the weather... The perfect end to a perfect day was sitting with our farm family watching the sunset, drinking cherry coolers and talking about the days of our lives. Jeannie will come home from the hospital Monday or Tuesday after her successful knee surgery. Sam, Leisa’s black lab, looked yearningly at our cat Wiley as a possible appetizer. Talk of helpers for the hay baling was counterpoint for the garden report from Tim. Gentle laughter at remembered bloopers, lovely sunset and moon rise, cicada song and bat flight, slow departures with hugs and pats...
Michael returned the phone call from our friend in Louisville as we sat in the swing on the front porch. Suddenly all the air was gone and I was gasping for breath. I was in a thin place where breath and life and death live next to God. Our friend has cancer and a new baby granddaughter at the same time. His treatment is going well and there is a good prognosis but the cancer was advanced. He has become one of the band of brothers who live with reality of their own death in a particular way. We sat for awhile, tasting our grief and tears, praying for him and his family. As I watched the fire flies bright points of light in the dark night sky, I imagined all our prayers for him as signal lights calling for God’s presence in his new life as grandfather and cancer patient.
I am reading Anne Lamott’s book Grace Eventually and one of her images has stuck in my mind. She describes our progress as Christians in motion terms... two steps forward, three steps back, marching forward triumphantly or scootching along on our bottoms... all are a part of our process. We do what we can as we can as best we can. And sometimes, scootching along is the best we can do. The important part of the process for me is not how I am moving but that I am paying attention as I move, a contemplative dimension as Mother Mary Clare says. The call from our friend last night was a reminder to savor, slow down, see the goodness that surrounds me and give thanks for all that has been, all that is and all that is to come. Whether I scootch or stride, live in health or sickness, am filled with joy or struggling with darkness, I remember to Whom I belong and give thanks. “Be still and know that I am God.” I am still and I know. Thanks be to God.
It had been a perfectly lovely Sabbath day. Worship with our church family, lunch, reading the Sunday paper, nap, international soccer game, lawn mowing of the walking path, brushing horses and donkeys, a trip to Barnardsville to check out the ten acre hay field we will be baling on Tuesday, visiting Vince and Tina who are still under the weather... The perfect end to a perfect day was sitting with our farm family watching the sunset, drinking cherry coolers and talking about the days of our lives. Jeannie will come home from the hospital Monday or Tuesday after her successful knee surgery. Sam, Leisa’s black lab, looked yearningly at our cat Wiley as a possible appetizer. Talk of helpers for the hay baling was counterpoint for the garden report from Tim. Gentle laughter at remembered bloopers, lovely sunset and moon rise, cicada song and bat flight, slow departures with hugs and pats...
Michael returned the phone call from our friend in Louisville as we sat in the swing on the front porch. Suddenly all the air was gone and I was gasping for breath. I was in a thin place where breath and life and death live next to God. Our friend has cancer and a new baby granddaughter at the same time. His treatment is going well and there is a good prognosis but the cancer was advanced. He has become one of the band of brothers who live with reality of their own death in a particular way. We sat for awhile, tasting our grief and tears, praying for him and his family. As I watched the fire flies bright points of light in the dark night sky, I imagined all our prayers for him as signal lights calling for God’s presence in his new life as grandfather and cancer patient.
I am reading Anne Lamott’s book Grace Eventually and one of her images has stuck in my mind. She describes our progress as Christians in motion terms... two steps forward, three steps back, marching forward triumphantly or scootching along on our bottoms... all are a part of our process. We do what we can as we can as best we can. And sometimes, scootching along is the best we can do. The important part of the process for me is not how I am moving but that I am paying attention as I move, a contemplative dimension as Mother Mary Clare says. The call from our friend last night was a reminder to savor, slow down, see the goodness that surrounds me and give thanks for all that has been, all that is and all that is to come. Whether I scootch or stride, live in health or sickness, am filled with joy or struggling with darkness, I remember to Whom I belong and give thanks. “Be still and know that I am God.” I am still and I know. Thanks be to God.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Green pants worship...
It is a splendid habit to laugh inwardly at yourself. It is the best way to put oneself in a good temper and to find God again, without more ado. Abbe De Tourville
The church sanctuary was festooned with huge orange and red and yellow kites, tails stretched across windows and fluttering loose in the breezes. Leftovers from Pentecost Sunday, they serve as reminders of the Spirit’s movement in this congregation. On the front of the pulpit hung a pair of bright green pants. The summer sermon series is based on Dr. Seuss books, children’s stories that are also written for grown-ups. This church knows how to play and laugh. Bumps in the road happen in this congregation as it does in all churches but somehow they seem to maintain a sense of foolishness that rounds the sharp edges and smooths out the rough places.
People come to church for many reasons...children’s religious education, loneliness, mission action, search for meaning... but one of the reasons they choose to stay is the fun of it all. Doesn’t that sound trite and cheap? Abbe De Tourville was right, though. To be able to laugh at yourself and with others is a splendid way to find God. The grace filled sound of laughter, the sight of faces wrinkled up in belly shaking can’t help myself bubbling over laughter, must be a pleasing sound and sight for our Creator, especially in church. Too often we who are church people have an exaggerated sense of our own importance in the grand scheme of things. We are called to change the world, be salt and light to a dark, tasteless world of the unsaved ignorant ones, and we go about our calling with a vengeance. Graceless and humorless, we browbeat those who believe differently, those who live in “sin”, those masses of humanity who aren’t as good as we are.
I believe Jesus laughed a lot, told awful jokes, maybe even puns. He knew how starved we all are for the juicy soul feeding power of laughter. “Real life” can be so painful, so difficult, so draining. Reminders of the Source of our Joy that come wrapped in laughter are life affirming and life giving. The Jesus followers I remember with the most gratitude are the ones that can still bring a smile to my face just by remembering them... and their sense of humor, good humor with God and others.
So as I sat at Sunday dinner with children and grandchildren, I laughed at myself. A church lady wearing a big brimmed white hat, covered up with grandsons all talking at the same time, laughter and good humor abounding, birthday celebrating and family connecting, such good gifts as these are cause for hip hip hoorays and soul kite flying. I knew Monday morning I would be shoveling horse and donkey poop once again without the big white hat but just now, here I sat surrounded by love and laughter. That is what I need when I go to church... family, love and laughter... that will keep my nose above water as I go to live out my calling in a world full of scary green pants strangers, strangers who become friends as I live for Jesus in a world starved for laughter and meaning.
Saint Paul nailed it on the head when he wrote, “So do not let your good be spoken of as evil. For the kingdom of God is not food and drink but righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit...” Not just righteousness in the land where God dwells but also peace and joy. I need a heaping helping of that every day for the rest of my life. Thanks, Michael Usey, for your ability to help me laugh in church again. Keep up the good work. I can’t wait to see what you will come up with next. And thank you, God, for all the ways laughter sneaks up on me... friends who laugh at and with me... rubber turkeys that show up roosting in Christmas trees and sitting on toilets... children who laugh often and with abandon... giggles and snorts with my women friends... roosters who crow every morning at 6:07 exactly waking me up with a grin... I feel your presence in the laughing joy of life and I am so happy to be your child.
The church sanctuary was festooned with huge orange and red and yellow kites, tails stretched across windows and fluttering loose in the breezes. Leftovers from Pentecost Sunday, they serve as reminders of the Spirit’s movement in this congregation. On the front of the pulpit hung a pair of bright green pants. The summer sermon series is based on Dr. Seuss books, children’s stories that are also written for grown-ups. This church knows how to play and laugh. Bumps in the road happen in this congregation as it does in all churches but somehow they seem to maintain a sense of foolishness that rounds the sharp edges and smooths out the rough places.
People come to church for many reasons...children’s religious education, loneliness, mission action, search for meaning... but one of the reasons they choose to stay is the fun of it all. Doesn’t that sound trite and cheap? Abbe De Tourville was right, though. To be able to laugh at yourself and with others is a splendid way to find God. The grace filled sound of laughter, the sight of faces wrinkled up in belly shaking can’t help myself bubbling over laughter, must be a pleasing sound and sight for our Creator, especially in church. Too often we who are church people have an exaggerated sense of our own importance in the grand scheme of things. We are called to change the world, be salt and light to a dark, tasteless world of the unsaved ignorant ones, and we go about our calling with a vengeance. Graceless and humorless, we browbeat those who believe differently, those who live in “sin”, those masses of humanity who aren’t as good as we are.
I believe Jesus laughed a lot, told awful jokes, maybe even puns. He knew how starved we all are for the juicy soul feeding power of laughter. “Real life” can be so painful, so difficult, so draining. Reminders of the Source of our Joy that come wrapped in laughter are life affirming and life giving. The Jesus followers I remember with the most gratitude are the ones that can still bring a smile to my face just by remembering them... and their sense of humor, good humor with God and others.
So as I sat at Sunday dinner with children and grandchildren, I laughed at myself. A church lady wearing a big brimmed white hat, covered up with grandsons all talking at the same time, laughter and good humor abounding, birthday celebrating and family connecting, such good gifts as these are cause for hip hip hoorays and soul kite flying. I knew Monday morning I would be shoveling horse and donkey poop once again without the big white hat but just now, here I sat surrounded by love and laughter. That is what I need when I go to church... family, love and laughter... that will keep my nose above water as I go to live out my calling in a world full of scary green pants strangers, strangers who become friends as I live for Jesus in a world starved for laughter and meaning.
Saint Paul nailed it on the head when he wrote, “So do not let your good be spoken of as evil. For the kingdom of God is not food and drink but righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit...” Not just righteousness in the land where God dwells but also peace and joy. I need a heaping helping of that every day for the rest of my life. Thanks, Michael Usey, for your ability to help me laugh in church again. Keep up the good work. I can’t wait to see what you will come up with next. And thank you, God, for all the ways laughter sneaks up on me... friends who laugh at and with me... rubber turkeys that show up roosting in Christmas trees and sitting on toilets... children who laugh often and with abandon... giggles and snorts with my women friends... roosters who crow every morning at 6:07 exactly waking me up with a grin... I feel your presence in the laughing joy of life and I am so happy to be your child.
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