the length of God...

The human heart can go the length of God.
Dark and cold we may be, but this is no winter now.
The frozen misery of centuries cracks, breaks, begins to move.
The thunder is the thunder of the floes, the thaw, the flood, the upstart Spring.
Thank God our time is now, when wrong comes up to meet us everywhere,
Never to leave us, ‘til we take the longest strides of soul men ever took.
Affairs are now soul size,
The enterprise is exploration into God.
But where are you making for?
It takes so many thousand years to wake,
But will you wake for pity’s sake? Christopher Fry
I heard this poem for the first time at the American Association of Pastoral Counselors Southeast Regional meeting in Kanuga this fall. It has glued itself to my soul and won’t let me go. The images and the questions comfort and confront me. Like all good poetry (and the Bible), it has layer upon layer of meaning and every time I read it, I see or hear or feel something new.
This morning I am caught by the first line... The human heart can go the length of God. The choice of verb is interesting to me.. Can go... not will go or may go or must go but can go... an implied choice of action. I am reminded of legions of school teachers who when asked the question "Can I go to the bathroom?", replied "You can go, but first you must ask ‘May I go?’" Our hearts are not asking permission nor do they need to.
The possibility, the choice, the journey is ours to make, or not. Just because we can, does not mean we will. Many people I know seem to live quite nicely without embarking on the journey to the length of God. Their lives, the lives of some really good people, seem to stay on track and be productive, kind, responsible and moral without any apparent connection to the heart of God. It is a mystery to me, a conundrum, a riddle without an answer, how one could live and move and breathe in this world and not seek God. And how could one live in this world of sorrow and woe and joy and beauty, accepting all that one has been taught, without questioning the Heart of God? A paradox pair... accepting or questioning, searching or standing in place... that reflects my life as I know it. Perhaps it should be both... accepting and questioning, searching and standing in place, not either or but both and.
"Affairs are now soul sized, the enterprise is exploration into God". These words are the state of my soul in this youngoldage stage in my life. A soul sized life that is traveling in my RV body to explore what my eyes have not yet seen nor my ears not yet heard. Writing is one blue highway for my soul, so is calligraphy and teaching creativity. Feeding and caring for the animals on Sabbath Rest farm, watching the ducks gather on the pond, counting the deer in the herd, checking the weather daily and watching the rye grass grow, picking up walnuts and sliding in the snow... these are another pathway for my soul’s exploration of God. Singing in a choir, hearing the music and making music at the same time, listening to all the voices, good, shaky, or outstanding, as they blend and weave and float through the notes, creating wonder-full sounds... this is another back road to God for me.
The main roads, the interstates of the soul, no longer have much meaning for me. Institutional religion, churches and denominations are not where I often find the length of God. I go to church to be a part of a community of Christian believers and sometimes I find God speaking in worship or in the connection I feel to those who sit in the pews with me. But denominations and churches are by their definition finite and limited in their mission. They are only a part of the journey, not the final destination. I know my feelings about these institutions are colored by the loss of my denominational homeplace and the experience of church as fractious and frazzled. But nevertheless, it is my journey, my search for the length of God, my soul sized exploration... not yours but mine. And, that is my choice. I can, not may I, but I can. I can choose to search, to measure the length of God in my life, to live a soul sized life, to explore the Cloud of Unknowing, to travel the blue highways of the soul, rambling and roaming as I make for my final destination, the heart of God. Peggy Hester

and I called the wind neighbors

While the earth remains, seedtime and harvest, cold and heat,
summer and winter, day and night, shall not cease. Genesis 8:22


I was in the office/away room sorting through piles of bills, bank statements, books and trash mail when I looked at the clock. It was four o’clock...time to feed cows and horse and barn kitties. The thermometer said it was 16 degrees outside but with the wind factored in, the actual temperature was 1 degree... and the wind was a factor. As I charged the battery for the mule, I dressed in my cheap coverall with the crotch that hangs down to my knees, put on two hats and double gloves, layered underneath for a quick run to put out food for all the creatures we support, wild ducks included, all twenty five of them. I ran through my check list as I pulled out of the garage... canned food and crunchies for the barn kitties, cracked corn for the ducks, oats for Junie B, hay and sweet feed for the cows.
The snow wind took my breath away as I drove down the hill to the barn. I should have wrapped a scarf around my neck and mouth before I left the shelter of home. I fed the barn kitties, loaded some baled hay in the back of the mule and threw some hay down in the barn manger. As I drove in the lower pasture, Junie B came to me asking for her oats. I fed her then moved to the manger where I could see one of our little bulls standing unusually still by the outdoor manger. As I got close to him, I could see a cable wrapped tightly around one of his front hooves, blood and manure mixed on his leg and hoof. When I bent down to check it out, he popped me with his still active back hoof so I got the message. I needed help quickly.
I called my neighbor and Lisa answered the phone. Gary was not yet home but she and her son Jay came quickly. Armed with bolt cutters, Jay began to work on cutting the cable. It was buried in the flesh of the leg and difficult to reach. The calf panicked and fell sideways, perhaps dislocating his shoulder. We went to the barn to get a hacksaw and I called another neighbor, Vince, to come help. Vince knows how to do most everything and Jay needed more muscle than Lisa and I could provide. The little bull was shivering and shocky so I drove to the house and ripped a blanket (white, of course) off a guest bed to lay on him to help preserve body heat. Did I mention the snow and wind were blowing really hard and light was fading?
Jeannie, our farm partner and friend, and I called every vet in the book and not one has yet called me back. There are very few vets for large animals in our county since we are no longer primarily a rural area with family farms. I called Michael but his new cell phone was not functioning. I called Gary and he came straight from work ready to help. Tim, Jeannie’s husband and our other farm partner, was on the phone talking to a friend who also has large animals, getting feedback and suggestions.
Vince and Jay had removed the cable from the hoof. Jay and I were dotted with the purple blue disinfectant poured on the calf’s hoof as he lay sprawled. The bull’s head was down, eyes unfocused, covered with my formerly white blanket. Dianne walked up in the middle of the maelstrom of ministry to the little bull and dove in, kneeling along side the rest of us in the mud and manure, massaging the little bull’s body, pushing on him, lifting his head, bringing him water and hay and feed to see if he would eat (cows keep warm with the heat produced by their digestive process), checking his shoulder to see if it was dislocated, talking to him and keeping all the other cows at bay. Cows and dogs and Junie B were all worried and pacing around in circles, watching and waiting.
Suddenly the calf stirred. He tried to stand, struggled up and stood on three legs with his injured leg and hoof dangling. Gary brought his generator and heater, hooked it up in the back of his truck and blessed heat poured out over us all. We stood, waited, watched as the little bull began to eat some hay, drink some water, test out his injured leg and hoof. After some time had passed, he placed some weight on his swollen leg and steadied himself. There he stood, not out of the woods yet, covered with my blanket, surrounded by his cow family and human friends, balancing himself carefully as he ate and drank. He began to try to walk and follow his herd as they moved towards the barn for night. It was dark now. Gary’s lights and heater lit and warmed us as we watched the first steps... awkward and painful... as the yearling began to follow his mama to the barn. Gary put a rope around his neck and walked beside him part of the way until he was steadier on his feet (hooves). He made it to the barn and settled in with his herd for the cold winter night, safe for the moment. We won’t know how he will do for awhile yet. Gary thinks he will be o.k. We wait in hope.
As I lay in bed last night waiting for sleep to come and my fanny to warm up, I was bothered by my dithering and near loss of control in this crisis. Usually I respond well to crisis and fall apart later. What was the difference this time? Flashback memory to daddy having to put a cow down with a broken leg, leftover ragged nerve endings from leaving mama alone in Georgia, New Yearitis...probably all of those and more. The only thing that matters is not my inability to handle this crisis by myself but the gathering of my chosen family who came when I called. The cold snowy wind did not keep them from coming to help me. My ox truly was in a ditch and they came. They got dirty, they stood by, they helped, and when it was over, they cracked jokes and handed out hugs and called later to see how I was.
The earth still stands and as God said in Genesis, the rhythms of life and death and seasons will not change. Neither does the gift of friendship change. It is the same now as it was in Jesus’ time. When we are unable to stand alone, friends stand with you and let you lean on them just like the little bull leaned on us in his helpless state. One of my favorite old hymns says " What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear". Last night in that cold, cold pasture, I was surrounded by the faces of Jesus, my friends, and I am grateful. Lisa says it was the laying on of hands that saved the little bull last night. I know it was their laying on of hands that saved me last night , too. Thanks be to God for Jesus who was and is still a friend to us all And thanks be to God for my friends whose faces reflect Jesus’ face, warm, welcoming, tender and kind, but most of all, present and accounted for. Peggy Hester

they call the wind...

The wind blows where it wills, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know whence it comes or whither it goes; so it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit. John 3:8
It is a sound peculiar unto itself, the sound of the wind in a pine forest. As you stand in the middle of a long leaf pine forest, at the foot of the tall slender giant pines, the sound of the wind in the top of the trees is a sustained soft slow blending of the wind’s energy and the tree’s swaying. I first heard this sound in the pines across the road from my father’s childhood home. I was playing cowboys and Indians with my cousins, running amok through the woods, high on let’s pretend and riding my favorite pretend horse when I was caught up in the sound. Even as a child I felt the difference, the quality, the call of that sound. The winter wind moves through the treetops and scarcely ruffles those who stand below. Even the strongest winds sound gentle and the windsong is comforting.
Here on our hill in the mountains, the wind is a constant presence in our outdoor life. When the winter wind is blowing, as it is this morning, it has a sharp edge and a splintery feel. The sound of winter wind as it whistles through the bare trees is a gathering of individual notes. Sometimes the shrill soprano voice of the wind is most clearly heard and other times it is the bass rumble that sweeps through the woods around our house. This winter wind cuts to the bone as it passes by, sweeping away all that is in its path. It takes all of your energy, not to mention your long johns, to stand in this winter wind and not be consumed.
No wonder the New Testament writers used the wind to describe the movement of the spirit of the holy. There are endless variations in our experience of the wind... the winds of the desert, the winds on the Texas plains, the winds of the Rocky Mountains, the winds at the beach... the winds that blow and the winds that caress and the winds that challenge. All the same and yet different.
This morning I find myself standing in the middle of winter winds that are pushing me, prodding me, not letting me rest. It is the first of the year and I am restless, looking once again for ways to become more wholly who I was created to be. How can I learn to get organized, keep up with the stuff of my life and free myself from the confusion and chaos that trips me up? How can I give my creative self permission to claim time for itself without first feeling like I must have the house clean, the clothes washed, supper planned and cooked, bills paid, cows fed, the sick visited and the poor fed?
As usual I find myself living in the land of Either Or, not Both And. Structure and order are the walker that keep my creative self upright but it is so hard for me to use them. Much like Daddy O who is now using a walker, I do little jigs and fall over, off balance first one way then the other. This day, this week, I will first listen for the song of the wind, the wind of the Spirit, before I begin my day. At the end of my day, I will again listen for the wind. Perhaps this is the key that will unlock the closed door to the deeper layers of who I am called to be. I pray the Winds will blow that door wide open, flatten it against the walls so that I might see New Light, the Epiphany Star, and the Holy Babe who lies in his mother’s arms, waiting my arrival, bearing not only casseroles but also calligraphy and art journals. May it be so, Lord, please?

December Heartscape

My heart is informed by my head but often is unable to believe in its logic.
The drive down the interstates to South Georgia on December 27th was long, full of traffic complications and heart overload. We were driving mama home for a few months so she could be at home for a short while, see her friends and doctors, attend to business and escape the winter cold in the mountains. Michael was pulling a trailer loaded with daddy’s pick up truck while mama and I followed in her car. The transitions in the landscapes mirrored the changes in my soul as we drove towards the flatlands of the south.
Christmas had been a wonderful crazy quilt... fun, food, laughter, crying babies off schedule, snuggling grandsons in our bed in the morning, watching impromptu hockey games played with Mommy Ann’s old canes, family portraits staged on the front porch in the soft light of a setting sun, mama’s presence, Junie B rides for the children, candlelight, the Christmas story and carols in the log barn chapel, children poring over old pictures and laughing at themselves and us, Adam and Michelle in from Memphis, Megan and Mike, Alison and David, my chicks gathered in and bumping up against one another as we settled in to being under one roof for the holiday. I began the trip wrapped in the warmth of family and fatigue.
The high country began to settle and became rolling hills. My mood down shifted into second gear, slowed and slightly sad. As mama and I traveled together, we talked and I heard stories of her youth, marriage and life with daddy and Gayle and me. These times together in the car are precious, set apart times for us to remember our shared past, the ones we loved who are no longer here in body, time to celebrate the future generations of our family, time to take a breath and survey the landscape of our lives together. Like the road we are traveling on, there are ups and downs, tears and laughter as we tell stories and remember when. Mama had someone who was listening and I had someone who has known and loved me since my life began.
As we passed through Atlanta, the city that consumed middle Georgia, the land began to flatten out again. Forsythe, Perry, Unadilla, Vienna (V long I enna), Adel and finally the Hahira exit appeared in the twilight. We drove up the artificial hill exit and began to drive along the back road towards Morven and home. Tall long leaf pines and majestic spreading water oaks provided a vertical counterpoint to the low, level, large fields of cotton stalks and peach trees. Not much had changed... a few new houses and trailers but the land is still the dominant note played in the rural part of Georgia I call homeplace. We passed over the Withlacoochee River, dark brown water and white sand shores, passed Japonica’s home and beauty shop, came to the stop sign and turned left on the Valdosta-Moultrie highway. And there it was, just as we left it, a small brick home on the left with the big green mailbox at the gate. We turned in, opened the gate and drove up to the back door. You never came in the front door unless you were really company or a stranger asking directions.
As I turned off the motor, I looked up and for one brief moment, I waited for daddy to step through the back door, smiling his lopsided grin, welcoming us to the farm. The memory was sharp and sweet. His old chair at the back door is still there and everywhere I look, I see his handwork... the four line clothesline on metal posts he welded, the pole barn in the back yard with high shelves for cats to lounge and sleep, the old camper he built parked at the back gate, the pear trees he planted. Mama and I sit for a moment suffering and savoring the memories. Then it is time to get a move on, time to unload and unlock and see what ten months absence has done to her home.
As we wipe mold from the cabinets doors, clean the sinks and tub and floors and dishes, I am running easily over the flatland of my heart, remembering and giving thanks for all that was, for all of who I was, for who my family was, and for that place on this earth that helped form my spirit and body. Hours spent planting pasture, putting up hay, building tomato growing greenhouses, feeding cows, playing with beloved cats and dogs, planting and picking and preserving garden produce, swinging on the side porch swing while reading or watching traffic go by, playing through the hymnbook on the upright piano or practicing preludes on the console organ for Sunday worship... all a part of who I now am and who I will be until I die... and my heart sings a song of praise and thanksgiving. My head is pointing out to me all the short comings of place and culture and family and church but thank God, my heart refuses to listen. I celebrate all of my life... hills and valleys, mountain tops and flat lands, the good and the not so good. It is all a gift. I choose faith and affirmation, not judgement and despair.
"For you shall go out in joy, and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills before you shall break forth into singing, and all the trees of the land shall clap their hands." Isaiah 56:12 The long leaf pines and water oaks sang for me this week on a little farm in South Georgia, clapped their hands for joy and I heard the song the Lord was singing. I am grateful. Peggy Hester