Christmas Communion

They came to the door all dressed up... some in their Sunday best and some in their Saturday night stepping out best... bearing gifts for Ebony and her family... faces warm and welcoming... arms open with hugs waiting... It was a night to remember.
And the food, oh the food was wonderful. Pat’s pork roast, Michael’s lemon chicken, Emily’s birthday cake, Pam’s cheesecakes, eclair cake, the raspberry tart cheese cakes, sweet potatoes, mashed potatoes, the broccoli salad, hot cranberry fruit mix, and the Wright’s traditional escalloped oysters, spanokopita, the wine and cider, collard greens cooked just right, potato salad. My favorite was the latkes with apple sauce and sour cream prepared by Todd on his first night of Hanukkah... a tray full of crisp brown fried latkes... a taste filled reminder of his religious tradition.
Michael and I had set up tables so everyone could sit to eat. Some dined in the bedroom, some in the away room, some in the kitchen, others in the dining room. Ruth Ann and Dianne came early to help set up. They were lifesavers in the last minute rush using their creativity to set the last two tables up. Tablecloths, cloth napkins, candlelight, conversation, Christmas communion over a potluck supper...
Claire and Tucker began the program with an inspiring rendition of Alvin and the Chipmunk’s Christmas Song sung in fine chipmunk voice. A disheveled game of White Elephant Gift followed with children hawking their presents to anyone who truly desired gold hair spray or four robin’s egg candles. The dreaded fruitcake got left in Courtney’s closet so it did not make a return appearance this year. But, there is always next year. We sang a carol and resumed our real program, visiting.
In the kitchen, women and men washed dishes, dried and put away dishes, gathered up food, laughed and worked together cleaning up the residue of our meal. I lost count of how many dishwasher loads they ran but I am grateful for their Marthaism in my kitchen. I am not a possessive kitchen keeper.
It was an untidy, unruly and utterly satisfying party. And, the final act was perfect in its own way. As folks began to leave, Tam came back in to ask, “Did you know your horses and donkeys are out?” No, I didn’t know but there they were, grazing in the front yard. Shirley and Kate wanted Tam’s leftovers really bad and tried to sneak a taste while she loved on them. They all roamed down the hill to mama’s yard. While I helped Megan put our four grandsons to bed (one of the two year olds was spending a night away from his mother), Michael, Tara, David and Diane had a horsey roundup.
Tara, God love her, walked the donkeys up the hill wearing heels. She deserves a special medal. David, Diane and Michael followed the horses as they ran down to the paved road and finally got them back on the farm. Closing gates behind them, they left them to roam during the night. Did I mention the temperature was dropping rapidly as a gusty wind blew a norther through our mountains? Our low was to be seventeen last night and I think it must have hit it early.
I wonder if Mary and Joseph were lucky enough to be traveling with friends on their way to Bethlehem. I hope so. Good food shared, warm hugs offered as anchors when life’s uncertainties swamp us, laughter under starlight, runaway donkeys for comic relief, the warmth of loving care that tempers the blasts of harsh winter... these make life worth living even when our faith falters. Someone is there to lean on, laugh or weep with, be the skin faces of God for us when our vision is blurred and our hope is hopeless. Christmas Communion over latkes and laughter... Thanks be to God.

Dakota...

He came to Sabbath Rest Farm nearly starved. Every bony knob on his spine and every rib could be counted. Covered in rain rot, his hair came out when I washed him for the first time. He stood patiently letting me doctor his sore places, clean his hooves, and scratch his sweet spots as a reward. He was tall and rangy, red body with a blonde mane. His wise old eyes had seen it all and his courtly manner disguised a wicked sense of humor. When Michael and I rode together, Junie B was on her best behavior because he was beside her. His name was Dakota and he died Saturday night. A cerebral hemorrhage or a stroke... he laid down and died before the vet could get to him. His timing, as always, was impeccable.
This morning I walked to the gate where Dixie, Junie B, Shirley and Kate waited for me. We stood with our heads nestled together feeling the empty space in our hearts. No jostling or pushing or shoving this morning, just sorrow and a need to be close. Dakota was Dixie’s stablemate, her companion, her friend at their previous home. Every morning, they ate breakfast standing side by side. Today, she had Junie B standing by her side.
The animals are not the only ones grieving his death. He was beloved by our friends and neighbors. Vince, Tina, and Mama brought him treats regularly... apples, pears, carrots... and he accepted them as his due with gratitude. David and Diane, Gary and Leisa picked him out as their favorite, too. Grandchildren had ridden on his high horse back squealing in glee as he loped and trotted, holding on and having the time of their lives. Whenever anyone came to the fence, Dakota was always ready for a visit.
When we took him in, someone asked me why in the world would we want such an old, sick horse. I thought we took him because we pitied him. The truth of the matter, though, is Dakota had some lessons to teach me before he died. Here is what I learned.
Lesson number one... Dignity matters. Even when you are broken down, sick and weary, how you behave matters. Stand as tall as you can and don’t whine.
Lesson number two... Accept help graciously, and remember who you are. Try not to nip the hand that feeds you. Help sometimes comes from those who mean well even if they are ignorant, so cut others a little slack.
Lesson number three... Always lean into the top rail on the fence. Sometimes it will break and you can go to greener pastures. Don’t let fences keep you from moving out into new territory. If you put all your weight behind your best efforts, sometimes you can succeed even if it looks impossible.
Lesson number four... Stay connected to your herd. When I would go out in the evenings to gather the horses up from their free range grazing, Junie B was brought in first. Dakota was second. All the way to the barn, he would stop every now and then to whinney loudly, calling to Dixie, “Come home.” And she would come flying up, mane blowing, hooves pounding as she ran next to him on the way to the barn.
Lesson number five... Even when love hurts because of loss, it is always, always worth it. I am a better person because I was given the gift of Dakota’s presence in my life. His horse sense will continue to guide me as I live with Junie B and Dixie. When I look out my kitchen window in the morning, I will always see Dakota standing at the fence, his head hanging over the top rail, patiently waiting for a pat and a snack... Good by and Godspeed, Dakota. Thanks for being my teacher and friend.

Peace like a river...

Michael is leading a memorial service this afternoon for a young woman who died at the age of twenty seven, killed by a brain tumor she had lived with since she was a child. All of her life was lived with the knowledge of the sleeping giant in her body that might awaken at any time. Her parents loved her, saw that she got the best medical care available and lived with the reality of a beloved child dying before them. She lived life as if she had all the time in the world and not enough time. She grew up, went to college and nursing school, became a cardiac nurse, a very good nurse, found purpose and meaning in her work. But life, as we all know, is not fair. The cancer returned with a vengeance and it could not be checkmated this time.
I sat with the father as he pored over his mother’s Bible, looking for dimly remembered passages on peace. We rambled through the Psalms reading the cries of despair and hope in the songs of David. The gospel of John contained the words he was searching for, the assurance for his heart to rest on as he begins this new journey of grief and loss. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you; not as the world gives, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” John 14:27
Peace...freedom from disturbance; tranquility; free from anxiety or distress; harmonious relations... dictionary and thesaurus words that are accurate but not true for the soul that is grieving. When one is suffering from the death of a beloved, wandering in the fields of grey days and fountains of tears, passive definitions of peace do nothing to heal the heart. What this father needed, what we all need, is the peace that passes all understanding.
One of my favorite images for peace is contained in the spiritual “Peace Like A River.” The progression of the words is important, I think. The original words, not the folk song versions, contain the secret. It begins with “I’ve got peace like a river,” next “I’ve got joy like a river,” then “I’ve got love like a river.” It all begins with peace, the peace that flows like a river, the peace that comes from our headwaters, God. Peace that is not a passive state of suspended animation but a peace that tumbles and leaps, flows over rocky river beds and smooths out over sandy bottoms, ever changing, ever present, this is the gift of peace from God. Like floating on a kayak on the French Broad, we may bounce around, float lightly upon the waters, even get dumped out into the chilly currents of this mountain river, but the river continues to run inviting us to come on down, dive in, float on the ancient waters.
And when we are able to be at peace, to be peace, to live in peace, God will help us find joy, even after the death and loss of all that we hold dear. This joy will bubble up from the river of peace that flows through our soul. It is not happiness nor is it dependent upon circumstance. It is a joy that chooses to celebrate the gifts of life and offers itself up in praise to the Creator. Joy in my heart, joy in my soul, joyful noise unto the Lord that affirms death is not the final answer. Life is. We can sing the children’s song “I’ve got that joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart,” and mean it.
When we have the gifts of peace and joy, Love comes to us. It is the bedrock, the ground that holds the river in place. Paul Tillich taught us that God is not out there but here, the ground upon which our being, and our rivers, rest and flow. That foundation, that riverbed is Love, God’s ground of being. When we can see and feel and touch and taste God as Love, our peace and joy will be dancing like sunlight on a river, bright dancing sparkling diamonds of peace, joy and love.
As I go to the memorial service this afternoon, I will be praying for this family who are standing on the edge of the river. I will pray for the Advent gifts of peace, joy and love to sustain them in the long days and nights to come. Peace like a river to lift them up when they are sinking down in woe... joysprings to burst up and catch them unaware so that they might remember life is good... and Love to surround them with Her tender arms of comfort and mercy as they continue their journey without this beloved child. May it be so, please, Lord Jesus?

My way or the highway...

After school, Gayle and I would ride the bus to town. We would get off and walk a block to mama’s office, do our homework while we waited for daddy to pick us up on his way home from work at the paper mill. We lived over the county line and the bus did not have a route by our house. Daddy would swing by around 4:15 or so and we would be home by 4:45. One of us became the sacrificial lamb who changed clothes to go with daddy to feed the cows. This field duty was a pain and a pleasure.
As a child, daddy’s job was to tend the cows. Before school, he let them out of the barn to roam free range all day. No one had fences much then for stock. Farmers identified their stock by ear notches, brands or bells. After school, daddy would round up the cows, locating them by the chiming of the cow’s bell. He loved cows, knew the way they thought and felt. Years of living with them, watching and learning what they needed, study at an agricultural college preparing to be a county agent, left him with strong ideas on the proper way to raise cattle.
The tractor had a large spike on the front that lifted and held a round bale of hay. Perched on the side step of the tractor, daddy driving, I would ride down the lane to the pasture to help lay out the hay. Twice a day, morning and evening, the cows were fed and checked. There was a pattern to laying out the hay. Daddy would drive slowly while I peeled off a layer of hay in chunks. It had to be laid out in a straight line, separated by just the right amount of distance to prevent the cows from stepping on it, and enough to feed them during the day. The hard work of putting up hay makes farmers testy when animals waste it. And daddy would get testy if his helpers didn’t lay it out like he wanted it. “My way or the highway” was daddy’s motto about farm work. Routine farm work, nothing special, a life of tending, feeding, caring for and selling animals...
And now, in one of life’s many ironies, I find myself repeating the same pattern. I get up, fix a cup of tea, head down to the stable where I am met by two hungry donkeys and three hungry horses. I put them in their stalls, give them their grain and lay out the hay just so in the field they call home. As I place each flake in a straight line, just so far apart and no farther, I hopskipjump back in time and hear daddy’s voice saying, “There, Peggy... NOT THERE... THERE!” Laughter bubbles up at the joke God has played on me. I am indeed my father’s daughter.
Instruction, whether in laying out hay or living in hopelovejoypeace, is necessary for those of us who are students learning the ways of God. The liturgical seasons of the church year give us a time to focus on ways to lay out our spiritual hay. Every year we have another chance to add to our experience, our knowledge of God when we observe and practice Advent. Sometimes, after years of practice, a cow bell rings in our soul and we find what we have been looking for... hope..love...joy...peace...right under our noses, ready to be laid out just so in the pastures of our lives. This week I have been laying our chunks of hope and love while I wait on joy. I am blessed. Advent blessings to you. Remember to lay out the hay of Advent so that you might be ready for Christmas.