Will Campbell, who has no President

Dana, a retired Methodist minister, sends me many good emails, both jokes and peace-oriented articles. Today he sent me the following article from Nashville, TN. He said about Will Campbell: Will Campbell was a fellow student with my wife and I at Yale Divinity. Throughout his ministry he has stirred the Southern Baptist community with his outspoken unorthodox style. A spade fir Will has always been a damn shovel. This is the first we have heard from Will for some time.

So here is the article:

By DWIGHT LEWIS

The Rev. Will Campbell will not be in town today to greet President Bush when he makes a stop in Nashville.

"I don't have a president," Campbell, 83, told me by phone Tuesday. "He doesn't represent me. . He has an evil war going, and he won't do anything about it."

Campbell, a Mississippi-born, Mt. Juliet-based preacher, author and farmer, knows a little something about war. He served in the South Pacific during World War II.

"I know what war is like," he told me. "It's hell, and nothing is being accomplished over there (in Iraq) - except a lot of people, our people and their people and their children and our sons and our daughters getting killed.''

So, Campbell wasn't very excited about the Bush visit.

"I don't care where he goes,'' said Campbell, author of Brother to a Dragonfly and whose memoir is titled, Forty Acres and a Goat: A Memoir.

I had a copy of remarks Bush made in 2001 during his first inaugural address, and I read the following excerpt to Campbell:

"I am honored and humbled to stand here where so many of America's leaders have come before me and so many will follow. We have a place, all of us, in a long story, a story we continue but whose end we will not see. It is a story of a new world that became a friend and liberator of the old, the story of a slave-holding society that became a servant of freedom, the story of a power that went into the world to protect but not possess, to defend but not to conquer.

"It is the American story, a story of flawed and fallible people united across the generations by grand and enduring ideals. The grandest of these ideals is an unfolding American promise that everyone belongs, that everyone deserves a chance, that no insignificant person was ever born.''

As I stopped reading, Campbell asked, "I wonder who wrote that for him?''

I asked Campbell whether he thinks Bush knows the war is wrong or that we're not winning.

"He must know. Enough people are telling him, and there's enough evidence that it is being lost.''

Campbell thinks the president is being stubborn, but he doesn't have too much sympathy for all the Democrats or Republicans who voted for the war, "including most everyone running for the presidency now."

He couldn't recall the name, but he remembered someone who had been to Iraq saying at the time that "there will be no weapons of mass destruction found because they do not exist."

"We knew, they knew, that there were no weapons of mass destruction there. They didn't find them because they weren't there.''

What about that, Mr. President? And by the way, while you're in Nashville talking about the budget, could you also tell us why Osama bin Laden hasn't been captured?

I don't know whether Will Campbell wants to know, but I do.

Faith Story 5--Seeking God

When I finally realized I was seeking to know God was after my mother's death in 1992. I wrote about her death--7-14-92 My mother died. Before I could fly from RI to WA to see my mother once we learned she had pancreatic cancer, my husband and I had to go on a house-hunting trip to NJ, where he was being transferred. I still remember that in the driving intervals between houses, I would cry, and then stop so I could look at the next house.

She died only 42 days after she was diagnosed. She was 72. She never accepted that she was going to die, and we never talked about her fear, about God, or anything connected with life or death. She slept a lot, and I was there with 2 year old MJ, so I also had to be busy with my toddler. It was a crazy, chaotic time and fearful time for me.

My mother was in a coma for her last 24 hours. No one knew how long she would stay in this condition, so the doctor and a chaplain told us to go home at night. I was the last one to leave. I kept telling her she could let go and float out on the waves of the ocean. She loved the water. She had worried that little MJ would not remember her, and I told her MJ would know her from the stories we would tell her. Oddly, in the past few years, MJ’s older brother and sister have commented that she does many things like her grannie. I told my mother she could leave us and float out to God. Then I went home to bed. Only my father, MJ and I were in that house. Very early in the morning I woke up with a start and knew I should go to the hospital, but I couldn’t leave MJ alone in a strange house. It was a struggle to stay in bed. I still remember that so vividly that I believe my mother died at that time. At 5:30, my dad woke me up to tell me that she had died.

He and I went to this dark, cold hospital room, where my mother lay. We looked and left, not knowing what to do. This is a sad memory which brings back the loneliness and separation that we both felt. I knew my mother was with God (way off in his heaven), but we were left in the dark, cold, and isolated world. Immediately, my father started cleaning out her things and throwing them away. That’s what we did until her funeral. It was hard.

After that, my family and I went back to Rhode Island to move to Morristown, NJ. I don’t remember much of the move, but we got everything settled in our new old house. With the kids in school, Chuck at work and traveling a lot, I only had little MJ. How she distracted and comforted me. And finally I noticed a desire to know God, a possibility I’d never known existed before. We started going to the Methodist Church in Morristown, because three years before this, friends had hauled DC to a First Methodist confirmation class in Corpus Christi—and he’d become a member there, without our attendance, as we repeated my parents’ indifference. BUT because he was already a member of the Methodist Church, that’s where we started going “for the kids” though it was more for me, in retrospect. The female associate minister kept calling and asking if we’d like to join the church, and I said I couldn’t believe the things I had to say to join. I finally went in to talk to her, and she told me something about John Wesley, which opened the way for me. She said he’d been told to preach until he believed, but she equated it to prayer—PRAY until you believe! That’s the first time anyone ever advised me to pray!! I knew no one to talk to, so I walked and walked, pushing MJ in the stroller, talking or praying to I didn’t know what. Sometime during that time, I felt like someone was listening. That’s when I started believing that God is with us rather than way off in heaven somewhere.

When I need to know something, I always search in books (and now the internet). Of course, I tried to find books about God, never even thinking of reading the Bible! The nearest Christian bookstore contained mostly fundamental books, even in New Jersey, which did not appeal to me early on my Christian journey. The only ones I could stomach were by Robert Schuller!

We joined that Methodist Church in Morristown, NJ and faithfully attended it. I was full of grief, and it seemed that CB and I drifted further and further apart. He had a difficult job and brought home anger from there. We were passively aggressive in our anger with each other--in silence. (I later learned that anger arises from pain and fear, and I know I was feeling a great deal of pain and loneliness. He probably was, too.) And we were busy with four children in school, and three of them were playing soccer. I consciously believed in God and was praying a little, in my busy-ness, grief, loneliness, anger, and probable depression.

Hafiz: Each Soul

In our weekly Wisdom Class book group, we are discussing the chapter on "The Blessed Community" in Thomas Kelly's book A Testament of Devotion. This poem by Hafiz seems like a good beginning devotion.

My

Beloved said,

“My name is not complete without

yours.”

I thought:

How could a human’s worth ever be such?

And God knowing all our thoughts – and all our

thoughts are innocent steps on the path –

then addressed my

heart,

God revealed

a sublime truth to the world,

when He

sang,

“I am made whole by your life. Each soul,

each soul completes

me.”

~ Hafiz ~

Stunted by Sameness

There is an excellent article in the latest e-magazine "Explore Faith" , which is Stunted by Sameness: "Although we all enjoy our comfort zones, growth comes about when we open ourselves to diversity." It is a good piece by Lowell Grisham. This reminds me of Thomas Kelly citing "dull habits" as ruling our lives, which sounds much like "stunted by sameness."

More Harry Potter!

After visiting Jane Redmont's blog, Acts of Hope, I took yet another Harry Potter Quiz. Jane talked about these being somewhat spiritual, and I would say the quiz is almost like an examen. So here is how I did, and I am happy about these results. (I was Ron Weasley in some other quiz.)

You scored as Albus Dumbledore, Strong and powerful you admirably defend your world and your charges against those who would seek to harm them. However sometimes you can fail to do what you must because you care too much to cause suffering.

Albus Dumbledore		90%
Hermione Granger		80%
Ron Weasley		75%
Remus Lupin		70%
Severus Snape		55%
Harry Potter		55%
Sirius Black		40%
Draco Malfoy		35%
Ginny Weasley		30%
Lord Voldemort		20%

Your Harry Potter Alter Ego Is...?

The most violent element in society is ignorance.

- Emma Goldman

Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.

-Martin Luther King Jr.

There are more quotes like these http://www.progressiveshandbook.com/handbook/index.php?name=News&file=article&sid=3

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

I finished Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (Book 7) this afternoon. My 25 year old daughter AE in Seattle finished it last night! Good book! I know I was helped by reading Book #6 last week in preparation, because my 22 year old son BJ told me that he found the latest book too confusing and has to re-read the previous one to be ready for it.

I meet with my Renovare spiritual group every Friday morning, a group that was started in 1996 after a trip to Waco, TX to hear Richard Foster speak. People have come and gone, and now the group is composed of about nine women. Last night most of these women and their spouses came over to my house for a potluck dinner. My husband CB barbecued salmon and chili chicken. It was very nice. However, I was the only person out of 14 who was reading (or planed to read) the last Harry Potter book!

In fact, one of the husbands asked me why I was reading the books at all. I enjoy them; there is good character development; the plot goes through all seven books; an entire world is created; battle between good and evil. I like them a lot and know that sometime this year I will re-read all the books (1-7) to get the full sequence in my mind.

For a change, J. K. Rowling put two quotations in the forward of the book. For those of you who are not reading this book, I will copy the words of William Penn:

"Death is but crossing the world, as friends do the seas; they live in one another still. For they must needs be present, that love and live in that which is omnipresent. In this divine glass, they see face to face; and their converse is free, as well as pure. This the comfort of friends, that though they may be said to die, yet their friendship and society are, in the best sense, ever present, because immortal."

Tom Fox, Quaker Peace Activist

There is a moving article in the newest Christian Century magazine (July 24, 2007), entitled "Kidnapped in Iraq: A Survivor's Story" by James Loney. (This is not online yet, but will be in a week or so.) James Loney recounts the kidnapping in Iraq in November 2005 of four members of Christian Peacemaker Teams (Tom Fox, Norman Kember, James Loney, and Harmeet Singh Sooden), all accused of spying. Tom Fox was killed, but the other three survived and were rescued two weeks later. You can view Tom's own writing about being in Iraq by looking at his blog--the last thing he wrote was entitled "Why Are We Here?"(Part of his answer is: "We are here to root out all aspects of dehumanization that exist within us.")

This excerpt highlights Quaker Tom Fox's faith and actions:

"During those first days of relentless, terrifying, excruciating uncertainty, Tom dove into prayer the way a warrior might charge into battle. He turned his captivity into a sustained, unbroken meditation. The chain that bound his wrist became a kind of rosary, or sebha (the beads Muslims use to count the names of God). He would picture someone: a member of his family, a member of the Iraq team or the CPT office, one of the captors--whoever he felt needed prayer. Holding a link of the chain, he would breathe in and out, slowly, so that you could hear the air gushing in and out of his lungs, praying for the person he was holding in his mind. With the completion of each breath, he would pass a chain link through his thumb and index finger. During his first breath he would say to himself, with the warmth of my heart. In the second, with the stillness of my mind. In the third, with the fluidity of my body. And in the fourth, with the light of my soul. At the end of each series of four breaths, he would pause and simply rest in the light with the person he was praying for.

"Tom's vigilance in prayer was astounding. I sometimes felt ashamed. My mind would wander helplessly in self-preoccupation and garish tableaux in absurd cycles of repetition. His unrelenting focus called me back to prayer again and again, almost as if someone had suddenly taken hold of my shoulders, was gently shaking me and telling me, 'Wake up! Come back to your senses!'" (p. 22)

HIV and the Heart of God

An excellent book to read about HIV/AIDS is When God's People Have HIV/Aids: An Approach to Ethics by Maria Cimperman, one of my favorite professors at Oblate School of Theology in San Antonio, TX. She was also the leader of our small group of OST students who went to Zambia in June 2006--I was fortunate to be one of those students!

HIV And the Heart of God
Around the world, and especially in Africa and Asia, the Body of Christ is HIV+. Thousands are stricken; thousands more are orphaned or widowed because of HIV/AIDS. Outside the Church, many thousands more suffer. The heart of God breaks over such pain. What does it mean to know the heart of God in the midst of the crisis? What are the medical, social, and spiritual questions to ask as we seek to respond? This conference will offer a chance to hear remarkable brothers and sisters in Christ from Africa, Asia, and the Middle East bear witness to the presence of God in the midst of the crisis that is HIV/AIDS. We invite you to join us as we discover together how to more faithfully serve Jesus Christ in a world suffering with HIV/AIDS.


©2003-2007 First Presbyterian Church of Berkeley
2407 Dana Street, Berkeley, CA 94704 U.S.A.
phone: (510) 848-6242 fax: (510) 848-3118 email: info@fpcberkeley.org

Dear Mr. President

By Pink and the Indigo Girls

Did you know that Emily Saliers of the Indigo Girls is the daughter of Rev. Don Saliers, Methodist minister and Professor at Emory University?

A Cruise with Conservatives

Wild and Precious posted an article from the UK that is very interesting--about a journalist who went on a cruise with readers of the National Review. Neocons on a Cruise

New book: "Take This Bread"

One of the RGPB's recommended Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion by Sara Miles. My copy arrived yesterday and in today's mail came the latest "Christian Century" magazine (July 10, 2007 issue), which has a review of this same book! (You can even read the review online.) The reviewer (Amy Johnson Frykholm) wrote this paragraph which has piqued my interest:

"The book is sprinkled with the very self-righteousness that Miles finds repulsive in other Christians. It is saved, however, by her rigorous self-examination and her acknowledgement that faith and conversion are long, hard processes."

This sounds interesting. Thank you, whoever recommended it!

Faith Story 4

RevDrKate and Gannett Girl have been writing their memories, just like I have. This one may get too strung out as it was the last year my mother was alive, and I didn't know she was dying. You may notice that God is never mentioned, as we continued to be unaware of the Divine Presence.

Since Faith Story 3 had me moving to Rhode Island from Texas with my family, that's where I will start. In August 1991, my children's ages were: DC-12; AE-9; BJ-6; MJ-almost 2. It was our first experience of having our children ride school buses to school. I remember that on the first day, BJ was starting first grade at a new school (for him), so my husband, MJ, and I followed him on the school bus to his school, so we could walk in with him.

I was worried about BJ getting needed speech therapy in first grade, because there was such a marked RI accent in the area we lived, but the speech therapist was from Oregon, so I was relieved. He only needed a little help that year and then was fine. But we laughed a lot with words particular to RI that didn't fit with our NW and TX orientation--here are a few examples:
bubbler= water fountain; cabinet=milkshake (a "milkshake" was exactly that--blended milk with a flavoring); grinder=toasted sub sandwich. We missed tortillas and Mexican food up there, but enjoyed the seasons. I also loved the little Japanese maple tree we planted in the front yard.

My mother came to visit around Halloween, when my birthday was, and at Christmas. On the rainy, windy, cold Halloween night (quite different from our TX Halloweens), DC stayed home for the first time on a Halloween night while my mother made chocolate coated peanut butter candies, which were to be frozen for Christmas. Strong, quiet husband CB took the other three children out in the cold, bundled up so their costumes could not be seen. MJ was a fairy and no one saw her wings!

My mother and father came for Christmas. Ironically, I took a lot of pictures of my dad, thinking that he could die soon, falsely assuming that women live longer than men. Looking back, I can remember my mother saying that she couldn't eat fatty things much anymore, but I just thought that was healthier. She was always trying to live healthier, so her "healthy" body wasn't used to fats.

In April 1992, my mother planned to visit for BJ's 7th birthday (and hers the week after), but didn't feel well and so delayed her visit. We'd planned a trip to Maine with her coming along, and still went with the kids. We had two motel rooms--one for the boys and one for the girls. DC complained bitterly how BJ got sick in the bed after a dinner of spaghetti (which BJ still doesn't like much). It was rocky ride home for this poor little guy who was sick, sick, sick, without us even having a doctor yet! I don't think he remembers Maine too fondly.

Several weeks later, my mother came to see us. She, MJ, and I went up to Maine. My mother was having stomach problems and couldn't eat much. She thought it was "nerves," because her father had always had a "nervous stomach."

Sometime in May, after her return to Bellingham, WA, a doctor finally determined what was bothering her. She hadn't wanted to worry me, so finally called to say she had a "growth" on her pancreas, continuing to tell me that no one in her family had ever had cancer, so not to worry. She bought new nightwear, which was never worn, to wear to the hospital for the surgery. Somehow, I knew there was something seriously wrong, and I called her gastroenterologist, who amazingly told me what was probably wrong with her, as I explained I was her only child living across the country from her. I could not breathe or cry and had my first ever panic attack, though I didn't know that's what it was at the time. I had no one nearby to talk to, and MJ was asleep!

I will always remember that night with CB sitting on one end of the couch and me sitting on the other. I was crying and saying, "What if she has cancer?" CB never said a word. I was heartbroken, and he seemed so distant. He told me years later that he didn't say anything, because he knew that my mother was going to die and he couldn't do anything to stop it. I felt alone, and that is a marker in my mind showing the precipitous slide CB and I made in moving apart from each other.

Life

Meditation for the Wisdom Class today is from Nan Merrill's newsletter "Friends of Silence." Nan is the author of the lovely book Psalms for Praying: An Invitation to Wholeness


"The spiritual journey is a story of a return to our heart, the very center of our being, that has been obscured by our driving complusion to create our own identity."
~Fr. Pat Eastman

Remove the labels from your life!

Non-Duality Cartoons

I'm a Plugger!

Ever since we moved into our first house in Texas in 1979, I have liked to hang clothes outside on the clothesline. I tried to hang out clothes when we lived in RI and NJ, too, but it was too cold and not sunny enough! Today I hung out sheets and towels. I so like to do this!

Sorry case of Iraqi refugees

Little is said of the thousands who are fleeing sectarian violence or direct threats because the matter reflects badly on U.S. policy.

By Trudy Rubin Inquirer Columnist

When Tamara Daghistani's cell phone rings in Amman, Jordan, the caller is usually another desperate Iraqi refugee.

As we sat together last month, the call was from a woman who had fled Baghdad with her husband and three kids. Her husband was killed during a visit back to Baghdad to bury his mother. Now the woman has no way to support three young children. She sends her boys out to nightclubs at night to beg.

Daghistani spends her time helping less fortunate countrymen. With around 2 million Iraqi refugees crowded into Jordan and Syria, and 30,000 arriving in Syria weekly, this exodus is the biggest Iraqi crisis almost no one discusses. Certainly not President Bush.

The first Iraqi refugees to reach Jordan in 2003 were mostly wealthy supporters of Saddam Hussein. But their numbers have been eclipsed by waves of refugees from Baghdad and other cities.

"Most of them are fleeing sectarian violence and have been directly threatened," says Kristèle Younès of Refugees International, who just returned from Amman and Damascus. "Either they've been told to leave their homes or be killed, or they are Christians told to convert or leave, or they have been threatened because they've worked with Americans." But it's politically inconvenient for the Bush administration to directly confront this problem, because it reflects our failure to stabilize Iraq.

The United States - and the Iraqi government - appear to hope the refugees will return home. This is unlikely for the foreseeable future. More likely: If the United States draws down troops, the Iraqi exodus will turn into a refugee tsunami. But, because Iraq is such a hot-button political issue, there is no international focus on helping the refugees and their host countries cope.

"The two countries caring for the biggest proportion of Iraqi refugees - Syria and Jordan - have still received next to nothing in bilateral help from the world community," the spokesman for the United Nations' refugee agency, Ron Redmond, said last week. So far, most Iraqi refugees have been left to flounder with little or no international aid.

Jordan, a resource-poor country with high unemployment, has closed its borders to most new Iraqi entries. Most Iraqi refugees can't work legally in Jordan, or attend schools, which are already overcrowded, nor can they get health care. Jordan desperately wants to avoid another permanent refugee population, like the huge number of Palestinian refugees it has hosted for decades.

Syria still takes Iraqi refugees. But only 32,000 out of hundreds of thousands of Iraqi children there can attend school because there aren't enough classrooms. "A whole generation of Iraqi children is in danger of missing an education," Redmond says.

Middle-class refugee families are running out of funds in Jordan and Syria, with no prospect of working; some women are turning to prostitution. Unless a solution is found for this problem, it could turn into a major security threat. What better recruiting pool for terrorists than angry young Iraqi refugees with no education, no jobs, and no chance to go home?

What's to be done? There are three ways the Iraq refugee crisis could be defused, if the White House would lead.

First, mobilize international aid to help Syria and Jordan cope with the refugees in the medium term, in hopes that Iraq will one day calm down. The goal would not be to integrate Iraqis - neither country could handle the burden - but to help with local health, education and water systems during a prolonged stay.

Second, encourage the Iraqi government to use its oil surplus to help its refugee population. "They could create a temporary ministry for Iraqi expatriates," says Daghistani, "and could be planning for repatriation later. It would be a tremendous boost for Iraqis who feel no one cares."

Third, the United States must plan on absorbing a large number of Iraqi refugees, especially those under threat for working with Americans. We've only admitted a few hundred since 2003, but were supposed let a few thousand in during this fiscal year. The result, so far, is shameful. We let in a whopping 63 refugees in June, according to State Department figures, and one refugee - yes, that's ONE - in May. (Sweden, for heaven's sake, has admitted 18,000 Iraqis since 2006.)

After the Vietnam War, America resettled more than 131,000 Vietnamese. Maybe it won't come to that with Iraqis. But history will judge us extremely harshly if we leave Iraq's refugees to rot.

http://www.philly.com/inquirer/columnists/trudy_rubin/20070711_Worldview____Sorry_case_of_Iraqi_refugees.html

---

Read her recent work at http://go.philly.com/trudyrubin.

This makes me feel ashamed and sad, just like the video Katherine posted here Other Christians are so Un-Christian At Times, Aren't They?

Remember

Months after my mother died, my friend Nancy (we met in Japan in 1962) sent me a poem/prayer that she received at a memorial service for unborn children. She had lost her first baby in utero. This poem/prayer has always comforted me. I put it on the memorial folder at my father's memorial service. I send it to friends who have lost a loved one. This past year, it was read at the funeral for my friend Terry's mother in Bellingham, WA and at the memorial service for an elderly friend here in Corpus Christi.

We Remember
from the Gates of Prayer
Reform Judaism Prayerbook

In the rising of the sun
and in its going down,
We remember them;

In the blowing of the wind
and in the chill of the winter,
We remember them;

In the opening of the buds
and in the warmth of the summer,
We remember them;

In the rustling of the leaves
and the beauty of the autumn,
We remember them;

And in the beginning of the year
and when it ends,
We remember them;

When we are weary
and in need of strength,
We remember them;

When we are lost
and sick at heart,
We remember them;

When we have joys
we long to share,
We remember them;

So long as we shall live
they too shall live,
For they are now a part of us as
We remember them.

7-14-92 My mother died.

Fifteen years ago today my mother died. She had been in a coma for about 24 hours. She was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer 42 days before this date.

I am used to her being gone now. It was difficult to lose her 15 years ago. Now I realize that 15 years from now, I will be the same age she was when she died.

I remember months after my mother's death, little three year old MJ would say matter-of-factly, "Mommy is crying again." Sometimes she would even ask me when Grannie would come home from the hospital.

Death. Though I was not an observant Christian then, I believed that someone who died would be with God. I always knew my mother was all right, but I missed her greatly. It seems like the cost of love is losing what or whom we loved. I used to think the pain was so much because I had loved her so much, being an only child, after all.

Today I am also sad remembering the isolation my father and I felt, from each other and from God, whom we did not even think of. We were called and told very early in the morning that my mother had died in the hospital, so we went there in the dark. The room was unlit and gray where she was lying. My father and I looked at her and left. No prayers, no hugs, nothing. We didn't know what to do and didn't know how to turn to each other. Upon returning home, my dad started cleaning and throwing out her things from her bathroom--all the vitamins, swearing about them, as they were tossed. The discarding continued until her funeral.

Maybe some of this is due to my mother not going through all the phases of grief concerning death, according to Elizabeth Kubler-Ross. (Denial and isolation; anger; bargaining; depression; and finally acceptance.) My mother always refused the idea that she was dying, and so we never talked about it at all. She didn't cry about it, though I did down in the basement, where MJ and I were staying.

My mother had an experience of the Holy before she died, which is another reason that I believe she did not think the cancer would kill her. Although not "religious," she practiced transcendental meditation. She told me how once during a meditation, she felt (and maybe saw) herself enveloped by light and love. That told her that she would be all right. Even then, I knew that meant that she would be "all right" after she died. I don't think she told anyone else of this experience.

The day my mother went into the coma, she had had an appointment with a pancreatic specialist in Seattle. Weeks before, I had driven her to the Olympic Penninsula to visit a homeopathic specialist. I will always remember how we went on a day that my father was working out of town. As we were driving on the freeway south, my thin, jaundiced mother would crouch out of sight when we thought we saw a car like my dad's approaching. I still have pictures of her sitting with MJ on the ferry.

Since both of my parents' deaths, I have experienced several friends dying, who suffered but also seemed to be "midwifed" into death. Alice, who had pancreatic cancer, and Margy, who suffered from ovarian cancer, both talked about death and God, plus had friends and family who encouraged them with visits, singing, and care. They had longer periods to adjust to the fact of dying, which probably helped, but they also were open to the fear and the inevitable process of dying. A church community helps, too, as would a family that was more intimate than my nuclear family had the capacity to be.

Today I remember my mother and my father. Now they experience the Love they did not know while alive.

Gay Couple Show How to Live

I don't often read "Dear Abby," but today's title caught my eye. "Abby" did a great service today by printing and responding to this letter about an elderly mother being cared for by her gay son and his partner. What love, forgiveness, and generosity this couple has shown to this woman. I hope everyone in the USA reads "Dear Abby" today.

MOTHER LEARNS LATE IN LIFE TO ACCEPT GAY SON AS HE IS

DEAR ABBY: My husband and I raised our two sons and two daughters. One son and both daughters married well. Our other son, "Neil," is gay. He and his partner, "Ron," have been together 15 years, but Neil's father and I never wanted to know Ron because we disapproved of their lifestyle.

When I was 74, my husband died, leaving me in ill health and nearly penniless. No longer able to live alone, I asked my married son and two daughters if I could "visit" each of them for four months a year. (I didn't want to burden any one family, and thought living out of a suitcase would be best for everyone.) All three turned me down. Feeling unwanted, I wanted to die.

When Neil and Ron heard what had happened, they invited me to move across country and live with them. They welcomed me into their home, and even removed a wall between two rooms so I'd have a bedroom with a private bath and sitting room -- although we spend most of our time together.

They also include me in many of their plans. Since I moved in with them, I have traveled more than I have my whole life and seen places I only read about in books. They never mention the fact that they are supporting me, or that I ignored them in the past.

When old friends ask how it feels living with my gay son, I tell them I hope they're lucky enough to have one who will take them in one day. Please continue urging your readers to accept their children as they are. My only regret is that I wasted 15 years. -- GRATEFUL MOM

DEAR GRATEFUL MOM: You are indeed fortunate to have such a loving, generous and forgiving son. Sexual orientation is not a measure of anyone's humanity or worth. Thank you for pointing out how important it is that people respect each other for who they are, not for what we would like them to be.

You could have learned that lesson long ago, had you and your husband contacted Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG) when you first learned that Neil was gay. Among other things, the organization offers support groups and education for parents who need to learn more about gender issues. (The address is 1726 M St. N.W., Suite 400, Washington, D.C. 20036.)

"Impasse and Dark Night"

I need to learn to call people. I tend to put off making phone calls so long that I don't do it at all. A friend called me this morning, and that was such a nice surprise that I am still smiling. She thanked me for sending them a copy of an article, "Impasse and Dark Night" by Constance Fitzgerald, which I had found in the huge Shalem Institute notebook for the program I'm in. Sending it to them was one of those nudges from God, which usually don't reward us with results or praise. However, this article spoke to her and her husband, who is going through intensive, rigorous chemo-therapy for cancer right now.

Coincidentally, this same article was footnoted in an excellent piece by Maggie Ross entitled "The Space of Prayer" in the July/August issue of Weavings http://www.upperroom.org/weavings/ .

And I discovered that the footnote includes the web address for this article. It is such a profound paper that I hope you will at least look it up. I am almost positive that you will want to print it for yourselves.

www.geocities.com/baltimorecarmel/johncross/impasse.html

"Word for the Day" from Gratefulness.org

Today's "Word for the Day" from http://www.gratefulness.org/ is exactly what I needed to hear today. If you want to subscribe to this daily mailing, go to the above site. There is always a short quotation, which is easily deleted after reading--or saved if it is especially pertinent. (And since I had never heard of Sharif Baba, I looked him up on google http://www.sherifbaba.com/baba.htm )

If you look at every human being
as a Divine mirror,
you will know yourself
and understand life.

~Sharif Baba

God in us

“God is everywhere and always with us, by us and in us. However, we are not always with Him, for we do not remember Him, and because we do not remember, we allow ourselves to do many things that we would not allow ourselves to do if we remembered God.”

“. . . remember that the Lord is in you and close by you and looks at you and inside of you just as intently as if someone were looking right at you.”

Theophan the Recluse (1815-1894)

Russian Bishop and Staretz (elder)

Moving so much did what?

Many of you asked how I was affected by so many moves. As I grew up, it's hard to say what affected me most--frequent moves, being an only child, being introverted, or having an alcoholic father. Probably, I would say, "All of the above." (Like Gannet Girl, the circumstances sound worse than they seemed at the time. As a child, you accept your life "as the way it is." You don't know anything else, so life is this way. The only thing I ever compared my life to were families with more than one child--I always wanted a brother or sister.)

Having no siblings and being introverted were exacerbated by my father's alcoholism. Studies have shown that unwritten rules in alcoholic families are "Don't talk; don't trust; don't feel."
An isolated life came about through this lifestyle, as well as having no siblings for me, but also no other family nearby; no sense of community and no church community.

I was always a good girl and one of the best students in each class I was in. Each move seemed to cause me to become more shy. I think it took me awhile to feel safe, and then so often, we would move again.

I remember my mother telling me that she thought similar events would recur to "teach" each of us a lesson we needed to learn. (That's the closest she ever spoke to me of "divine providence," which may only be my interpretation of what she meant.) I've sometimes wondered about that when I think of all the moves that continued after we were married. If that is so, I never learned to move very well, which is another reason I reconsidered my call to ministry!

So how do moves affect the "move-ee"? I think it depends upon the person or child's support system and personality type. Also, the different lengths of time in each place would affect one.

I also think this has affected my thinking about living in a place, because I'll sometimes catch myself thinking, "Things will be different when I move." (This prevents action to change things, because I'll be moving. . . .) I don't do that as often now, but every so often I fall back into that old habit.

Meditation for Today's Wisdom Class

Belief brings me close to You
but only to the door.
It is only by disappearing into
Your mystery
that I will come in.

~Hakim Sanai
(1044?-1150?)

Places I've lived

After Mompriest commented on how many places she'd moved in only six years of her childhood, I started wondering if I could list the places I've lived. I'm not sure if I've ever done that, and I'd like to tell my children all the different locations I (and they) have been. Until I was in high school, my dad was in the Marine Corps, so he was transferred every few years.

Jan's childhood moves:
1. Bremerton, WA
2. Quantico, VA
3. Camp Pendleton, CA
4. Lubbock, TX
5. Lynden, WA (my mother's hometown, while my dad went to Japan)
6. Quantico, VA
7. Camp Pendleton, CA
8. Yokosuka, Japan
9. El Toro, CA
10. Bellingham, WA (while my dad was in Okinawa and Vietnam)
11. Camp Pendleton, CA
12. Bellingham, WA (where we moved when my dad retired from the Marine Corps) (1966-1971)

Jan's married moves:
1. Bellingham, WA
2. Seattle, WA
3. Richmond, VA
4. Newport, OR
5. Corvallis OR (where CB went to grad school)
6. Corpus Christi, TX (1978-1985)
7. Euless, TX (which I refer to as "Dallas")
8. Corpus Christi, TX (1988-1991)
9. North Kingstown, RI
10. Morristown, NJ
11. Corpus Christi, TX (1994-present)

Although I came to think of Bellingham, WA as my hometown (as I went to high school and college there and that's where we lived in my family's first non-military base housing), I have now lived in Corpus Christi, TX longer than anywhere else I've ever lived (a total of 23 years).

Faith Story 3--Having small children

In the spring of 1985, our third child was born, which was about the same time my husband found out he was transferred to Dallas. He worked up there, while we lived in Corpus Christi until the baby BJ was five months old. Right before we moved, he was baptized with my first and most enduring friend Lisa and her husband as God-parents. (We had met at a La Leche League meeting in an un-airconditioned house in the summer before our first babies were born.)

DC, AE, and BJ were baptized at All Saints Episcopal Church, my present church. In the recent baptisms here, I’ve become aware of how they were blessed then, even though I didn’t realize it. I know when they were baptized, I was too concerned about the wiggling children and crying baby that I might have to nurse in church—Horrors!! I still didn’t realize that God was in the midst of us, and now I am warmed to know he was. I have a totally new perspective on their baptisms, because I see the past with a new perspective—how the Divine enfolded us all, sealing each child for him forever. The reality was there then, but neither CB nor I saw it. The way opened, but each of us must be aware enough to enter in—we were not then, but are beginning to see so much more of God now.

We moved to Dallas and lived there for the next 2 years. CB traveled frequently; and we hardly knew anyone. BJ always wanted to be held and learned to scream to get his way. DC hated leaving his best friend and struggled and cried going to a new school for first grade. I still remember calling his kindergarten teacher, worried that he didn't like school, and she reassured me that after his first month, he'd feel better. That was true, and he suddenly shot off being able to read and loving it. 3 year old AE was very shy and hid under a coffee table at the first La Leche League meeting we went to. (I just recently learned that the LLL group this other mother and I started is still meeting!) I remember AE sweetly asking me sometime after Thanksgiving when her wish (from breaking the wishbone from the turkey) would come true--she'd wanted to become a fairy! I treasure the wistful look I recall on her face, so sweet and innocent. And this is the place where the family's interest in soccer started, with little DC playing for the first time.

We moved back to Corpus Christi with DC going into third grade; AE in kindergarten; and BJ a 2 year old toddler, who was always so chubby that he could never wear his brother's hand-me-downs. (He could only fit into Oshkosh coveralls!) My husband still traveled a great deal. I was grateful that my mother continued to visit from WA state two times a year, for several weeks each time. My dad, who hated to travel, would come for a few days each Christmas. This was a busy time of LLL meetings for me, school activities, and soccer for both DC and AE.

This is also when DC rejoined his best friend Chris, and they started a life-long bond with three other boys. (These young men have been in each other's weddings and continue to be in touch, even though they went to different colleges and live in different cities.) They always played soccer together, too. The family of one of the boys brought DC each week to the confirmation class at First United Methodist Church. We parents acted like ours had--in an a-religious way just as Gannet Girl's parents did--not caring one way or another. CB and I were in New York City when he was confirmed, and from what I hear, he had to wear an outgrown jacket and pair of pants. You can tell his parents "didn't care," which sounds reprehensible to me now.

This was at the time I was pregnant with our surprising fourth child. CB was still gone frequently, and no plans had been made, but God brought forth a baby, who is now MJ and my only child at home. It was quite a shock to find out I was pregnant, even after taking an at-home pregnancy test--When the doctor's office called after their test, I kept telling them there had to be a mistake! And how grateful am I that she was never a mistake! That spring, I remember taking DC and his four pals, with BJ to the rocks by the water here, and telling AE the secret of the coming baby, while the guys climbed and played.

When MJ was one year old, we learned that CB was being transferred to Rhode Island. That was a wrenching shock to the older kids and me. Coming from WA State, I thought I knew what "cold" weather was, but that winter (and autumn) in Rhode Island were quite a shock to us. We certainly had to buy a lot of warm clothes, coats, and blankets--things unnecessary in south Texas! So in 1991, we moved to Rhode Island.

Fundamentalists' viewpoint

Kirk Anderson http://www.kirktoons.com/

On npr this morning, two political cartoonists were interviewed in "Cartooning Bush and President Next." (And I tried to link it through the title, but somehow it didn't work, so here's the site http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=11794366)
There are other samples of political cartoons that are quite good, even better than this one. This one hit me about the problems of humanity from all time--too narrow a view of God and of his "chosen."
It's an interesting article to read (or hear).

Cartoon! Enlightenment!

By Bob Seal, from Non-Duality Cartoons
http://www.bobseal.com/

Poem for Poetry Discussion

Primary Wonder

Days pass when I forget the mystery.

Problems insoluble and problems offering

their own ignored solutions

jostle for my attention, they crowd its antechamber

along with a host of diversions, my courtiers, wearing

their colored clothes; caps and bells.

And then

once more the quiet mystery

is present to me, the throng's clamor

recedes: the mystery

that there is anything, anything at all,

let alone cosmos, joy, memory, everything,

rather than void: and that, 0 Lord,

Creator, Hallowed one, You still,

hour by hour sustain it.

-- Denise Levertov

Faith Story 2

After reading GannetGirl's faith story of losing her mother and baby brother when she was only 10 years old Getting Here (II), I am realizing the connection we forge through our stories. So I will go to the next phase of mine, after my marriage to CB at St. Paul's Episcopal Church in Bellingham, WA in 1971 (when we were both too young, which my mother pointed out to me, but I ignored).

After CB and I got married, we moved to Virginia where he worked for Georgia-Pacific and I taught third grade in a little school that had recently been integrated. Every month we had to count the number of black boys and girls, and the number of white boys and girls. In 1974 we moved to Corvallis, Oregon so CB could go to graduate school to get a PhD. in organic chemistry. For four years we lived in married student housing. He rode his bike to campus, and I drove to the middle of the coast range of mountains to teach at a little school in Eddyville, which had a school, a church, and a post office in a trailer. The school had 250 kids in grades K-12. Then in August 1978 we moved to Corpus Christi where CB had gotten a job with a chemical company to be a research chemist. It was a great shock to be in Corpus with its heat, flatness, and lack of trees and so far away from our families and friends! I taught third grade in an extremely poor area of the city and somehow got ALL the resource (special ed) kids in third grade in my class! It was a shock to teach in south Texas, and that was the last year I ever taught in the public school system.

My oldest son DC turned 28 years old a few days ago, and it is a little odd to think the both CB and I were 28 when we bought our very first house and got our first little dog, a blonde cocker spaniel puppy we named "Bagel." (That reminds me of when CB and I moved from VA to OR and visited friends in Idaho--the husband asked CB if we were ever going to have kids, and CB answered that he'd rather have a dog!) And at 28, I had my first baby, DC. I was lucky enough to stay home with him.

Have you noticed that I haven't mentioned God? The thought of the Divine never occurred to us, not even when we celebrated Christmas and Easter, not even realizing we were observing the secular holidays, not the religious ones. CB and I celebrated as both of our families did--no church at all.

Although CB did not tell me until years later, DC’s birth was when CB began to believe in God. He saw new life emerge in his firstborn. In 1980, a year after DC was born, we joined All Saints Episcopal Church, which is the church I returned to three years ago. Way opened, but I chose not to see it then. Chuck got very involved with the men of the church, especially because he was friends with someone who also worked at his company. I held back, feeling shy and overwhelmed with DC and then baby AE, who woke up at night. Since I didn’t like cookies being served in the nursery, I stopped going and stayed home with the baby. That was my excuse. Chuck went to church on Sundays and then played golf on Saturdays, so I began to resent the church (never thinking God was involved at all) for taking him away from me. Chuck kept going until we moved to Dallas in 1985, after BJ was born. Than we stopped going to church again for the next seven years.

I did not see God even when my first three children were baptized at All Saints before we moved to Dallas. I think I posted somewhere else about how God gifted me with a new view of those baptisms when I was in church for a baptism last month--that even though I was unaware of the liturgy, sacraments, the Divine--only being occupied with my small wiggling children--God was still working within us all. The Divine Reality is present whether I am aware or not.

I also see that God drew me into the loving and supportive community of La Leche League before DC's birth and through the births and childhoods of my other three children, which I wrote about here Absence of God I was helped so much in that community and became the mother my mom did not know how to be in the 1950's with the emphasis upon scientific upbringing. All love is of God, and the love I learned about, experienced and learned to live out, was of God.

As Parker Palmer wrote about, the way opened for me in various ways, and sometimes I can look back now and see where I joined in. As time goes on, I may see how more ways opened also. I am grateful at how God has opened my heart to see his presence in my life, even when I was not living in acknowledgement of the Divine.

Prayer as Gratefulness

"We must distinguish prayer from prayers. Saying prayers is one activity among others. But prayer is an attitude of the heart than can transform every activity. We cannot say prayers at all times, but we out to 'pray without ceasing' (1 Thess 5:17). That means we ought to keep our heart open for the meaning of life. Gratefulness is, therefore, prayerfulness. Moments in which we drink deeply from the source of meaning are moments of prayer, whether we call them so or not. There is no human heart that does not pray, at least in deep dreams that nourish life with meaning. What matters is prayer, not prayers. But prayers are the poetry of prayerful living. Just as poetry gives expression to one's aliveness and makes one more alive, so prayers give expression to one's prayerfulness and make one more prayerful."

David Steindl-Rast. Gratefulness, the Heart of Prayer. NY: Paulist Press, 1984. 211-212.

Small wedding on 7-7-07

I was invited to attend a small wedding this afternoon at All Saints Episcopal Church. Only 12 people were there, plus the bride, groom, and priest. I felt honored to be included, because I've only known the bride for two years and everyone else for 15 years or longer. This is a joyous second marriage for Jackie, who had never anticipated having a romantic relationship again.

While the lovely service went on, I realized that I had not been to an Episcopal wedding since CB and I were married in 1971! As the beautiful words were read and prayed, I wondered if those had been said at our wedding. In my unawareness, God bound us together and blessed us. What a lovely revelation to experience in the joy of Jackie and Aldo's union.

In fact, when I talked about the wedding at dinner tonight, CB jokingly told MJ that we'd been "handcuffed." I had no idea what he meant, until he talked about our hands being bound with something, and then it came to me that he was remembering the priest wrapping our hands with his stole to bless the union, but until today CB hadn't know what that was about!

Fr. David gave a little homily about gratefulness, because the couple had chosen the Beatitudes for the Gospel reading. He told us that they were only the second couple he'd ever married to request that reading. Be grateful always, even when things are not going well, in suffering, in despair, and in anger. What a good reminder.

Today was a day for rejoicing and remembering.

And this reminds me of a favorite book of mine--"Gratefulness, the Heart of Prayer" by David Steindl-Rast. If you have not read this, please get it and read it. Also, Brother David Steindl-Rast's website (Gratefulness) is over in my links. You can even go there and light a cyber-candle for a cause or loved one.

"'Home is where one starts from,' says T. S. Elliot. And this is one way of saying that love is not only the end, but the beginning of all. What we find, when we find our heart (and remember, gratefulness is the key), is God's own life within us. It has been going on from 'before always,' as C. S. Lewis likes to put it. . . .Our heart is rooted in that ultimate belonging. We do not have to earn this, nor do we have to deserve it. It is gratis--pure grace, pure gift. We need only enter into this fullness through gratefulness." (188-189)

Undercutting Democracy

By Trudy Rubin

Inquirer Columnist

A recent trip to the Middle East provides a sobering reminder of the uniqueness of our democracy - and the folly of thinking we can impose our system on far-off lands.

During a June visit to Iraq, well-educated Iraqis told me they yearned for another dictator, though not a psychopath such as Saddam Hussein.

"We want someone really firm who would implement laws," one young Iraqi journalist named Mohammed said, echoing many comments I heard. Who could blame him for preferring an autocrat to a so-called democracy that can't protect its citizens or provide for their welfare?

Mohammed's plaint should make us appreciate the limits on exporting our model, and reexamine our own democracy at home.

On July Fourth, Americans should ponder the historical uniqueness of the Founding Fathers. The Declaration of Independence draws not only on Christian beliefs in the rights endowed by the creator, and on Greek concepts of self-government. Our luckiest break: The Founders were steeped in the British concept of rule of law that had evolved over centuries - the idea that leaders must be subject to the same laws as citizens.

Many of the Founders were lawyers. To them, the idea of rule of law was essential; it served as a rallying cry in the struggle for independence. They also were exceptional leaders and, despite their differences, mostly agreed on the core principles of a new system.

Most Americans take this British heritage for granted and don't fully appreciate its value. Think of South America, where a strict patriarchal tradition undercuts democracy to this day. Or Russia, where leaders adhere to "rule by law," meaning laws are used as clubs by those in power.

In much of the world - including the Middle East - rule of law is a term with little meaning. In Iraq, which lived 40 years under a brutal dictator, a new constitution offers little to people beset by criminal gangs, militias and religious fanatics.

Iraq also is the victim of false analogies about the ease of exporting democracy. President Bush compared Iraq to postwar Japan and Germany - wealthy nations, completely defeated in battle, whose new leaders and publics were ready for a change. The president also compared Iraq, wrongly, to central Europe; this region quickly rebounded from communist dictatorships because it had a history of democracy and links to the West.

The most ludicrous comparison, by former deputy defense secretary Paul Wolfowitz, compared Iraq to post-liberation France. Wolfowitz believed Iraqi exile leader Ahmad Chalabi could establish an Iraqi democracy as Charles de Gaulle did after World War II.

But the abolition of Iraq's main national institutions - its army, the Baath party, its state factories - left the country without a cohesive framework. Ordinary people fell back on the only available social networks: the mosque, new sectarian political parties and religious militias. Elections only solidified the divide, since people voted for sectarian parties. The educated middle class is fleeing abroad.

None of this says Iraqis don't deserve better than Hussein or the current chaos. Nor should it prevent U.S. aid to genuine Arab democrats, an endangered species badly undercut by our mistakes in Iraq.

But the Iraq tragedy should pierce the hubris of those who think the U.S. system can be easily imposed on another country. July Fourth is the right moment to reflect on what makes our own system work.

Just as the Bush team misjudged our ability to export our system, it has been cavalier toward rule of law at home. Guantánamo; Abu Ghraib; domestic spying without court order; White House efforts to expand executive power and install a radical, activist Supreme Court - all chip away at our system's core values. The White House seems bent on undercutting the checks and balances devised by the Founders.

The Islamist terrorist threat - which may continue for years - should not push Americans to abandon the values that set them apart from the non-rule-of-law world. If changes are to be made in our system, they should be made not in secrecy, but as part of an open national debate.

Our failures in Iraq have undercut the appeal of democracy in the Middle East and elsewhere. Our failure to adhere to our founders' values undercuts our own system. It does a disservice to the unique leaders whose legacy we honor today.

http://www.philly.com/inquirer/columnists/trudy_rubin/20070704_Worldview___Exporting_U_S__democracy.html

Friday List

Via Serena, I have the following:
Today's edition of RGBP Friday Five is the following "oldie"

Today what are you:

1. wearing: flax camp shirt and flax crop pants, with comfortable sandals (always in south Texas). I have a very fashionable friend who told me that I'm too "young" to wear comfortable shoes, but that's all I wear anymore!

2. reading: (All of them??) "The Hidden Heart of the Cosmos" by Brian Swimme; "The View from the Center of the Universe" by Joel R. Primach and Nancy Ellen Abrams; "Silence on Fire" by William Shannon and some others lying around. . . .

3. eating: a couple chocolate covered Altoids (which daughter AE says are "gross")

4. doing: on the computer, avoiding cleaning and writing a Sunday School series on "God and the Universe: which starts this Sunday.

5. pondering: evolving ideas about "church" and "God" . . . morality of killing--after a conversation with AE a few days ago, about the SAME wrong being committed by terrorists with innocent people and soldiers in war (especially U. S. soldiers). . . . remember my oldest son's birth 28 years ago today. . . . pondering. . . . ."God and the Universe". . . . .

Church or God?

Maybe this is part of my "faith story," maybe not. Just the comments and my thoughts from My Faith Story 1 have spawned further ramblings.

I remember that my mother in her later years would say, "Sometime I will start going to church." She never did. And in the periods of my religiosity until the 1990's, I thought "going to church" was what one did if one wanted to be "religious." The vision of God being the Master Clockmaker was in our minds, I'm sure, so that "church" was where to go, because God was far away. (God existed, but after creating, left the world to be on its own.)

For too long, I expected "church" to provide the experience of God, and if that didn't materialize, that was what "church" was like. This may be what Mompriest was talking about in her comment about the way the church of the 1950's was--though I have to say that's what I experienced through the 1990's, and it is probably how my three oldest children feel nowadays.

Now I am saddened to see how I had no conception of a relationship with God and only realized the "necessity" of going "to church." Somehow, "church" and "God" meant the same thing, which did not carry much emotional (spiritual?) connection. What is worse is that this attitude was conveyed to our children (as my husband seemed to feel the same way).

This has been nagging at me for awhile, because my daughter AE, who lives in Seattle, talks about "church" and all the things she objects to over time that it has done wrong and equates all this with "God." This "God" she does not believe in. (Me, neither.) More and more, I think she does not believe in "church."

Maybe it's easier to look at "church" because it's concrete. The Holy One continues to love and change me, which is proof for me, but not scientifically provable. Our post-enlightenment minds (Look at What’s the point of Christianity?) want to know "WHY?" when the proper response is "WHO is with me/us?"

New poem for discussion!

Diane posted a new poem to consider, and now I'm copying MomPriest's idea of linking to Diane's poem--so go read To Be of Use

My Faith Story 1--My youth

Parker Palmer, who is a Quaker writer and teacher, related a story I remember often in his book, Let Your Life Speak. Parker was given traditional Quaker advice when he was seeking a new direction in his life, “Have faith, and way will open.”

“I have faith,” he thought to myself. “What I don’t have is time to wait for ‘way’ to open. I’m approaching middle age at warp speed, and I have yet to find a vocational path that feels right. The only way that’s opened so far is the wrong way.” –Haven’t we all felt this way?-- Parker was frustrated and finally sought out an older Quaker woman well known for her thoughtfulness and candor.

Ruth’s reply was a model of Quaker plain-speaking. “I’m a birthright Friend,” she said somberly, “and in sixty-plus years of living, way has never opened in front of me.” She paused, and Parker started sinking into despair. Was this wise woman telling him that the Quaker concept of God’s guidance was a hoax?

Then she spoke again, this time with a grin, “But a lot of way has closed behind me, and that’s had the same guiding effect.” (p. 38)

Now I am looking back and see how way was opened and closed behind me in the past, whether I knew it or not at the time.

So much of my life was spent unaware of God. I did not have a family or church community who told me about God. My dad was in the Marine Corps and we moved to different military bases every few years. I was an only child, and sometimes my parents would drop me off for Sunday School at the base non-denominational church, but not consistently. In such a life, way didn’t seem to open, as we were sent wherever and whenever the Marine Corps ordered my dad to go. There never seemed to be a choice in how we lived—we never saw or thought of looking for a way to open.

Aren’t you aware of people, probably many of you, who grew up in a faithful family where God was acknowledged and worshipped? They have a different sense of life, with a holy knowing within. Others, like me, experience that more and more as time goes on, but it has felt like a striving on my part until fairly recently. There is this faith that whether the way opens or not, God is with us.

I did not grow up with that. In my 40s, I looked back on my life as one where God was not. And only recently have I seen how way was opened to me when I was younger, and how I followed, but usually got distracted. Still, I know now that God was inviting me continually into relationship, but I didn’t know that was possible for a very long time.

Basically, I grew up in an unchurched family. So it is surprising to look back to see how I asked to be baptized in St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Bellingham, Wash. when I was in 11^th grade. I’d been going to services there for awhile, by myself and wanted to become an Episcopalian, as my unknown grandfather had been. My parents were indifferent to my interest in the Episcopal Church and did not attend my baptism or my confirmation. Their attitude was so natural that I did not even consider that they should attend! I continued to attend services throughout college until CB and I were married in that same church, even though he claimed to be an atheist. And that’s when we both stopped going to church.

Can’t you see way opened for me? God brought me into the Episcopal Church, with no one inviting me except him. There was a period of five years that I regularly attended services. I was shy and did not meet other people, and now I don’t remember ever being advised on spiritual practices, not even prayer. I just thought I was supposed to go to church! And then I wondered why I didn’t feel anything like the Jesus Freaks around our college campus. I guess I thought I was supposed to have an emotional experience, which never came—that burning bush! Sometimes I would even announce in my bedroom, “I take Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior”—and nothing happened. So I definitely felt that God was off in his heaven, and left us on our own.

Happy Interdependence Day!

Too much rain here for much outside celebration. The last time I posted, on Monday, we got 10 inches of rain in one day!

Grandmère Mimi has a picture of flags that we need to remember and hold in our hearts today and every day.

On a different note, here is an article I enjoyed in my email today, entitled "True In-dependence." I always like quotes and St. Seraphim of Sarov is a favorite. http://explorefaith.org/july4/In_dependence.html

And a retired Methodist minister friend has told me that he and others are calling today "INTERDEPENDENCE DAY." (This comes from Tikkun founder Rabbi Michael Lerner. You can read about his proclamation about this 4th of July becoming Interdependence Day at
http://www.tikkun.org/rabbilernerarticles/julyfourth/view?searchterm=Interdependence%20Day

O, Holy One, help us to remember you and how you connect us to everyone and everything. Help us to celebrate our interdependence. Amen.

Rain

It's raining, it's pouring, the old man is snoring.

We've had thunderstorms booming and pouring rain since 4:30 this morning. Baillie, our cocker spaniel, is scared of the thunder, because she learned this from her former older "sister," Licorice, a black lab, who died last year. Cisco, the young shepherd mix the children gave my strong, quiet husband CB at Christmas, is not afraid.

I like rain, since I spent much of my life, before Corpus Christi, TX, in the Pacific Northwest. I am always deluded by the weather here though--as I look out the windows (and the air conditioner is running), I expect that it would be cool outside. Yes, it's somewhat "cooler," but still in the 80s and very humid.

The 13 year old addition that connects the sunroom (where two computers sit on different desks) with the laundry room and a bedroom has a roof that is leaking again. In more spots than ever. Over the past few years, CB has "fixed" various spots around the seeming origin--even so much as re-roofing that part of the roof. I'm glad he is so proficient at repairs. Now we have two buckets collecting water. . . .

I remember when I first moved to Corpus Christi from Oregon in 1978, I read an article in the local newspaper that warned about the coming onslaught of mosquitoes (after thunderstorms, like the current ones). I still recall that this article said that there are over 200 different varieties of mosquitoes, and they ALL live in this area. So in a week or so, those will be swarming. . . .

And I still like the rain.

Name Four Things

Avoiding walking away from the computer, here is a leap into the latest meme:

Four Jobs I've Had
elementary school teacher
pre-school teacher
typist
coffee shop cook/cashier

Four Movies I Can Watch Over and Over Again
The American President
Dave
Guarding Tess
Michael

Four Places I've Lived
(since I've been married)
Morristown, NJ
North Kingstown, RI
Richmond, VA
Corvallis, OR

Four Places I've Lived
(before marriage)
Yokosuka, Japan
Camp Pendleton, CA
Quantico, VA
Bellingham, WA

Four Places I've Vacationed
London, England
Berlin, Germany (visiting daughter AE)
Seoul, South Korea (visiting daughter AE)
Ashland, OR

Four of My Favorite Dishes
salmon
chocolate
raspberries (esp. grown in WA)
dungeness crab

Four Sites I Visit Daily
Email
My blog site
Friends and new friends' blogs
Amazon.com (almost daily!)

Four Places I'd Rather Be Right Now
Walking around Boulevard Park in Bellingham, WA as the sun sets
Living in my parents' house in Bellingham, which is rented out right now
Any place cool enough to walk outside (away from hot, muggy Corpus Christi, TX)
Seeing an outdoor play in Ashland, OR