Category: God Moments

Posted on

Strangers on a Plane

Isn’t it funny how you can meet someone and connect with them almost instantly?

Last week while flying from Sarasota to Charlotte I sat next to the most extraordinary young woman.  She was travelling home to Pittsburgh with her two teenage children.  Our conversation started with the usual, “where are you going?”, but I’m sure neither of us had a clue where we were heading in the ninety minutes or so on that plane.

At first our connections were based on geography; my sister lived for a short while in the same town her husband grew up in.  The information started with a steady drip and then flowed freely like a faucet opened full blast.  Unlike some of my encounters with strangers where data is dumped and then is ended, I shared with her as well.  In a very short time we were fully engaged in topics that are usually reserved for close friends and certainly not shared with casual acquaintances.  We were two women, both on journeys home, at different stages in the journey of life, coming together for a brief moment sharing conversational postcards of where we’d been and where we hope to go.

Pardon the pun but the time “flew” by.   As we landed in Charlotte, my new friend turned to me and said, “I can’t believe this.  I never talk to anyone on planes.”

As I look back, almost a week later, I am reminded of the story of Jesus and the woman at the well; of the excitement she felt after her chance meeting with the Lord.  I know we were not alone in row 6; the Spirit was also there, prompting and fostering the connections.  There are no cooincidences in life. Chance meetings are not just a roll of the dice, they are “chance” in terms of opportunity; a chance to make the connection.

I’m not certain why my new friend and I we seated together on that plane.  It could have been to make the trip a little more pleasant, or something more.  I may never know.  For now, it is enough that it was.

 

Posted on

On the Road to Chinese New Year

This past weekend we were provided with an assortment of reminders of the fragility of our lives.  It all started Thursday evening when Dave came home from work.  After almost forty years together, I can read his face pretty well so I knew something was “up” the minute he walked through the door.  He said there had been a late afternoon conference call announcing the company’s plan to trim expenses by eliminating 10% of the upper management.  (As any good gardener knows, the best way to prune is from the top down.) All affected parties would be notified by 11:00 on Monday.

Dave was reasonably certain his job would not be cut.  Based on the criteria provided, he was fulfilling the requirements the company expected.  While I didn’t doubt that, I am wise enough to know that there are always exceptions to any company guidelines.  Sometimes the good folks are let go and the inept prosper.  Either way, it was going to be a long way from Thursday to Monday.  Fortunately, we were travelling to Virginia Beach for the weekend to visit friends and celebrate the Chinese New Year at the Peking Duck as we have for the past several years.  The distraction of “busy-ness” from business was welcomed.

We got a late start on Saturday morning because the roads were still iced over following a day of a “wintry mix”.  As I sipped my coffee, still in my jammies, I scanned my email, checking and deleting the scores of sales adds I receive every day when I spied a note from Wendy, my college roommate, labelled “sad news”.  In it she briefly related that her older son had been killed in a car accident last week and provided the service details and a link to the local news paper coverage.  I can’t even imagine how the pain from this type of loss feels, but just the thought of it caught me in the gut, as if taking on some of her burden. I sent her a short reply expressing my sorrow and acknowledging my frustration in not being able to effectively do anything to ease her pain.

Once I the road, I made a couple of phone calls to firm up our evening plans.  Since Dave and Vanya had a prior commitment, we were planning on attending evening Mass at St. Mark’s and then joining some old friends for dinner.  During that conversation I learned that a friend had passed away on Sunday.  He was an elderly gentleman, in his eighties but in reasonably good health.  Friends saw him at Mass Sunday morning where he went up to the altar at the end of Mass to get Communion to take home to his wife.  Later that afternoon while he was at the Library returning books, he suffered a massive stroke.  About 11:00 that night, after receiving the Sacrament of Healing, he passed.  He’d led a long and full life and died with his wife and family at his side.  It’s sad to know his wife will be alone for a while, but other than that, there isn’t too much to feel bad about.

So, with these three definite examples of just how quickly like can change, we headed back to Virginia Beach to gather with dear friends and celebrate a New Year.

Car trips are always a time of introspection for me.  Perhaps it is because the monotony of the Interstate highway or the constant low hum of the road noise that acts like a mantra and keeps me focused.  It was a cloudy day, with ever so brief breaks when the sun peaked through.  Whatever the reason, I had plenty to ponder as the miles ticked by.  Aside from the obvious, the fragility of life – not only of other peoples’ lives, but also of my own, I marvelled at the trilogy of examples provided me and now wonder what kernel of truth I am to glean from it all – what action, if any, I am being called to take.

I have an old friend who has what she calls her “Test for Truth”.   The test basically calls for some kind of verification from three unrelated sources.  Got three.  I’m just not quite clear what the question is.  I suppose that given the clarity of the answers, the question will reveal itself in time.  Perhaps another car trip will hasten its disclosure.

p.s.  Dave’s job was spared.  At least for now, the threat of our own life change was only a soft reminder.

Posted on

Unpacking the Holidays

Yesterday afternoon,while meeting with my Bible study gals, when it was my turn to share my “highs and lows” of the Christmas holiday,  I began to unpack and take a good look at my one real low – not going to Mass on Christmas Eve.

In past years, the thought never would have crossed our minds.  Our routine was set in stone.  After the final preparations were made, we’d clean up the kitchen, shower and then Dave would drive off to pick up what has become our traditional Christmas Eve dinner – Kentucky Fried Chicken.  I know KFC seems an unusual holiday meal, but for so many years when Dave and the kids were in different choirs singing at different Masses, the quickest way to get a warm meal was to go through the drive thru and pick up a bucket of chicken and fixings on the way home from the first Mass.  Since we don’t eat fried chicken on a regular basis, it was a treat and the tradition stuck.  No matter where we lived from Virginia to Hawaii, it was KFC on Christmas Eve.

After our finger lickin’ good dinner we would get dressed and head to Mass where we would join our St Mark’s church family to celebrated Christ’s incarnation.  Even after Maggie and Andy had moved out on their own and seemed to only enter churches for weddings, Christmas was a time for their homecoming.  It was a time to be welcomed back into the warm arms of a church community that had know them most of their lives. It was my way of positively reinforcing church for them, albeit once a year.

This year, our first year away from St Mark’s, there wasn’t a warm Catholic community waiting to welcome Dave and I, let alone our children.   My friends at Peace Lutheran have been lovingly urging me to join them at their services but up until the afternoon of Christmas Eve, I assumed we would attend Mass, just because we always do.

As the time grew closer to the chicken run, Dave asked , “Do you want to go to Mass or not?”  Now I’ve known this man long enough to know the tone of his question implied that he was putting the decision totally on my shoulders.  Like the kids, he wasn’t feeling any strong reason to take time out of our Christmas Eve to go to Mass.  I don’t know if it was because I was tired, or had a weak moment, but I told him that if no one else wanted to go, we could just stay home.

Until that moment, I had been mostly happy, with very little thought about our being in our new home and away from all our traditions and friends and community.  Choosing to opt out of God because I didn’t feel a connection in our new parish left me feeling sad and alone for the very first time since our move.

So yesterday, as I shared my story with my friends, I was reminded my one of them that the empty spot I felt where my church experience should have been was something I should remember – to make sure it doesn’t happen again.  I wonder now if what I felt was not only my longing for God or God’s longing for me.  Just as I missed my time with God on Christmas, God missed spending time with me.

I had passed up an open invitation from the almighty.  What a maroon!  I certainly won’t let that happen again.

Posted on

Wrong Time, Right Place

Okay.  I admit I’ve been away for a while.  I suppose you want to know what I’ve been up to this past week or so.  Well, here goes.

Most of last week I struggled with my cold.  It didn’t slow me down too much, but I did take naps most afternoons.

Friday morning, I decided to go to Harris Teeter to pick up my 47 cents per pound turkey before my Prayer Shawl meeting.  I took my time going up and down the aisles, filling my cart with their specials knowing I had until 11:00.  After a while, I glanced down at my watch and discovered it was 10:50.  I hurried to the checkout where I stood behind an older gentleman with a few items in his cart and many questions regarding his receipt.  I realized patience was my best course of action since nobody would care if I was late.

After loading my groceries into the back of the CRV, I climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.  I happened to glance at the clock and noticed that it read 10:15.  Oops!  Apparantly I never adjusted my watch when we fell back with the clocks a couple of weeks ago.  As my reality sinqed with the real world, I realized I would be really early for meeting instead of late.  I decided to head over to Starbucks for a latte.

With my latte and lemon pound cake in hand, I drove across the street to the church and gave my friend Sarah a call to kill some time.  As we were talking, I happened to notice some steam or smoke coming from the engine.  Glancing at the temperature gauge, I saw my engine was hot – something I’ve never seen on this car.  So, I said goodbye to Sarah. popped the hood and gave Dave a call.

My phone was apparantly in the process of updating something and promptly dropped my call and froze the touch screen.  By this time, some of the ladies were beginning to arrive for our meeting.  Soon my friend Carol approached the car to take a look with me.  I gave her the rundown and she called her brother.  A few minutes later, a fellow who works with Dave showed up to see if he could help. (Dave was interviewing a prospective hire and would be tied up for the next hour.)  For the next ten minutes or so Carol, her brother, Dave’s associate and I debated on what my next course of action should be.  Since it appeared that the problem was with the radiator, we decided to let it cool until we could add some water and then I would drive it to the garage around the corner.  Knitting in hand, Carol and I went into the church together. So, I actually was late for my meeting after all!

An hour later, Dave arrived.  We transferred the groceries to his car and he followed me to the repair shop.   

Some might think I was just lucky to have been at the church.  I prefer to think it was God’s way of reminding me that I’m not alone.  After all, technically, this isn’t even my  church, but these ladies are a big part of my community.

As for the CRV, it needed a new radiator

 

 

Posted on

Ecumenical Me

It appears that it takes more than one church community to keep me happily connected to my faith.  Sundays Dave and I attend the one (very early) Mass at our tiny nearby parish and on Wednesdays we go to choir practice (yes, I’ve finally joined).  Worship there is on a small scale, both intimate and isolating.  Although we are not having difficulty in becoming involved,  we are having more of a challenge in feeling connected.

On Thursdays and Fridays though, I hang with the Lutherans.

It all started when soon after moving here, my neighbor, Angela asked what I liked to do to keep busy.  She mentioned that her church had a prayer shawl ministry that met on Friday mornings and asked if I’d be interested in tagging along with her.  I thought it would be a great way to meet more people and to spend time doing something I love.  So, a few weeks later, I met her at Peace Lutheran and became one of the prayer shawl ladies.

I’ve heard of the prayer shawl ministry before and at one time thought about getting one going at St. Marks but my time was already too full with work, home, church and friends to find the time or focus to do so.  The concept is simple, you knit shawls and blankets for folks in the community who need some spiritual support.  As we knit, we are updated on the sick of the community.  When a project is completed, it is carefully folded and tied with a ribbon and labelled with the name of the recipient.  At the end of the session, the group gathers in the sanctuary where the shawl is draped lovingly upon a cross-shaped mini quilt rack in the center of the main aisle.  We join hands and offer prayers for all the sick and dedicated the new shawl.  The shawls remain in the sanctuary through the weekend so that the congregation can touch them and offer prayers as they approach the table for Communion.

The idea is so simple, so loving, so meaningful.  Mind you, not all of the knitters in this group are as experienced as me.  For many, this is the only knitting they have ever done so each stitch is ever so carefully and intentionally placed on the needle.   But the results are anything but second rate.  There is no pressure to rush through a project, only words of encouragement.   I can only imagine what it must feel like to receive one of these special items, so tenderly crafted for the express purpose of providing comfort, like a warm hug from the community.  I am truly enjoying my time with them and find myself drawn into the greater community through the prayer and caring for its people in a way that I seem to lack in my own parish.

Yesterday, I began a Bible study with a small group of ladies at Peace Lutheran.  Again, my friend Angela was the catalyst.   It has been a very long time since I’ve had the opportunity to participate in a concentrated study like this and I have hungered for it.  Until yesterday, I didn’t realize just how much.   The name of the course is “Jesus the One and Only” by Beth Moore.  My Protestant friends all seem to know of her but she is new to me.  It took a while to get past the more vibrant and at times down-right sappy sentimentalism of her style but her scholarship is good.  She takes great pains to going back to key Greek words and expanding the translation.  I love that!

Although this is a new group of women, I already feel a part of the community because of the insight I’ve gained from my time with the Prayer Shawl ministry.  I feel so drawn to the people in this church.  As always, I trust there is a plan for all of this.  Until the blueprints are revealed to me, I will continue in both places.  After all there is only one God and if as we believe this God is present in three persons, why can’t this presence also be in more than one church?  I’ll keep you posted but for now, I’ve got to grab my knitting!

 

 

 

Posted on

Adventures in a Cat-A-Tonic State

Well, it’s been one week since the addition of a kitten into our household and for the most part, the adjustment period is going well.  Like any other home where there is a young one present, our family room carpet is littered with a variety of toys and household items that have been found to be amusing.  Much of our daily routine revolves around the little one, answering its cries, feeding, cleaning and comforting as required.  Unlike the addition of a new little human or canine baby however, there are no late night events to interrupt my sleep.  This is a good thing

Our first order of business in our early days with our baby was to find the perfect name.  The papers we received from the SPCA referred to our baby as “Sterling”; a three month old male kitten.    We weren’t crazy about the name, a little pretentious in our opinion.  I also was beginning to have my doubts that we indeed had a male kitten.  Aside from the total lack of evidence of any male paraphernalia, there was an incision scar on the tummy.  Our first visit to our new vet at the Ruckersville Animal Hospital, confirmed my suspicions and our kitten was declared a very healthy female kitten.  I’ve heard people say that kittens are difficult to sex, but honestly, you’d think they would have noticed when they spayed her and corrected their mistake.  Not that gender really makes any difference to me, she’d be just as cute as a he.

After much deliberation, we decided on the name “Pearl” which I soon modified the spelling to “Purrl” – a triple entendre referencing her color, her wonderful “motor” skills and my love for knitting.  I believe Purrl is destined to become a knitting enthusiast as well, trying her hand at assisting me with a pair of socks I was working on last night.

So far Izzie is accepting Purrl with great kindness.  I was so concerned that she’d been an only cat so long that she wasn’t going to be happy sharing the love.  After all, Izzie is the Queen and Dave and I her subjects.  But, the other night as Izzie sat perched on the back of the couch, Purrl approached her, wailing her baby cry.  Izzie extended her front paw and laid it across Purrl’s shoulders and began to lick her head and face.  It was a such a sweet moment.

I don’t know why I need these fur balls in my home, but I do.  They fill my house with activity and sometimes even mayhem and most of all love.  Izzie may not want to be with me all day, but she had set times when my presence is required – and it’s not only at meal time.  Lately, she’s made it known that she would like me to come take naps with her on my bed.  The funny thing is that I’ve been trying to get her to curl up with me on the couch forever (in her life terms).   The compromise is acceptable.

Since our move here, Izzie has been spending most of her daytime hours in the back yard.  She becoming quite a hunter.  At first her prey were the house finches at the feeder which was not a happy things as far as I’m concerned but the other day she caught a mole and brought it up to the house to present it to us.  She was ever so proud, and rightly so.

I know that there are a great many dog people who believe that their relationship has taught them much about God due to the characteristic traits we’ve bred into those animals since the first tame wolf came closer to a fire for some warmth or a scrap of meat.  Dogs are known for their loyalty, obedience and most of all, unconditional affection.  Cats, however provide insight into relationship with God that dogs, by their nature, just can’t.

Did you ever hear the expression “It was like herding cats”?  Cats provide a good workable image of free will.  You can not make a cat obey you, the cat must choose to do so.  Furthermore, in choosing to do what you want, the cat has decided there is something in it for her.  How human is that?

I’m not trash talking dogs.  I love dogs.  I’m just saying that a cats can provide a glimpse of what is must be like to be God.   This first week with Purrl has given me a little more insight in just how frustrated and disappointed God must get sometimes.  Like God, my intentions are all good.  All I want to do is insure that Purrl eats properly and is safe at all times.  In return, it seems like not too much to ask for her to at least acknowledge that all the blessings of sustenance and entertainment flow from me.  What do I want in return?  Just a little love – is that so wrong?

Maybe instead I’ll try to be more God like and patiently wait for Purrl to come to me. In the meantime, I might try curling up on my heavenly father’s lap for a while.  I think he’d like that.

 

 

 

Posted on

Planes, Trains and Automobiles, Hotdogs and the Homeless

This past weekend, the Clan Waugh assembled for no particular reason except for the fact all our calendars allowed it.  Andy flew in from San Diego, Amy took the train down from New Brunswick and Maggie and Jan drove up from Richmond.  Even Dave was able to be with us (his first weekend off this month).

In celebration of this momentous event, we built a fire in the pit out back and sat in the dark around it eating tasty grilled hotdogs imported from Buffalo with baked beans and crunchy pickles on the side.  Real hotdogs only come from western and central New York – just ask anyone who’s ever lived there.   Chicago hotdogs come close and there are those who would argue that Coney Island is the home of the hotdog.   But, if you’re lucky enough to have the opportunity to try a Sahlen’s Buffalo) or Hofmann’s (Syracuse) hotdog, after one bite, you’ll know I speak the truth.

After feasting on our dogs, we toasted marshmallows and made s’mores.  It was a perfect early fallish evening, with cool crisp air a sky so clear full of stars. The fire kept us warm and provided enough light to see at least a few feet.  At one point Izzie took advantage of the comings and goings out the back door and rushed out to join us.  I don’t usually let her out after dark because of the wild things. To ease the general concern for Izzie running around in the dark, I shared a story about how when I was a kid, we took our cat camping with us.  When we arrived at our site, she’d jump out the car door with the rest of us.  When we were ready to leave, she was right there, ready to go home.  I find that totally amazing, even now.  Then as now, we couldn’t see the kitty but could hear her bell jingling from time to time as she moved around the yard.

On Saturday we took a trip into C’ville to visit the Downtown Mall; a closed-off street in the old downtown area of the city, lined with a variety of shops and eateries leading to the nTelos Wireless Pavilion amphitheater.  Maybe I was just tired from the night before, and the day was cloudy, but I found myself really wanting to leave not long after arriving.

Instead of finding the charm of the late 19th century architecture or the beauty of the garden planters, I was distracted by the large number of panhandlers and homeless.  I just never know what to do when confronted by these people.  Their mere presence nudges me to take action on their behalf.  But what kind of action should I take?  Should I give them money?  Will they use it for food as their cardboard signs claim or buy drugs or booze?  Should I buy them food and give that to them?  Are they really in need or are they working the crowd?  It seems all I can do without hesitation is pray for them.

A woman approached Dave and I while we were waiting for the kids to finish up in an antique shop.  She blurted out her story without invitation or taking a breath.  She had spent the night in the hospital and was released in the morning without being fed.  She was a sad looking soul, probably about my age.  Her skin was pale and her nose was scabbed over as if she’d taken a tumble head first onto gravel.  A kind nurse had given her a pair of scrub pants to wear because all she’d been wearing the night before was a t-shirt and shorts and the weather had taken a turn.  She said her wallet was at home and all she needed was a couple of dollars to get a bite from the McDonald’s dollar menu.  Her boyfriend was going to pick her up when he got off work, she said, but really need something to eat before then.

I almost never carry cash, I so rarely need it.  My life is conveniently paid for electrically either online or with plastic.  Luckily, Dave had a couple of singles and offered them to her.  She thanked us and went on her way.

One on one, it’s easy to made a decision.  When a person comes to me for help, I’ll do my best to lend a hand or few dollars as the case may be.  After she left, I asked Dave if he thought her story was true.  He said he supposed it was possible since she was wearing scrubs and still had a hospital bracelet on her wrist.  In the end though, it really didn’t matter.

 

 

 

Posted on

From Tape to Eternity

I’m supposed to be painting the bathroom.  For the better part of the last hour I’ve been tediously taping off all the woodwork and tile in preparation.  All the painting “stuff” is in a mass outside the door on my bedroom floor.  With all systems “go”, why am I blogging?

Well, whenever I am faced with a mundain job like pre-paint taping, my mind begins to wander.  Anyone who knows me is familiar with my talent of linking seemingly unrelated topics.  Once I begin a voyage of the mind, only God knows where I’ll end up.

This morning I have been a bit preoccupied by my calico, Izzie, who seems to be spending more and more time outside.  So far, she hasn’t left the backyard, spending the majority of her time on the deck observing the birds and squirrels at the feeders.  I feel more comfortable letting her out here because there isn’t the danger of getting hit by a car or attacked by another cat like there was at our last house.  Besides, she makes such a racket at the back door, it’s a relief just to open it and let her go!  She never spends more than an hour or so out and then will come in to eat, use the box or nap.   When she’s out, I check on her as I would a child, just to make sure she’s in eyeshot.  Sometimes she’ll come to the door and cry like she wants to come in when what she really wants is for me to come out and be with her.  Cute.  Other times, when I come to the door, I can tell she’s been sitting there for a while, waiting.

So, there I was, crawling along the baseboards, taping away, thinking about Izzie and hoping she was alright in the backyard, when it occurred to me that this relationship we have is very similar to my relationship to God.  I have been “let out the back door” so to speak.  I trust God is checking out the door every once in a while to make sure I’m still in view.   I also believe that when I ask, God will be with me outside and when I am really in need, if I wait by the door, it will be opened to me.  Maybe the opportunity won’t come as quickly as I’d like, but God will open the door if I trust and stay close by.

I am by definition a “cradle Catholic”.  I was baptized prior to the Vatican II Council and was a small child during the transition to the Mass in the vernacular.  All through my teen and young adult years I was aware of the angst these changes caused.  So much so that even today, almost fifty years later, the changes are being debated.  This Advent season, the English speaking church will embark on more changes which to some appear to be a turning back to the “old ways”.

At first, I have to admit, the thought of a change had my fur rubbed the wrong way.   I even considered checking out other denominations, tired of the bickering between those who want the Mass to be more holy and those who are happy with the status quo.  Then I had an epiphany – so this is how the PeePs (People in Pews) felt in the Sixties and Seventies – maybe it’s not the change but the conflict that is so unsettling.

In my mind wandering this morning, I have decided that as long as I trust that God is watching over me and will answer me when I call and open the door, eventually, that is good enough for me.  I am weary of debating which words are the right words to say and whether it is more reverent to stand or kneel.  I know I don’t care whether Izzie meows in a special way or pats on the door in the appropriate manner.  That isn’t what relationship is about.

So there you go.  From taping the baseboards to a philosophical epiphany.