Category: God Moments

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Three Hours at the Repair Shop

I meet the nicest people everywhere I go.  Today, for instance, I took my car in for some routine service and since I was told it would take about an hour, decided to wait there at the shop instead of inconveniencing someone to pick me up and take me.  Besides, I was just down the road from Target and I figured I could always stop in for a quick look afterwards.

To keep me occupied, I packed my knitting, my IPad, this week’s grocery adds and a book on Ignation Spirituality as well as two cheese sticks and an apple to tide me through lunch.  Sounds like a lot of stuff to bring for an hour’s wait but this, as they say, was not my first rodeo, and as it turns out, the mechanic broke two of my lug nuts as he took off my tires for rotation.  This resulted in a call to the local parts store and an additional wait for delivery.  My one hour wait turned out to be three.

When I arrived there were already two men in the waiting area having a discussion about retirement.  I pulled out my grocery adds and began to scan them for bargains. Every so often, I would dial into their dialog, peering over the top of the newspaper.  Needless to say, it didn’t take long for me to find a way to impose myself into their conversation and we were off; finding all the many ways our life paths had criss-crossed each other.  All of us, as it turns out, had not only had prior ties to the military, but all of us had lived in Denver, affiliated with Lawry Air Force Base.  What are the odds?  We talked about yesterday’s election, gun control laws and gun ownership, motorcycles, our pets and life in central Virginia.  Even though we were strangers, it was as if we were just catching up instead of meeting for the first time.

As we talked, I knitted.  The hours flew by.  My scarf grew longer.  One by one, my companions left.  For a while I was alone. I ate my apple and cheese sticks.  Then, another younger man came in and took a seat.  Soon a conversation was born and we were trading stories.

All in all, it was a very good way to spend the day, or at least three hours of it.

 

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On the Way to Church

This morning as I drove to church, the aroma of warm Virginia ham wafted from the casserole on the floor; my contribution to the morning’s  “Get Acquainted” potluck breakfast. All my senses told me it was going to be a good day.

Even Walmart looked enchanted with the backdrop of late autumn colored foliage and the steel blue mountains rising behind. The Blue Ridge were certainly living up their name. The sky had the same cold steel tone of blue but in billows of variegation’s of light and dark, blue and white.

The color and the vastness reminded me of the beach; the feelings of smallness in the infinite, of being a tiny part in the greatness. And, I suppose that’s a good way to feel on your way to church.

Have I told you how much I love living here?

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Down From the Mountain Top

I made my Cursillo this weekend.  From Thursday evening through Sunday afternoon, I was totally immersed in a quiet, reflective world of loving Christian women hoping to “renew and strengthen their love of Jesus; to grow in faith, knowledge and personal holiness; to bring Christian values to all environments and people with whom they come into contact.”(borrowed from the Cursillo pamphlet).  It was a life adjusting experience, full of nourishment for the soul and energizing grace.  My body has returned from the mountain, but my soul still soars!

I am a daughter of God; a sister of Christ and I will strive to live accordingly.

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Hello Dalai

Last July when my buddies Sue and Lynda came down for lunch at the C’ville Downtown Mall, they noticed signs for an upcoming visit by the Dalai Lama and determined that we should make a date to regather on October 11th for the event.  Since I live down here, they put me in charge of tickets, etc.

Sue and Lynda are not your run of the mill friends.  They are a dynamic twosome, full of energy and “joie de vivre”. Whenever I am with them, life becomes an adventure, an escape from the everyday, and the world becomes a place of wonder and awe.  That doesn’t mean they lead me astray, although there was that one time when they egged me on to climb onto the back of a dirty old horse and ride him bareback in my party attire…    Our fun is always good and clean, except of course for the horse.

We have been friends for more than fifteen years, since we lived in Vienna, VA for a couple of years in the mid 90’s.  I met Sue first, she was the Director of Religious Education at our parish and Lynda was her long time friend.  They sort of took me under-wing as their sidekick and we’ve been adventuring and supporting each other ever since.

So, last Thursday they came down to see the Dalai Lama.  It was a glorious fall day; the sky was clear and the sun shone warm enough just to take the chill out of the crisp air.  I’d planned ahead by purchasing a parking pass so finding a place to leave the car wasn’t an issue and our seats were wonderful.

The audience in the amphitheater were an interesting lot.  As Lynda put it, “there was a lot of granola out there!”  Charlottesville has a strong Buddihist community and UVA has a large Tibetan Studies Department so there was a healthy mix of vegans, vegetarians, Buddists, Tibetans, students and everyday folks, all kept under close scrutiny by a sizable contingent of State Department and Secret Service agents in black suits and sunglasses.

Before the Dalai Lama spoke, there were performances by the Red Crooked Sky American Indian Dance Troupe,Techung, a Tibetan folk singer and children from a local Tibetan school.  The costumes, music and energy all worked to calm the crowd and help focus on the main event,  a presentation, “Beyond Religion, Ethics for a New World” by His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama of Tibet.

Keith Anderson from the “Red Crooked Sky American Indian Dance Troupe” We saw him walking down the Mall; he was replendant!

As he quietly took the stage and the audience stood in applause, I felt goosebumps go up my arms and neck and I quietly wondered if I would feel the same in the presence of the Pope.  I guess I’ll never know.  He spoke softly, smiling the whole time with the occasional assistance from his translator.  Sue, Lynda and I all envied not only the translator for his close proximity to the Dalai Lama but also the Dalai Lama for having someone constantly at his side providing the word he was searching for.  What a perk that is!

And, even though the title of the talk was “Beyond Religion”, the Dalai Lama in no way dismissed or discounted religion.  Instead, he encouraged us to look to each other with love and compassion, embracing the common elements found in all religions and look beyond our differences in dealing with the challenges we all face in this world.  His style was less of preaching and more of gentle leading.  He exuded warmth and cheerfulness, and chuckled throughout his talk, usually referring in a humbling way about himself; not self-effacing, simply finding humor in his humanity.

It struck me that perhaps this is how Jesus’ followers saw him, a simple holy man, travelling from place to place, sharing his message of compassion and love of neighbor.  No, the Dalai Lama is not THE son of God, but he certainly is A son of God and one in whom I am certain He is well pleased.  I am so grateful that Sue and Lynda saw the sign and guided me into this adventure.

more to follow…..

 

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There’s Always Another First Day of School

This week the kids went back to school here in Greene County.  First thing Tuesday morning the “Cheese Wagons” rolled out in force picking up the excited and not so excited to begin another school year.

Since it’s been more than a decade since I’ve sent anyone to school, I’ve had to live the event vicariously through my friends and neighbors.  My neighbor Angela and family prepared to send their grandson off to kindergarten.  Watching their preparations and anticipation of this giant step in this young person’s life; to step onto a large vehicle of public transportation alone, with his name pinned to his shirt, brought back so many memories of first days of school gone by.

On my first day of kindergarten, my mother and I waited patiently on our front steps for the bus.  I don’t remember my dress (dresses were the norm then) but I do remember a beautiful hand knit bolero jacket I wore.  The yarn was ecru with a gold thread running through it.  Despite our best preparations, the bus missed me and drove on by sending my mother scrambling.

When it was time to send Maggie off to school, I worried about the location of her bus stop.  It was on the other side of the busiest street in our neighborhood.  I put on my big girl panties and called the school requesting a change to our side of the street.  My request was granted and I’d made my first step towards and long and happy relationship with the school system that lasted until our move several years later.

It was so much harder for me to let her get on that bus than for her to take the first step!

By the next year when Andy was to go, a new school was built on the edge of our neighborhood and we were in a walking zone.  Walking seemed like a great way to start our day until the first heavy rains came and we became painfully aware of the poor drainage of sidewalks in our neighborhood.  Parental pressure on the school administration changed all that.  Soon every child in our neighborhood was bussed, even across the street to the school.  I never really embraced the idea, but eventually capitulated because it was easier for me in the end.

Kindall, Maggie and Andy walking to the first day at the new neighborhood school.

We had many “first” days of school after those, most caused by moves, some by matriculation.  Each had its own level of anticipation and angst both on their part and mine.  The letting go was and still is a struggle.

Yesterday I had a long talk with an old friend who is experiencing a difficult family challenge – one which has both blind-sided her and set the entire family on a tenuous course as they decide what is best for their granddaughter.  Weary after several long days and nights trying to resolve on the issue, her husband asked her, “When does the parenting end?”  Never, she told him.

Crisises are just a reminder that parenting never ends.  For me it is impossible to imagine not having at least some concern for the challenges my children face.  Sometimes, when the time/space continuum seems blurred, my kids seem to be those same bright faces heading off to school for the first time.  I see their backs as they move away from me for the first time, living their own lives apart from me.  Each time I am both proud and happy for them but also a little sad and glad that they don’t rely on me as they once did.

Thankfully, the bonds are still strong and they both know they can call Dave and I anytime, just to hear our voices, like when they’d call to us down the stairs after we’d but them to bed, or to discuss something important.  No, parenting never ends, just as being a child never ends.  We all face our “first days of school” throughout our lives were we set out into the unknown, as prepared as we can be for the day ahead.  When the going gets tough we either step up and parent or step back and ask for help like a child either from our own parents, another person or even God.

Thank God parenting never ends. It’s nice to know someone is watching your back!

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Finding the Right Recipe

I’m going to bake a pie this morning.  I found some nice rhubarb at Foodlion the other day and will pair it with some blueberries.  I’ve never made a “Blue-barb” pie before but I think it will be delicious.

I enjoy making pies.  I’ve learned that the key to a good pie is the crust.  Years ago I found the one pie crust recipe that works for me in the Joy of Cooking.  I find it just about fool proof but no doubt others have their preferred recipe, including buying the ready made crust at the grocery store.  Pie making shouldn’t be a hastle, it should be a thing of joy.

This page really reflects its “go to” status!

Finding the right recipe is key in any endeavor.  My move to Ruckersville has allowed me to clean my pantry so to speak and begin to selectively collect and add the ingredients for a recipe for a new life.  Naturally I kept my spices, the key elements of my core values and personality but I have attempted to restrain my willingness to jump into any project without first considering whether I am the right person for the job.  I’ve tossed the idea that “if I don’t do it, nobody will.”  If it’s really important, somebody else will.

By allowing myself the time to observe and wait for the Spirit to lead me, I have discovered a pattern in the events around me leading me in the direction of service.  It is still not clear where this path will take me but I am excited by the prospects.  In the past few week opportunities to work with Habitat for Humanity, the Greene Alliance pf Church/Community Efforts (GRACE) and my own parish, Shepherd of the Hills have crossed my path.  Each offers service opportunities and oddly, they all potentially overlap in their efforts in our small county.

I’m excited by what I see ahead of me, whatever it is.  I still need to be patient, to let the possibilities unfold before me.  And, since I have the time, I guess I’ll go get started on that pie.

Yummy rhubarb pie I made last summer to take to Vanya and Dave’s.

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The Contented Sole

They say that when the going gets tough, the tough get going.  They don’t say where the tough go though do they?  Well, if I may be so bold, I’d like to suggest that for women at least, when the going gets tough, she should get going to the nail salon for a pedicure.  There seems to be few problems that can’t be helped by thirty minutes or so in the pedicure spa chair.

Such an intoxicating experience, to sit in a massaging recliner with your feet immersed in a mini spa tub, jets pulsing the tired soreness from those poor weary soldiers who literally carry the weight of your world.  And, if that weren’t enough, gentle hands tenderly reach for and caress these poor soles making them feel so good, refreshing them for the next steps of the day as they tote along the “few” extra pounds you’ve added over the years.

After the scrub, massage and coat of fresh color (I chose this shade of lavender shimmer just to reach outside the box.), it’s a short wobble in disposable flip flops and toe separators to the drying fans.  Yesterday I had my Kindle with me to finally finish the last few chapters of my book.  But it was not to be.

Jesus may have said where two or more are gathered, I am there.  Well, He must be the one that starts up all these conversations with me and whoever I am near because in my case  where I am gathered with just one other human being, there is chatting.

Yesterday my reading was interrupted by a delightful older woman who was getting her toes done following a lengthy hospital stay.  She complained a little about her back hurting.  I asked her why she’d been in the hospital.  To have a portion of her lung removed due to cancer she replied.  Well, I suppose that would hurt a bit.

Once the door had been cracked open; out poured her story.  She’d moved here about twenty years ago from Levittown, PA to help out with grandchildren, one of whom had some type of special needs.  She’s happy here; loves the area and is saddened by the amount of growth she has seen over the years. Aside from caring for her family, she worked for about ten year at the Greene County Senior Center.

I asked her if she had any further treatments ahead.  Nope, she’d already told her doctors; no chemo, no radiation.  She wants to spend whatever time she has left on her own, with her family and not strapped into a schedule of medical procedures.  Being on the receiving end of care was difficult for her, but she was really contented with her bright pink toes.

So oodles of thanks to the Russian immigrant who invented invented the pedicure spa chair in his garage in 1985.  According to Wikipedia there were 50,000 nail spas in the US in 2000; as of 2010 the number has doubled.  Personally I am thankful to live within walking distance from two salons.  I know that if I had to walk, my feet would be rewarded for the effort.

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Pardon My Social Faux-Pas

I know it’s not polite to discuss politics or religion in public, especially if you hold a view contrary to what the most vocal groups share so fully on Facebook and in jokes forwarded ad nauseum via the internet and email but I’d like to quietly offer a connection I made last Sunday during Mass.

Dave and I were lectors; a task we both cherish, to stand before our community and proclaim the Word.  We make a point of preparing to proclaim God’s word and not just read it like we’re giving directions to install a DVR or assemble a piece of furniture we bought in a box.  The Word is alive and should be presented that way.

So, there I was, listening to Dave read the following from 2 Corintians…………..

“Brothers and sisters: As you excel in every respect, in faith, discourse, knowledge, all earnestness, and in the love we have for you, may you excel in this gracious act also.
For you know the gracious act of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, for your sake he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich. Not that others should have relief while you are burdened, but that as a matter of equality your abundance at the present time should supply their needs, so that their abundance may also supply your needs, that there may be equality. As it is written: Whoever had much did not have more, and whoever had little did not have less.”

…………. when it occurred to me that maybe St. Paul’s message could be applied to us given the timing of this reading and last week’s Supreme Court ruling on the Obama health care bill.   St. Paul was pretty clear to the Corintians that Christians should share equaly in all things.  While I’m not saying that this new health bill is what St. Paul had in mind, I do believe that the idea behind it is.  Health care should be made available to all persons in this country.  If we can do all other great stuff we do, why can’t we make that happen?

I think it’s time as Christians and Americans to stop the shouting at each other and start actually discussing the problems of inequality we face in our country today.  The bullying has got to stop.  Non Christians are more than welcome to join the conversation.  It’s just that those of us who call ourselves Christians should be looking toward a higher authority than PACs and other interest groups for our guidance. We should trust in the Lord and not let fears keep us from doing what is right.

Many will say, “Sure, in a perfect world, maybe that would work.”   I say, Jesus gave us the instructions and kingdom values to make our world a perfect world.  Now we just have to agree on what that means….. Heavy sigh!

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Happy Birthday Seth

Tomorrow my grandson Seth will turn eleven years old.  Like all parents and grandparents, I wonder where the time has gone and marvel how he can be this old when I haven’t aged a bit.  Each year when his birthday rolls around I think back on the night he was born and the long road leading to that miracle moment.  Seth, whose name means “appointed” was the catalyst in the creation of a new family in a very special way.

Seth’s arrival was heralded, not by angels in a dream, but by a late night phone call which was much more like a nightmare.  My teenage daughter, away for her freshman year of college called and blurted out in between sobs that she was pregnant.  She said she had decided to have the baby and offer it up for adoption.

It’s funny how when faced with a call like this, the call every mother fears, after the shock passed, all I cared about was the health and safety of my child.  Her sorrow tore at my gut.  Fighting my own fears, I told her everything would be alright and assured her that her dad and I would be there for her.

After we hung up, I crawled into bed and it was my turn to sob.  Dave rolled over and asked my why I was crying.  “What will we do?”  I cried.  He simply said, “Everything will be fine.”  “How do you know?” I asked.  “I just do.”  And with God’s help, it was fine… more than fine.

From the first it was evident that God was working the details for us.  My parents were visiting when we received “the call”.  I was not sure how or if I would share the news with them but I did.  What a gift it was to be able to feel my own mother’s arms around me that day.  If ever there was a day I needed a hug from my Mom, it was that one.

holy spirit dove

The next day, Dave brought Maggie home from school weekend so we could gather her close while we discussed the future.  The first morning she was home, we noticed a large white bird sitting on our back fence.  We are avid bird watchers and familiar with most of our local species of birds.  This was not one of them.  Someone grabbed the Peterson’s Field Guide.  No big white birds in there that weren’t gulls or egrets.  Our last resort was the World Book (pre-web Google).  We found our bird. It was a fan tailed dove; the same bird God sent down over Jesus when he was Baptized in the Jordan.   They are a domestic breed of show pigeons, not generally found sitting on a fences in Virginia Beach.  The amazing thing about this particular bird was that it sat on our fence for two whole days while we redefined what it meant to be a family; to love unconditionally and stand beside each other in times fo uncertainty; and God was with us.

A few months later, through an unlikely source, we were introduced to Jim and Bonnie Berryman.  They had been trying to start a family for several years and were interested in adoption.  Maggie met with them at their home to get to know them and get a feel for what kind of parents they would be.  When she came home she said, “The have two geriatric dogs, so they must be good at care-taking.”  She chose them to become the parents of her child.

Our relationship with Jim and Bonnie began gently and respectfully. At the time, none of us could have foreseen what God had in store for us.  Open adoption was then and probably still is a rare occurrence. At best these type of adoptions only involve the sharing of names and the occasional photo.  What we share is so much more.  Through the years we have knitted ourselves into family, with lines of where one family begins and the other ends blurred.  Our family bonded initially over the love of a child and has been forged by the years of caring and sharing with each other.  I can’t imagine what our lives would be like without Jim, Bonnie, Seth and Caleb in it.  With intense gratitude to God, I don’t have to.

So Happy Birthday Seth.  I thank God everyday that you were appointed to begin our new family.  Poppa and I love you very much.  You could slow down on the aging thing – why not just stay eleven for two years?

 

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Babe in Arms

Yesterday afternoon at choir practice (yes, I  went to choir practice) I had the pleasure of holding a four week old baby girl while her grandmother played the keyboard.

When I arrived, she was sitting in her car seat, sort of awake and a little fussy.  It was pretty warm in the church and she was dressed in a terry sleeper and covered with a receiving blanket.  My first thought was that she was uncomfortable in her seat so I uncovered her and began to rock her seat.

That worked for a while until she began to wiggle and really fuss so I seized the opportunity – carpe diem – and picked her up.  After all, we couldn’t have her disturbing her grandmother while she was accompanying the choir in Triduum and Easter music prep now could we?

I admit I am a known baby lover.  If there is an infant anywhere near me, my attention will hone in like radar.  I love talking to them and watching their tiny faces scrunch in thoughtful contemplation of my voice.  They are great listeners – when they are not crying.

This baby, Lydia, was special.  The shape of her face and the mop of dark hair reminded me so much of Maggie when she was that age.  At four weeks her body had not yet full unfolded, with her knees tucked in semi fetal position.  She was a solid child, with good muscle control.  I felt such peace as I rocked her, looking into her little face and watching her designer print NUK move up and down and she worked it.  I could have held the dozing baby in my arms indefinitely.

After about half and hour or so her mother arrived.  I dutifully handed her over and gave a full report of why I had her since she didn’t know me.  Once in her mother’s arms, she stirred slowly and lazily opened her eyes.  Her mother cooed and recognizing the voice, Lydia cooed back in a special intimate way.  I’d forgotten that detail from my own babies’ lives; how they would react with special sounds reserved only for me when I’d pick them up.

I thanked Lydia’s mommy for letting me spend the time with her.  It was so special to revisit my own days of early motherhood.  Those days were precious even with the sleep deprivation and piles of laundry.  I’m not saying I’d care to go back, or God forbid raise another child, but to just have the chance to feel the familiar bundle in my arms and see the face of a sleeping infant was a treasure I’ll not soon forget.