It's time for the Half-Yearly Sale at Nordstrom's, a time to stock up on bras at half-price and other necessities. But then, for someone for whom shopping is a healing event, walking into a store with all the newest goodies spread out all around you.....well, I save up for this. It's one of the highlights of my year. The store opens at 7:00 am, but I wasn't among the first to walk in the store this year, as I have been in the past. But it was before 9:00 when I arrived with my Nordstrom's card in hand, ready for those double points. I shopped all morning, looking for inspiration. It's fun to find a few colorful pieces that change the way your current wardobe looks. I found a pair of pumpkin-colored cashmere gloves, and I was off - the coral cashmere scarf for the neckline of a jacket or around the shoulders, several pairs of winter socks with mixtures of red, pink, coral and aqua to pull all my colors together. Then there was the pink cashmere sweater on the top floor. It wastough to choose between the T-Neck and the V-Neck, but it had to be pink, my new favorite color, and with the coral scarf -- Wow! Then to the Lingerie Department for those half-price bras and other practicalities.
When I came home with one big bag full of goodies, Marti wanted to see everything. It was fun to pull out all my treasures and spread them across the table where she was eating a late breakfast. She oooh'd and ahhh'd appropriately over everything, helping me justify each purchase's practicality, and agreeing with how a coral cashmere wrap would spark my wardrobe and that $65 for a cashmere sweater was, indeed, too good a price to pass up. But when I pulled the red silk pajamas out of the bag, her mouth fell open and her eyes went wide. "Red silk pajamas? Did you have some specific event in mind?" She began to laugh. I told her that I was thinking of them as practical for winter travel - warm as flannel, but smaller to pack. They were a really good price, too, under $100 dollars. But of course, the truth is that I just wanted them because they were beautiful. They will be practical if Richard and Dianne and I do take that trip to New York for Christmas that we've been talking about. They will be warmer and take less suitcase space for winter travel to Oregon and Berkeley events I am planning in January. And.....they are wonderful to slip into at the end of the day, like some secret that is all mine. Ummmmm.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Friday, November 02, 2007
Going Girlie
It might have been the pink velvet shirt at J Jill that did it, but I suspect I was already on the way to going Girlie by the time I saw it. In any case, although the shirt came in gray or burgundy, much more practical colors, I chose the pink one. And then I also bought the cream silk charmeuse shirt with the pintucks and crocheted trim on the front and the silky bow tied at the v-neck. What is happening to me?
Several years ago on a trip to Mexico City, I was stirred deeply by meeting women with no resources except each other. They were certainly poor, but the community they created to care for each other and their children was an inspiration. I came home feeling that I was the poor one, isolated and without important resources. It was an opportunity to re-examine my priorities, my image of myself in the world, and how I wanted to be seen. I gave up wearing makeup - partly to take away the financial pressure of worrying about having the right stuff and partly to become more honest about making my face be a reflection of my inner self. I also threw away my hair dryer, opting to let the curls I had been fighting all my life be part of my honest presentation of myself to the world. I loved being relieved of the financial burden of investing in what felt like a false presentation, and I became comfortable letting my wrinkles and spots tell the story of where I had been in life. My clothes bdcame more practical, washable rather than needing the dry cleaner. I think I was in recovery from the sales rep/sales manager presentation of my pre-seminary days. My "working wardrobe" was way overdressed for grad school and I found myself in jeans and T-shirts most often.
Things began to change when I left school and began to worry about interview clothes. Suddenly I had some money to invest in "good" clothes that would work for a Lutheran pastor and how I looked to a group of professionals became more important. It is like some self from my past began to emerge and I looked at my un-made up face as "unpolished" and my jeans and t-shirts as "unprofessional." I began to long to look a little different.
I guess the first change was the haircut - shorter, perkier, requiring a hair dryer to get the right effect. It has caused much comment among friends, they like it and tell me that it makes me look younger. It makes me feel good, too. Then I went shopping for make-up. It has been so long that I've almost forgotten what I used to wear. It seems strange that after all those years of something that was daily habit, you could just forget in two or three years what all that stuff was. So I went to the Aveda store for a makeover. Wow. Now there's foundation and powder and brow color and eyeshadow and.....well, you know. It has been weird. It takes so long to do it for very little effect,and then I have had to get comfortable with stuff on my face all day. I am getting better at it, and learning to appreciate the subtle difference in the way it does make me look more "polished."
A new man friend said, "I don't know what you've done exactly, but your hair looks fabulous and you look 10 years younger." Hmmmm. Oh, yes, and about the man friend. I have two new-ish men friends. Not anything more than friends, but they are really guys. It is so different than my woman friends, and how I dress and see myself with them is different, too, I think. Maybe men friends is the catalyst for the new Girlie me, as if I am reclaiming some earlier manifestation of something and bringing up into my MDiv-Lutheran-Pastor-In-Waiting persona. I'm still spending most days in jeans and t-shirts without makeup, but then, there are those days with the make-up, the red lipstick and that pink velvet shirt. Welcome back, Girlie.
Several years ago on a trip to Mexico City, I was stirred deeply by meeting women with no resources except each other. They were certainly poor, but the community they created to care for each other and their children was an inspiration. I came home feeling that I was the poor one, isolated and without important resources. It was an opportunity to re-examine my priorities, my image of myself in the world, and how I wanted to be seen. I gave up wearing makeup - partly to take away the financial pressure of worrying about having the right stuff and partly to become more honest about making my face be a reflection of my inner self. I also threw away my hair dryer, opting to let the curls I had been fighting all my life be part of my honest presentation of myself to the world. I loved being relieved of the financial burden of investing in what felt like a false presentation, and I became comfortable letting my wrinkles and spots tell the story of where I had been in life. My clothes bdcame more practical, washable rather than needing the dry cleaner. I think I was in recovery from the sales rep/sales manager presentation of my pre-seminary days. My "working wardrobe" was way overdressed for grad school and I found myself in jeans and T-shirts most often.
Things began to change when I left school and began to worry about interview clothes. Suddenly I had some money to invest in "good" clothes that would work for a Lutheran pastor and how I looked to a group of professionals became more important. It is like some self from my past began to emerge and I looked at my un-made up face as "unpolished" and my jeans and t-shirts as "unprofessional." I began to long to look a little different.
I guess the first change was the haircut - shorter, perkier, requiring a hair dryer to get the right effect. It has caused much comment among friends, they like it and tell me that it makes me look younger. It makes me feel good, too. Then I went shopping for make-up. It has been so long that I've almost forgotten what I used to wear. It seems strange that after all those years of something that was daily habit, you could just forget in two or three years what all that stuff was. So I went to the Aveda store for a makeover. Wow. Now there's foundation and powder and brow color and eyeshadow and.....well, you know. It has been weird. It takes so long to do it for very little effect,and then I have had to get comfortable with stuff on my face all day. I am getting better at it, and learning to appreciate the subtle difference in the way it does make me look more "polished."
A new man friend said, "I don't know what you've done exactly, but your hair looks fabulous and you look 10 years younger." Hmmmm. Oh, yes, and about the man friend. I have two new-ish men friends. Not anything more than friends, but they are really guys. It is so different than my woman friends, and how I dress and see myself with them is different, too, I think. Maybe men friends is the catalyst for the new Girlie me, as if I am reclaiming some earlier manifestation of something and bringing up into my MDiv-Lutheran-Pastor-In-Waiting persona. I'm still spending most days in jeans and t-shirts without makeup, but then, there are those days with the make-up, the red lipstick and that pink velvet shirt. Welcome back, Girlie.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
KEEPING VIGIL
“I will keep vigil with you.” It was my new spiritual director speaking. He had listened to me ramble on and on about what was not happening in my spiritual and vocational life. I’d been talking for most of an hour and I was even boring myself. There was a silence. I didn’t have anything more to say; I had touched on everything I could think of that I should say to him. It was quiet for awhile. Then he took a breath and shifted in his seat, rearranging his imposing monk’s robes around him. “I will keep vigil with you.”
I was at a loss. “Protestants don’t have vigils”, I stuttered. “I’m not really sure what that means.” He asked if I had ever experienced the Vigil of Easter or the Vigil of Advent. Well, yes, I had been at Easter Vigil. He explained that monks get up in the night to wait, fully expecting to be surprised by what God has been doing in the dark. It is not just waiting, he said, it is keeping watch for something wonderful that you know is coming. I had to sit for a few minutes to absorb the difference between waiting and keeping vigil. It seems that keeping vigil is a way of being engaged in what’s already on its way, even though you can’t see it yet. There is a quality of certainty in the expectation that appeals to me because it is so much more active than the passive “waiting” that has been so frustrating and depressing during this time. I love the thought that he will be watching, praying, expecting with me, preparing for whatever my own great surprise will be.
I’ve been thinking about vigils, about my own experience of prayerful waiting. Perhaps this is not such a new experience after all. I remember sitting by my beloved Aunt Anita’s bedside in the hours before she died. I thought I would read or knit while I sat in the room with her. But I could do neither. Somehow being in that time with her took all my concentration, all my awareness. Something awesome was happening to her as she lay so still. I could almost see and feel it. I was somehow part of it, and privileged to be there. I remember the time at the end of my pregnancies, the big countdown to the day when I would undergo the transformation of labor and meet my child. Somehow I already knew that child, I could put my hand on its head as it moved across my belly from hip to hip. I knew when it was awake and when it was asleep. But she was still a complete mystery as a human being. She and I were keeping vigil together, awaiting the surprise of meeting each other.
So vigil-keeping is not as unfamiliar as I first thought. We Protestants have been there, too. We know that God is always faithful to the promises that sustain us. We know that God’s steadfast love always leads us forward into the next surprise if we can keep awake through the quiet of the night. “Stay with me, remain here with me, watch and pray”, are the English words of a Taize hymn that repeats and repeats in the dark as worshippers approach the cross in the candlelight. Keeping vigil is lonely sometimes, but it’s not such a bad place to be.
I was at a loss. “Protestants don’t have vigils”, I stuttered. “I’m not really sure what that means.” He asked if I had ever experienced the Vigil of Easter or the Vigil of Advent. Well, yes, I had been at Easter Vigil. He explained that monks get up in the night to wait, fully expecting to be surprised by what God has been doing in the dark. It is not just waiting, he said, it is keeping watch for something wonderful that you know is coming. I had to sit for a few minutes to absorb the difference between waiting and keeping vigil. It seems that keeping vigil is a way of being engaged in what’s already on its way, even though you can’t see it yet. There is a quality of certainty in the expectation that appeals to me because it is so much more active than the passive “waiting” that has been so frustrating and depressing during this time. I love the thought that he will be watching, praying, expecting with me, preparing for whatever my own great surprise will be.
I’ve been thinking about vigils, about my own experience of prayerful waiting. Perhaps this is not such a new experience after all. I remember sitting by my beloved Aunt Anita’s bedside in the hours before she died. I thought I would read or knit while I sat in the room with her. But I could do neither. Somehow being in that time with her took all my concentration, all my awareness. Something awesome was happening to her as she lay so still. I could almost see and feel it. I was somehow part of it, and privileged to be there. I remember the time at the end of my pregnancies, the big countdown to the day when I would undergo the transformation of labor and meet my child. Somehow I already knew that child, I could put my hand on its head as it moved across my belly from hip to hip. I knew when it was awake and when it was asleep. But she was still a complete mystery as a human being. She and I were keeping vigil together, awaiting the surprise of meeting each other.
So vigil-keeping is not as unfamiliar as I first thought. We Protestants have been there, too. We know that God is always faithful to the promises that sustain us. We know that God’s steadfast love always leads us forward into the next surprise if we can keep awake through the quiet of the night. “Stay with me, remain here with me, watch and pray”, are the English words of a Taize hymn that repeats and repeats in the dark as worshippers approach the cross in the candlelight. Keeping vigil is lonely sometimes, but it’s not such a bad place to be.
Restless mind, restless heart. It's hard to concentrate this morning, hard to clear my mind for devotion and meditation. There is a congregation in Oregon which has "nominated" me for an interview. It is a congregation previously served by my brother, which asks for me because he was such a wonderful pastor for them and they have not been as well served by the two pastors since he left for another call nearly ten years ago. There is a change in the Bishop's office in the Oregon Synod - new Bishop, new assistant. The assistant and the Bishop that I know are now gone and the new Bishop wants the new assistant to begin the process of contacts and interviews for this congregation. Sigh. Once again, I got my hopes up, telling my heart that this was a slam-dunk and that, surely, this was God's design for both me and the congregation. So having to be patient to hear feels like a setback. As much as I try not to get too invested in any new possibilities, my heart just won't behave.
Meanwhile, I have been participating in the Inter-Lutheran Disaster Response Emergency Team (I-LERT), a cooperative effort of Lutheran Social Services of the Southwest and Lutheran Disaster Response. So far, my participation as a volunteer has not involved anything but going to organizational meetings to introduce those concerned in the ELCA Southern California Synods to their Lutheran Church- Missouri Synod counterparts and draw up plans for Inter-Lutheran cooperation and training for disasters. Well, the fires which have devastated Southern California have called up all the resources and mobilized those which were in place to work with counties and the State of California to help with distribution of services. I got a call this morning from the Southern California I-LERT coordinator asking if I would work on a task force to coordinate spiritual care for people and pastors affected by this series of disasters. Of course, I said yes.
I wait to hear from the woman pastor who will lead this team, and I am ready and eager to go and serve in the midst of the destruction.
This morning was the first in a few days in which there was time to sit over morning prayer and collect myself for a day that would allow some reading and study instead of the running to answer other people's schedules. But I find that my mind will not open to quiet, that my disappointment and my eagerness to be engaged in disaster ministry has put me into overdrive. I am imagining what I would do if I don't have a call by the summer, thinking about what regular travel into the San Diego area would require of the meager schedule I now have in place. My need for order has overtaken my willingness to keep vigil. Aaaaaargh. Time to practice yoga breathing? Perhaps.
Meanwhile, I have been participating in the Inter-Lutheran Disaster Response Emergency Team (I-LERT), a cooperative effort of Lutheran Social Services of the Southwest and Lutheran Disaster Response. So far, my participation as a volunteer has not involved anything but going to organizational meetings to introduce those concerned in the ELCA Southern California Synods to their Lutheran Church- Missouri Synod counterparts and draw up plans for Inter-Lutheran cooperation and training for disasters. Well, the fires which have devastated Southern California have called up all the resources and mobilized those which were in place to work with counties and the State of California to help with distribution of services. I got a call this morning from the Southern California I-LERT coordinator asking if I would work on a task force to coordinate spiritual care for people and pastors affected by this series of disasters. Of course, I said yes.
I wait to hear from the woman pastor who will lead this team, and I am ready and eager to go and serve in the midst of the destruction.
This morning was the first in a few days in which there was time to sit over morning prayer and collect myself for a day that would allow some reading and study instead of the running to answer other people's schedules. But I find that my mind will not open to quiet, that my disappointment and my eagerness to be engaged in disaster ministry has put me into overdrive. I am imagining what I would do if I don't have a call by the summer, thinking about what regular travel into the San Diego area would require of the meager schedule I now have in place. My need for order has overtaken my willingness to keep vigil. Aaaaaargh. Time to practice yoga breathing? Perhaps.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
How I Spent My (Spiritual) Vacation
It all came together so suddenly. I had been thinking of taking a week to visit St Andrew’s Abbey, my favorite spiritual hangout, but wanted to look into a workshop rather than just going to for a week of silence and wandering. As this thinking was developing in the back of my mind, I called an LA friend for a long-overdue lunch date. Her phone numbers were no longer in service! When I reached her by e-mail and discovered that she and her husband had moved to Arizona, she invited me to come to St. Andrews to participate in a workshop she was presenting based on her recent thesis for a PhD in Mythology from Pacifica. It was the opportunity to accomplish so many delights at the same time that I could not refuse, even though the workshop was only a week away.
The workshop was really interesting, as it addressed the possibility of finding a new mythic vision for Christianity in the postmodern era. I found myself in discussion with theologians, scientists, lawyers and educators about issues that are of deep concern for me as a pastoral leader. It was both spiritually and intellectually engaging, reminding me of much of the fun of seminary. I’d missed the long, heated discussions that raise such varied points of view, re-engaging our love for the Gospel and our love for our traditions even as we critique them.
But we also went to prayer with the monks four times a day to sing psalms and pray. The Benedictines welcome guests as if they were Christ himself, a Christ they acknowledge and welcome in each activity and quiet moment of their day. It is always such an extraordinary gift to be able to drop into the ongoing stream of prayer and praise and the beauty of the place that the community tends with such diligence. It enables a peace so deep it takes days to wear off. I found I was thirsting for God’s presence. How strange to be lonely for God in the place where God seems to be everywhere! But here it was, the ache of loneliness I had not seen until now, the longing for the touch of God’s Spirit in my search for a call. That touch came slowly through the week: in the silence after the singing, in the gentle sharing of our meditations, in the bread and wine of the Eucharist, in the creation of a community around the Word and work we shared.
I sometimes imagine, as sit in my usual place in the morning, that the monks are singing Lauds and that my new colleagues are living their ordinary lives again, just as I am. It is almost as if we had never come together for that week in July. But that’s not possible. We did come together to be Christ for and with each other, and though we may not see each other again in this life, we are all part of each other now. That time, that place, those sounds, those people are still present as I go forward. It’s how I found that God is with me on my vacation.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
New Blog
For those of you who have been reading my blog, I want to bring you up-to-date. I have changed blog locations, and also changed the format a bit. I hope you will join me on my new site at Live Journal: www.theepunch.livejournal.com. I hope you continue to visit, and that you will take the time to let me know what you think in respsonse to my thoughts. See you there.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Gallivanting
Some people in my family call me to ask where I am. "We were sitting here over dinner wondering where in the world you actually are now." This has certainly been a year of freedom to go and do whatever I wished, and I have enjoyed it. I have tried to use this time well, as I know that being a pastor somewhere will usurp my time and energy so completely that I will not have such unfettered time again. My trip to London in December was just such an indulgence. The price was right, a friend was ready to go; we went. As I prepared to leave Mississippi, I e-mailed a friend in Western New York state to see if I could visit before I went back to California.
She is a enjoying her first experience as a pastor by shepherding two small congregations on the shore of Lake Erie. Her parsonage is a four-bedroom, two-story house, with plenty of room for guests, so her answer was a delighted YES.
I drove away from Biloxi on a Friday afternoon, and spent the night in Houston. I wanted to see an exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston of a 17th Century Dutch floral painter - Van Hylsum. What a wonderful gallery. I took a quick tour through their 20th Century gallery, stopped in the museum shop (my downfall, always), and then headed for the Rothko Chapel about a mile away. The chapel itself was wonderfully situated in a park with a Barnett Newman sculpture in a reflecting pool, especially lovely in the misty rain. But I was disappointed by the paintings. I had recently seen a room full of Rothkos glowing in the dimmed light in the Tate Modern in London. The paintings at the Tate were haunting and compelling. There was no comparison. Then late that Saturday night, I arrived at Richard and Dianne's in Dallas for a miniscule visit before flying off to Buffalo on Monday.
Western New York was even more beautiful than I expected. Small villages separated by stretches of hardwood forest, all blanketed with fresh snow. The lake was frozen and a few fishermen had shacks far from shore. We drove all over the countryside - Amish farms, the Chautauqua Institution, an Arts and Crafts village in East Aurora, and Niagara Falls from the Canadian side complete with a side trip to Niagara on the Lake, a tiny tourist town at the edge of Lake Ontario. It was wonderful to see K at work in her two churches -- they love her, and she is on the way to being a wonderful pastor. But it was hard to watch her at work in her parishes, I so long for my own. There are some openings for pastors in the Upstate New York Synod. Maybe one of them could be mine. We had such a good time together, laughing and comparing experiences since our seminary days two years ago. It was like balm after the intensity of my Biloxi time, and its hard farewells.
A few days more in Dallas and a farewell to Richard and Dianne on my return from Buffalo. I have been able to spend so much time with them in the last year. Their home feels like home to me. What a gift that has been. It was hard to leave, knowing that I will not be just heading back in a few weeks or months.
I wanted to see Taos again, and to visit my new favorite shopping venue - a jewelry store in which the owner makes most of the jewely herself. I also found wonderful wool to feed my knitting addiction. It is hand-spun and dyed with plants from the Taos area. And then to Sun City and my sister, after a drive through the Arizona mountains.
My sister, Pat, is recovering from serious abdominal surgery and some complications that followed shortly after. I was planning an overnight, but stayed for three days. It gave me a chance to visit Lord of Life Lutheran Church, which had sent a group to Biloxi with their pastor only a few weeks before I left. And then to Santa Barbara and Marti's wonderful home.
Two weeks later, I have still not unpacked all my suitcases. I have just enough in the closet to get dressed every day. This week I drove to Sacramento for a conference with the Bishops and their assistants who place pastors in congregations. It was an opportunity to network, interview, get feedback on my interview style and tips on better interveiw skills. It also gave me a chance to stay overnight with a fellow seminarian who has just received her first call, and some other seminary friends who were in town for the same conference. We had dinner and drank a lot of wine and caught up and laughed about old times. Our seminary class was very small - not good for the school, but a boon for us, as we become very attached to each other. I stopped in Berkeley on my way out of Sacramento, staying with another seminary friend who is completing an MA. It gave me a chance to visit with another whole group of friends and professors. I do not miss being a student, but I do miss the challenge of academic life, and the community that lives on the seminary hill. After a long ride down the California coast, I am once again at Marti's.
I promised a friend who is in Mexico City this year on internship that I would visit her in April. Wow, April is already here. I am divided in my thinking about another trip. Wouldn't it be fun to fly off to Mexico for a week? But the idea of packing and making flight arrangements is a little daunting. I am feeling a bit disconnected from my own feelings, I think. Having stopped back at Marti's feels like coming home. It has given all the feelings of longing and disappointment connected to my expectations of a call to a congregation a chance to catch up with me. My decision to become more assertive in my search for a first call has turned up a few possibilites, and I don't even know what to expect in that line from the conference this week. Anyway, this morning I awoke with new energy, ready to sign up for a Spanish class and maybe go back to the gym. Is it the affirmation of inteviewing well and getting good feedback that feels so good, or is it having a chance to spend time with people you are glad to see after a long absence? I wish I had an answer. One think I know: waiting sucks. But perhaps I am gaining the virtue of patience, whether I want it or not.
I bought a guide book on Mexico today. Maybe my gallivanting days are not over yet.
She is a enjoying her first experience as a pastor by shepherding two small congregations on the shore of Lake Erie. Her parsonage is a four-bedroom, two-story house, with plenty of room for guests, so her answer was a delighted YES.
I drove away from Biloxi on a Friday afternoon, and spent the night in Houston. I wanted to see an exhibit at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston of a 17th Century Dutch floral painter - Van Hylsum. What a wonderful gallery. I took a quick tour through their 20th Century gallery, stopped in the museum shop (my downfall, always), and then headed for the Rothko Chapel about a mile away. The chapel itself was wonderfully situated in a park with a Barnett Newman sculpture in a reflecting pool, especially lovely in the misty rain. But I was disappointed by the paintings. I had recently seen a room full of Rothkos glowing in the dimmed light in the Tate Modern in London. The paintings at the Tate were haunting and compelling. There was no comparison. Then late that Saturday night, I arrived at Richard and Dianne's in Dallas for a miniscule visit before flying off to Buffalo on Monday.
Western New York was even more beautiful than I expected. Small villages separated by stretches of hardwood forest, all blanketed with fresh snow. The lake was frozen and a few fishermen had shacks far from shore. We drove all over the countryside - Amish farms, the Chautauqua Institution, an Arts and Crafts village in East Aurora, and Niagara Falls from the Canadian side complete with a side trip to Niagara on the Lake, a tiny tourist town at the edge of Lake Ontario. It was wonderful to see K at work in her two churches -- they love her, and she is on the way to being a wonderful pastor. But it was hard to watch her at work in her parishes, I so long for my own. There are some openings for pastors in the Upstate New York Synod. Maybe one of them could be mine. We had such a good time together, laughing and comparing experiences since our seminary days two years ago. It was like balm after the intensity of my Biloxi time, and its hard farewells.
A few days more in Dallas and a farewell to Richard and Dianne on my return from Buffalo. I have been able to spend so much time with them in the last year. Their home feels like home to me. What a gift that has been. It was hard to leave, knowing that I will not be just heading back in a few weeks or months.
I wanted to see Taos again, and to visit my new favorite shopping venue - a jewelry store in which the owner makes most of the jewely herself. I also found wonderful wool to feed my knitting addiction. It is hand-spun and dyed with plants from the Taos area. And then to Sun City and my sister, after a drive through the Arizona mountains.
My sister, Pat, is recovering from serious abdominal surgery and some complications that followed shortly after. I was planning an overnight, but stayed for three days. It gave me a chance to visit Lord of Life Lutheran Church, which had sent a group to Biloxi with their pastor only a few weeks before I left. And then to Santa Barbara and Marti's wonderful home.
Two weeks later, I have still not unpacked all my suitcases. I have just enough in the closet to get dressed every day. This week I drove to Sacramento for a conference with the Bishops and their assistants who place pastors in congregations. It was an opportunity to network, interview, get feedback on my interview style and tips on better interveiw skills. It also gave me a chance to stay overnight with a fellow seminarian who has just received her first call, and some other seminary friends who were in town for the same conference. We had dinner and drank a lot of wine and caught up and laughed about old times. Our seminary class was very small - not good for the school, but a boon for us, as we become very attached to each other. I stopped in Berkeley on my way out of Sacramento, staying with another seminary friend who is completing an MA. It gave me a chance to visit with another whole group of friends and professors. I do not miss being a student, but I do miss the challenge of academic life, and the community that lives on the seminary hill. After a long ride down the California coast, I am once again at Marti's.
I promised a friend who is in Mexico City this year on internship that I would visit her in April. Wow, April is already here. I am divided in my thinking about another trip. Wouldn't it be fun to fly off to Mexico for a week? But the idea of packing and making flight arrangements is a little daunting. I am feeling a bit disconnected from my own feelings, I think. Having stopped back at Marti's feels like coming home. It has given all the feelings of longing and disappointment connected to my expectations of a call to a congregation a chance to catch up with me. My decision to become more assertive in my search for a first call has turned up a few possibilites, and I don't even know what to expect in that line from the conference this week. Anyway, this morning I awoke with new energy, ready to sign up for a Spanish class and maybe go back to the gym. Is it the affirmation of inteviewing well and getting good feedback that feels so good, or is it having a chance to spend time with people you are glad to see after a long absence? I wish I had an answer. One think I know: waiting sucks. But perhaps I am gaining the virtue of patience, whether I want it or not.
I bought a guide book on Mexico today. Maybe my gallivanting days are not over yet.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Leaving Mississippi
It was so hard to drive away. I had come to love the Mississippi coast and its people. I had become part of Bethel Lutheran Hurricane Katrina Ministry and the people who labor to accomodate the volunteers and create a place for those most affected by the storm to find hope and help. It was so good to work side by side with Judy Bultman, Judy Jones, Dorothy and Donna, Lisa and all the volunteers who, like me came to stay to be part of this mighty work: Heather and Carol Lee, Kelli and Allison, Andy, Ed and Eunice, and all the cooks who graced our tables with their loving labors.
It had been good work for me to sit in the clinic with people who needed healing, to hear their stories, and to pray with them. It had been good work to offer Bible passages for volunteers to wear or carry with them each day as a focus, keeping their work rooted in God's work. It had been good work to lead Lectio Divina in the mornings for staff to rest a minute in God's word before the overwhelming demands of a day filled with emergencies and sorrows and miracles. I wanted to find a place in Mississippi. I wanted to create a home for myself there among those people who still need healing and beside those people who walk with them toward a restored future. But it was not to be. The grants that would have provided such an opportunity came attached to work that required credentials I did not have, and separating the requiements I could not meet was complicated at best. It seemed like a closed door. At the same time, through the gracious invitation of Bethel's Pastor, Gerry Bultman and his colleagues in the conference, I was able to attend weekly text study and monthly cluster meetings. I missed being a pastor more and more as I spent time with pastors. It became clear to me that in order to pursue a placement as a first-call pastor, I would have to recommit to that process and go home. So I left the Mississippi Coast on February 23, heading to brother Richard and sister-in-law Dianne in Dallas one more time on my way west.
I learned so much at Bethel. I learned that communities grieve like people grieve. I learned how God is present in a special way to those who need God's presence the most. I learned to expect God to provide everything that is needed for ministry, and saw miracles every day. I learned that you can see God's face in the people you work with and in the people you serve. And most of all, I learned that those who answer God's call to help receive blessing on blessing, beyond any of the help they give or the gratitude they receive for it. I made deep friends with others who worked the long hours in the popcorn-popper atmosphere of emergency ministry. There was hardly a moment to breathe, and there were many days in which I never saw anything outside of the building I worked in or the parking lot in which my camper lived.
But this experience has shaped my future ministry. I know now that a church can be used in every nook and cranny every moment of the week to provide ministry. Such a ministry can be a beacon not only to the neighbors it serves, but to those who come to work in it and have their faith regenerated by the work in which they have particpated. Volunteers go home filled with a new measure of God's Spirit to regenerate their own ministries. It was a privilege to live that renewal, and I will be eternally grateful to the people of Bethel Lutheran Church for welcoming all the volunteers who come to serve, but especially for the generosity with which they welcomed me.
One morning in the clinic orientation I introduced myself as Almost-Pastor Barbara, explaining that though I seved in some pastoral capacities there, I was not ordained yet. One of the volunteers called me "Almost" for the rest of the week and the name stuck. I will be ordained someday. I hope it will be soon. But Amost-Pastor Barbara has become a name of special honor to me. I will treasure it always.
It had been good work for me to sit in the clinic with people who needed healing, to hear their stories, and to pray with them. It had been good work to offer Bible passages for volunteers to wear or carry with them each day as a focus, keeping their work rooted in God's work. It had been good work to lead Lectio Divina in the mornings for staff to rest a minute in God's word before the overwhelming demands of a day filled with emergencies and sorrows and miracles. I wanted to find a place in Mississippi. I wanted to create a home for myself there among those people who still need healing and beside those people who walk with them toward a restored future. But it was not to be. The grants that would have provided such an opportunity came attached to work that required credentials I did not have, and separating the requiements I could not meet was complicated at best. It seemed like a closed door. At the same time, through the gracious invitation of Bethel's Pastor, Gerry Bultman and his colleagues in the conference, I was able to attend weekly text study and monthly cluster meetings. I missed being a pastor more and more as I spent time with pastors. It became clear to me that in order to pursue a placement as a first-call pastor, I would have to recommit to that process and go home. So I left the Mississippi Coast on February 23, heading to brother Richard and sister-in-law Dianne in Dallas one more time on my way west.
I learned so much at Bethel. I learned that communities grieve like people grieve. I learned how God is present in a special way to those who need God's presence the most. I learned to expect God to provide everything that is needed for ministry, and saw miracles every day. I learned that you can see God's face in the people you work with and in the people you serve. And most of all, I learned that those who answer God's call to help receive blessing on blessing, beyond any of the help they give or the gratitude they receive for it. I made deep friends with others who worked the long hours in the popcorn-popper atmosphere of emergency ministry. There was hardly a moment to breathe, and there were many days in which I never saw anything outside of the building I worked in or the parking lot in which my camper lived.
But this experience has shaped my future ministry. I know now that a church can be used in every nook and cranny every moment of the week to provide ministry. Such a ministry can be a beacon not only to the neighbors it serves, but to those who come to work in it and have their faith regenerated by the work in which they have particpated. Volunteers go home filled with a new measure of God's Spirit to regenerate their own ministries. It was a privilege to live that renewal, and I will be eternally grateful to the people of Bethel Lutheran Church for welcoming all the volunteers who come to serve, but especially for the generosity with which they welcomed me.
One morning in the clinic orientation I introduced myself as Almost-Pastor Barbara, explaining that though I seved in some pastoral capacities there, I was not ordained yet. One of the volunteers called me "Almost" for the rest of the week and the name stuck. I will be ordained someday. I hope it will be soon. But Amost-Pastor Barbara has become a name of special honor to me. I will treasure it always.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Bethel Web Page
Bethel Lutheran Hurricane Katrina Ministry finally has its own web page. You can find it at http://myweb.cableone.net/LESMBETH.
Come visit us to learn about our ministry, read the most current news in Ministry Updates, and learn how to volunteer yourself.
Enjoy.
Come visit us to learn about our ministry, read the most current news in Ministry Updates, and learn how to volunteer yourself.
Enjoy.
Mardi Gras
Today is it! Mardi Gras. Fat Tuesday. Everything is closed for the parties, parades and celebrations. When we found out that the Salvation Army was closed, we closed our clinic, too. Not that there were many patients who came to the doctor instead of partying.
Actually today is only the culmination of a whole season of parties, balls, parades and king cake.
The season begins on Twelfth Night, the celebration of the Three Kings. King cakes come out in wonderful variety. Each is like coffee cake, rolled around fillings as varied as cinnamon sugar, raspberry or cherry jam, cream cheese and fruit, or custard. They are iced with white glaze and colored sugar - usually the green, purple and gold of Mardi Gras. But one thing is always the same: each has a Baby Jesus baked inside. If you get the Baby in your slice of king cake, you get a special blessing....and....you have to bring the next king cake. king cake is the standard dessert for everything during Mardi Gras. I will miss it.
We've gone to two Mardi Gras parades in the last few weeks. D'Iberville was small and homey but Waveland was bigger and more fun. Waveland was ground zero for the eye of Hurricane Katrina, and is one of the lowest areas of the low-lying Mississippi Coast. Waveland was 90% destroyed in the storm and parts of it will not be open to rebuilding until the end of this year when rebuilding of infrastructure is complete. They have one of the oldest and most popular family parades on the coast, so being able to put on a normal event was a giant accomplishment for Waveland, and the joy of returning to something near normal was infectious. There were Queens of all the community events, dressed in elaborate costumes, huge wigs and decorated masks. They were seated on the backs of donated convertibles waving to the crowd.
The Hancock County Middle School and High School Band was back in action, after losing all the school's instruments to the storm. Musicians at St John's Lutheran Church in Ambler, PA, donated musical instruments to us at Christmas. We met Lydia Jelinsky, the band teacher in Hancock County and donate the instruments to students in Waveland. So it was particularly exciting to cheer the band and the flag girls marching by with Lydia marching beside them.
Floats are generally towed by trucks, everything from the standard pick-up to semi tractors, and the floats themselves vary in size by the size of the organization -- or its ambition. All floats are home-decorated and vary in sophistication as do the costumes of the people who ride on them. Each float has huge speakers playing dance music, cranked up LOUD! People on the float are dancing, drinking and flinging out great quantities of beads, toys, cups and other goodies to the crowd. No one just sits and watches the parade amble by. The crowd is on its feet, dancing and reaching for beads, screaming and...did I say dancing. It is fun! Although I do not agree with the theological underpinnings of Mardi Gras -- you can get away with any carnal pleasures during this time, as you can make amends during the 40 days of Lent -- I had a great time jumping for beads, singing and dancing with the crowd and the friends who came with me. We ate chicken and potato salad and king cake. I came home drowning in strings of beads, most of them gold, green and purple.
Waveland was ready to Rock and Roll -- to tell everyone that Katrina couldn't rob them of their spirit, no matter how much damage she caused. I have seen that all over Mississippi. People are proud. They are determined to overcome the catastrophic effects of this disaster, as they have overcome disasters in the past. This one will just take a little longer. It is a privilege to walk with them as they dig down deep to rebuild their lives, to renew their hope, and to take care of each other. One of the important things that volunteers bring is the confirmation of that hope that life can get back to normal. The resident's gratitude to us volunteers is part of that pride. They take care of themselves and each other, and they are amazed that someone from another part of the country has come to help. They thank you in grocery stores, in church, in the clinic and on the job sites. They bring fresh shrimp and homemade gumbo. They pay for your dinner in restaurants. The sadness of their loss is still close to the surface, as is the frustration with the difficulties of getting to federal grant money and battling for a fair insurance settlement. But struggle is not new to them, and they are sure that they will come back as strong as ever.
I'm not going to the big Biloxi parade today. Two parades were enough for me. I have more beads than good sense. I am looking toward Ash Wednesday tomorrow. But - WOW - Mardi Gras in Biloxi was fun.
Actually today is only the culmination of a whole season of parties, balls, parades and king cake.
The season begins on Twelfth Night, the celebration of the Three Kings. King cakes come out in wonderful variety. Each is like coffee cake, rolled around fillings as varied as cinnamon sugar, raspberry or cherry jam, cream cheese and fruit, or custard. They are iced with white glaze and colored sugar - usually the green, purple and gold of Mardi Gras. But one thing is always the same: each has a Baby Jesus baked inside. If you get the Baby in your slice of king cake, you get a special blessing....and....you have to bring the next king cake. king cake is the standard dessert for everything during Mardi Gras. I will miss it.
We've gone to two Mardi Gras parades in the last few weeks. D'Iberville was small and homey but Waveland was bigger and more fun. Waveland was ground zero for the eye of Hurricane Katrina, and is one of the lowest areas of the low-lying Mississippi Coast. Waveland was 90% destroyed in the storm and parts of it will not be open to rebuilding until the end of this year when rebuilding of infrastructure is complete. They have one of the oldest and most popular family parades on the coast, so being able to put on a normal event was a giant accomplishment for Waveland, and the joy of returning to something near normal was infectious. There were Queens of all the community events, dressed in elaborate costumes, huge wigs and decorated masks. They were seated on the backs of donated convertibles waving to the crowd.
The Hancock County Middle School and High School Band was back in action, after losing all the school's instruments to the storm. Musicians at St John's Lutheran Church in Ambler, PA, donated musical instruments to us at Christmas. We met Lydia Jelinsky, the band teacher in Hancock County and donate the instruments to students in Waveland. So it was particularly exciting to cheer the band and the flag girls marching by with Lydia marching beside them.
Floats are generally towed by trucks, everything from the standard pick-up to semi tractors, and the floats themselves vary in size by the size of the organization -- or its ambition. All floats are home-decorated and vary in sophistication as do the costumes of the people who ride on them. Each float has huge speakers playing dance music, cranked up LOUD! People on the float are dancing, drinking and flinging out great quantities of beads, toys, cups and other goodies to the crowd. No one just sits and watches the parade amble by. The crowd is on its feet, dancing and reaching for beads, screaming and...did I say dancing. It is fun! Although I do not agree with the theological underpinnings of Mardi Gras -- you can get away with any carnal pleasures during this time, as you can make amends during the 40 days of Lent -- I had a great time jumping for beads, singing and dancing with the crowd and the friends who came with me. We ate chicken and potato salad and king cake. I came home drowning in strings of beads, most of them gold, green and purple.
Waveland was ready to Rock and Roll -- to tell everyone that Katrina couldn't rob them of their spirit, no matter how much damage she caused. I have seen that all over Mississippi. People are proud. They are determined to overcome the catastrophic effects of this disaster, as they have overcome disasters in the past. This one will just take a little longer. It is a privilege to walk with them as they dig down deep to rebuild their lives, to renew their hope, and to take care of each other. One of the important things that volunteers bring is the confirmation of that hope that life can get back to normal. The resident's gratitude to us volunteers is part of that pride. They take care of themselves and each other, and they are amazed that someone from another part of the country has come to help. They thank you in grocery stores, in church, in the clinic and on the job sites. They bring fresh shrimp and homemade gumbo. They pay for your dinner in restaurants. The sadness of their loss is still close to the surface, as is the frustration with the difficulties of getting to federal grant money and battling for a fair insurance settlement. But struggle is not new to them, and they are sure that they will come back as strong as ever.
I'm not going to the big Biloxi parade today. Two parades were enough for me. I have more beads than good sense. I am looking toward Ash Wednesday tomorrow. But - WOW - Mardi Gras in Biloxi was fun.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Free Haircuts
Laura and Linda didn't come to Mississippi expecting to build houses. That's not their talent. Laura brags that she has been cutting hair for 26 years, and that it is her ministry to make people feel beautiful. Linda and Laura came from Northern Michigan and spent the whole of last week giving free haircuts. Linda washed and Laura cut and blow-dried. They cut hair for volunteers, they cut hair for people who came to the distribution center to get food and household items, they cut hair for people in the medical clinic. And all the time they worked Linda and Laura heard stories: how people came to be here, how their families are doing since the storm, what they lost and what they learned. They listened while their hands were at work transforming people's appearance. The transformation was amazing. People sat down in the folding chairs with trepidation, some ashamed of their unkempt locks, some skeptical that a free haircut could be any good. And people rose up shining, smiling, and, yes, beautiful.
The real rebuilding that happens here is the rebuilding of hope. Those of us who work here know this is true. But when Laura and Linda came to give free haircuts in our sacristy on Friday, we saw evidence of hopes lifted and joy restored more clearly than anything I have yet experienced. As they packed up their gallon bottles of shampoo and conditioner and put away their scissors they left behind a glowing train of women and men who had been surprised by their own beauty, offered freely as a gift from Laura and Linda, who were the face of God for all of us.
Hey, how do you like my beautiful haircut? It was a gift.
The real rebuilding that happens here is the rebuilding of hope. Those of us who work here know this is true. But when Laura and Linda came to give free haircuts in our sacristy on Friday, we saw evidence of hopes lifted and joy restored more clearly than anything I have yet experienced. As they packed up their gallon bottles of shampoo and conditioner and put away their scissors they left behind a glowing train of women and men who had been surprised by their own beauty, offered freely as a gift from Laura and Linda, who were the face of God for all of us.
Hey, how do you like my beautiful haircut? It was a gift.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
A Mighty Work
That's what Pastor Gerry called it in his prayer last night after dinner for 100 volunteers getting ready to leave the next day for home. "Thank you, Lord, for the mighty work you are accomplishing here in Biloxi." People getting ready to leave feel as if they have done so little. Their time here is short, their skills are often limited, there is so much to do. You feel as if your contribution has been the tiniest drop in a bottomless well.
They come from all over the country, those volunteers. Some come to frame doors and windows and lead construction crews. Some come to carry supplies to jobs and trim out for the painters. Some come to cook three meals a day for 100 people or see to it that the towels are clean and stacked when volunteers arrive gritty and sweaty from construction work. Others bring compassion and healing skills to our clinic. Dinner is controlled pandemonium with dozens of conversations going on. People talk about what they did during the day. They talk about what brought them to Biloxi and how many trips down they have made. Sometimes they talk about the people they meet, those affected by the storm, and pass on the inspiration of the stories they hear. We have come to know that God is present in this work. That the face of a stranger can become the face of God to you, or that your love and caring can be the face of God to someone else. We talk about where we have seen the face of God each day.
It continues to amaze me that the darkness Katrina has wrought on the Mississippi Coast can bring such light. But miracles happen here daily, large miracles and small. The Santa Shop gave toys to almost 700 children and every teenager received a $25 Wal-Mart card. Adopt My Room gave complete bedrooms to 70 children. They came here on a Saturday after Christmas with their families and had their picture taken while they sat on a bed with their own new sheets draped over it. My brothers and sister and I adopted a bedroom for Jaden Goodwin, and I got to meet him and his family. He was thrilled with his Spiderman bedspread and sheets. We received a committment for a commercial stove the day our oven blew up.
Tuesday night Miss Judy and I drove out to Moss Point with a group from Waupaca, Wisconsin. Pastor Otis Hardy has a mission there in an African American neighborhood that sponsors local families who have lost their homes, are looking for work, who are having trouble meeting the needs of their families. The congregation in Waupaca has been providing school supplies to Pastor Otis's ministry through the year. When 25 of them came to work on rebuilding houses, they brought handmade quilts and afghans, cash and more school supplies. The families of Pastor Otis's congregation welcomed them with a huge dinner of Mexican specialties including Pastel Tres Leches and Flan. Yum! What an crowd. How else would a group from Waupaca meet a group from Mexico in an African-American neighborhood in Mississippi? How else but through the intervention of Katrina?
The struggle among many residents here is still to hang on to hope, and the gift of volunteers is the hope that shines from them that life can be restored to something approaching normal. But the volunteers will tell you that the real gift comes from being able to work here among those whose lives have been so affected by this devastation. It is humbling to be in the presence of those who have survived such tragedies. It touches your deepest heart to be thanked for the hope and care you bring, when you have only spent a week carrying drywall or hearing sad stories. The real gift is seeing Jesus in the least, and knowing that you have been priviliged beyond expectation to walk with them for a time. When you get ready to leave here, you are already planning your trip back.
They come from all over the country, those volunteers. Some come to frame doors and windows and lead construction crews. Some come to carry supplies to jobs and trim out for the painters. Some come to cook three meals a day for 100 people or see to it that the towels are clean and stacked when volunteers arrive gritty and sweaty from construction work. Others bring compassion and healing skills to our clinic. Dinner is controlled pandemonium with dozens of conversations going on. People talk about what they did during the day. They talk about what brought them to Biloxi and how many trips down they have made. Sometimes they talk about the people they meet, those affected by the storm, and pass on the inspiration of the stories they hear. We have come to know that God is present in this work. That the face of a stranger can become the face of God to you, or that your love and caring can be the face of God to someone else. We talk about where we have seen the face of God each day.
It continues to amaze me that the darkness Katrina has wrought on the Mississippi Coast can bring such light. But miracles happen here daily, large miracles and small. The Santa Shop gave toys to almost 700 children and every teenager received a $25 Wal-Mart card. Adopt My Room gave complete bedrooms to 70 children. They came here on a Saturday after Christmas with their families and had their picture taken while they sat on a bed with their own new sheets draped over it. My brothers and sister and I adopted a bedroom for Jaden Goodwin, and I got to meet him and his family. He was thrilled with his Spiderman bedspread and sheets. We received a committment for a commercial stove the day our oven blew up.
Tuesday night Miss Judy and I drove out to Moss Point with a group from Waupaca, Wisconsin. Pastor Otis Hardy has a mission there in an African American neighborhood that sponsors local families who have lost their homes, are looking for work, who are having trouble meeting the needs of their families. The congregation in Waupaca has been providing school supplies to Pastor Otis's ministry through the year. When 25 of them came to work on rebuilding houses, they brought handmade quilts and afghans, cash and more school supplies. The families of Pastor Otis's congregation welcomed them with a huge dinner of Mexican specialties including Pastel Tres Leches and Flan. Yum! What an crowd. How else would a group from Waupaca meet a group from Mexico in an African-American neighborhood in Mississippi? How else but through the intervention of Katrina?
The struggle among many residents here is still to hang on to hope, and the gift of volunteers is the hope that shines from them that life can be restored to something approaching normal. But the volunteers will tell you that the real gift comes from being able to work here among those whose lives have been so affected by this devastation. It is humbling to be in the presence of those who have survived such tragedies. It touches your deepest heart to be thanked for the hope and care you bring, when you have only spent a week carrying drywall or hearing sad stories. The real gift is seeing Jesus in the least, and knowing that you have been priviliged beyond expectation to walk with them for a time. When you get ready to leave here, you are already planning your trip back.
Sunday, January 07, 2007
A Bit of Southern Culture
"I love it. It's my kind of white Christmas," said Miss Judy Bultman, when I told her about my trip over the Popps Ferry Bridge in the fog. The sky and water were the same pale grey, and the small islands of reeds provided the only hard edge in the mist. It looked like fairy-land. I am enchanted by bridges, and the city of Biloxi, floating on a peninsula in the Mississipi Sound, is part of the Delta that stretches from Texas all the way to Florida. There are bayous, creeks, bays and bridges. It is both a blessing and a curse, as much of the devastation from Katrina was the result of 35-foot surges that swamped areas previously thought to be outside of the flood zone. The major bridges that connect the east-west corridor of Highway 90 are gone, and commuters are now required to drive north to I-10 before going east or west to work or shop or visit. Replacing those bridges will take another year. But the bridge north across the Back Bay on Popps Ferry Road is our closest connection to I-10, and I travel it often. I have begun to reset my mood by how the bay looks as I cross that bridge, like resetting a clock. As I went to dinner with friends the other night, sky and water resembled a hand tinted photograph, unlikely pastel colors lifting my heart to thank God for a creation that can make your heart ache with its beauty.
I am gettin' used to the way people talk around here and beginnin' to drop the final "g" from my words without thinking much about it. Anything else sounds so formal. And of course, it's easy to fall into using y'all, a word that needs to be part of our language. I am getting used to waitresses calling me "Baby"and "Darlin." I love it. But the casual manner of speech belies a formality of address that I also am coming to enjoy. No one is addressed by their first name. Even your best friends only use your Christian name in personal conversation. You are Miss Judy or Pastor Barbara. It is a measure of respect. When you address a child, their response is "M'am?" instead of "Huh?" Beautiful.
It's driving here that is hard to get used to. There are lots of trucks. Big pickup trucks. And pedestrians do not have the right-of-way, so you have to watch out at all times. The Wal-Mart parking lot is really scary. Drivers zoom through empty spaces, pedestrians seem to appear from nowhere, and drifts of people walk at the slowest possible speed. I am always afraid that I will run over someone, or be hit by one of those club-cab pickups flying past. Being on foot
is certainly not safer. I was thinking the other day that people drive here like they drive in Guatemala, but the spaces are much more open, and it feels more dangerous somehow.
I am gettin' used to the way people talk around here and beginnin' to drop the final "g" from my words without thinking much about it. Anything else sounds so formal. And of course, it's easy to fall into using y'all, a word that needs to be part of our language. I am getting used to waitresses calling me "Baby"and "Darlin." I love it. But the casual manner of speech belies a formality of address that I also am coming to enjoy. No one is addressed by their first name. Even your best friends only use your Christian name in personal conversation. You are Miss Judy or Pastor Barbara. It is a measure of respect. When you address a child, their response is "M'am?" instead of "Huh?" Beautiful.
It's driving here that is hard to get used to. There are lots of trucks. Big pickup trucks. And pedestrians do not have the right-of-way, so you have to watch out at all times. The Wal-Mart parking lot is really scary. Drivers zoom through empty spaces, pedestrians seem to appear from nowhere, and drifts of people walk at the slowest possible speed. I am always afraid that I will run over someone, or be hit by one of those club-cab pickups flying past. Being on foot
is certainly not safer. I was thinking the other day that people drive here like they drive in Guatemala, but the spaces are much more open, and it feels more dangerous somehow.
Monday, December 25, 2006
The Spirit of London
Months ago, when I saw the advertisment for a London vacation at a price I couldn't refuse, I called long-time friend D'on and asked if she wanted to travel to London for a week. She never hesitated. Her answer was an emphatic YES! We had traveled in England and Scotland for two weeks 15 years ago, and spent all of our time in small towns and out in the country, promising to return to see London later. We never expected it to be 15 years later, but life gets complicated and time evaporates.
It was hard to leave Biloxi two weeks after arriving. I felt guilty for much of the trip about what I had left undone in arranging the Santa Shop and other small projects I had begun. But one thing that this work teaches you is that you cannot manage every aspect of projects. Too many variables interrupt and confuse and things you count on never come to pass. I gave myself the lecture several times, decided to get over my guilt and to enjoy the realization of a long-delayed dream.
One thing became obvious. No matter how many miles you walk in a day, there is more to see in London than you can possibly accomplish in a week. Our pedometers registered 22,000 steps often, and our fatigued feet and legs confirmed what our digital output told us. I saw so many old buildings, beautiful churches and museums that they began to run together in my memory. As I sat down to write the collection of sights and events, I began to find the reflection that pulled together what will remain with me long after the words of my journal entries fade.
Much of what continues to awe me about the buildings in which I sat and walked is the people who had been there before, and the spirit of the place that had changed because of their presence. One of those people is the fictional Jack Aubrey, a creation of Patrick O'Brian. I have been reading through the 17 novels which comprise the adventures of Aubrey and his ship's surgeon, Stephen Maturin for years now. They sail for the Royal Navy against Napoleon Bonaparte and his American allies in the early 19th Century. The world which O'Brian portrays is so complete, that my arrival at the Royal Naval College in Greenwich made me feel as if Aubrey himself was about stride out the door of one of those imposing symmetical facades and click his heels together, sweep his hat under his arm and introduce himself. The orderliness of the layout, the beautiful decoration and proportion of the chapel and painted assembly hall transported me back 200 years, and I found an appreciation of the spirit of the Royal Navy that put me inside it's culture instead of leaving me an observer. The hike up the hill to the Royal Observatory put my feet on the prime meridian and explained finally why a spot in England became the place where time originated. It was an Englishman who finally figured out how to fix your location on the globe by using time rather than by the stars. The spirit of those discoveries and the people who ventured forth to claim all that they enabled saturates Greenwich, even though it is also a lovely little town with shops and pubs and well-dressed 21st century inhabitants out buying Christmas presents and skating in the ice rink rigged between the wings of the Royal Naval College buildings. I was glad we had finally gotten to take the river eastward to appreciate the Thames as a highway for trade and travel, it was a beautful and interesting trip. But Greenwich itself overpowers the day for the immediacy of the past that lives there still.
The same immediacy lives for me in Canterbury. We took a bus trip into the Southeast on Saturday morning to view the Cathedral of Chaucer's tales and the Abbey of Augustine of Canterbury - a historical figure from my Early Church History. Gregory the Great sent Augustine as a missionary from Italy to Britain in 598 CE. We walked the damp grass through the ruins of the old abbey, and viewed the Tudor castle that forms the Northeast wall of the remains. It was interesting. We had made a decision to attend Evensong in the Canterbury Cathedral, wanting to experience it as a worship space first before seeing it as an old building. It was one of the best decisions we made, as the liturgy and song in that ancient space prepared us to approach the remains of the shrine of Thomas a Becket with a reverence that connected me powerfully to those pilgrims whose feet had worn the stone steps to their precarious unevennes. I began to reflect on my own pilgrimages, my own cares that needed to be put down in prayer in this place which had served so many before me as a sanctuary. This building is not just a beautifully porportioned space, or even an inspiring space for worship. It still holds the hopes and dreams of those who have carried their burdens there, and mine are only a small addition to what this place can contain and lift up to God.
The connection that these buildings embodied for me will be the strongest memory of this trip. In those moments, fatigued legs and aching feet faded away in the face of the living spirit of the place. But there was wonderful music in lovely old churches - D'on and I met each other in choir, so hearing choral music together is a special joy - amazing art, and always architecture that layers thousands of years side by side. I'll tell you about that later.
It was hard to leave Biloxi two weeks after arriving. I felt guilty for much of the trip about what I had left undone in arranging the Santa Shop and other small projects I had begun. But one thing that this work teaches you is that you cannot manage every aspect of projects. Too many variables interrupt and confuse and things you count on never come to pass. I gave myself the lecture several times, decided to get over my guilt and to enjoy the realization of a long-delayed dream.
One thing became obvious. No matter how many miles you walk in a day, there is more to see in London than you can possibly accomplish in a week. Our pedometers registered 22,000 steps often, and our fatigued feet and legs confirmed what our digital output told us. I saw so many old buildings, beautiful churches and museums that they began to run together in my memory. As I sat down to write the collection of sights and events, I began to find the reflection that pulled together what will remain with me long after the words of my journal entries fade.
Much of what continues to awe me about the buildings in which I sat and walked is the people who had been there before, and the spirit of the place that had changed because of their presence. One of those people is the fictional Jack Aubrey, a creation of Patrick O'Brian. I have been reading through the 17 novels which comprise the adventures of Aubrey and his ship's surgeon, Stephen Maturin for years now. They sail for the Royal Navy against Napoleon Bonaparte and his American allies in the early 19th Century. The world which O'Brian portrays is so complete, that my arrival at the Royal Naval College in Greenwich made me feel as if Aubrey himself was about stride out the door of one of those imposing symmetical facades and click his heels together, sweep his hat under his arm and introduce himself. The orderliness of the layout, the beautiful decoration and proportion of the chapel and painted assembly hall transported me back 200 years, and I found an appreciation of the spirit of the Royal Navy that put me inside it's culture instead of leaving me an observer. The hike up the hill to the Royal Observatory put my feet on the prime meridian and explained finally why a spot in England became the place where time originated. It was an Englishman who finally figured out how to fix your location on the globe by using time rather than by the stars. The spirit of those discoveries and the people who ventured forth to claim all that they enabled saturates Greenwich, even though it is also a lovely little town with shops and pubs and well-dressed 21st century inhabitants out buying Christmas presents and skating in the ice rink rigged between the wings of the Royal Naval College buildings. I was glad we had finally gotten to take the river eastward to appreciate the Thames as a highway for trade and travel, it was a beautful and interesting trip. But Greenwich itself overpowers the day for the immediacy of the past that lives there still.
The same immediacy lives for me in Canterbury. We took a bus trip into the Southeast on Saturday morning to view the Cathedral of Chaucer's tales and the Abbey of Augustine of Canterbury - a historical figure from my Early Church History. Gregory the Great sent Augustine as a missionary from Italy to Britain in 598 CE. We walked the damp grass through the ruins of the old abbey, and viewed the Tudor castle that forms the Northeast wall of the remains. It was interesting. We had made a decision to attend Evensong in the Canterbury Cathedral, wanting to experience it as a worship space first before seeing it as an old building. It was one of the best decisions we made, as the liturgy and song in that ancient space prepared us to approach the remains of the shrine of Thomas a Becket with a reverence that connected me powerfully to those pilgrims whose feet had worn the stone steps to their precarious unevennes. I began to reflect on my own pilgrimages, my own cares that needed to be put down in prayer in this place which had served so many before me as a sanctuary. This building is not just a beautifully porportioned space, or even an inspiring space for worship. It still holds the hopes and dreams of those who have carried their burdens there, and mine are only a small addition to what this place can contain and lift up to God.
The connection that these buildings embodied for me will be the strongest memory of this trip. In those moments, fatigued legs and aching feet faded away in the face of the living spirit of the place. But there was wonderful music in lovely old churches - D'on and I met each other in choir, so hearing choral music together is a special joy - amazing art, and always architecture that layers thousands of years side by side. I'll tell you about that later.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
London is Fabulous
I'm not sure my legs know what happened to them. We walked The City yesterday looking at Christopher Wren churches and buildings, the Bank of England, the Guildhall of the City of London, and other assorted monuments. We found the Lutheran Church of St Agnes and St Anne, which happened to be having a noon concert of a Bach Cantata. We grabbed a sandwich and cup of soup and ate there. Fabululous.
Today we spent a few hours at the Tate Modern, maybe the best contemporary art museum I have every seen. This evening we were at a Christmas concert benefit for the Blue Cross, like the Red Cross for animals. It was held at St Peter's Eaton Square, one of the ritzyest neighborhoods in London. My daughter Rachel sent us there because Anthony Stewart Head, also known as Giles on "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" was doing one of the readings. She is quite the fan, and when she heard I was going to London, she checked via the internet for an ASH sighting for me. The concert was quite nice, and we enjoyed it- and getting to know a different part of town. It was quite a change from our ethnically diverse Portabello Road neighborhood with all its ethnic restaurants.
Tomorrow is a river day, with a trip down to Greenwich to stand on 0' longitude and then a chance to wander Westminster Abbey before a Carols by Candelight concert at St Martin in the Fields. If there's time, I still want to see more paintings at the Tate with all the Turners. But we are finding that time flies much faster than we expect. I think that's the sign of having a very good time.
Today we spent a few hours at the Tate Modern, maybe the best contemporary art museum I have every seen. This evening we were at a Christmas concert benefit for the Blue Cross, like the Red Cross for animals. It was held at St Peter's Eaton Square, one of the ritzyest neighborhoods in London. My daughter Rachel sent us there because Anthony Stewart Head, also known as Giles on "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" was doing one of the readings. She is quite the fan, and when she heard I was going to London, she checked via the internet for an ASH sighting for me. The concert was quite nice, and we enjoyed it- and getting to know a different part of town. It was quite a change from our ethnically diverse Portabello Road neighborhood with all its ethnic restaurants.
Tomorrow is a river day, with a trip down to Greenwich to stand on 0' longitude and then a chance to wander Westminster Abbey before a Carols by Candelight concert at St Martin in the Fields. If there's time, I still want to see more paintings at the Tate with all the Turners. But we are finding that time flies much faster than we expect. I think that's the sign of having a very good time.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
London
Greetings from London. I landed this morning, took the train from Gatwick airport to Victoria Station and then took a taxi to my hotel on Bayswater Road, across the street from Hyde Park. It is wonderful to be here. It is so.....so....English. Driving on the scary wrong side of the road and turning into the wrong lane is just the beginning of how different things are here. This must be the most diverse city in the world. You hear every kind of language passing by you on the street, including nearly unrecognizable versions of your own. Who ever said we speak the same language?
Friend D'on got delayed by bad weather in Chicago and was rerouted through JFK to Heathrow, I met her at our hotel hours later. Our window looks out over Hyde Park, and our hotel room is quite comfortable, except that they put the light switches in the weirdest places. We are beginning to figure it all out. We are blocks from the Portabello Road market, which has market stalls on the street every day and the huge antique sales on Saturday. We walked today through that neighborhood and the adjoining Notting Hill neighborhood - which actually is on a hill. Who knew? Tomorrow is tour day, and planning all the other things we want to see and do for the rest of the week. I'll have pictures in a day or so. See you then.
Friend D'on got delayed by bad weather in Chicago and was rerouted through JFK to Heathrow, I met her at our hotel hours later. Our window looks out over Hyde Park, and our hotel room is quite comfortable, except that they put the light switches in the weirdest places. We are beginning to figure it all out. We are blocks from the Portabello Road market, which has market stalls on the street every day and the huge antique sales on Saturday. We walked today through that neighborhood and the adjoining Notting Hill neighborhood - which actually is on a hill. Who knew? Tomorrow is tour day, and planning all the other things we want to see and do for the rest of the week. I'll have pictures in a day or so. See you then.
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Quilts
It has been really cold here, for Biloxi, I mean. It got down around 26' Thursday night. I wondered why I had no water in my little RV when I flushed the toilet at 5:00 am. It took awhile for me to figure out that it was because the hose that hooks me up to the water supply was frozen. And when I got dressed it felt like my underwear had been kept in the freezer. It was still pretty cold during the day, and I took an application for help from a woman who needed jackets for her children. We have a voucher arrangement with a thrift store down the street that would help with the jackets. When I found out that she also needed bedding, I offered her some sheets and quilts from our supply. The quilt supply was getting pretty low. I went into Judy's office to tell her, and she assured me that contributions of bedding were already on the way.
Within minutes, she got a call from someone looking for blankets. It seems that the FEMA Village about 2 miles away from us had lost power during the morning. A transformer had cut out. There was no heat in the trailers, and the woman on the phone wanted to know if we had blankets. Not really. Not anymore. Six of us sat down and prayed for blankets. Judy decided that we should use some of the Wal-Mart cards we keep for emergencies and buy blankets to last until our supply arrived. We thought that several hundred dollars worth of blankets would last until the emergency was over. Lisa, the Medical Administrative Assistant and I dropped everything to hop into my car and drive to the largest Wal-Mart nearby. We found comforters on special; Twin size for $15 and Queen/King size for $25. We loaded up three baskets with 7 Twin-size and 7 Queen-size comforters and got into the check-out line. Suddenly it occured to me that I had automatically hopped into my own little Honda Civic instead of taking one of the Suburbans or the Dodge Caravan. My Honda was still full of my books, jackets, a suitcase with summer clothes and the long carrier with my alb in it. I looked at the comforters stacked over the tops of the baskets. "How will we get all these blankets in my little car?" I said to Lisa. She smiled. "Do you think that if the Lord can send us the blankets we need, he can't get all these comforters into your car? They'll fit." It looked impossible, even beside the car, but after moving bags around in the trunk and squishing the comforters into the smallest possible spaces, We got them all in. The top one popped out of the trunk when we opened it up, and the back seat was piled to the ceiling. But they were all there.
The word got out quickly, and even when we limited the distribution of comforters to one per family, we were down to one quilt at the end of the afternoon. It was about 5:30 when the phone rang again about blankets. Judy had been on the phone most of the afternoon, looking for blankets and the manager of the warehouse that supplies many of the relief efforts was on the phone. He heard that we needed blankets and he had a supply. "How many do you need?" Judy explained the situation. "Would 100 be enough?" he asked. "Bless you. You are the answer to our prayers." The blankets were delivered a couple of hours later. Some of the blankets are thick lambswool that would keep anyone warm, and some are heavy cotton jacquard. We haven't opened all the boxes yet, but this is a wonderful beginning.
Within minutes, she got a call from someone looking for blankets. It seems that the FEMA Village about 2 miles away from us had lost power during the morning. A transformer had cut out. There was no heat in the trailers, and the woman on the phone wanted to know if we had blankets. Not really. Not anymore. Six of us sat down and prayed for blankets. Judy decided that we should use some of the Wal-Mart cards we keep for emergencies and buy blankets to last until our supply arrived. We thought that several hundred dollars worth of blankets would last until the emergency was over. Lisa, the Medical Administrative Assistant and I dropped everything to hop into my car and drive to the largest Wal-Mart nearby. We found comforters on special; Twin size for $15 and Queen/King size for $25. We loaded up three baskets with 7 Twin-size and 7 Queen-size comforters and got into the check-out line. Suddenly it occured to me that I had automatically hopped into my own little Honda Civic instead of taking one of the Suburbans or the Dodge Caravan. My Honda was still full of my books, jackets, a suitcase with summer clothes and the long carrier with my alb in it. I looked at the comforters stacked over the tops of the baskets. "How will we get all these blankets in my little car?" I said to Lisa. She smiled. "Do you think that if the Lord can send us the blankets we need, he can't get all these comforters into your car? They'll fit." It looked impossible, even beside the car, but after moving bags around in the trunk and squishing the comforters into the smallest possible spaces, We got them all in. The top one popped out of the trunk when we opened it up, and the back seat was piled to the ceiling. But they were all there.
The word got out quickly, and even when we limited the distribution of comforters to one per family, we were down to one quilt at the end of the afternoon. It was about 5:30 when the phone rang again about blankets. Judy had been on the phone most of the afternoon, looking for blankets and the manager of the warehouse that supplies many of the relief efforts was on the phone. He heard that we needed blankets and he had a supply. "How many do you need?" Judy explained the situation. "Would 100 be enough?" he asked. "Bless you. You are the answer to our prayers." The blankets were delivered a couple of hours later. Some of the blankets are thick lambswool that would keep anyone warm, and some are heavy cotton jacquard. We haven't opened all the boxes yet, but this is a wonderful beginning.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
The Faith Business
All these years I thought I knew what it meant to live by faith. I didn’t know anything about it. But I think I am learning about the faith business now. Bethel was planning a Santa Shop for Christmas. Parents would be able to come and pick out new, donated toys for their children’s Christmas, and children would be able to choose gifts for their parents from shirts, socks, cosmetics and other donated items. There was one small problem. The huge truckload of toys from churches in South Carolina turned out to be only a small portion of a truckload.
We had applications for 132 children to receive toys from the Santa Shop, and barely enough toys to fill those requests. We went into the sanctuary to pray about the situation. How could we tell families we were not able to live up to our promises of Christmas gifts? Last Christmas was so chaotic; this will actually be the first Christmas celebration after the storm for many. As we read through the applications we came to understand in a new way how the smallest material things can make a big difference to those who have lost everything.
We contacted another site to see if we could work together to deliver the promised shopping opportunities. We were overjoyed to hear that they had a pile of donated toys and lots of money and would be glad to send it all to our Santa Shop. It was my job to meet with their site director. I came away heartsick. There were no toys, only a promise of a huge truckload (where have I heard that before) to be delivered about 3 days before the event. The cash is only promised, too, as are the matching funds. I have been in business way too long, I guess, because all I could see was an empty warehouse and a lot of customers who would be disappointed. Those kids were counting on us.
Our volunteer coordinator smiled at me when I told her my story. “What do you think?” I asked, “You have been in the faith business, but I have not. Should I worry?” She didn’t answer. But that afternoon, a giant bag of Beanie Babies arrived from a doctor at the VA hospital who heard that we were planning a Santa Shop. Then two women volunteers arrived to cook for us this week bringing five trash bags packed with Beanie Babies. Tonight another site called to say that they had several big boxes of donated toys, and they would drive them over to us. I sent out an e-mail to our support network explaining our need for people to adopt families and support our Santa Shop and within an hour we received an e-mail from a couple who had volunteered earlier in the year. They are sending money for toys and their congregation will adopt a family. I have a family in mind for them already. I work with people who have seen miracles happen in the last year. I want to be in the faith business, too. I think I am in the right place.
We had applications for 132 children to receive toys from the Santa Shop, and barely enough toys to fill those requests. We went into the sanctuary to pray about the situation. How could we tell families we were not able to live up to our promises of Christmas gifts? Last Christmas was so chaotic; this will actually be the first Christmas celebration after the storm for many. As we read through the applications we came to understand in a new way how the smallest material things can make a big difference to those who have lost everything.
We contacted another site to see if we could work together to deliver the promised shopping opportunities. We were overjoyed to hear that they had a pile of donated toys and lots of money and would be glad to send it all to our Santa Shop. It was my job to meet with their site director. I came away heartsick. There were no toys, only a promise of a huge truckload (where have I heard that before) to be delivered about 3 days before the event. The cash is only promised, too, as are the matching funds. I have been in business way too long, I guess, because all I could see was an empty warehouse and a lot of customers who would be disappointed. Those kids were counting on us.
Our volunteer coordinator smiled at me when I told her my story. “What do you think?” I asked, “You have been in the faith business, but I have not. Should I worry?” She didn’t answer. But that afternoon, a giant bag of Beanie Babies arrived from a doctor at the VA hospital who heard that we were planning a Santa Shop. Then two women volunteers arrived to cook for us this week bringing five trash bags packed with Beanie Babies. Tonight another site called to say that they had several big boxes of donated toys, and they would drive them over to us. I sent out an e-mail to our support network explaining our need for people to adopt families and support our Santa Shop and within an hour we received an e-mail from a couple who had volunteered earlier in the year. They are sending money for toys and their congregation will adopt a family. I have a family in mind for them already. I work with people who have seen miracles happen in the last year. I want to be in the faith business, too. I think I am in the right place.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Has it only been a few days since I arrived here to work? This week has contained so many turns and switchbacks that I can hardly keep up. It seems that Judy Bultmann, the site director here at Bethel Lutheran Disaster Relief has been praying for a pastor for the disaster relief ministry. When I was here in June, I fell in love with this ministry and commented to Judy that if I didn't find a call when I returned to California I could come back to Biloxi where at least there would be a bed and three meals a day. "Oh, don't tell me that, I'll be praying you don't get a call," was her reply. She swears that she did not pray that I would not get a call in Southern California, but instead that a pastor would be available for a call to this ministry. Well, here I am.
It seems that my duties will entail things like working with caseworkers to give out grants, gather the resources and coordinate with caseworkers for special events like the Santa Shop in which parents can come and shop for their families from donated toys and other gifts. Much of my work will pastoral work for the staff and long term volunteers as well as being available as chaplain in the on-site medical clinic. I will be able to take a lot of the pressure off existing staff by offering followup and communication with other disaster relief efforts in the neighborhood as well.
This is definitely a multi-tasking environment. Nothing ever moves from idea through process to completion without a million interruptions. Often the complications are because so many agencies are involved in every project. Sometimes it's because there are always at least 7 things happening on this site at any one time. Sometimes it's because a new set of personnel is on hand for so much of the work each week, as volunteers do almost everything here.
Our population is low this week, with only 40 or so volunteers in residence. Still, the kitchen is busy all day long preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner and cleaning up. There is laundry all day as all the towels and bathmats are washed and dried each day and stacked in fragrant piles outside the largest of three showers. Floors are swept, the dining hall vaccumed and kitchen and bathroom scrubbed every day. The facilities coordinator is a long term volunteer, as are all the volunteers who do this ministry of support.
Teams go out every day to repair, rebuild and finish the restoration projects Long-time handymen and newbie college girls find themselves installing cabinetry, flooring and tile, as well as painting walls and trim. They come back filled with tales of their own accomplishments and with the stories of the residents whose homes they are rebuilding. This work is life-changing, there is no doubt about it. These volunteers bring the hope needed to rebuild the lives which have been devasted by loss, but they are inspired by the stories of courage and determination that they hear from the survivors they came to help. It is always amazing that those who give end up receiving as well. Participating in this work is such a blessing it is hard to describe.
There are many ways to participate, and contributing financially is still needed. Currently Bethel is in need of WalMart, K-Mart or Visa gift cards in $100 denominations for the Santa Store. So many people are still without resources for furniture, toys, children's clothes and food beyond the most basic necessities. Many who have moved back into their restored homes are sleeping on the floor because there is no money for new furniture. Adopt My Room (adoptmyroom.org) provides a complete bedroom for a child, designed to the child's preferences plus a kitchen kit for the child's family, all for $500. My siblings and I are committing to a room for a child instead of exchanging Christmas gifts this year.
I am so blessed to be part of this ministry. For many years I have laughed about being homeless, although sometimes it was pretty lonely to be without a home. I came to believe that my home was actually in my call, rather than in a place. Today, this ministry feels like home to me, and chance both to serve and to grow. When I said something about the surprise of that to Judy and some other staffers, they laughed. "Yes, we know all about that. We pray for food and get a truckload of mattresses."
It seems that my duties will entail things like working with caseworkers to give out grants, gather the resources and coordinate with caseworkers for special events like the Santa Shop in which parents can come and shop for their families from donated toys and other gifts. Much of my work will pastoral work for the staff and long term volunteers as well as being available as chaplain in the on-site medical clinic. I will be able to take a lot of the pressure off existing staff by offering followup and communication with other disaster relief efforts in the neighborhood as well.
This is definitely a multi-tasking environment. Nothing ever moves from idea through process to completion without a million interruptions. Often the complications are because so many agencies are involved in every project. Sometimes it's because there are always at least 7 things happening on this site at any one time. Sometimes it's because a new set of personnel is on hand for so much of the work each week, as volunteers do almost everything here.
Our population is low this week, with only 40 or so volunteers in residence. Still, the kitchen is busy all day long preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner and cleaning up. There is laundry all day as all the towels and bathmats are washed and dried each day and stacked in fragrant piles outside the largest of three showers. Floors are swept, the dining hall vaccumed and kitchen and bathroom scrubbed every day. The facilities coordinator is a long term volunteer, as are all the volunteers who do this ministry of support.
Teams go out every day to repair, rebuild and finish the restoration projects Long-time handymen and newbie college girls find themselves installing cabinetry, flooring and tile, as well as painting walls and trim. They come back filled with tales of their own accomplishments and with the stories of the residents whose homes they are rebuilding. This work is life-changing, there is no doubt about it. These volunteers bring the hope needed to rebuild the lives which have been devasted by loss, but they are inspired by the stories of courage and determination that they hear from the survivors they came to help. It is always amazing that those who give end up receiving as well. Participating in this work is such a blessing it is hard to describe.
There are many ways to participate, and contributing financially is still needed. Currently Bethel is in need of WalMart, K-Mart or Visa gift cards in $100 denominations for the Santa Store. So many people are still without resources for furniture, toys, children's clothes and food beyond the most basic necessities. Many who have moved back into their restored homes are sleeping on the floor because there is no money for new furniture. Adopt My Room (adoptmyroom.org) provides a complete bedroom for a child, designed to the child's preferences plus a kitchen kit for the child's family, all for $500. My siblings and I are committing to a room for a child instead of exchanging Christmas gifts this year.
I am so blessed to be part of this ministry. For many years I have laughed about being homeless, although sometimes it was pretty lonely to be without a home. I came to believe that my home was actually in my call, rather than in a place. Today, this ministry feels like home to me, and chance both to serve and to grow. When I said something about the surprise of that to Judy and some other staffers, they laughed. "Yes, we know all about that. We pray for food and get a truckload of mattresses."
Saturday, November 25, 2006
December 2006 Letter to Grace Lutheran Church
Waiting. Waiting is the lens through which I see the world these days. It is quite disorienting for someone who has been committed daily to a goal that has driven the last ten years of my life. Since I started study to complete my undergraduate degree in the fall of 1997, working, studying, sleeping, eating was all of life. Conversations with friends, movies, travel hardly existed. I became so disciplined at my monastic existence that I almost forgot what people do with leisure time. So the time I spent traveling this summer, visiting friends, seeing parts of the US and Central America, studying Spanish again felt like a well-earned rest. But even my rest was a carefully mapped-out adventure with just enough time to indulge in the various pleasures which had been sacrificed to my vocational call to prepare for ministry.
In September, all that changed. I have been fully engaged in waiting. I am waiting for a congregation to choose me as its pastor – the work for which I have now been trained and the work for which I have been longing since I recognized a call to ministry in the early 1990’s. Day by day I swing between wanting to make my peace with waiting and wanting to stir up more possibilities for pastoral work. The former feels like sitting on hold, my love and gifts for ministry idle and wasted. The latter is frustrating, pushing for something that just doesn’t happen, all my hopes raised at every opportunity, only to be dashed when things don’t pan out. “How long, O Lord, how long?” The Psalmist cries, asking God to wake up to the tragedies of the people who trust that God will answer their prayers because they are God’s beloved. Those words often mirror my own impatience, my need for God to answer me.
Lately a quieter voice enters my prayers. It is a voice that calls me to open my heart to the gifts of this time of waiting. What if the confusion of this time is of my own making? What if it is a struggle between what I want to see and what already exists for me? So I have decided it is time to accept the invitation back to Biloxi, Mississippi, where there is ministry to a community still suffering the effects of the biggest storm ever experienced on the Gulf Coast. I spent a week there this summer working as a chaplain in the medical clinic and washing the towels for 100 volunteers working to rebuild homes. I don’t know exactly what my days will be like or what my duties will entail or even how long I will be needed. Right now, all I know is that having a chance to use my gifts of ministry is a gift to me, an answer to my longing.
The Apostle Paul says that the whole creation waits with eager longing, groaning in expectation for the full revealing of God’s redemption. I know that I am not the only one who waits. In this season of Advent we all enter a time of waiting, of looking more deeply at our longings. Where is God at work that we have not noticed? What is the gift that waiting with openness can bring to each of us and to our community? What adventure awaits?
It has been so wonderful to be with you again these last few months. Grace is home, my solid ground. I will miss you all, but know that we are together in our work in God’s service. May God continue to bless you.
In September, all that changed. I have been fully engaged in waiting. I am waiting for a congregation to choose me as its pastor – the work for which I have now been trained and the work for which I have been longing since I recognized a call to ministry in the early 1990’s. Day by day I swing between wanting to make my peace with waiting and wanting to stir up more possibilities for pastoral work. The former feels like sitting on hold, my love and gifts for ministry idle and wasted. The latter is frustrating, pushing for something that just doesn’t happen, all my hopes raised at every opportunity, only to be dashed when things don’t pan out. “How long, O Lord, how long?” The Psalmist cries, asking God to wake up to the tragedies of the people who trust that God will answer their prayers because they are God’s beloved. Those words often mirror my own impatience, my need for God to answer me.
Lately a quieter voice enters my prayers. It is a voice that calls me to open my heart to the gifts of this time of waiting. What if the confusion of this time is of my own making? What if it is a struggle between what I want to see and what already exists for me? So I have decided it is time to accept the invitation back to Biloxi, Mississippi, where there is ministry to a community still suffering the effects of the biggest storm ever experienced on the Gulf Coast. I spent a week there this summer working as a chaplain in the medical clinic and washing the towels for 100 volunteers working to rebuild homes. I don’t know exactly what my days will be like or what my duties will entail or even how long I will be needed. Right now, all I know is that having a chance to use my gifts of ministry is a gift to me, an answer to my longing.
The Apostle Paul says that the whole creation waits with eager longing, groaning in expectation for the full revealing of God’s redemption. I know that I am not the only one who waits. In this season of Advent we all enter a time of waiting, of looking more deeply at our longings. Where is God at work that we have not noticed? What is the gift that waiting with openness can bring to each of us and to our community? What adventure awaits?
It has been so wonderful to be with you again these last few months. Grace is home, my solid ground. I will miss you all, but know that we are together in our work in God’s service. May God continue to bless you.
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