From the mountains and beyond

I always prayed for Aunt Clara first. Later in life I thought that was rather prescient, but praying on the sleeping porch in college for a few minutes it was merely a part of a nightly ritual. I could not fall asleep  until I said my prayers. I cannot remember anything else I prayed for, but I do know that Aunt Clara, or Clare as she preferred to be addressed later in life, was first on the list. 

I have always prayed. Perhaps because I have always been in such need of forgiveness. More likely it is because I have prayed angry prayers that drew a line in the sand for God and have been met with a lovely embrace filled with the wonders of life. I have prayed happy prayers also, which are actually just moments in which I stopped and looked around. I love the psalms as prayers. ‘Come, let us sing to the Lord!’ or ‘out of despair,I cry to you, O Lord.’ But I only use the psalms as prayers as part of the Daily Office. I had a friend who put Psalm100 to a melody. I sing it often when I am praying in earnest for something I think I or someone else really needs or needs to happen. 

I have come to think that the Morning Prayer liturgy in the BCP is one big prayer experience. It is ridiculous that I have never thought this before now. What did I think I was doing? I am not sure, but what I do know is that in the process of spending time with Morning Prayer through the wordpress dailyoffice.org, I have experienced a calm and peace with the world. Forgiveness comes more readily, although for myself it is still hesitant to absolve. The words of Scripture are held in my heart and head and are a source of renewal. I have a list of ‘should’ve’s I am working on and will let you know when I have conquered that word. 

When I read that someone is guided by or just remembers something her mother said, I pause and understand I am that mother. That grandmother. I have such a gift in the opportunity to guide, to be remembered. But that is not my prayer. My prayer is to see Jesus. Only Jesus in the mystery of life. Seeing only Jesus.

I read that vocation comes from my greatest strength and my greatest need. I felt I knew that my greatest strength was my spirit with a gene pool directly from my mother. I struggled with the greatest need. I set out on a day alone and prayed for what that might be. At first I thought of behavorial traits that needed changing; more discipline, more this, more that. 

And then, I knew.

I need to write.

It is not the same as I remember, but I don’t remember how it was. I just remember it was close. A quick trip after dinner. None of the big open spaces of today’s stores and there were common items.  Not a trend. Useful. White cubes for toys. Or books. Or clothes. Or plants. Or just to look nice. For a long time. The  space now has racks of clothes. Not common clothes. Special. The escalator is the same. The walls are the same. The shadows are deep. And white.

Susan was there. She remembered me. I didn’t ask for advice thinking it would be too much for her and I did not know exactly what to ask about. I had not refreshed my lipstick. I had no idea what my face looked like. That’s it. I am retired and on most days I don’t know what I look like. Susan is someone I trust to help make me remember what it is to care about what I look like.

The returns were made to a store at which I did not feel shamed to return items about which I had changed my mind. And about which I had a change of opinion also about what I wanted to wear. No all-over prints. No trousers whose plasticy fabric would stretch or not feel like I like fabric to feel. No jeans that were tall but too long. And she agreed. She told me to write the company and say the clothes were not the same as they used to be. She noticed a difference also. Not the same. I took home a cashmere scarf. Deep green. It is an infinity scarf.  I don’t like infinity scarves. It is a nice green. 

I walked past a store that looked familiar in a strange way. It was Aesop. I rememberd. Hampstead. I took a picture and sent it along to Stockholm. They laughed and told me how they treasured the Aesop I had given them while they were in Hampstead. Aesop was a small delight each day there. Sampling their treasured lotions and scents. Geranium leaves today.

Walking further. UnderArmor. Shinola. reminding me of Stephen and his work. Stopped to watch the video at UA. Not Stephen’s. 

Juliana was on her way to a nail appointment today. Nervous about being with colleagues who are not kind. She needs to wear her faith and confidence around her like a strong garment in a storm. A metaphor taken from Buechner describing John Muilenburg. 

Later Juliana called and was tired and weepy. Moving is not easy. Working is not easy. Parenting is not easy. Life is not easy. Leaving on vacation is not easy. I told her I had an image of her family leaving tomorrow like the family in the movie Home Alone. She laughed. I will pray for her and for her work. May God grant her the grace to meet women who can encourage and strengthen her. 

Walked to the Columbarium in Leesburg on my way home. Kissed them all. Asked for prayers for Juliana. Moderately refreshed the flowers from Christmas. 

Earlier in the day and after my hair cut, I attended the healing service at St. James. I found myself distracted. Thinking of time and if it was getting too late to make the trip to Tysons and return before the traffic became an issue. The sermon was on salt and light. I think I will go again. 

It is time to turn away from ‘them.’ It is time to turn away from ‘us.’ It is time to work together.  We each need to have a quiet moment and listen. To ask questions. And listen. Seek to  understand.

January 17, 2021

I wrote those words two years ago. I could write the same ones today. I will have to look back and see what prompted my returning to this blog after an extended leave of absence and what was going on in the world that prompted the message.

Today, I am in Detroit. Detroit, Michigan. We are beginning a new life in a way. Okay, a big way. I will post what I have been writing in the time since we left Harpers Ferry. Today, I am trying whether this site works, or more accurately, whether I know how to make this site work for me.

It is December 28, 2014. The month of December was short this year. Today is the first day to sit and listen to music by the tree. Candlelit room. What happened?

It may not be the best time to write. I suddenly feel a cold coming on. Scratchy throat. Clogged ears. Stuffy head.

Curt has complained of a head cold since before Juliana’s family left yesterday. Perhaps I am getting what i deserve for not being more sympathetic.

But the screech. Is that the sound of meetings, lesson plans, weekend activities, church events, organizing the house, trimming the tree, shopping, wrapping, baking, planning–all of it coming to a halt? A screeching halt? I was depressed yesterday. I received word of a childhood friend’s death. I read a lovely description someone had written about meals around the Kaestner table. I wondered if anyone would or could write anything so lovely about my hospitality.

We don’t give dinners. We live alone. We do not seek out folks. I love seeing them at the post office or on walks around town, but to ask them to dinner? No. Is that what the Lord refers to when he says we should welcome strangers? Is that what I need to do to share the light of Christ? Is that the only way I am going to have a conversation in my house about anything but the weather? That is really what I long for. I don’t think I honestly am looking for someone to write about me and my hostessing. I know I am good at cooking and bringing about a fine meal, but what about a spontaneous dinner? Could I do that and not think too much about all those details?

The Times wrote about a dinner party in which everyone brought something or even cooked it at the host’s home. How about that? When guests ask what they might bring to such a dinner, they are asked what they would like to bring, what they like to cook. The plans proceed from there, probably with some thought given to what the host/hostess want to supply in the first place. What do you think? Could I do it? Could I stop editing any potential guest list? Could I just let Christ make the list and set the date?

I need so much help in life lately. Where is that angel who comes in a dream and tells me where I need to go to be safe and to be walking in the Light. I am not certain this prayer of Thomas Merton’s is encouraging for me right now or not:

“My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.”

The conversation behind me spoke of living in Albuquerque for 19 years and I wondered what it would feel like to live anywhere for 19 years. Are any of my children set to do that? To be settled and to have people know them, really know them. Not just the ‘hello, how are you?’ kind of knowing. When life has been lived in fourteen different homes and the children’s toys are in boxes and they do not come home to the rooms of their youth, we are left to look around and see that a settled life is maybe a myth. Yes, the folks on Sunday morning do look as if they have it all together. And essays and memoirs about growing up are lovely to read for the detailed scrapbook of earlier days they present, but everyone must get up in the morning and look around. As the long-time residents have their work, the work they have volunteered to do for years and years and over which they seem to have some pride of ownership, the rest of us—the newcomers also have work to do. It is for us to find the other outsiders. That term may seem negative, but it is the way we feel next to the people who are on first name basis with people we do not know. The other ‘outsiders’ are waiting. They may have given up hope. They may have given up on being recognized at the grocery store or even walking down the street. It is for us who know what that feels like to say, ‘hello.’

I had always used my first laptop to post to this blog. That machine has forgotten how to access the Internet here at home. It knew my password for the site. I did not. Today, the Lord has been gracious and given me the time and space to remember this is what I needed to do, to remember my original username, and to see my way through the reset process. None of it was difficult. No, no, let me rephrase that. Today, none of it was difficult. And life begins anew. Today.

At one point in time, my family starved during September and October. I was watching baseball at dinnertime. We lived on the West Coast and the games started early.

Now I don’t even know this is the week of the All-Star break.

I also probably don’t know any of the all-stars.

I grew up with a father who followed the St. Louis Cardinals. In a living room, dark after the summer’s late twilight, Dad would sit and listen each night to Harry Carey’s play-by-play. If it was an afternoon game, the radio could be heard at the back of his store. When I visited my grandfather in St. Louis, we went to Sportsman’s Park for a Cardinal game and he taught me how to keep score. I am certain Grandpa lived as long as he did because his team kept winning in October. We never owned any Cardinal memorabilia. It was a different kind of head and heart thing.

Baseball is a beautiful game. As an adult I loved it for reasons that sound really hokey. I watched the Orioles and their rookie, Cal Ripken, as I was ironing in Virginia and my oldest was doing his own play-by-play outside with a tennis ball thrown against a tennis playback net. I watched the As on sunny afternoons that are particular to Northern California. The children and I could get into games for $2 and a Sprite can. An empty one. We could walk into the team offices and touch their World Series trophies. That’s where we bought season tickets after my parents moved to the area. Dad always wanted to get to the game in time for the first pitch. Most of the time, he went with one of the boys to the games. I am certain he was as excited as they were with the anticipation of a win for their team.

Dad also said that baseball would break your heart. He was talking about the team you love not winning when you want them to or when they need to or when they should have won.

How is it that I can have lost that caring about a team? I am definitely on the injured/disabled fan list.

I can change that.  But Dad was right it might break my heart.

She got up and left just now. It was like one of those times when you were revisiting a place you have been before but not quite certain you are at the exact place you remember. And then you turn a corner and there it is. The exact place. Since she has lived here for the past two years and especially this year, I have not had time on the porch by myself very often. And when I do, it is in the very early morning or late evening. Make no mistake, I still treasure the time sitting here with her. She shares her thoughts and opinions, reads from interesting articles in the times or reviews the book she is currently reading. Her 90-year-old mind is working.  But now that she is inside making her bed, I am alone in the mid-morning on the porch. It is the exact place I remember.

It’s late. Or early. I want to be asleep, but I don’t want to go to sleep. There are nights when I lie in bed and think. Not consciously about bad things, just lots of things. My days don’t have idle brain time. I wrote about what I did yesterday. Looked as if I had plenty of time to cogitate, but there is an element of time that is not measured linearly. Time that has bookends has difficulty supporting thoughts and activities that do not always have a definitive beginning or end. So it’s 2 o’clock in the morning and I am more relaxed than I am a 2;30 in the afternoon. I am on the porch. I am so happy to be on the porch. It is a place where I can be alone surrounded by endless time. And two street lights. And crickets.

my son. the seeker. the encourager. the dreamer. may the Lord bless and keep you. may your days be filled with wonder and your steps be guided with wisdom. and what else? God alone knows.