Tombstones, wood storks and breathing room

     What do I want people to say about me after I die? Do you ever think about things like that, or am I just really morbid? Maybe it's because death is something I encounter all the time as a hospital chaplain. Or maybe it's because Easter got me thinking about death and all that comes after it. There's also the fact that I recently met up with family for a trip to Savannah, where we visited Bonaventure Cemetery. My aunt Sharon is an amateur photographer, and the ancient tombstones and moss draped trees gave her lots of potential pictures. I enjoyed reading the narrative inscriptions on centuries-old headstones, like this one: 

      "The religion of the cross she understood with uncommon discernment and regarded it in her life with humility and with reverence. On her death bed she found its consolation with delightful peace and hope, and at the close of a distressing disease fell into a sweet sleep and left the world without a struggle. Fair stranger, mayest thou live and die in the same manner." 

        Apart from the distressing disease part, I would be pretty happy if that could be written on my tombstone (or in my obituary, since I plan to be cremated). It's one of the best epitaphs this "fair stranger" has ever read.

SS

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      I find myself becoming enchanted with the idea of breathing room.  In our 24/7 wifi connected lives, with our ipads and our smart phones, we are always on, typing, reading, listening, working, playing absurd games on tiny screens.  Our daily schedules are so busy that finding time for coffee with a friend turns into a calendar challenge.    I find myself savoring the moments when all the beeping, winking gadgets are turned off, nothing is scheduled and I can just breathe.   I've started scheduling myself a few hours here and there just to be.  I pull up an hour on my digital calendar and label it "breathing room."  It's an hour of free space - to turn off the phone and the computer and sit on the back porch or walk on the beach.   It's time to breathe.

AF

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Blessings in the Unexpected

      A friend of mine noticed the beautiful dogwoods blooming in winter chill winds and remarked, “Oh, it’s a dogwood winter.” I had never heard that particular expression, but liked it and decided to go in search of a dogwood photo at one of my favorite local parks. I walked and walked, passing camellia and azalea blossoms battling out the transition from winter to spring. Nowhere could I find a single blooming dogwood. Resigned to look elsewhere, I started on a path back home and stopped to observe an unusually large egret. Inching closer, I found it actually was a wood stork with its hideous vulture head topping a delicate plume of white and black feathers like some kind of dinosaur bird hybrid. I’m used to seeing these birds in Florida, but not so much here. 

      As I left the park wondering where to go to get my dogwood tree, I realized I already had my blog topic. When I let go of my expectation and saw the blessing before me, the reptilian head started growing on me. I decided to let go of my expectations and dwell on the stork’s blessing. 

     I found out this remarkable creature with its five-foot wingspan puts its open bill in the water and waits for the touch of a wandering fish. When it feels a fish, it can snap its bill shut in as little as 25 milliseconds, which according to National Geographic is an incredibly quick reaction time matched by few other vertebrates. Who knew? What a great spiritual metaphor about being still and waiting when it’s time for that and lightning quick to action when it’s time for that. I usually have it in reverse. I fail to wait on God and jump headlong into a situation and often when I sense the spirit moving me, I hem and haw too long.

        To me Easter in part is about opening to how Jesus surprises us and shows up unexpectedly. It’s about seeing the blessings in not getting the expected, about how an ugly little vulture head can grow on you.

DB

Slowing down to the speed of Lent

      My mind has been swimming the last few weeks. Some of the reasons are good, others not. No matter the cause, I have been distracted and unfocused much of the time. Now we come to Lent, and I remember that the word is from a Latin root that means "slow." I can hear my college French professor reminding me to speak "lentement" so that my pronunciation would be clearer. Staring out over the water at high tide, appreciating the silence and calm, I'm reminded that I need this in my life. My prayer for these 40 days is to focus outside myself and live "lentement."

SS

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      At a recent women’s retreat, we shared an intimate communion. A soft light bathed the bread and pitchers in the chapel at St. Christopher’s, where we could see the beach scene beyond. I had the privilege of serving communion - of offering peace to fellow believers. I enjoyed seeing each familiar face pass my way. There was the friend I walked the beach with and the one with whom I shared laughs and late night talks as roommates. We shared secrets from the soul, and I made a new friend with whom I have lunch at work with now. Some of us did latin dance together, letting go to be silly and sweaty. What can I say? What happens at St. Christopher’s stays at St. Christopher’s.

       Many of us had to move heaven and Earth to be able to attend. I always try to make the effort, though, because I gain so much from the bonding with other women. These weekends create space for moments of holy communion, for us to share our broken bodies and our imperfect paths to peace. The caregivers who break themselves into so many pieces to care for friends and family, pause to receive care. When women gather like this, I have found magic always happens.

DB

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If you wish to know the Divine, feel the wind on your face

and the warm sun on your hand.  - Buddha

     While showing many of my South Africa photos to an exceedingly patient friend, I was struck again by my complete immersion into the natural world while there.  Giraffes, rhinos and baby rhinos, impala, kudu, wart hogs, zebra and so on could be just around the next turn in the road.  While sleeping in tents at camp, we woke at the very first rays of dawn to an outpouring of sound from birds, baboons, monkeys, elephants, and more that I couldn't even begin to identify. We ate our meals outside. We spent the days outside. 

     Back in my warm, safe home, sitting in front of my computer at work,  I realize how much I miss that connection to nature.  I watch the cardinals at my bird feeder and see the egrets and herons in the marsh on my runs.  But here I'm lost in a world of emails and schedules, of blue screens rather than blue sky.

    As we begin the Lenten journey, I'm choosing to walk the path outdoors, finding more time to be outside rather than inside, listening for the sounds of the earth, the smell of the rain, the touch of the wind.  It's not just good therapy, it's holy listening.

AF

Restorative Life

Baggage Claim

     As usual, I've overpacked. My goal is to always go light, pack efficiently and compact. The reality is I generally end up sitting on my suitcase, squeezing in items that maybe I won't be able to live without or including every outfit combo that would suit my various moods or the weather or chance opportunities. I try to outwit travel and all the loops and curves it can throw my way, though I often end up loving the detours. I love to travel. I can't wait to see what's around the next corner or how people experience life in other parts of the country. They say, whenever you go, there you are. We carry our baggage so to speak.

     That's true, of course, but it goes deeper than that. We are the food we eat and the places we've been. Age has mellowed me, made me realize it's good to get rid of my baggage for awhile and see the culture and life view of another area. I'm the same, but different - more open somehow.

We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.

                                                                                   T.S. Eliot

DB

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         I have learned to love the subtle changes autumn brings to the salt marsh in the Lowcountry. The spartina grass fades gently from vibrant summer green to a softer golden brown as the days cool and shorten.  But a few days back home in West Virginia remind me that I miss the vibrant colors of the mountains as the trees announce the arrival of autumn with cool crisp days and frost sprinkled nights.   All the colors of nature proclaim that a season has ended and another begun.  

        The colors remind us that change happens whether we are ready for it or not.  The cycle of life continues.  Life changes and moves on. We leave home. Our children grow up and move away.  Our  jobs change, new roads are paved, new babies are born.  Things change.

      It’s October.  We can embrace the change in the air by pulling on a sweater and stepping out for a brisk walk or we can huddle inside the house, remembering the last warm days of summer.   It’s all about attitude.

AF

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     When I arrived for my first restorative yoga class, the instructor, Tracy, had prepared a station for each of the six women in the group. A yoga mat, a large foam block, a long blue strap, a small foam block, and a fuzzy blanket were laid out for me. The lights were low, and soothing music played from Tracy's iPod. The first pose had me on my back, knees up, using my feet and core muscles to lift my lower back off the floor far enough to position the large foam block under my lumbar spine. I stretched to reach for the block, just as Tracy arrived and, shaking her head gently, placed it for me. We were to hold each pose for five full minutes, focusing on our breathing and "listening to our bodies." My mind wandered, and my inner perfectionist took over. I found myself looking at my classmates to make sure I was doing the pose "correctly," but Tracy caught me, and I earned another gently disapproving shake of her head. 
     The next pose was sitting against the wall, legs stretching up the wall, backs flat on the mat. Tracy told us to let one leg fall to the side "until you are comfortable," though again, I was comparing my pose to everyone else's. The long strap to one side of my mat was there to wrap around my foot for support, and just as I was about to break the pose to reach for it, Tracy appeared again. As she placed the strap around my foot, she leaned in to whisper, "You're going to have to learn to let me do things for you, Stacy."

SS

It's October!

     There are dozens of things I love about my church community. This is one of them. Every week at their meeting, our staff take time to pray for certain members of the church. I don't know how many, or how they choose, or how often any one member gets prayer. I only know that every time I get one of these cards letting me know they prayed for me, it is always in a week that I need prayer more than usual. Last week was a stressful time of waiting and worrying. It was made a little easier from knowing that Deanna, Don, Sandi, and Woody talked to God about me, and believing that God was listening.

SS

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Lessons from Sitting Bull

     Some days I’m amazed at what a great single mom I am.

     Others, I’m frankly appalled.

     It’s one of those days for me, of the latter kind. I crawl into bed at 10:45 p.m. having gotten everyone fed, ‘homeworked,’ ‘soccered’ and asleep. I pick up my journal relishing these 15 minutes I’ll be able to stay awake before passing out. Picking up my cell phone that functions as my second brain, I’m shocked to see the date.  Something important happens tomorrow, but what? I try to shake the feeling of foreboding.

      Then I sit straight up in bed.

      Sitting Bull. My youngest son’s life-size project is due not in two days as I thought, but tomorrow. He’s sound asleep in his room, and this is my screw up. I go downstairs, speed read his book, type up the points he’s already done, adding a few more, and hunt down craft items. Stumbling into bed at 1 a.m., I set the alarm for 5 a.m. assembling the family to frantically paste on hair, jewelry, loin cloth, moccasins and a Sitting Bull face.  I dress, feed kids and fend the dog off Sitting Bull until he can dry. Wrestling him into the back seat of the car, I say a prayer that nothing falls off. Privately I continue my inner chatter on what a mess I’m making of things. As luck would have it as I escort Sitting Bull into school, the principal rounds the corner and wants to see our masterpiece.

     “I just love seeing these projects.” She smiles at me. “Aren’t they fun?”

      I smile not trusting myself to speak and unroll the paper hoping body parts have remained in the right places. I look down to see my son beaming, and for the first time in hours give myself a moment of grace. He’ll probably never remember this Sitting Bull project, but I will. I fix a wisp of Sitting Bull’s hair and know he’d understand that life’s not always fair. Sometimes we just do the imperfect, best thing we can to take care of our own.

DB

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Happiness is a butterfly, which when pursued, is always just beyond your grasp, 

but which, if you will sit down quietly, may alight upon you.        

                                                                                      ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

     We noticed them as we walked through the dunes to the beach. Butterflies were everywhere - yellow gulf fritillaries,  brown skippers and orange brush footed queens.  A few brave flyers followed us out to skim over the waves.  I've walked this beach many times but this was new.

     On our way back, after a long, chatty walk on the beach, one of the queens landed on the back of my friend's hat and stayed.  The butterfly posed on the top of her white cap for several minutes while we snapped photos.  Then, off into the wind and on to another flower.  It was a moment of pure delight, more for us than for Chris; she couldn't see the butterfly until we showed her the pictures of the back of her head. 

     We paused our walk for a moment of wonder - a piece of flying happiness.  Moments like this remind us of the goodness of life and deserve to be savoured.

AF

A sky, a stitch, and a wrestling match

        My Texas friends always tell me how much they miss the sky when they move east.  "There’s not a lot of sky here," a good friend commented upon moving to upstate SC. The statement didn't make much sense, until I spent last week driving through East Texas, through little towns like Tyler, Brownsboro, and Hubbard to Bartlett, TX and I realized they were right.  There's a lot more sky in Texas. It's wide, wide open land with short shrubby trees and a lot of fenced in dust.  As another friend said,  “In Texas, we like to fence in our nothing.”  

        As much as I love my home on the coast and my hometown in the mountains, I did love looking at that Texas sky. My eyes continued to be drawn upward.  The limitless blue made the horizon stretch just a bit wider, opening up a bit more room to think, more room to be.  You could straighten your shoulders, stretch your arms for miles and never touch a thing.  It was infinite space that made me realize how limited my view had become.  That immeasurable holy sky drove home the true smallness of all my little worries and frets. 

        A limitless sky is good for the soul.  It's time to stretch.

AF

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      God and I continued our conversation as we sat crocheting. (Click here for beginning of conversation in November 8, 2011 blog post)  I sighed loudly, dropping the

written pattern and ripping out another row of my work. “Ugh, this

pattern sucks!”

        “So why keep following it?” God asked.

        “Because . . . it’s a pattern,” I stammered. “How would I know what

to do without it?!”

        God smiled. “You have what you need, Beloved. I’ve made sure of that.”

        I sighed again. “Meaning what, exactly?” It’s hard to get a straight

answer out of God during these chats.

        “You know how to crochet. You do a stitch. Then you decide what you

want the next stitch to be and do that one. And when you think it’s

time to start a new row, you finish off and turn.”

        “But what if it takes me fifty rows to realize I’ve made a mistake?” I asked.

        “Then you rip out forty-nine and do it differently.”

        “And lose everything?!” There was panic in the shrill crescendo of my question.

        Calmly, God replied, “Not everything. You learn from your mistakes

and build on your successes. I made you good at that.”

        “Thanks,” I smirked. “Why couldn’t you have just made me so I do

things right the first time?” By now I have learned not to expect

answers to such questions. God began a new row, and I stared with envy

at the perfect stitches.

        “Perfection isn’t the point, Beloved.” I jumped, caught off guard by

God’s spoken response to my silent thoughts. God laughed, then handed

me the yarn and hook. “Here, you finish it.” With trembling hands, I

looped the yarn over the hook and began to put it through the next

stitch.

        “But what is it?” I asked. God said nothing. I finished a single

crochet and paused.

        “Good,” God nodded.  “Now, what do you want the next stitch to be?” I

sat staring at the yarn in my hands, terrified of ruining the

beautiful work God had begun. I couldn’t even tell what I was supposed

to make of it. A blanket? A scarf? A sweater? A doll? Maybe it was

something that hadn’t even occurred to me yet. Helplessly, I looked

up, and God winked. “Just the next stitch.”

        “And then?”

        God reached over and squeezed my hand. “Then one more.” I took a deep

breath, and looped the yarn over the hook.

SS

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Wrestling Match

     At a recent Beth Moore event at the North Charleston Coliseum, I was pleased to see that 9,000 people attended from 25 different states. As we all raised our voices in a chorus of “How Great is thy Faithfulness,” I let the blessings of the song, of all the different voices of faith, roll around me.

     I’ve never done a Moore event or Bible study when I haven’t been richly blessed. Early on Moore asked, “How many times are we striving for something that God has already given us?” We studied the story of Jacob and Esau’s reunion, including how Jacob wrestled with the angel. The angel could have ended the fight at any time, as he did in the end by touching Jacob’s hip socket, but instead they wrestled. Her point:  Have you let go too soon?

     She talked about those among us who have had a season of our life that seemed to go on too long with no blessing. Her suggestion: Hold on for the blessing with the passion of Jacob. Turn back around and say, ‘Lord, I will not let go until the blessing comes.’       Sometimes you’re never closer to Jesus than when you’re wrestling it out.

      I’m not sure why so many of us have seasons that seem too long, but I think she’s right. We have to want the blessing, the good work that God promises he's doing in us, enough to wrestle it out.

DB