Blessing of a new union

I've known Jen and Dean before there was a Jen and Dean, which hardly seems possible as they are so quirkily suited.

Dean wandered into my Quaker Meeting stirring up all kinds of questions and old wounds. "What, exactly, do we believe?" he innocently asked, repeatedly. "So what do we think about Jesus here and why can't we just say it?" he probed. "Why do we seem stuck in our woundedness – can't we just get over it and move on?" He had a point. We were so welcoming and affirming, especially to those hurt by religion other places, that we tiptoed around what one ought to believe. He lovingly forced us to do some collective deep listening and, eventually, move forward. Personally, he helped me reconnect to early Friends and their Christo-centric view. Actually, I believe he swayed the Meeting in that direction.

After that, he pushed us to think outside of ourselves and touch the secular world with what he believed was special. He organized a huge concert to benefit the Afghan orphanage we collected funds to build. He knew it would also show others our way. He bravely stood to the mostly gray-and-white-haired congregation and said we needed a five-year plan to attract younger members. We didn't want to hear it, we were comfortable with our intimate circle. Of course, we embraced anyone who walked through the door, but we did no soliciting. He dressed as Quaker-zilla during an all-night walk for cancer and, thanks to Dean, we're currently in the midst of QuakerQuest, a British program that helps Meetings know themselves, then invite others in.

I tend to think Jen, who came a bit later though she was already Quaker, and Dean bonded in the kitchen, where they created wonderful community-gathering meals that fed our souls and bellies. Both work in food service and Jen just finished a degree in nutrition. They pushed us into lively meals and discussions.

Jen served as recording clerk of the business meeting, clicking away on her laptop, probably the first to do so, accurately setting the record and graciously taking suggestions. She'd saunter into worship and sit cross-legged and ready for meditation, or centering, as many of us call it, and wrap up in one of the scattered hand-knit shawls. She'd ask for wonderfully simple songs, often from child-hood, that exactly matched the worship energy and reminded us of the basics: God's deep love for us. She is always fearless in stating what she believes and listening to others. She is not afraid to name any elephant in the room.

They both got us singing again.

I don't even remember why, but Jen and I began the tradition of sharing hugs – big, bear-like ones that grip you to the core. She's one of the THE best huggers. PERIOD. With her, you need no excuse, but I especially like to give her one when it looks as if she's just woken up and made her way to worship.

Serving on their marriage clearness committee was a joy, though this always-raring-to-go, plan-it and do-it couple left a few of us scratching our heads. "What if life doesn't turn out this way?" we asked. "Then we'll change the plan," came the response. They seem untainted by the disappointments of life. They're young and shouldn't have the same experience, knowledge and wisdom the rest of us on the committee have lived. They do their homework and I believe their eyes – and hearts – are opened much wider than mine at their ages. Honestly, I had some reservations about their take-charge, practical approach to partnership and then I understood how committed they were and thought who am I to judge; seems like a great match.

We couldn't wait for the wedding and reception boasting fried chicken, biscuits and bacon. Guests would supply the rest. In their matter-of-factness, they explained they needed no gifts, however, if one were so inclined, you could give to their education fund, apologizing for the $25 minimum. Such humility. Jen is waiting to hear back about which medical school she'll attend in the fall and Dean plans to go full forward toward a Ph.D.

I loved pulling up to the Meetinghouse and seeing a billowing white tent weighted to the parking lot and festooned with decorated tables, plants and vegetable-seed favors. This was an honest-to-goodness Quaker wedding, only the second I've attended. Because there were other guests beyond Quakers, I knew Dean was multi-tasking by exposing more outsiders to our quiet way.

As the couple strolled in, Jen beamed with the broadest smile I have ever witnessed. Her usual is pretty wide, but this was something else entirely. Those gathered weren't perfectly quiet and some, I could tell, struggled with the silence until wonderful Jeff broke the awkward spell and began to tell stories about the couple. And they just kept on coming as we all realized what a true communion this was for the bride and groom and also the faith community. We laughed and cried, yet were all bound by the amazing energies Jen and Dean have now knotted. I thought the room might burst from the outpouring of love. In those minutes, our space was irrevocably graced with this blessing of marriage.

As Dean and Jen exited for photos, the rest of us lined up to sign the oversized marriage certificate, a Quaker tradition. Then on to the food, festivities and communal clean up. It was such a homecoming, bringing in former members and new families.

The last thing I heard Dean say as they headed off to the Friends General Conference Gathering, national Quaker camp as Jen describes, was "When you get the chairs set up under the tent for worship tomorrow, can you get a photo?" He was so joyful that their reception tent would house worship the next morning.

That worship was special for many reasons, but, mostly, because Spirit was still very present from the day before. We were small in number, but all reeling from the intimacy created as a result of the wedding. There were far more leftovers than we could consume, so we packed dozens of pieces of chicken, bowls of biscuits, handfuls of honey packets, a vegetable platter and 2 dozen cupcakes for a very special family in my neighborhood that our Meeting has adopted. The other cupcakes went to a food bank. I sailed home knowing how much the food would be appreciated by the parents, daughter and three boys and that this is, exactly, what Jen and Dean would have wanted: their blessing to continue.

• When have I witnessed God bring two people together?
• How has the energy shifted in that union?
• When has Spirit known better than I?
• Where have I experienced deep community?
• How can I contribute to such community?

as an introvert,
Quakerism suits 
me fine

silent worship
and prayer,
quietly
serving on
committees

except for
the vocal-
ministry part,
which I have
surrendered

thankfully,
not ALL of
our meeting 
is so quiet

we need the
exuberant
energy of
those twirling
with ideas
and the ability
to do

it takes
so many
individuals
centered on
God to
reach deep
community

and, we are
blessed with the
new union of
Jen & Dean

Listen to this post:

Worship launches whirlwind week

Answered prayers and blessings have abounded this week and, fortunately, I've been in a place of awareness and gratitude. Could I possibly always be this blessed, just not aware?

Much of it has to do with a conscious effort and new spiritual practice to bless everything and everyone. Ok, really, it's Spirit, yet my awareness is more present, focused and tuned in.

IT'S IN THE EYES
Monday, I took a brief road trip with my twin sister to Smalltown, Indiana, to visit a naturopath her co-workers rave about. It was a beautifully sunny day to weave up and down among the rolling pastures, neat farms, livestock, flea markets and forgotten villages. I needed a new perspective after a long winter of hibernating. We arrived early and had a brief wait in the front of the building, where all of the herbs are kept. Several locals strolled in looking for this tonic or that. We had our appointment together, but Carolyn gently insisted I go first. "Just like you pushed me out of the womb?" I jokingly asked.

Terri began by photographing each of my eyes. She practices iridology, which purports your health is recorded in the eyes. I was enamored with the photos and coaxed her into e-mailing me one. She seemed impressed with something about my eyes, though didn't name it. I scribbled a page or two of notes since she had many interesting things to day. Most rung with truth. Those that didn't personally, I could see were family traits. What interested me most, beyond her saying I had a strong structure and healthy heart, was her suggestion that the fibromyalgia is bacterial. That spoke to me not in a new-hope-this-will-fix-it way, but as a truth, one path no one else has uttered, let alone offered to treat – naturally. She bumped up my thyroid treatment, gave me an enzyme for digestion, olive-leaf oil for the bacteria and a sleep enhancer to get me off the Valerian root-melatonin and Benadryl roller coaster. I have had more energy this week. I am struggling with sleep, weaning off a cocktail of many years. However, I am giving it a go. Funny thing, at the beginning of my consultation, she looked at me and remarked: "You're always going and active, aren't you? And when you're done, you drop." I responded that I think of myself more as a contemplative, then remembered how my husband always reminds me that I never stop, unless physically forced to.

I think Terri calls it as she sees it and reminds me I am not sickly and helpless, the way my ego has ensnared me.

REMEMBERING TO FEEL BLESSED
Forgetting NOT to take the thyroid supplements before bed and mixing it with the sleep aid was a mistake that had me up and down all night. Tiredly, I drug myself to the pool, then off to meet my new workshop partner for our final planning session. We're presenting tomorrow (Saturday). Sunday we had been disappointed that no one showed up at our preview session, though we buoyed each other and left undaunted. This work seems like such a blessing and exactly what I am called to that it's not really work. Of course, there's lots to do and much effort exerted, but it's fun, playful and, even, prayerful. Before Monday's road trip, I'd popped into the studio to finish the wall-of-pain piece I'd created for the workshop. We'd gotten the ok to set it up in our venue and use it as a teaser. The owner loved it and it looked great. How could anyone resist? we thought. We have five souls coming tomorrow and are thrilled! I'd caught myself from becoming desperate and used prayer and blessings when it was only two on Tuesday. I also have my diligent partner to thank.

SEEING CLEARLY A SLOW PROCESS
Sunday, I'd left Quaker meeting (church) early, missing the business meeting, to co-host that intro workshop I mentioned earlier. In my absence, the congregation considered a ministry grant request from me for salary and rent for Artsy Fartsy Saturdays, the not-for-profit arts exploration I launched for local, at-risk kids. I'd had mixed feelings about attending. I wanted to be sure people had space to talk freely and me being there would, possibly, inhibit that. The 2 p.m. workshop made it a moot point.

Sailing busily through the week, testing a new supplement regiment and fighting something off, I hadn't thought much about Sunday's business meeting. Actually, I kept thinking I could call our minister when I had time; surely she'd know what happened. The plain white envelope with a neatly handwritten note on a yellow, legal half sheet wrapped around a check beat me to that call. The money, my FULL request, showed up in the mail with a lovely message from the treasurer. She's not one to gush and said how delighted the meeting was to put funds to such a good cause. I was overcome with joy, relief, tears, gratitude and feeling loved and blessed. Something I haven't felt in a very long time. It was wonderful. I did call our minister the next day to tell her how touched I was. "I wish you had been there, Cathy. There wasn't even a hiccup; people really have wanted to do this. We have been clear you have gifts, but, before Artsy Fartsy, they weren't focused. Clearly, they are now."

I can't even remember the number of clearness committees for ministry I have had in the last 12 years.  I have struggled through a number of them, remaining unclear. This last round, however, was so pure and taught me that I have to be clear myself, not rely on others for that. They may help by asking questions, but not by giving advice or suggestions. My group was to have met the first Sunday in March with my request, but a winter storm cancelled worship and anything else that day. So, I e-mailed my proposal, for which I was crystal clear, to the committee and it went to ministry and counsel with their blessing. Apparently ministry and counsel recommended it to the business meeting and, WA-LA, it was approved. On one hand it seemed so easy, on the other, it has taken me along time to get here. My journey was to learn to ask for what I need. When I finally could, it was lovingly given. The next morning as I ticked off laps, I blessed the names and faces of everyone I could think of in my meeting.

ROOTING IN THE PRESENT
Today, as I prepped for tomorrow and blog, I received an intriguing phone call from someone I'd met a few weeks ago who uses shipping pods as gallery space. He's got an empty two-week slot and wonders whether  there's a place around here the show can land. The longer I talked, the more excited I got. Wow, God, I thought, you had him call me! Then, please let me connect him or figure it out. In another time, I would have found it an annoyance. I am grateful to be clear, aware and grounded in the present. Amen.

Maybe there is something about my eyes.

• What is my experience of clarity?
• When have I been clear?
• When have I been anything but?
• When have I heard truth from unusual or unexpected sources?
• How do I express gratitude for the truth, clarity and blessings?


whirlwind
of a week,
bookended

by worship
and teaching
about pain

linked with
truth, blessing
and love

and a new
vision of
myself
as strong,
healthy,
lovable

and
Spirit's
emissary*


*Years ago when I attended School of the Spirit and our small group named each other's gifts, my facilitator wrote this. I couldn't see it then. I am beginning to.

Listen to this post:

Underestimating my mother

Witnessing a parent decline is excruciating, plucking at and uncovering every minuscule  heartstring as you wonder if you've done enough or gotten what you've done right.

How do you care for a parent in a loving, compassionate manner that honors and respects their position in your life as well as the person they are, have been and will become?

This is a place of twisted fate and odd role reversal.

Accompanying my mother as patient and father as caregiver as an adult child is a complex maze, perhaps even a minefield, as I desire to assist them over telling them what to do. Often they amaze me, sometimes surprise me and, rarely, infuriate me. I hope to be more of a guide, carrying out their wishes, than dictator or purporting to know what's best. I want to help them stay independent and in their own home as long as possible. That's also my wish. 

My mother bravely faced a difficult nine-hour surgery head on. She knew in advance that was not the struggle. "What will I know?" she said. "I''ll be knocked out." The recovery would be, she anticipated, her challenge.

In a wonderful Quaker clearness committee, the process of surrounding yourself with trusted others to discern where God is moving by deep listening and thoughtful questioning, she discovered this recovery would be her surrender to Spirit. However, I think she believed it would be a few months, not and entire year as her family practitioner gently, but firmly, reminded her of last week. My father confided that they had heard a year, but did not truly believe it would be that long. She's always bounced back before, we all had remembered.

She's not bouncing back now. I would describe it as more of learning a slow dance, one new step at a time. Long and steady, but surely happening if you can be present to the details we once took for grated: walking a few feet, dressing yourself, getting to the bathroom, having an appetite, remembering and seeing with unobstructed vision. These have all become new obstacles to at once surrender into and master. How that works, I am uncertain, except through faith, trust and prayer.

Improvement is evident in her color, humor, determination and acceptance of help.

Last night in my warm circle of neighborhood book club women, we chatted about aging parents, memory loss, demeanor transformation, expectations, letting go, illness and feeling sandwiched, ever grateful they are still with us. One of the most gracious remarks was about how one mother struggling with dementia still knows to say thank you and I love you. And, when she fails to remember the story she 's trying so hard to relate, acquiesces with "I'll tell you tomorrow." There are bright spots, we all acknowledged.

My mother's family physician soberly pointed out the fact she was walking, talking and cognizant was remarkable given the severity of her surgery. "Remind her of that," he cautioned me, "on bad days," which he said would happen along with entire weeks of difficulty.

Have we forgotten how to care for the aged? It's not a new proposition, yet we are surviving longer. Once, our elders lived with us in largely multi-generational families. As we have transplanted and grown more transient, we've left those customs behind. And also in our social selfishness to focus on ourselves and immediate families.

I am appalled every time I experience someone younger patronizing an elder. It happens in hospitals, nursing centers, in public and privately. In attempting to be true to Spirit's calling, I try to "see" the whole person, beyond the encumbered climbs, faulty mind, thinning hair, stained skin and veiled eyes. We are each a child of God, no matter our age or condition.

• What is my experience of aging – my own or someone else's?
• What are the difficulties?
• Where have I witnessed grace?
• What part of the spiritual journey is this?
• How do I recognize myself and others as children of God?

in a surprise visit
on a snowy Sunday
when roads were
nearly vacant

I spied her head
drooped,
as she napped
in the wheelchair

I took that as a cue
and treated her
gently, perhaps
too much so

later, she beamed,
suggesting we
witness her progress
in the walker

with my husband
ahead, she
lurched forward,
perfectly in control

teasing him with
her new moves
and teaching
me to never
underestimate
her, 
her courge,
determination,
spirit and
faith

never

Listen to this post: