Celebrating miracleness

Sunday, I attended the birthday party of a one-year-old and yet the next youngest child was a sixth grader. There were balloons, cupcakes and gifts, but beyond that any similarity to other children's birthday parties ended.

Even the birthday boy didn't eat his cupcake – didn't even try. Born very early, he's on par with an eight-month old, yet thriving in his own way thanks to a very loving couple whose children are grown and, mostly, out of the house.

My neighbors, Mark and Bev, have tended this little guy for three-quarters of a year, bringing him home hooked up to monitors and oxygen, dutifully ferrying him to hospital and physician appointments, setting the alarm for middle-of-the-night feedings because his diminished appetite won't wake him up and, generally, lavishing as much love as they can on their foster child.

The teary highlight of the afternoon was a video Mark and Bev's daughters made with original lyrics they sang to the tune of "Hey, Jude" and how this baby boy was marked by God for greatness. It was a beautiful tribute to life, this life, this boy and these amazingly giving foster parents.

This poster is borrowed from the Judson Center, a
human-services agency in Michigan. It reached in
and pulled my heart out.

We began the party with an assignment: taking a sheet of questions related to the care and nurturing of this baby from person to person to find the answers and break the ice. Apparently, this was a diverse group of guests. Some of us had prayed for him, held him, known him when attached to oxygen, understood his diet, paid visits to the NICU with him, been told the origins of his quirky, but well-suited name and known Mark and Bev before. It was an ingenious ice-breaker that was relaxed and gathering. That's just how these neighbors are.

Last December, they offered the perfect foil to a busy holiday season: soup, conversation and board games. It was just about my favorite event. Simple, hospitable and no pretentions. Just people gathering for informal companionship. All four of us attended that and still talk about how amazing that one, simple evening was.

For the birthday party, I escorted my mother. She spent a good deal of time on the couch with another neighbor, Margaret. They are similar in age and both Iowans. They've gotten to know each other through the book club Bev started about 15 years ago. As they chatted, I became reacquainted with the woman who used to live behind us. I had no idea how much help she's been recently to Bev and Mark, caring for the little one during a particularly stressful procedure. I  ran into other favorite neighbors whom I never see, but spent time with the week before at a Halloween party. Lucky for me, I remarked, that I'd run into them twice in one week. I also met some wonderful new faces and was charmed by a red-headed sixth grader with a generous smile and easy manner.

As I steered my mother into the kitchen for tea, we lingered a few minutes with Bev. She lit up as she talked about their foster child and how much fun it has been raising a boy after three girls and, besides, "the one in Heaven." They'd had a baby boy whose life had been cut very short before their three amazing daughters. "Boys are so very different," Bev had commented, relishing the new experience. There's no question that Mark is in love with this little bundle. He and the boy shine around each other.

I'd counted Mark as an unassuming, quiet engineer until a few summers ago. At an open house for the arts exploration I host for at-risk kids, Mark parked himself in the hallway with the boys and drummed his heart out – the entire two hours. Giddy from the interaction – we all were – he rocked the van in a gesture of complete zest as we all packed up to leave.

Before the infant, the couple fostered a fourth-grader, whom Mark walked around the neighborhood stopping by friends to properly introduce his charge. She was darling, posessed a wonderful sparkle in her eye and shared a dog-eared photo she rescued from her pocket. It was a picture of her amid her beloved brothers, all separated at the moment. Mark had taken the photo for her. You could tell it was a prized possession of memory and hope.

Over the years, they've fostered other kids and raised a guide dog in addition to their own three incredible young women. One is at home until she funds her ministry in Italy caring for refugees. Another is off in somewhere between Russia and the Middle East working and spreading God's love. The third teaches music in Korea, where she lives with her husband and young daughters. All of these women baby-sat my girls. In fact, the older two were Autumn's first sitters and they set the bar. High.

Bev has been such an inspiration and support for me over the years. She understands what it's like to listen for God and live on the fringes, your identity tied to others.

They don't think they do anything special, just what they are called to. In fact, the entire birthday revolved around how their friends, faith community and neighbors have shared in the joy of fostering this small child. They called it a celebration of his year of miracleness.

• Who inspires me?
• Who are my models for faithful living?
• How does their humility touch me?
• How have I witnessed community form around need and in support of others ministering?
• Where do I find my own ministry?


this wee one
launched into
life early
very

into to such
circumstance from
which God would
rescue him

if only
briefly

and into
the arms

of waiting, loving
servants

Listen to this post:

Tending my soul, within and without

My life has been anything but still this week. I am churning inside and out in that place of unknowing on several counts. The exterior churning has begun to affect my inside calm, which is why I need spiritual companions at these crucial moments. I don’t know what I would do without them and the support of a faith community.

Monday afternoon, I took my girls to meet with one of my longtime spiritual friends. She wants to lure them back to Quaker circles in her friendly, gentle way and reminded them that their lives can seem chaotic, but they have resources upon which to draw. “Just like with your mom,” she said. “When I’m struggling, I can talk to her and it helps. You can’t talk to just anybody about spiritual things.”

Feeling creative in my wonderful studio has been difficult this week as the new owner, a developer, and many inspectors and environmental testers have invaded the space. After I sent a welcoming letter with ideas for this dear, old school, the developer dropped by to meet with me last week. I prayed before he came to we both could be open. We began that way until he held my letter up and said “I can’t take this to the bank” and told me that even if doubled, the pittance I pay times 28 classrooms is nothing.” It became obvious that his chief concern is making money on this project. Sure he’s open to a community or cultural arts center, but only if someone well-financed waltzes in with funding in place. That’s what we all have been dreaming of. His invitation to the community to submit ideas is a “development opportunity” sign listing retail, office and residential. I told him residents don’t see that as an invitation and he argued with me. And, as he traipsed down the stairs and out the door, he hollered, “you have about six months.” I had hoped I’d have til next spring, when the autistic school’s lease runs out. Maybe not as the custodian let in people trying see if utilities on this side can be closed off.

Tuesday, I was really feeling the effects of some negative energy swirling about my safe space, so I decided to focus on another task: checking grant deadlines. I discovered that one of my best funders moved its fall deadlines to July and I missed them. I was devastated.

OK, God, what is going on here? I asked. I had taken June to discern if I would continue with Artsy Fartsy Saturdays, the arts exploration for local, at-risk kids, I developed with much Quaker support that is focused in this space.

Barnesville, Oh, where I always find peace

I couldn’t pull myself out of the worry whirl, so I wrote a group e-mail to my Quaker buddies and had a chat with my pastor. Primarily they all said to remember that when one door closes another opens. Perhaps Artsy Fartsy is ready for a change. My pastor suggested I look for the helpers, something we both remembered reading, possibly written by President Obama.

Stillwater Meeting, a very special place of deep worship

So I am looking for the helpers. The day things hit, I left the studio to walk it out and landed on a park bench halfway to my house. I called my oldest and she met me there, gave me a hug and walked back with me. She’s planning the next kids’ session and we were taking stock of supplies. I’ve also been culling several boxes of donated materials, delighting in visualizing how the kids will use them and putting my room back together after a flurry of activity and a busy summer. I always knew this wasn’t a permanent spot, yet it has met so many needs. One Friend asked which came first, the program or the space, and I honestly answered, the program. “Ok then, you can find a different space.” Another has chatted with a local gallery, whose owner says they have a small room I could use. I also e-mailed the owner of the complex we serve and she is thinking about the possibilities. Another building tenant asked if I would be interested in going in with them; they are looking at a warehouse in an area I hadn’t even considered. It’s closer to the kids I serve and has a sidewalk – they could walk and solve our transportation problems.

The possibilities are alive and the helpers are arriving. This morning I knew it was time to still myself and I opened my Thomas Keating daily devotional. The reading was centered on Psalm 23:

1 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. 2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. 3 He restoreth my soul …

I meditated on that passage and what it means to me right now. Essentially that God is all that I need:

My needs are filled. I am to rest in beauty. I am guided to deep stillness, peace. She helps me reclaim my soul.

God (ful)fills my soul from within and without.

Exactly what I need to hear.

• Where do I turn when I am churned up?

• Who are my spiritual friends?

• What do they offer that’s not available from social friends?

• How does my faith community ground me?

• When have I discovered God’s helpers?

uncertainty swirling

fueling worry and fear

what will happen?

echoes in my mind,

and body, creeping

into my spirit

until my heart

reminds me I

know another path

the one that

reaches deep

down and within

buoyed by my

faith companions

God is, indeed,

within and

without,

tending my soul

 Listen to this post:

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

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