Happy Tuesday

Warning: It's been a month filled with all kinds of inflammatory reading: Controversial Biblical scholars, human rights activists and martyrs. Along the way, I'm going through a creative spurt of clay, music and paint. I have no idea what will pop into my head or heart these days. I'm doing my best to make sure my out loud filter is highly engaged. That is *so* much work sometimes! 

We read a book around here this morning about the contribution of pioneer women. I got thinking about when people tell me they wish we could have the good old days. I wonder if they mean the days of high infant and maternal mortality, child labor, lynching, segregated schools. Is this pre or post that silly, and unconstitutional, 14th amendment that accidentally allowed for women's citizenship? 

I'm very fond of history and art. That's why I like antiques. If I could, I'd fill my home with all kinds of kitschy objects. I fantasize about finding an old 60's TV and gutting it. I *might* finally upgrade the family's $10 Yard sale TV for a cool new one that would fit in the aforementioned vintage set. 

But, I'm keeping electricity, health improvements, public school funding, Title IX and voting rights for all. 

keep walking

It's been a less than stellar week. News of Boston, local mishaps, and the anniversary of my brother's death leave little wiggle room in my disposition. I have found myself,  on more than one occasion struggling for patience. I have received every kindness offered as water and manna. Every kindness I have extended reminds me I am not hopeless. This is not who I am. I am not crabby, mean and foggy. Kindness has anchored me, as it has many. Why then, do we not do it more often?
I told the truth to a man who said my kindness mattered. "As does yours," I said, "This is what we have."

I find humor and comfort in my Scripture readings for the week. They bring out the best in me and remind me of shortcomings and disappointments.
The Lectionary (http://lectionary.library.vanderbilt.edu/texts.php?id=136)  reading for the week refers to a resurrection that was not mine.  I distinctly remember begging for a miracle  that did not come. Unsuccessful negotiation. Cheekiness or desperation? No matter. Forgiven. 

On separate path, Ezekiel 34:4-6 chastens those who have not healed, comforted, bound the broken and found the lost. Chastens all with ears to hear and hearts to receive.  Chastens me. This week, more than in a happy go lucky, perky week, I am reminded that without love, it is all noise. and even knowing this, I fall short. I take a modest and shamed comfort that I am not alone in this struggle.
God willing, there will be a next week and we will keep at the task.

Nothing save kindness and one foot in front of the other, and no looking down. This week, I held onto the rope, didn't look down and took one step at a time.

Rambling

My dad has been visiting for a few days. I'm never sure how the visits will go. I have all kinds of expectations, both good and bad, of how things might happen. The unexpected rattles me if I'm not careful. It's almost as if I have to plan to be flexible--plan to Breathe lightly.
As it turns out, it was just fine. I hope it means I'm getting better at letting things go and better at remembering how short life is. I might just be getting tired...
  We took a surprise visit to find out a little family history yesterday. It turns out, I'm not too old to cherish the idea of an adventure with my dad. A whirlwind trip over the border to see an elderly family member gave my dad an undeniable zest and I now have a memory I'll cherish.
Upon arriving,  I was horrified to find out an enormous dinner was planned. Fortunately for my conscience, my efforts to assist with  cooking and cleaning were accepted after a bit. We were stuffed to the gills with fabled country cooking and spent hours hearing family lore. The kids saw their first ever Brady Bunch episodes.  They were suitably impressed. 
In the short time we've been back, I've tended both kidlets and lawn, planted the bulbs I was given, and sent my dad homeward.  Weeding is meditative and that's for the best. I've got plenty to think about. 

Everyday Holiness

It's been a long week. Last week, I was reminded all over again that we are human and faulty. I can imagine the reader saying, "of course." Not of course, because I'm an optimist and I have high hopes for people, and in particular, the church. So, when I went to church, expecting to take a step out of my comfort to join in worship in a new and uncomfortable way, I was a jumble of nerves. And when, I was chastised by a human, a stumbling wayfarer on the same journey, I fell apart. Yet, the day went on, and the miracle was still commemorated, because our human shortcomings were the why of the Easter Gift. The fellow traveller couldn't know my discomfort. I carried my hurt for days. I was angry. My fears had been found and my weaknesses examined. When I saw the person a few days later, I was still carrying the feelings, although I was loosening my grip.

And then today. Back to the same place. I listened to teachings that asked what is Holy Ground? Where and when is God? I thought of all the ways and places we experience God. In fact, I've been ruminating on such all week. Where is God? What is Holy? My life, to be honest, is filled with people waiting to define the what.

This week, in the same place, I watched and listened to two amazing people span generation and gender lines to remind their church of all we could do and withstand Because He Lives. The younger gently guided the elder to the altar, as I have seen her do so often.  The elder? His voice was strong. My heart was humbled,  expectant, challenged and  grateful.
Afterwards, I was approached by the very person that had loomed so large from last week. Discussion. Honesty. Vulnerability. Truth. Forgiveness. New beginnings. Awkward and yes, Holy.

I went to visit a friend who has lost one family member while another lies in a nearby hospital. I watched the family and friends come to stop beside them just a while. "You are precious. I remember. I am sorry. Thinking of you. Take care." A smile, a nod from the reserved. All to say, "we are holding you in our heart, uplifted to God." Holy Ground.

On the way home, I stopped to see a friend. She's older and suffers from dementia. Each time I see her, I introduce myself. It didn't use to be that way, but things change. I knelt on the physical therapy mat beside her bed. I didn't want her to have to strain to see me.  We sang together. We sang Mary  Had a Little Lamb, Jesus Loves Me and Amazing Grace. There were no instrumentals,no hymnals and  no preacher. Just us, huddled low in a generic room, with a plastic divider curtain and noises in the hallway. It was Holy Ground.

The Resurrection Sunday has come and gone. We are still His Easter people. Divinely created, with the potential and power to experience Holiness in unexpected places.  I've heard all kinds of doom and gloom over the last month and I am not shaken. We are imperfect and God is Good. This world is His and it is all Holy Ground if we will stop and recognize His presence. Our every day, walking around lives can and will bring peace, joy and compassion should we choose to let God be God. 

The trick is to choose to take off our sandals and lay our burdens down. Afterwards, we rise and bear witness. Holy Ground moving.