Been working out at the nicely equipped Lincoln City Community Center. Also getting physical therapy 2-3 times per week. It is amazing to me how much relief I am feeling in my back after just a handful of sessions. My therapist is using a kind of heated ultra sound on my problem spot. She also has me doing some stretches that seem to help. She's a really nice young woman but I find myself wondering when I got so much older than every medical professional I'm seeing.
The community center just bought a seated stair stepper, which is what I used to lose all that weight back in New York State. It is a piece of equipment that can be used by people who have limited mobility, but it is actually a good workout for anyone.
I went to a gym in Watkins Glen that was owned by Barb, a member of the Hector church. She was a fabulous trainer and did her work for love of fitness, not for money. She was given the stair stepper after the death of Father Dave, the former priest at the Watkins Glen Catholic church. He had severe diabetes which contributed to his death. Barb kept one of the mass cards from Father Dave's funeral taped to the wall by the machine.
Dave had been a good colleague. He had a lot of complications from his diabetes, including partial blindness We did a wedding together of a Presbyterian groom and a Catholic bride. The bride also had a Franciscan priest who she knew in college in Chicago. When Dave got the exchange of peace, he turned to who he thought were the bride and groom and said that at this point, they may kiss. But it wasn't the bride and groom, it was me and the Franciscan priest. While everyone laughed, we shrugged and looked at each other with that "Why not?" look.
It has always struck me that my friend dying brought a piece of equipment to me that helped me to be healthier. Life and death are intertwined in ways that we cannot comprehend. Surely that is something that we all believe as Christians.
Working out, cardio, weights and floor work for core and cool down, always leaves me with quite the endorphin rush. I often think of a line from my favorite movie, "The Empire Strikes Back". "I feel like I could take on the whole Empire myself." Somewhere, between the last illness and death of my mother and the stress I had on the job, I let go of going to the gym. My fall in August 2009 also slowed me down.
Now that I'm back to working out, I think I turned a lot of my anger and stress and grief in on myself. Taking care of myself ceased to be an option. It's a real danger for many people, especially for women. I thought I was beyond that danger, but I wasn't. So now I am learning to care for myself again.
Self care doesn't mean self centered. The opposite of self care is self destruction.
My physical therapist has pointed out that I've been walking around hunched over. Apparently I've been doing that for some time now. She's got me working on standing up straight when I walk. It feels unnatural right now. I feel like I'm John Cleese in that old Python sketch, "Ministry of Silly Walks", but I'm told it looks better.
Stand up straight, raise your head, shoulders back, walk. Simplest thing in the world.
God, who walked among us, grant that we may all learn to walk in your way with strength and with peace. Amen.
blessings,
Cindy
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Random Thoughts
Old men in Oregon are just adorable. When I pulled up to a crosswalk today, there was an older gentleman walking who I waved to go ahead. He stopped in front of my car, trying to read my liscense plate. When he could make it out, he said, "Oh! Nebraska!" outloud. I gave him a thumbs up and he mimed shivering to indicate that it was much colder in Nebraska. Or maybe in Oregon. Either way it was pretty adorable.
My Nebraska liscense plate is exciting a lot of comment here. When I pulled up to the Chinese place to get my takeout, a couple dining inside were pointing and talking. That has been happening a lot.
It reminded me of a time back in Hector, NY. There was a little crossroads nearby called Logan. Logan had an old Methodist chruch building, that the Logan community had bought and maintained. It was supported every year with a Christmas bazaar and a Spring bazaar. There were crafts to sell, but the highlight was the mac and cheese they sold. There were several pounds of cheese grated into each batch. So, one year, as Christmas approached, I went up to Logan for my mac and cheese. There were no Hector or Lodi church folks eating, but i saw I lady I knew slightly eating with some friends and she invited me to join them. She introduced me to her friends and one of them said, "Harvey? Are you related to the Harveys in Odessa?" It was a question I often got in that neighborhood.
"No ma'am, all my people are back in Nebraska."
This one little factual statement excited the lady. "Nebraska!" She turned ther companions. "I don't think I've ever met a Nebraskan before! They're kind of rare, aren't they?" I remember thinking, Nebraskans are common as dirt where I come from!" She looked at me again as if I were a rare species of bug pinned to board.
But the fact is, we are kind of rare. Despite providing the world with, Willa Cather, Henry Fonda, Johnny Carson, L. Ron Hubbard, Marg Helgenberger, Dick Cheney and Malcom X, (wouldn't that be a heck of a dinner party?) we are rare. There are 1.7 million people living in Nebraska. When Memorial Stadium is full on a beautiful fall Saturday the crowd of 85,000 is the third largest city in the state. 85,000 is just a blip in the population of other states. I met about 150 other Nebraskans just a week ago at the Oregonians for Nebraska in Portland, but out here on the coast, I am a rarity once again.
Anyway, back to old men in Oregon. Here is my other example, I was standing in front of the case containing eggs in the Safeway the other night, when an older gentleman said to me, "Have they brought the eggs yet?" I looked at him in wonder and gestured to the multiplicity of egg choices in front of us. He opened the ad from the store he had in his hand. "No,they've got a sale on 18 large eggs! You can get a coupon at the front of the store." I smiled and explained that 18 eggs don't stay fresh long enough for one person. He explained about several other things on sale (maybe he is one of those viral marketers for Safeway?) before I could disengage and get my other items. Weird, but still, pretty adorable.
God, we thank you for the kindness of strangers and the strange nature of kindness. Help us when we feel alone and let us know we are surrounded by your love in a way we cannot understand and by your love in our brothers and sisters who are also always around us. Amen.
blessings,
Cindy
My Nebraska liscense plate is exciting a lot of comment here. When I pulled up to the Chinese place to get my takeout, a couple dining inside were pointing and talking. That has been happening a lot.
It reminded me of a time back in Hector, NY. There was a little crossroads nearby called Logan. Logan had an old Methodist chruch building, that the Logan community had bought and maintained. It was supported every year with a Christmas bazaar and a Spring bazaar. There were crafts to sell, but the highlight was the mac and cheese they sold. There were several pounds of cheese grated into each batch. So, one year, as Christmas approached, I went up to Logan for my mac and cheese. There were no Hector or Lodi church folks eating, but i saw I lady I knew slightly eating with some friends and she invited me to join them. She introduced me to her friends and one of them said, "Harvey? Are you related to the Harveys in Odessa?" It was a question I often got in that neighborhood.
"No ma'am, all my people are back in Nebraska."
This one little factual statement excited the lady. "Nebraska!" She turned ther companions. "I don't think I've ever met a Nebraskan before! They're kind of rare, aren't they?" I remember thinking, Nebraskans are common as dirt where I come from!" She looked at me again as if I were a rare species of bug pinned to board.
But the fact is, we are kind of rare. Despite providing the world with, Willa Cather, Henry Fonda, Johnny Carson, L. Ron Hubbard, Marg Helgenberger, Dick Cheney and Malcom X, (wouldn't that be a heck of a dinner party?) we are rare. There are 1.7 million people living in Nebraska. When Memorial Stadium is full on a beautiful fall Saturday the crowd of 85,000 is the third largest city in the state. 85,000 is just a blip in the population of other states. I met about 150 other Nebraskans just a week ago at the Oregonians for Nebraska in Portland, but out here on the coast, I am a rarity once again.
Anyway, back to old men in Oregon. Here is my other example, I was standing in front of the case containing eggs in the Safeway the other night, when an older gentleman said to me, "Have they brought the eggs yet?" I looked at him in wonder and gestured to the multiplicity of egg choices in front of us. He opened the ad from the store he had in his hand. "No,they've got a sale on 18 large eggs! You can get a coupon at the front of the store." I smiled and explained that 18 eggs don't stay fresh long enough for one person. He explained about several other things on sale (maybe he is one of those viral marketers for Safeway?) before I could disengage and get my other items. Weird, but still, pretty adorable.
God, we thank you for the kindness of strangers and the strange nature of kindness. Help us when we feel alone and let us know we are surrounded by your love in a way we cannot understand and by your love in our brothers and sisters who are also always around us. Amen.
blessings,
Cindy
Friday, October 1, 2010
Beach: Just me and the Seagulls
Cold and foggy here today, Friday. It had been sunny and warm for the Oregon Coast, about 75. Just a nice warm fall day in Nebraska, but unseasonably warm on the coast.
I moved here on Monday. Here is the beach house in Lincoln City belonging to my friends Susan and Fred. I'm settling in. I now have a post office box and a library card. I had to provide my Nebraska driver's license, vehicle registration and insurance card and do some fast talking to get my PO box. The postal worker was very suspicious of me and I'm not sure he got over the suspicion. At the library, the solution was for me to pay $12.50 for three months of library privileges. Staff much less suspicious at the library. When I mentioned how much I had worked in libraries, the volunteer came running. We agreed to let me settle in first.
I've been going around finding local pubs, coffee places and eateries. Been going to places with wifi, but now I've got one of those plug in things and my own wifi anytime. But I was advised to go to the coffee place or library if I want to download something large or watch a streaming video. But now I can stay home and blog or Facebook or Tweet or e-mail and should be able to stay well within my allowance of 5GB per month. I can also pay my bills or order from Amazon online without worrying about my information being broadcast all over Oregon.
I figured out that this bed in the house is the 13th bed I have slept in since we stored my bed in Kearney, but only if you count my floor in Kearney, too. Still, that is a lot of beds. It has been nice of all my friends and family to take me in, but there is something wonderful about having my own space at last.
Wednesday morning was my first morning here that I woke up after going to the store. So I celebrated with breakfast at home: two fried eggs on toast and yogurt. Took it all out to the yard to enjoy. The house is above the beach so I didn't think anything when I seagull glided by at eye level. I wondered idly if he could catch a piece of bread in his mouth, dismissing the idea out of hand because I do know enough not to encourage the sea gulls.
I don't know if seagulls can read minds, if they know how people look when they eat or if they are blessed with a remarkable sense of smell but one of those has to be true. In a moment he was joined by two friends or relations coming closer and closer and screaming at the top of their lungs.
I beat a hasty retreat to the house. The picture of Tippi Hedren in the phone booth as in my head, but my real fear was seagull poop in my eggs. I eat my breakfast inside and at peace now. I notice they don't bother me when I am reading or talking on the phone or just sitting outside.
The ocean is a new experience for this girl from Nebraska. I know that I lived in the Bay Area for four years, but how often did I get to the beach? Not that often. Even when I lived a half mile from Ocean Beach in San Francisco I didn't get there that often. Usually, just on nice days. I've stayed on the coast before, I've stayed on this coast, but living here is something different.
Living right smack on the ocean is new. Is the tide going out or coming in? Fortunately,they print the tide tables in the paper and online. It amazes how the surf can go from light to heavy in the course of just a few minutes, just long enough to change the laundry today. I expect that constant roar to be wind. I look out the window, everything is still except the sea. Still much to learn.
I have been sending out self referrals for new calls. I have appointments for therapy next week, both physical and the other kind. Am working on getting on the Cascades Presbytery Pulpit Supply List. They have to check me out first and make sure I am decent and in order. That is how it should be.
Brother Bill's best friend since grade school, Mike C is coming out for a visit on Sunday. I'll be glad to see him, he's one of a handful of people who has a good claim to being the Fifth Harvey Kid.
A last word from an infinitely better writer:
By that long scan of waves, myself call'd back, resumed upon myself,
In every crest some undulating light or shade--some retrospect,
Joys, travels, studies, silent panoramas--scenes ephemeral,
The long past war, the battles, hospital sights, the wounded and the dead,
Myself through every by-gone phase--my idle youth--old age at hand,
My three-score years of life summ'd up, and more, and past,
By any grand ideal tried, intentionless, the whole a nothing,
And haply yet some drop within God's scheme's ensemble--some
wave, or part of wave,
Like one of yours, ye multitudinous ocean.
Walt Whitman
blessings to us all, wave or part of wave
Cindy
I moved here on Monday. Here is the beach house in Lincoln City belonging to my friends Susan and Fred. I'm settling in. I now have a post office box and a library card. I had to provide my Nebraska driver's license, vehicle registration and insurance card and do some fast talking to get my PO box. The postal worker was very suspicious of me and I'm not sure he got over the suspicion. At the library, the solution was for me to pay $12.50 for three months of library privileges. Staff much less suspicious at the library. When I mentioned how much I had worked in libraries, the volunteer came running. We agreed to let me settle in first.
I've been going around finding local pubs, coffee places and eateries. Been going to places with wifi, but now I've got one of those plug in things and my own wifi anytime. But I was advised to go to the coffee place or library if I want to download something large or watch a streaming video. But now I can stay home and blog or Facebook or Tweet or e-mail and should be able to stay well within my allowance of 5GB per month. I can also pay my bills or order from Amazon online without worrying about my information being broadcast all over Oregon.
I figured out that this bed in the house is the 13th bed I have slept in since we stored my bed in Kearney, but only if you count my floor in Kearney, too. Still, that is a lot of beds. It has been nice of all my friends and family to take me in, but there is something wonderful about having my own space at last.
Wednesday morning was my first morning here that I woke up after going to the store. So I celebrated with breakfast at home: two fried eggs on toast and yogurt. Took it all out to the yard to enjoy. The house is above the beach so I didn't think anything when I seagull glided by at eye level. I wondered idly if he could catch a piece of bread in his mouth, dismissing the idea out of hand because I do know enough not to encourage the sea gulls.
I don't know if seagulls can read minds, if they know how people look when they eat or if they are blessed with a remarkable sense of smell but one of those has to be true. In a moment he was joined by two friends or relations coming closer and closer and screaming at the top of their lungs.
I beat a hasty retreat to the house. The picture of Tippi Hedren in the phone booth as in my head, but my real fear was seagull poop in my eggs. I eat my breakfast inside and at peace now. I notice they don't bother me when I am reading or talking on the phone or just sitting outside.
The ocean is a new experience for this girl from Nebraska. I know that I lived in the Bay Area for four years, but how often did I get to the beach? Not that often. Even when I lived a half mile from Ocean Beach in San Francisco I didn't get there that often. Usually, just on nice days. I've stayed on the coast before, I've stayed on this coast, but living here is something different.
Living right smack on the ocean is new. Is the tide going out or coming in? Fortunately,they print the tide tables in the paper and online. It amazes how the surf can go from light to heavy in the course of just a few minutes, just long enough to change the laundry today. I expect that constant roar to be wind. I look out the window, everything is still except the sea. Still much to learn.
I have been sending out self referrals for new calls. I have appointments for therapy next week, both physical and the other kind. Am working on getting on the Cascades Presbytery Pulpit Supply List. They have to check me out first and make sure I am decent and in order. That is how it should be.
Brother Bill's best friend since grade school, Mike C is coming out for a visit on Sunday. I'll be glad to see him, he's one of a handful of people who has a good claim to being the Fifth Harvey Kid.
A last word from an infinitely better writer:
By that long scan of waves, myself call'd back, resumed upon myself,
In every crest some undulating light or shade--some retrospect,
Joys, travels, studies, silent panoramas--scenes ephemeral,
The long past war, the battles, hospital sights, the wounded and the dead,
Myself through every by-gone phase--my idle youth--old age at hand,
My three-score years of life summ'd up, and more, and past,
By any grand ideal tried, intentionless, the whole a nothing,
And haply yet some drop within God's scheme's ensemble--some
wave, or part of wave,
Like one of yours, ye multitudinous ocean.
Walt Whitman
blessings to us all, wave or part of wave
Cindy
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Worship
After being a UCC and a Lutheran since I left Kearney, I was a Presbyterian for the first time today. It was lovely. I went and heard my friend Laurie preach. She is a friend from seminary that I've been able to connect with on Facebook. I know that people joke about Facebook, but it has been a blessing for me to find so many people I have lost track of through the years.
Laurie is an associate pastor at a multi staff church here in Portland. It is a beautiful old building with a large and enthusiastic congregation with a lot of kids. The worship was thoughtful and followed the central theme of Jesus parable of the poor man Lazarus and the rich man. Laurie preached a great sermon on the topic. There was a baptism of a baby girl who looked like she was the source of infinite wisdom, as babies often do.
I realized as I watched my friend preach, that I miss preaching. I miss leading worship. I always thought of attending a worship service as a special treat. It was nice to go to church and not have to be the one in charge. It was something that I was able to do so infrequently, either at a Presbytery meeting or when I was vacation or study leave, that it was a special pleasure.
I enjoyed the worship today. I felt blessed to be among such lovely people, to see how well Laurie preached. But for the first time today, I really missed it. Preaching and worship leadership was always my favorite part of the job.
So I've got a call into Cascades Presbytery. I'm hoping to get on their pulpit supply list. I need to get back on the horse, one step at a time.
Susan took me to the beach house in Lincoln City for the fist time on Friday. We spent the night there. It is an older house, it reminded me a lot of the houses you see around Seneca Lake, up above the water, great views. The weather was incredibly clear while we were there. The sunset was incredible. There was a full moon that night and you could see the ocean in the moonlight. I felt like this was a place I could sit and watch the sea and pray and write and heal and grow strong. I move there tomorrow.
Blessings,
Cindy
Laurie is an associate pastor at a multi staff church here in Portland. It is a beautiful old building with a large and enthusiastic congregation with a lot of kids. The worship was thoughtful and followed the central theme of Jesus parable of the poor man Lazarus and the rich man. Laurie preached a great sermon on the topic. There was a baptism of a baby girl who looked like she was the source of infinite wisdom, as babies often do.
I realized as I watched my friend preach, that I miss preaching. I miss leading worship. I always thought of attending a worship service as a special treat. It was nice to go to church and not have to be the one in charge. It was something that I was able to do so infrequently, either at a Presbytery meeting or when I was vacation or study leave, that it was a special pleasure.
I enjoyed the worship today. I felt blessed to be among such lovely people, to see how well Laurie preached. But for the first time today, I really missed it. Preaching and worship leadership was always my favorite part of the job.
So I've got a call into Cascades Presbytery. I'm hoping to get on their pulpit supply list. I need to get back on the horse, one step at a time.
Susan took me to the beach house in Lincoln City for the fist time on Friday. We spent the night there. It is an older house, it reminded me a lot of the houses you see around Seneca Lake, up above the water, great views. The weather was incredibly clear while we were there. The sunset was incredible. There was a full moon that night and you could see the ocean in the moonlight. I felt like this was a place I could sit and watch the sea and pray and write and heal and grow strong. I move there tomorrow.
Blessings,
Cindy
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Oregon, not Busted
Am writing this in the comfy family room of the home of my friends, Fred, Susan and their son Colin. I baptized both Colin and Fred on the same day, Colin was just a toddler, Fred, obviously not. Colin is now a 6'2" teenager. The place, Lake Oswego, a suburb of Portland, Oregon. I made it. Fred and Susan are the lovely people who have invited me to live in their beach house in Lincoln City. Susan and I will go to see the house tomorrow, so she can make sure everything is OK and show me stores, the library, the community center and the good places to eat.
Left San Francisco last Saturday. I had planned to get to Marilee's by the Nebraska/Washington kickoff, but traffic on Hwy 101 was not cooperating. Got there in time to see Melinda, Marilee's daughter who is now a delightful young woman. The big highlight of Saturday was a trip to karaoke at a local gay bar. I sang, "L-O-V-E" as I did in Lake Tahoe. Well received, I thought. I was the only woman in the bar carrying a purse.
On Sunday morning I was a UCC with Marilee and her mother. Pleasant congregation, the interior of the church reminded a lot of the church I served in Hector, NY. Same kind of pulpit, similar pews. The organist played the hymns at a really good tempo and I had a good chat with him afterwards. Sunday night was quiet since Marilee and Erin had a celebration at MCC in San Francisco for their pastor who is leaving. The idea of attending a celebration for a pastor who was leaving seemed a little close to home, so I stayed and Marilee's mom fixed me dinner even though I told her not to.
Left and headed north the next day. Drove through the vineyards of Sonoma County, through the old Spanish settlement of Sonoma and skirted the edge of Napa before I got on the freeway to take me to I-5 which my friend Kris called "the guts of the west."
California's central valley as flat as Kansas and a shock to the system after Bay Area. But Kansas is not bordered by hills on either side. Drive, north, north north, past irrigated fields and orchards. If you eat food, you've had food from the Central Valley. Approaching Corning, California and suddenly Mt. Shasta appears on the horizon, it could be a mirage, disconnected from the ground. Stopped at the "Olive Pit" for some presents for Oregon friends and kept driving toward the mirage. I kept trying to pull off the freeway and take a photo of Mt. Shasta, but couldn't find a vista that didn't include the McDonald's arch or the sign for a muffler shop. I had to get past the mountain and a rest stop that was almost in Oregon to get a view without a sign in it.
Stopped in Redding for gas. Not only was it cheap, but a young man actually came around and scrubbed the bugs off my windshield. I was so shocked I tipped him two bucks!
Soon, I crossed the border into Oregon. Medford and my bed for the night was easily reached. I love how many of these 1950's or older motels have reinvented themselves with a updated interior and in room microwaved, coffee pots, mini fridges, free wifi and flatscreen TV's.
Next day was an easy drive into Portland and my friends. They have been cooking delicious dinners and asking if they can get me anything else.
On the drive north, I had one of my self pity moments. OK, more than one. I don't have a job. Lots of people right now don't have jobs. Most of them don't have six months of severance and a free beach house in Oregon. I thought of Job, who lost so much more than I ever have and thought of him saying, "The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." I realized for the first time, he said it with a lump in his throat, choking back his tears.
So, I got over my self pity and made a joke about being homeless to Fred and Susan. Susan told me later she was upset when I said that. "You aren't homeless, you have a home as long as you need one."
I learned again, the people in your life are truly a gift from God.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
blessings,
Cindy
Left San Francisco last Saturday. I had planned to get to Marilee's by the Nebraska/Washington kickoff, but traffic on Hwy 101 was not cooperating. Got there in time to see Melinda, Marilee's daughter who is now a delightful young woman. The big highlight of Saturday was a trip to karaoke at a local gay bar. I sang, "L-O-V-E" as I did in Lake Tahoe. Well received, I thought. I was the only woman in the bar carrying a purse.
On Sunday morning I was a UCC with Marilee and her mother. Pleasant congregation, the interior of the church reminded a lot of the church I served in Hector, NY. Same kind of pulpit, similar pews. The organist played the hymns at a really good tempo and I had a good chat with him afterwards. Sunday night was quiet since Marilee and Erin had a celebration at MCC in San Francisco for their pastor who is leaving. The idea of attending a celebration for a pastor who was leaving seemed a little close to home, so I stayed and Marilee's mom fixed me dinner even though I told her not to.
Left and headed north the next day. Drove through the vineyards of Sonoma County, through the old Spanish settlement of Sonoma and skirted the edge of Napa before I got on the freeway to take me to I-5 which my friend Kris called "the guts of the west."
California's central valley as flat as Kansas and a shock to the system after Bay Area. But Kansas is not bordered by hills on either side. Drive, north, north north, past irrigated fields and orchards. If you eat food, you've had food from the Central Valley. Approaching Corning, California and suddenly Mt. Shasta appears on the horizon, it could be a mirage, disconnected from the ground. Stopped at the "Olive Pit" for some presents for Oregon friends and kept driving toward the mirage. I kept trying to pull off the freeway and take a photo of Mt. Shasta, but couldn't find a vista that didn't include the McDonald's arch or the sign for a muffler shop. I had to get past the mountain and a rest stop that was almost in Oregon to get a view without a sign in it.
Stopped in Redding for gas. Not only was it cheap, but a young man actually came around and scrubbed the bugs off my windshield. I was so shocked I tipped him two bucks!
Soon, I crossed the border into Oregon. Medford and my bed for the night was easily reached. I love how many of these 1950's or older motels have reinvented themselves with a updated interior and in room microwaved, coffee pots, mini fridges, free wifi and flatscreen TV's.
Next day was an easy drive into Portland and my friends. They have been cooking delicious dinners and asking if they can get me anything else.
On the drive north, I had one of my self pity moments. OK, more than one. I don't have a job. Lots of people right now don't have jobs. Most of them don't have six months of severance and a free beach house in Oregon. I thought of Job, who lost so much more than I ever have and thought of him saying, "The Lord giveth, the Lord taketh away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." I realized for the first time, he said it with a lump in his throat, choking back his tears.
So, I got over my self pity and made a joke about being homeless to Fred and Susan. Susan told me later she was upset when I said that. "You aren't homeless, you have a home as long as you need one."
I learned again, the people in your life are truly a gift from God.
Blessed be the name of the Lord.
blessings,
Cindy
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Cindy's San Francisco
Long but enjoyable day. Jim took me to Japantown today. This is my old stomping ground. I spent my internship year with the delightful Christ United Presbyterian Church in J-town. Christ United is a resilient little congregation that withstood being taken over by the Presbytery of San Francisco when the members of the congregation were interned by the US government during World War II. Most of San Francisco's original J-town was destroyed during the war, what is there now is mostly commercial property centered on the Japantown mall and community organizations like the Japantown Foundation, Christ United Church and the Buddhist Church.
I grew to have a lot of fondness for that little area of San Francisco and was happy to see it again. Even happier to go to Mifune's for cold soba noodles and then to the sushi boat place just for the sheer pleasure of seeing those little boats laden with sushi glide by with their lovely treasures.
It is an amazing thing to return to the scene of one's youth and find that it is largely unchanged. I turned 30 during that internship year and felt as old as the hills. I look back now and think about that thinner, more flexible, more idealistic version of me and smile at her naivete. But it is a smile of profound affection.
Tonight, Jim and I went to the Giants game at the beautiful AT&T Park. So much fun to arrive at the gate by MUNI. Would have been more fun to see the Giants win, but any day in a major league ballpark is a good one, especially this new old fashioned ball park.
I love this city. I am not sure I could ever live or work here again, but I am profoundly grateful that I had that time when I was young. Jim and I had a conversation today about how the best time to live in San Francisco is when you are young and single and don't have to worry about educating a family or finding an affordable mortgage. I'm glad I did it when I was young and didn't mind sleeping on futon or sharing a house with two other people.
In that spirit, let me give you some of Cindy's tips for being happy in San Francisco.
1. Bring a jacket.
It gets cold in the winter. And the spring. And the fall. And the summer.
2. San Franciscans do not wear white after Labor Day.
San Franciscans do not wear white before Labor Day, either. White sneakers are the only exception to this rule.
3. Start with the movies filmed here.
There are so many classic and not so classic movies that were filmed here! "Vertigo" and "Bullit" and one my favorites "Time After Time." Get a guidebook like "Celluloid San Francisco" and check it out.
4. The real San Francisco is not at the tourist spots.
Real San Franciscans do not go to Alcatraz unless dragged there by out of town friends. It's ugly and you can't get a beer or a decent cup of coffee there. Go to Pier 39 or Fisherman's Wharf or Ghiardelli Square if you must, but know that you are in the part of town that is entirely populated by tourists or by people who work there. That is not the real San Francisco.
5. Get out into the neighborhoods.
San Francisco is a collection of all these wonderful neighborhoods, each has a history and a culture. Chinatown, Japantown, the Castro, the Haight, Noe Valley, Nob Hill, North Beach, the Richmond, the Sunset, the Mission, the Marina district are just a few of these wonderful neighborhoods. This is where actual San Franciscans live and work and shop and eat.
6. Let's eat!
A diner's paradise. Dim Sum, sushi, pizza, California cuisine, vegetarian, vegan, Thai, Russian. Don't you dare think of going to McDonald's or some other restaurant chain! Outside the tourist areas, you can find some very affordable. They brew great coffee here. I never drank coffee until I moved to the Bay Area. The coffee in Nebraska when I moved away was bitter, thin and tepid. My mom used to put an ice cube in her coffee so it would cool faster. In San Francisco I found out that coffee was thick and strong and wonderful. By the time I moved back to Nebraska 20 years later, good coffee influenced by the barista culture of the West Coast was everywhere. The premiere seafood is the dungeness crab. Good just boiled and served with lemon or in a special sauce from an Asian place.
Rice a Roni? Not the San Francisco treat. It's made across the Bay in San Leandro. The only place you will see it is the ads on the cable cars.
7. San Franciscans do not wear stupid t-shirts.
You know the ones. "Property of Alcatraz" Shirts with pictures of cable cars. Shirts that say, "San Francisco" without any affiliation to a team or organization.
If you want to blend in, buy a Giants cap or a 49ers shirt. Or if you must an A's cap or a Raiders jacket. San Franciscans dress in layers that they can add or peel off as the fog comes in or burns off.
8. San Francisco can be a deeply spiritual city
This is a minority view, but I do truly still believe it after all these years. There are beautiful churches in this city, Grace Cathedral, Mission Delores, Old First Presbyterian. Glide Methodist has a fabulous tradition of community activism. Even little churches in San Francisco tend to be architectural treasures. Julia Morgan, the architect of Hearst Castle, designed little Ocean Avenue Presbyterian where I worked in the Outer Mission. My favorite congregations in San Francisco tend to be eclectic, ethnically diverse and gay friendly.
9. San Franciscans prize people who are unique, eccentric and rebellous
So don't stare at the drag queens. Don't stare at the aging hippies. Don't stare at the transexuals. Don't stare at the Giants fans who are dressed in orange. People who walk to the beat of a different drummer are quite normal here.
10. What to do:
Golden Gate Park, the De Young Museum, Legion of Honor Museum, SF MOMA, the Giants, the Niners, music in little clubs, music with the symphony or the opera. Movies, bookstores, shopping. But please, do not miss walking on the Golden Gate Bridge. Amazing views of the city, cold winds blowing in from the ocean, the bridge vibrating in the wind or from the traffic. And it is free to walk across, free to drive to Marin County on the bridge, but if you want to get back into San Francisco by car, you have to pay the tolls.
But once you have been, you'll come back. That's why, whenever the Giants win, they play, "I Left My Heart in San Francisco."
On to Santa Rosa in beautiful Sonoma County tomorrow. Staying with my friend Marilee and her family for a few days and to watch the Nebraska game tomorrow. Marilee is a seminary classmate who is from Lincoln, so, Go Big Red!
blessings,
Cindy
PS don't call it Frisco. The name of the city is San Francisco. And don't bring up Barry Bonds. Just don't.
I grew to have a lot of fondness for that little area of San Francisco and was happy to see it again. Even happier to go to Mifune's for cold soba noodles and then to the sushi boat place just for the sheer pleasure of seeing those little boats laden with sushi glide by with their lovely treasures.
It is an amazing thing to return to the scene of one's youth and find that it is largely unchanged. I turned 30 during that internship year and felt as old as the hills. I look back now and think about that thinner, more flexible, more idealistic version of me and smile at her naivete. But it is a smile of profound affection.
Tonight, Jim and I went to the Giants game at the beautiful AT&T Park. So much fun to arrive at the gate by MUNI. Would have been more fun to see the Giants win, but any day in a major league ballpark is a good one, especially this new old fashioned ball park.
I love this city. I am not sure I could ever live or work here again, but I am profoundly grateful that I had that time when I was young. Jim and I had a conversation today about how the best time to live in San Francisco is when you are young and single and don't have to worry about educating a family or finding an affordable mortgage. I'm glad I did it when I was young and didn't mind sleeping on futon or sharing a house with two other people.
In that spirit, let me give you some of Cindy's tips for being happy in San Francisco.
1. Bring a jacket.
It gets cold in the winter. And the spring. And the fall. And the summer.
2. San Franciscans do not wear white after Labor Day.
San Franciscans do not wear white before Labor Day, either. White sneakers are the only exception to this rule.
3. Start with the movies filmed here.
There are so many classic and not so classic movies that were filmed here! "Vertigo" and "Bullit" and one my favorites "Time After Time." Get a guidebook like "Celluloid San Francisco" and check it out.
4. The real San Francisco is not at the tourist spots.
Real San Franciscans do not go to Alcatraz unless dragged there by out of town friends. It's ugly and you can't get a beer or a decent cup of coffee there. Go to Pier 39 or Fisherman's Wharf or Ghiardelli Square if you must, but know that you are in the part of town that is entirely populated by tourists or by people who work there. That is not the real San Francisco.
5. Get out into the neighborhoods.
San Francisco is a collection of all these wonderful neighborhoods, each has a history and a culture. Chinatown, Japantown, the Castro, the Haight, Noe Valley, Nob Hill, North Beach, the Richmond, the Sunset, the Mission, the Marina district are just a few of these wonderful neighborhoods. This is where actual San Franciscans live and work and shop and eat.
6. Let's eat!
A diner's paradise. Dim Sum, sushi, pizza, California cuisine, vegetarian, vegan, Thai, Russian. Don't you dare think of going to McDonald's or some other restaurant chain! Outside the tourist areas, you can find some very affordable. They brew great coffee here. I never drank coffee until I moved to the Bay Area. The coffee in Nebraska when I moved away was bitter, thin and tepid. My mom used to put an ice cube in her coffee so it would cool faster. In San Francisco I found out that coffee was thick and strong and wonderful. By the time I moved back to Nebraska 20 years later, good coffee influenced by the barista culture of the West Coast was everywhere. The premiere seafood is the dungeness crab. Good just boiled and served with lemon or in a special sauce from an Asian place.
Rice a Roni? Not the San Francisco treat. It's made across the Bay in San Leandro. The only place you will see it is the ads on the cable cars.
7. San Franciscans do not wear stupid t-shirts.
You know the ones. "Property of Alcatraz" Shirts with pictures of cable cars. Shirts that say, "San Francisco" without any affiliation to a team or organization.
If you want to blend in, buy a Giants cap or a 49ers shirt. Or if you must an A's cap or a Raiders jacket. San Franciscans dress in layers that they can add or peel off as the fog comes in or burns off.
8. San Francisco can be a deeply spiritual city
This is a minority view, but I do truly still believe it after all these years. There are beautiful churches in this city, Grace Cathedral, Mission Delores, Old First Presbyterian. Glide Methodist has a fabulous tradition of community activism. Even little churches in San Francisco tend to be architectural treasures. Julia Morgan, the architect of Hearst Castle, designed little Ocean Avenue Presbyterian where I worked in the Outer Mission. My favorite congregations in San Francisco tend to be eclectic, ethnically diverse and gay friendly.
9. San Franciscans prize people who are unique, eccentric and rebellous
So don't stare at the drag queens. Don't stare at the aging hippies. Don't stare at the transexuals. Don't stare at the Giants fans who are dressed in orange. People who walk to the beat of a different drummer are quite normal here.
10. What to do:
Golden Gate Park, the De Young Museum, Legion of Honor Museum, SF MOMA, the Giants, the Niners, music in little clubs, music with the symphony or the opera. Movies, bookstores, shopping. But please, do not miss walking on the Golden Gate Bridge. Amazing views of the city, cold winds blowing in from the ocean, the bridge vibrating in the wind or from the traffic. And it is free to walk across, free to drive to Marin County on the bridge, but if you want to get back into San Francisco by car, you have to pay the tolls.
But once you have been, you'll come back. That's why, whenever the Giants win, they play, "I Left My Heart in San Francisco."
On to Santa Rosa in beautiful Sonoma County tomorrow. Staying with my friend Marilee and her family for a few days and to watch the Nebraska game tomorrow. Marilee is a seminary classmate who is from Lincoln, so, Go Big Red!
blessings,
Cindy
PS don't call it Frisco. The name of the city is San Francisco. And don't bring up Barry Bonds. Just don't.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Our Heroine's Journey So Far
I'm in San Francisco, at the home of Jim and Dolly. Jim is a seminary classmate who is now a college counselor and delightful Dolly is a nurse. I was lucky enough to stay with them for a few days last year when I came to San Anselmo for study leave. They spoiled me rotten on that last trip and they are continuing now. They have a large house just south of Golden Gate Park. We all went out for Dim Sum today before Dolly had to go to work and I am still feeling stuffed! Sorry I haven't updated lately, but here is the journey so far.
Left Omaha and stopped in Kearney. Got my hair fixed one last time by my stylist. Had to go to church to pick up a few forgotten items and it was OK. Went to storage and dropped off extra clothes and pick up winter coats. Coffee with Lutheran pastor John G, dinner with Presbyterian pastor, Caroline Vickery for excellent Thai food. Yes, Kearney has Thai food made by actual Thai people! Went on to North Platte after dinner.
Spent two nights with the Hawley family in North Platte. Several good conversations with BFF Amy Hawley. Ate good Chinese food, spent time with charming Jamie and Aaron Hawley, the kids. Jim off meeting and greeting with his fellow wizards.
Spent one night in Denver because my little place in the mountains didn't have a reservation the first night. I forget between visits how much Denver just pisses me off. The traffic, the sprawl, the general frack you attitude. At the end when I was trying to get turned around and to a gas station, I just yelled to the cars interior, "I just want to leave this #@& city!!!" So I did and headed for the hills.
I love going up into the mountains. When I was a kid, we went every year from Omaha to just above Idaho Springs where we rented one of the Big Spruce Cabins operated by the Cole family. After we left Denver, we would say the name of the exits like a mantra. Lookout Mountain, Mother Cabrini, Buffalo Bill's grave. Buffalo Bill's grave always included mutual agreement about injustice of him not being buried in Nebraska. El Rancho, Floyd Hill, Chief Hosa, turn off to Central City, Idaho Springs! Idaho Springs!
In the fifties, my dad's best friend moved to Idaho Springs and we would come out first to visit them and my parents former pastor from Lincoln. Renting the cabin for a few weeks meant we had our own place and own place to cook, especially the trout we caught.
The Cole family sold Big Spruce in 1977. Alan Cole, the son of the couple who built the place, came and told us while we were staying there. An era ended in the Harvey family. We had lost that common place we all loved. Since then, Tom and my parents came to love Georgetown, Mike and Sue often go to a friend's home in Salida, Bill and family have Evergreen and Aspen. I didn't find my happy place until I found Hot Sulphur Springs just last year. The Big Spruce Cabins passed through a few different hands and is now owned by people who only rent it out for months at a time and who want to run a credit check before you rent. The days when Mr. Cole would take a personal check and a handshake are long past.
A few years ago, I drove up to Big Spruce Cabins. The Big Spruce it was named for is now gone. Lightening or pine blight, I suppose. I got teary as a took a picture of the enormous stump to show to my brothers.
I still like to stop in Idaho Springs, though. Somethings are exactly the same, like the statue of Steve Canyon, the old gold mines and the water wheel. Somethings are new like the Starbucks and a new addition just this summer since June, a business named "Cannabis Med." I had to circle the block three times to make sure I was looking at what I thought. No, I did not stop.
There is a charming deli in Idaho Springs, Two Brothers. A lot of locals hang there and so do I. It is run by laid-back women, has wonderful sandwiches and soups and coffee.
Then it was up I-70 the the Eisenhower Tunnel. I like to drive in the mountains. Both of my parents had sure hands and taught me how to slow the car without stepping on the brakes by down shifting. It was frustrating all the way up to the tunnel because two lanes had to merge to one. We had a lovely delay of about 40 minutes for about a ten foot section of work being done. Two lanes again through the tunnel. When I emerged from the tunnel, I pulled into the fast lane and descended 3500 feet to Dillon/Silverthorne yelling "WHEEEEE! WHEE! WHEE! WHEEEE!" just like the pig in the Geico commercial.
Exited at Dillon/Silverthorne and wound around into Grand County and Hot Sulphur Springs. Small town, not entirely touristed up like most of Colorado. A bar with good food, a breakfast lunch place with good food, an ice cream stand with good food. A little general store that doesn't sell much besides beer. The Hot Springs spa. You can stay there, but I prefer one of the other two motels, The Ute Trail. There is also a charming candy shop where I bought cocoa and candy coated shelled sunflower seeds. Crazy Delicious.
The Ute Trail is one of those old, two lane highway motels. The furniture is early American blond, the walls are knotty pine, the fixtures in the bathroom are "classic." Every inch is spotlessly clean. The beds are new and comfy, the rates are rock bottom. There are microwaves and fridges and coffee makes. The owner, Dee, has just invested in Dish TV. Dee is a sweetheart and sells discount passes to the Hot Springs. I soaked and vegged and enjoyed for three days.
On Monday of this week left for Salt Lake City. Passed through the area of Utah known as "the basin." The thrifty Mormons have damned up the rivers and have been taking advantage of that greatest of Nebraska exports, center pivot irrigation from Valley. I could see the blue Valley signs on them, some from quite a distance. I thought of a friend who went to Africa and saw an center pivot. He went over to look at it. It was from Valley.
Drove far into the evening to get to a unimpressive but cheap hotel out by the airport. Didn't sight see or anything in Salt Lake City. The next day, drove from Salt Lake to South Lake Tahoe, so two long days in a row. Passed through that amazing Great Salt Desert west of the Lake. Miles and miles of nothing, empty. No birds, no animals, no plants.
People have a need to mark this empty space. There is a sculpture, "Metaphor: The Tree of Utah" by Karl Momen. Here is a link to some info and a picture.
http://www.utah.com/amusement/metaphor_tree.htm
You approach this massive thing for miles and it is in stark contrast to the barren landscape.
There are informal installations as well. People come out, from Salt Lake City, one would think, and leave circles of stones, or cairns or a heart made of stones with two initials in the middle. Some people write out words with stones. There are also places where dozens of beer bottles are pushed neck first into the sand. One would hope that more than one person was involved in emptying all those bottles.
Long but easy drive across Nevada. Stopped in Winnemuca for $3.99 ham and eggs. Wasn't hungry until I saw the sign. Didn't gamble at all in Nevada, not even a nickel into a slot machine. Got into Tahoe about 9 o'clock. My friend Wanda came. We had not seen each other in almost 30 years. We just fell to talking right away. She took me to karaoke and she sang "Promises, Promises" by Naked Eyes and "Megalomaniac" by Incubus. I sang "L-O-V-E" ala Nat King Cole. "Cindy picked up that song and spanked it!" sand the KJ. (Karaoke DJ).
I loved the karaoke. There is a crowd of regulars. They are all really supportive of each other. Nobody gets booed, everyone gets a nice round of applause. Wanda has a lot of friends in that group. I gave her the same caution I give all my friends before they take me to a party, "Don't tell them I'm a Presbyterian minister. Some people really freak out." God bless her, she didn't.
The next morning, Wanda I took one of the midday cruises on the Tahoe Queen a beautiful paddle wheeler. Wanda's daughter Sarah works on the boat. I hadn't seen Sarah since she was three and she is now a gorgeous young woman with a daughter of her own. Then, set out for San Francisco. Wanda and I promised each other it would not be thirty years before we met again.
It always amuses me that almost immediately coming into California, people start driving like Californians! There is lots of jockeying for position and aggressive driving. Came down from the mountains, into the Central Valley and suddenly, palm trees appear. Sacramento, Davis, Vacaville, Vallejo all pass by, suddenly there is the Bay.
I was on the Oakland Bay Bridge in 1989 when it broke during the Loma Prieta earthquake and have never felt happy about driving across ever since. Made it without any freak outs. It helps that I was driving into the city on the top level, instead of exiting the city on the bottom level like I did during the quake. I realized I didn't have Jim and Dolly's address anywhere handy, so I called and got the address and was able to find it without any trouble.
They welcomed me with a comfy room and hot pizza. Today we gorged on dim sum before Dolly went to work and then Jim and I went to the Beach Chalet to sit in the bar and enjoy a cup of coffee for him and a club soda for me. Beautiful building built during the WPA years at the beach end of Golden Gate Park. Filled with old murals and tile work depicting San Francisco. The murals are oddly devoid of anyone Asian or African American or Hispanic. One pair of men was setting off my gaydar, however.
The Beach Chalet was boarded up when I lived in the Bay Area 20 years ago, but a combination of private and public money has made it into a display about the history of Golden Gate Park on the lower level and a restaurant and brew pub on the upper level. The fog lifted briefly on Ocean beach and I was just able to make out the breakers coming to shore. Tomorrow, AT&T park and the Giants, one half game back in the NL West.
blessings,
Cindy
Left Omaha and stopped in Kearney. Got my hair fixed one last time by my stylist. Had to go to church to pick up a few forgotten items and it was OK. Went to storage and dropped off extra clothes and pick up winter coats. Coffee with Lutheran pastor John G, dinner with Presbyterian pastor, Caroline Vickery for excellent Thai food. Yes, Kearney has Thai food made by actual Thai people! Went on to North Platte after dinner.
Spent two nights with the Hawley family in North Platte. Several good conversations with BFF Amy Hawley. Ate good Chinese food, spent time with charming Jamie and Aaron Hawley, the kids. Jim off meeting and greeting with his fellow wizards.
Spent one night in Denver because my little place in the mountains didn't have a reservation the first night. I forget between visits how much Denver just pisses me off. The traffic, the sprawl, the general frack you attitude. At the end when I was trying to get turned around and to a gas station, I just yelled to the cars interior, "I just want to leave this #@& city!!!" So I did and headed for the hills.
I love going up into the mountains. When I was a kid, we went every year from Omaha to just above Idaho Springs where we rented one of the Big Spruce Cabins operated by the Cole family. After we left Denver, we would say the name of the exits like a mantra. Lookout Mountain, Mother Cabrini, Buffalo Bill's grave. Buffalo Bill's grave always included mutual agreement about injustice of him not being buried in Nebraska. El Rancho, Floyd Hill, Chief Hosa, turn off to Central City, Idaho Springs! Idaho Springs!
In the fifties, my dad's best friend moved to Idaho Springs and we would come out first to visit them and my parents former pastor from Lincoln. Renting the cabin for a few weeks meant we had our own place and own place to cook, especially the trout we caught.
The Cole family sold Big Spruce in 1977. Alan Cole, the son of the couple who built the place, came and told us while we were staying there. An era ended in the Harvey family. We had lost that common place we all loved. Since then, Tom and my parents came to love Georgetown, Mike and Sue often go to a friend's home in Salida, Bill and family have Evergreen and Aspen. I didn't find my happy place until I found Hot Sulphur Springs just last year. The Big Spruce Cabins passed through a few different hands and is now owned by people who only rent it out for months at a time and who want to run a credit check before you rent. The days when Mr. Cole would take a personal check and a handshake are long past.
A few years ago, I drove up to Big Spruce Cabins. The Big Spruce it was named for is now gone. Lightening or pine blight, I suppose. I got teary as a took a picture of the enormous stump to show to my brothers.
I still like to stop in Idaho Springs, though. Somethings are exactly the same, like the statue of Steve Canyon, the old gold mines and the water wheel. Somethings are new like the Starbucks and a new addition just this summer since June, a business named "Cannabis Med." I had to circle the block three times to make sure I was looking at what I thought. No, I did not stop.
There is a charming deli in Idaho Springs, Two Brothers. A lot of locals hang there and so do I. It is run by laid-back women, has wonderful sandwiches and soups and coffee.
Then it was up I-70 the the Eisenhower Tunnel. I like to drive in the mountains. Both of my parents had sure hands and taught me how to slow the car without stepping on the brakes by down shifting. It was frustrating all the way up to the tunnel because two lanes had to merge to one. We had a lovely delay of about 40 minutes for about a ten foot section of work being done. Two lanes again through the tunnel. When I emerged from the tunnel, I pulled into the fast lane and descended 3500 feet to Dillon/Silverthorne yelling "WHEEEEE! WHEE! WHEE! WHEEEE!" just like the pig in the Geico commercial.
Exited at Dillon/Silverthorne and wound around into Grand County and Hot Sulphur Springs. Small town, not entirely touristed up like most of Colorado. A bar with good food, a breakfast lunch place with good food, an ice cream stand with good food. A little general store that doesn't sell much besides beer. The Hot Springs spa. You can stay there, but I prefer one of the other two motels, The Ute Trail. There is also a charming candy shop where I bought cocoa and candy coated shelled sunflower seeds. Crazy Delicious.
The Ute Trail is one of those old, two lane highway motels. The furniture is early American blond, the walls are knotty pine, the fixtures in the bathroom are "classic." Every inch is spotlessly clean. The beds are new and comfy, the rates are rock bottom. There are microwaves and fridges and coffee makes. The owner, Dee, has just invested in Dish TV. Dee is a sweetheart and sells discount passes to the Hot Springs. I soaked and vegged and enjoyed for three days.
On Monday of this week left for Salt Lake City. Passed through the area of Utah known as "the basin." The thrifty Mormons have damned up the rivers and have been taking advantage of that greatest of Nebraska exports, center pivot irrigation from Valley. I could see the blue Valley signs on them, some from quite a distance. I thought of a friend who went to Africa and saw an center pivot. He went over to look at it. It was from Valley.
Drove far into the evening to get to a unimpressive but cheap hotel out by the airport. Didn't sight see or anything in Salt Lake City. The next day, drove from Salt Lake to South Lake Tahoe, so two long days in a row. Passed through that amazing Great Salt Desert west of the Lake. Miles and miles of nothing, empty. No birds, no animals, no plants.
People have a need to mark this empty space. There is a sculpture, "Metaphor: The Tree of Utah" by Karl Momen. Here is a link to some info and a picture.
http://www.utah.com/amusement/metaphor_tree.htm
You approach this massive thing for miles and it is in stark contrast to the barren landscape.
There are informal installations as well. People come out, from Salt Lake City, one would think, and leave circles of stones, or cairns or a heart made of stones with two initials in the middle. Some people write out words with stones. There are also places where dozens of beer bottles are pushed neck first into the sand. One would hope that more than one person was involved in emptying all those bottles.
Long but easy drive across Nevada. Stopped in Winnemuca for $3.99 ham and eggs. Wasn't hungry until I saw the sign. Didn't gamble at all in Nevada, not even a nickel into a slot machine. Got into Tahoe about 9 o'clock. My friend Wanda came. We had not seen each other in almost 30 years. We just fell to talking right away. She took me to karaoke and she sang "Promises, Promises" by Naked Eyes and "Megalomaniac" by Incubus. I sang "L-O-V-E" ala Nat King Cole. "Cindy picked up that song and spanked it!" sand the KJ. (Karaoke DJ).
I loved the karaoke. There is a crowd of regulars. They are all really supportive of each other. Nobody gets booed, everyone gets a nice round of applause. Wanda has a lot of friends in that group. I gave her the same caution I give all my friends before they take me to a party, "Don't tell them I'm a Presbyterian minister. Some people really freak out." God bless her, she didn't.
The next morning, Wanda I took one of the midday cruises on the Tahoe Queen a beautiful paddle wheeler. Wanda's daughter Sarah works on the boat. I hadn't seen Sarah since she was three and she is now a gorgeous young woman with a daughter of her own. Then, set out for San Francisco. Wanda and I promised each other it would not be thirty years before we met again.
It always amuses me that almost immediately coming into California, people start driving like Californians! There is lots of jockeying for position and aggressive driving. Came down from the mountains, into the Central Valley and suddenly, palm trees appear. Sacramento, Davis, Vacaville, Vallejo all pass by, suddenly there is the Bay.
I was on the Oakland Bay Bridge in 1989 when it broke during the Loma Prieta earthquake and have never felt happy about driving across ever since. Made it without any freak outs. It helps that I was driving into the city on the top level, instead of exiting the city on the bottom level like I did during the quake. I realized I didn't have Jim and Dolly's address anywhere handy, so I called and got the address and was able to find it without any trouble.
They welcomed me with a comfy room and hot pizza. Today we gorged on dim sum before Dolly went to work and then Jim and I went to the Beach Chalet to sit in the bar and enjoy a cup of coffee for him and a club soda for me. Beautiful building built during the WPA years at the beach end of Golden Gate Park. Filled with old murals and tile work depicting San Francisco. The murals are oddly devoid of anyone Asian or African American or Hispanic. One pair of men was setting off my gaydar, however.
The Beach Chalet was boarded up when I lived in the Bay Area 20 years ago, but a combination of private and public money has made it into a display about the history of Golden Gate Park on the lower level and a restaurant and brew pub on the upper level. The fog lifted briefly on Ocean beach and I was just able to make out the breakers coming to shore. Tomorrow, AT&T park and the Giants, one half game back in the NL West.
blessings,
Cindy
Monday, September 6, 2010
West
Tonight is my last night in Omaha. I haven't been blogging much, too much excitement going on. Had Brother Mike and Sister in law Sue over for dinner at Tom's on Friday. Made my favorite meal to cook, meatloaf, mashed potatoes, peas, berries for dessert. We looked at old pictures and read some letters our Pop wrote home during World War II from Lincoln Airbase. One of them got us all choked up when he wrote about how awful it was from everyone to be separated from their families and about war being caused by human sin. He wrote about how much he missed is parents and MJ (our mom) and Tommy, who was just a baby. He would be discharged after 90 days because he was discovered to have a heart murmur and spent the rest of the war working in a bomber plant, but he didn't know that when he wrote the letter.
Saturday, helped Brothers Tom and Bill to go through Tom's garage and all the Christmas decorations. Already have filled up one Cindy box and started on the second. They will have to stay in Tom's garage for time being. I took one teddy bear dressed as a Christmas Tree to serve as my Christmas tree this year, since all my decorations are packed up.
Saturday evening we took off and went to the Big Red Keno Bar. My brother Bill is the attorney for Big Red Keno, we have had some interesting discussions about gambling. But it is also a great place to watch a game, especially a pay per view game. Potato skins, onion rings, burgers, cold beer all brought right to you. It's a wonderful thing. Nebraska won big, too, so GO BIG RED. I've already got it set with Bill that I get to take Nephew Bob to the last Colorado game ever when I am home for Thanksgiving.
Rested on Sunday, today, more garage cleaning in the morning. This afternoon I took my father's three fishing reels to Cabela's to be restrung and learned they are valuable antiques. The salesman restrung them but begged me not to fish with them, especially since I had the boxes for the reels. I haven't done any research yet, but I bought myself a new reel and will leave these with Tom.
Tomorrow, I turn West. I am as much a fool for American History and American Myth as anyone. There is something about the drive west, from the prairie, through the mountains to the ocean. I am in awe of the people who made this trek before cars, interstates, rest stops and McDonalds. Last summer when I paused in the great Salt Desert to survey that bare, incredible, terrifying landscape I marveled that people once crossed it in nothing but a wagon. I'm amazed that anyone built a railroad or a highway across that expanse of white.
I first made that trip by car from Omaha, to Colorado, to San Diego when I was a child. Brother Mike was on a mission trip to San Diego and Mom, Pop, Bill and I drove out there to pick him up and go to Disneyland. It was fun. But my Pop and I both caught some kind of upper respiratory infection in LA. By the time we got to Arizona, we were dreadfully sick. All I remember about the Grand Canyon was how awful I felt looking at it. Mother and Mike talked after Pop and I fell asleep and decided to find a doctor in the morning.
We just went to a doctor's office and were seen right away. Remember, this was the mid-sixties, and you could still do that. The doctor we found had gone to the University of Nebraska Medical School with our doctor back in Omaha. He told us that many people from the Midwest got sick in LA, it was the smog that our lungs couldn't handle. He fixed us up with some kind of cough syrup, we were both well again very quickly.
During and just after seminary I lived in California for just over four years, but in the San Francisco Bay Area. I have never been back to Los Angeles. It always seems like the journey East has always been more dangerous to me since then than the trek West. I made the trip by car just a handful of times by car while going to or coming from seminary. Flying by plane, which I did more often, just doesn't count. I've had to nurse my finicky convertible across I-80 twice. The trip from San Francisco to take my first call in Ohio was particularly exciting. My car gave a huge cough of a back fire on top of Donner Pass, but kept going. I had a scary moment in Wyoming, passing a truck and suddenly realized I was driving on shear ice. A trucker I will never know saved my life by easing back and letting me back in the right lane. On the way back east to Nebraska from California last summer, I tripped and fell on my way into a gas station in Fallon, Nevada. I'm still having back and knee problems from that fall.
Yet, I am still in love with the trip West. There is a curve that I-80 takes on the way out of Omaha that just looks like the road goes on forever. Every time I take that curve, I feel the years fall away and I'm on my way to the mountains to go fishing with my Pop, on my way to meet Mickey Mouse.
Most of the time, I am in love with this adventure. How many people, in the 51st year of their life, can just get in a car and take off? Other times, I look around my bedroom, I'm sorry, Tom's living room, now completely taken up by a rather large inflatable bed and think with longing of when I still had a home myself. Then I feel angry and sad all at once. I long for my desk, my bed, my pictures on the wall, my kitchen, my stuff, now all packed up in Kearney.
It doesn't last very long. West. West like Lewis and Clark to learn about a continent. West like Teddy Roosevelt to cure his asthma and his broken heart. West like Willa Cather as a child by train and wagon from the gentle hills of Virginia to the Nebraska prairie to find her destiny and her voice. West like Marcus and Narcissa Whitman. I used to sit underneath their stained glass window in Stewart Chapel at San Francisco Theological Seminary. Later, I served in their home Presbytery in New York.
I am not in their class, nor in the class of the thousands upon thousands who came, who for good or bad built this country. I am an informed historian. I know it came at the cost of lives, lives of people who had lived in the west for centuries. I know it came at the cost of the land itself. But somehow, there is still something in me that responds to the romance of the American Dream. But still, I head West, to see the mountains, to smell the sea air. Oregon or Bust.
Blessings.
Saturday, helped Brothers Tom and Bill to go through Tom's garage and all the Christmas decorations. Already have filled up one Cindy box and started on the second. They will have to stay in Tom's garage for time being. I took one teddy bear dressed as a Christmas Tree to serve as my Christmas tree this year, since all my decorations are packed up.
Saturday evening we took off and went to the Big Red Keno Bar. My brother Bill is the attorney for Big Red Keno, we have had some interesting discussions about gambling. But it is also a great place to watch a game, especially a pay per view game. Potato skins, onion rings, burgers, cold beer all brought right to you. It's a wonderful thing. Nebraska won big, too, so GO BIG RED. I've already got it set with Bill that I get to take Nephew Bob to the last Colorado game ever when I am home for Thanksgiving.
Rested on Sunday, today, more garage cleaning in the morning. This afternoon I took my father's three fishing reels to Cabela's to be restrung and learned they are valuable antiques. The salesman restrung them but begged me not to fish with them, especially since I had the boxes for the reels. I haven't done any research yet, but I bought myself a new reel and will leave these with Tom.
Tomorrow, I turn West. I am as much a fool for American History and American Myth as anyone. There is something about the drive west, from the prairie, through the mountains to the ocean. I am in awe of the people who made this trek before cars, interstates, rest stops and McDonalds. Last summer when I paused in the great Salt Desert to survey that bare, incredible, terrifying landscape I marveled that people once crossed it in nothing but a wagon. I'm amazed that anyone built a railroad or a highway across that expanse of white.
I first made that trip by car from Omaha, to Colorado, to San Diego when I was a child. Brother Mike was on a mission trip to San Diego and Mom, Pop, Bill and I drove out there to pick him up and go to Disneyland. It was fun. But my Pop and I both caught some kind of upper respiratory infection in LA. By the time we got to Arizona, we were dreadfully sick. All I remember about the Grand Canyon was how awful I felt looking at it. Mother and Mike talked after Pop and I fell asleep and decided to find a doctor in the morning.
We just went to a doctor's office and were seen right away. Remember, this was the mid-sixties, and you could still do that. The doctor we found had gone to the University of Nebraska Medical School with our doctor back in Omaha. He told us that many people from the Midwest got sick in LA, it was the smog that our lungs couldn't handle. He fixed us up with some kind of cough syrup, we were both well again very quickly.
During and just after seminary I lived in California for just over four years, but in the San Francisco Bay Area. I have never been back to Los Angeles. It always seems like the journey East has always been more dangerous to me since then than the trek West. I made the trip by car just a handful of times by car while going to or coming from seminary. Flying by plane, which I did more often, just doesn't count. I've had to nurse my finicky convertible across I-80 twice. The trip from San Francisco to take my first call in Ohio was particularly exciting. My car gave a huge cough of a back fire on top of Donner Pass, but kept going. I had a scary moment in Wyoming, passing a truck and suddenly realized I was driving on shear ice. A trucker I will never know saved my life by easing back and letting me back in the right lane. On the way back east to Nebraska from California last summer, I tripped and fell on my way into a gas station in Fallon, Nevada. I'm still having back and knee problems from that fall.
Yet, I am still in love with the trip West. There is a curve that I-80 takes on the way out of Omaha that just looks like the road goes on forever. Every time I take that curve, I feel the years fall away and I'm on my way to the mountains to go fishing with my Pop, on my way to meet Mickey Mouse.
Most of the time, I am in love with this adventure. How many people, in the 51st year of their life, can just get in a car and take off? Other times, I look around my bedroom, I'm sorry, Tom's living room, now completely taken up by a rather large inflatable bed and think with longing of when I still had a home myself. Then I feel angry and sad all at once. I long for my desk, my bed, my pictures on the wall, my kitchen, my stuff, now all packed up in Kearney.
It doesn't last very long. West. West like Lewis and Clark to learn about a continent. West like Teddy Roosevelt to cure his asthma and his broken heart. West like Willa Cather as a child by train and wagon from the gentle hills of Virginia to the Nebraska prairie to find her destiny and her voice. West like Marcus and Narcissa Whitman. I used to sit underneath their stained glass window in Stewart Chapel at San Francisco Theological Seminary. Later, I served in their home Presbytery in New York.
I am not in their class, nor in the class of the thousands upon thousands who came, who for good or bad built this country. I am an informed historian. I know it came at the cost of lives, lives of people who had lived in the west for centuries. I know it came at the cost of the land itself. But somehow, there is still something in me that responds to the romance of the American Dream. But still, I head West, to see the mountains, to smell the sea air. Oregon or Bust.
Blessings.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Wounds
In the week since I left my call I've moving around, feeling relaxed and happy. I've been seeing my family, listening to music, writing and putting some feelers out for a new call. This morning my phone woke me up, it was brother Bill who was calling to make an arrangement about lunch later this week.
The reason I'm blogging about this is that Bill woke me in the middle of a dream that I probably would not have remembered had he not called. I dreamt I was back at seminary and one of the people I went toe to toe with at the church was teaching one of my required classes. I remember feeling trapped and hopeless.
How long do wounds stay? I ask not just as someone who has been wounded, but as someone who has inflicted wounds on others. "What's love when all is said and done but the giving and taking of wounds?" asks Frederick Buechner's "Godric". (Sorry if the quote is wrong, my copy is packed up somewhere!)
In the breakup of any relationship, most of the fault does not lie on one side or the other. I've made mistakes, sometimes real doozies in every relationship I have ever had, every church I have ever served.
Thank God for forgiveness! Shakespeare knew that forgiveness is where we must all end up 400 years ago:
The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes
+++++++++++
Though justice be thy plea, consider this—
That in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene I
Forgiveness isn't easy. It's hard. But just because something is hard, doesn't mean it isn't worth doing. Talk it out, write it out, pray it out. I just don't know any other way.
Merciful God, May I rely upon the forgiveness you have given me in Christ Jesus to forgive the wounds that I have suffered. May those I have wounded find wholeness, health and forgiveness in their own way and own time. May we all strive to serve you better. Relying on the saving grace of your son I pray. Amen.
Blessings.
The reason I'm blogging about this is that Bill woke me in the middle of a dream that I probably would not have remembered had he not called. I dreamt I was back at seminary and one of the people I went toe to toe with at the church was teaching one of my required classes. I remember feeling trapped and hopeless.
How long do wounds stay? I ask not just as someone who has been wounded, but as someone who has inflicted wounds on others. "What's love when all is said and done but the giving and taking of wounds?" asks Frederick Buechner's "Godric". (Sorry if the quote is wrong, my copy is packed up somewhere!)
In the breakup of any relationship, most of the fault does not lie on one side or the other. I've made mistakes, sometimes real doozies in every relationship I have ever had, every church I have ever served.
Thank God for forgiveness! Shakespeare knew that forgiveness is where we must all end up 400 years ago:
The quality of mercy is not strain'd,
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes
+++++++++++
Though justice be thy plea, consider this—
That in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
Merchant of Venice, Act IV, Scene I
Forgiveness isn't easy. It's hard. But just because something is hard, doesn't mean it isn't worth doing. Talk it out, write it out, pray it out. I just don't know any other way.
Merciful God, May I rely upon the forgiveness you have given me in Christ Jesus to forgive the wounds that I have suffered. May those I have wounded find wholeness, health and forgiveness in their own way and own time. May we all strive to serve you better. Relying on the saving grace of your son I pray. Amen.
Blessings.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Wedding
On Saturday, I got to participate in a wedding. Any pastor will tell you that performing weddings can be a mixed blessing.
One the one hand, weddings often involve you with young people who are very self involved, not much interested in church after the preacher says, "I now pronounce you husband and wife," or while they will suffer through counseling or classes have much more interest in holding a great wedding than having a great marriage.
I've married people who had their marriage fall apart shortly after the wedding. One bride was actually carrying on a affair while she was making her vows. I had a bride back in Ohio who didn't show up for the rehearsal but didn't call me to cancel. The organist and I sat and stared at each other until I finally got the bride on the phone. "I meant to call you," she explained. "My fiance spent the money for the wedding on boarding his horse."
I had a wedding in Hector that started 90 minutes late. The bride and groom were ready to go, but the bride's grandfather was delayed. You see, a cousin in New York City was supposed to get on a bus for Ithaca, about 35 minutes away from Hector. The cousin instead got on a bus for Utica about a three hour drive away. So a car, with grandpa in the car as a passenger, went to pick up this cousin.
The mother of the bride made an announcement, the organist just kept playing, rather like the orchestra on the Titanic. The best man and I kept the groom iced down, he was fairly livid.
These are the weddings that make pastor's dread weddings. Today was the complete opposite.
The opposite is good weddings, couples who realize that a wedding point is a starting point for a marriage. I have performed weddings and then had the privilege to baptize the children born of that marriage. I love performing weddings for people on second marriages, someone once said, "remarriage after divorce is the triumph of hope over experience," but it is also the triumph of love over pain. I love performing weddings for people I knew as children or teenagers.
I got to perform a wedding for my friends David and Carolyn who actually met at my 31st birthday party. They married a year after I graduated from seminary and I traveled back to conduct the ceremony with my mentor Howard Rice and got to celebrate communion with Howard in Stewart Chapel as part of that service. Carolyn and David had a fabulous homemade reception and I even caught the bouquet. (I have several bouquets, BTW. No bridesmaid has a chance against me!)
Today, I got to participate in the wedding of a friend and a colleague. Leanne is pastor of two churches in Central Nebraska Presbytery. She has been a good friend to me and I hope I to her. She asked me to participate in the leadership of her wedding at one of the lowest points in my professional life. I preached while most the ceremony was conducted by Paul, an actor friend of Michael, the groom. Paul got ordained through the Internet so he could conduct weddings for friends. Turns out, like me, he is a UNO drama department grad, he knows my brothers from Omaha Opera Chorus and is the cousin of a college buddy of mine. He also does a very nice and very professional wedding.
Preachers know a lot of other preachers, so I was really touched when Leanne asked me. I was the first friend to see her engagement ring after Michael gave it to her, so I was really honored to see that event to the end. It was a good day, a reverent, worshipful service. A low key, delicious wedding reception, featuring smoked meats by Mike's dad. It was one of those days when I feel like, "Thank God I get to marry people!"
Which made me think about a decision made yesterday in Napa, California. If you are Presbyterian, you probably have heard of Rev. Jane Spahr and how she was just on trial by the Presbytery for performing marriages for same-sex couples while that was legal in California.
If you are not Presbyterian, you need to know that Janie is an out lesbian, Presbyterian minister. When the definitive guidance, outlawing non celibate gay clergy was passed by General Assembly, anyone ordained before 1978 was allowed to stay ordained even if they were gay and non-celibate Janie was ordained in 1974. For over thirty years, Janie has been the voice of those who wanted to serve the church that told them their sexuality was unacceptable. She has been the voice of those who were told they couldn't be married because their love was wrong. Janie has put herself forward as the face of those the church turns away. She's retired now, but when these couples came to her to be married, she didn't say no.
So charges were brought. Three of the four challenges were sustained, in other words, Janie was found guilty. The Judicial Commission who conducted the trial apologized to Janie and the couples. The sentence was rebuke by censure, the mildest that could be imposed and will not be imposed until after the appeal. But Janie was found guilty. Her crime was marrying people who are in love to each other. I did that less than 24 hours ago, but because I married a man and a woman, not two women or two men, that was fine.
I could say I don't have a dog in this fight as a straight person. People sometimes think I'm gay because I am middle aged, tall, large, single and went to seminary in the Bay Area. But the fact is, and it has taken me many hours of prayer to come to this realization about myself, I like guys. That was supposed to be sarcastic, can you tell?
I recently ended a relationship with a perfectly lovely man, we fell apart because of distance. But because he is of a different race than me, there are many places in this country we could not have even contemplated getting married. That law was wrong. That law has been changed.
But you know, I do have a dog in this fight. I have the friends and classmates I have seen leave the PCUSA because of the church that nurtured their faith, has told them they aren't good enough for ministry.
I do have a dog in this fight: I want to serve and grow my faith in Christ in a church that actually means that sign that you see out front, All Welcome.
Seeing a couple in love, gather with family and friends is a privilege we pastors enjoy. I want to enjoy it no matter who is making up the couple.
Blessings.
One the one hand, weddings often involve you with young people who are very self involved, not much interested in church after the preacher says, "I now pronounce you husband and wife," or while they will suffer through counseling or classes have much more interest in holding a great wedding than having a great marriage.
I've married people who had their marriage fall apart shortly after the wedding. One bride was actually carrying on a affair while she was making her vows. I had a bride back in Ohio who didn't show up for the rehearsal but didn't call me to cancel. The organist and I sat and stared at each other until I finally got the bride on the phone. "I meant to call you," she explained. "My fiance spent the money for the wedding on boarding his horse."
I had a wedding in Hector that started 90 minutes late. The bride and groom were ready to go, but the bride's grandfather was delayed. You see, a cousin in New York City was supposed to get on a bus for Ithaca, about 35 minutes away from Hector. The cousin instead got on a bus for Utica about a three hour drive away. So a car, with grandpa in the car as a passenger, went to pick up this cousin.
The mother of the bride made an announcement, the organist just kept playing, rather like the orchestra on the Titanic. The best man and I kept the groom iced down, he was fairly livid.
These are the weddings that make pastor's dread weddings. Today was the complete opposite.
The opposite is good weddings, couples who realize that a wedding point is a starting point for a marriage. I have performed weddings and then had the privilege to baptize the children born of that marriage. I love performing weddings for people on second marriages, someone once said, "remarriage after divorce is the triumph of hope over experience," but it is also the triumph of love over pain. I love performing weddings for people I knew as children or teenagers.
I got to perform a wedding for my friends David and Carolyn who actually met at my 31st birthday party. They married a year after I graduated from seminary and I traveled back to conduct the ceremony with my mentor Howard Rice and got to celebrate communion with Howard in Stewart Chapel as part of that service. Carolyn and David had a fabulous homemade reception and I even caught the bouquet. (I have several bouquets, BTW. No bridesmaid has a chance against me!)
Today, I got to participate in the wedding of a friend and a colleague. Leanne is pastor of two churches in Central Nebraska Presbytery. She has been a good friend to me and I hope I to her. She asked me to participate in the leadership of her wedding at one of the lowest points in my professional life. I preached while most the ceremony was conducted by Paul, an actor friend of Michael, the groom. Paul got ordained through the Internet so he could conduct weddings for friends. Turns out, like me, he is a UNO drama department grad, he knows my brothers from Omaha Opera Chorus and is the cousin of a college buddy of mine. He also does a very nice and very professional wedding.
Preachers know a lot of other preachers, so I was really touched when Leanne asked me. I was the first friend to see her engagement ring after Michael gave it to her, so I was really honored to see that event to the end. It was a good day, a reverent, worshipful service. A low key, delicious wedding reception, featuring smoked meats by Mike's dad. It was one of those days when I feel like, "Thank God I get to marry people!"
Which made me think about a decision made yesterday in Napa, California. If you are Presbyterian, you probably have heard of Rev. Jane Spahr and how she was just on trial by the Presbytery for performing marriages for same-sex couples while that was legal in California.
If you are not Presbyterian, you need to know that Janie is an out lesbian, Presbyterian minister. When the definitive guidance, outlawing non celibate gay clergy was passed by General Assembly, anyone ordained before 1978 was allowed to stay ordained even if they were gay and non-celibate Janie was ordained in 1974. For over thirty years, Janie has been the voice of those who wanted to serve the church that told them their sexuality was unacceptable. She has been the voice of those who were told they couldn't be married because their love was wrong. Janie has put herself forward as the face of those the church turns away. She's retired now, but when these couples came to her to be married, she didn't say no.
So charges were brought. Three of the four challenges were sustained, in other words, Janie was found guilty. The Judicial Commission who conducted the trial apologized to Janie and the couples. The sentence was rebuke by censure, the mildest that could be imposed and will not be imposed until after the appeal. But Janie was found guilty. Her crime was marrying people who are in love to each other. I did that less than 24 hours ago, but because I married a man and a woman, not two women or two men, that was fine.
I could say I don't have a dog in this fight as a straight person. People sometimes think I'm gay because I am middle aged, tall, large, single and went to seminary in the Bay Area. But the fact is, and it has taken me many hours of prayer to come to this realization about myself, I like guys. That was supposed to be sarcastic, can you tell?
I recently ended a relationship with a perfectly lovely man, we fell apart because of distance. But because he is of a different race than me, there are many places in this country we could not have even contemplated getting married. That law was wrong. That law has been changed.
But you know, I do have a dog in this fight. I have the friends and classmates I have seen leave the PCUSA because of the church that nurtured their faith, has told them they aren't good enough for ministry.
I do have a dog in this fight: I want to serve and grow my faith in Christ in a church that actually means that sign that you see out front, All Welcome.
Seeing a couple in love, gather with family and friends is a privilege we pastors enjoy. I want to enjoy it no matter who is making up the couple.
Blessings.
Friday, August 27, 2010
The Carping Calvinist
Yesterday, the Wifi at my brother's apartment was out, so I sought refuge in the local Panera. While I ate lunch there, I didn't stay long. It was too noisy to think.
As I was parking the car, I noticed a Humvee or Hummer parked in the lot. Now, this is a motor vehicle that is so wasteful it isn't made anymore. It is a horrible, horrible vehicle. It was designed for use for the military and while it may have been useful in war, it should never have been introduced into civilian life.
So when I saw it, I was already pissed off.
Then, I noticed the license plate had the Hebrew word for God, "Elohim" except it was misspelled. Also, the license plate frame advertised a ministry.
Since I have nothing but time now, I left a note on the windshield.
"Do you think Jesus would drive a Hummer? "Elohim" should be spoken with reverence not slapped on your license plate. Do you really think you are doing a good job of representing all of us Christians driving around like this."
I went in search of my sandwich, feeling righteous.
But what if I am not right? What if there is a valid reason for driving this behemoth? I can't think of one, but is there? Is that valid reason valid enough to cancel out the environmental damage? Should my views about respect for the Hebrew language, especially language about God, be absolute? Does everyone have to agree with the opinions of this Carping Calvinist? Have I, as my father used to say, "stopped preaching and started meddling." Should I have called this blog, "The Carping Calvinist"? Why are Chrisitians in general and Presbyterians in particular so free with our judgements?
The Humvee was still there when I came out so I will never know what the reaction of the driver was.
I think not being connected to a particular church anymore has left me feeling very free with my opinions. I would worry that someone might think that my opinions are the opinions of every member of my church. I would worry that I might stick my nose in the wrong controversy and find myself on the outs with most of my congregation.
My parish associate commented that my preaching and writing seemed "freer and braver" after I had made the decision to leave the church. Maybe if we all said these things we were thinking all the time the world would be a freer and braver place. I know that this week I have been posting a lot more online about the Janie Spahr judicial case than I would of if I was still Head of Staff. (More thoughts about that case and today's decision in tomorrow's blog!)
Maybe if all of us preachers would say and do what is on our minds this world would be a much freer and braver place.
Blessings
As I was parking the car, I noticed a Humvee or Hummer parked in the lot. Now, this is a motor vehicle that is so wasteful it isn't made anymore. It is a horrible, horrible vehicle. It was designed for use for the military and while it may have been useful in war, it should never have been introduced into civilian life.
So when I saw it, I was already pissed off.
Then, I noticed the license plate had the Hebrew word for God, "Elohim" except it was misspelled. Also, the license plate frame advertised a ministry.
Since I have nothing but time now, I left a note on the windshield.
"Do you think Jesus would drive a Hummer? "Elohim" should be spoken with reverence not slapped on your license plate. Do you really think you are doing a good job of representing all of us Christians driving around like this."
I went in search of my sandwich, feeling righteous.
But what if I am not right? What if there is a valid reason for driving this behemoth? I can't think of one, but is there? Is that valid reason valid enough to cancel out the environmental damage? Should my views about respect for the Hebrew language, especially language about God, be absolute? Does everyone have to agree with the opinions of this Carping Calvinist? Have I, as my father used to say, "stopped preaching and started meddling." Should I have called this blog, "The Carping Calvinist"? Why are Chrisitians in general and Presbyterians in particular so free with our judgements?
The Humvee was still there when I came out so I will never know what the reaction of the driver was.
I think not being connected to a particular church anymore has left me feeling very free with my opinions. I would worry that someone might think that my opinions are the opinions of every member of my church. I would worry that I might stick my nose in the wrong controversy and find myself on the outs with most of my congregation.
My parish associate commented that my preaching and writing seemed "freer and braver" after I had made the decision to leave the church. Maybe if we all said these things we were thinking all the time the world would be a freer and braver place. I know that this week I have been posting a lot more online about the Janie Spahr judicial case than I would of if I was still Head of Staff. (More thoughts about that case and today's decision in tomorrow's blog!)
Maybe if all of us preachers would say and do what is on our minds this world would be a much freer and braver place.
Blessings
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Awake in Omaha
Woke up this morning in a moment of blind panic, didn't know where I was for a second, and then saw something, a lamp my parents had, that made me realize I was in my brother Tom's apartment in Omaha.
It feels like it should be Saturday, like I am on holiday. Got to watch myself to make sure I don't just fritter away all these wonderful free feeling days. So have been catching up on laundry (mine, later today, Tom's!) and starting to reorganize all the stuff I have brought and need to pack into the car, again!
Went out on the deck for prayer and it is just a gorgeous day. In late August, somtimes a cold front will blow through. After weeks and weeks of interminable hot, humid, sticky weather, the humidity will drop and we are left with beautiful summer days in the 70's and 80's.
Tom's apartment is near 90th and Dodge, literally the busiest part of Omaha. But the courtyard of the building is pleasant and green and nicely treed. I can hear the traffic, but it is muffled by birds and crickets and the rustle of cottonwood leaves. There is not a cloud in the sky.
Want to be very intentional about devotions and am using Sam Hamiton-Poore's "Earth Gospel" for daily devotions. Sam is Director, Program in Christian Spirituality and Assistant Professor of Christian Spirituality at San Francisco Theological Seminary. I got to know him at last summer's "Before the Cradle and Beyond the Cross at SFTS. The Wednesday reading for Week One is this poem by Emily Dickinson.
Will there really be a "Morning"?
Is there such a thing as "Day"?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like Water lilies?
Has it feathers like a Bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?
Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor!
Oh some Wise Men from the skies!
Please to tell a little Pilgrim
Where the place called "Morning" lies!
++++++
Blessings!
It feels like it should be Saturday, like I am on holiday. Got to watch myself to make sure I don't just fritter away all these wonderful free feeling days. So have been catching up on laundry (mine, later today, Tom's!) and starting to reorganize all the stuff I have brought and need to pack into the car, again!
Went out on the deck for prayer and it is just a gorgeous day. In late August, somtimes a cold front will blow through. After weeks and weeks of interminable hot, humid, sticky weather, the humidity will drop and we are left with beautiful summer days in the 70's and 80's.
Tom's apartment is near 90th and Dodge, literally the busiest part of Omaha. But the courtyard of the building is pleasant and green and nicely treed. I can hear the traffic, but it is muffled by birds and crickets and the rustle of cottonwood leaves. There is not a cloud in the sky.
Want to be very intentional about devotions and am using Sam Hamiton-Poore's "Earth Gospel" for daily devotions. Sam is Director, Program in Christian Spirituality and Assistant Professor of Christian Spirituality at San Francisco Theological Seminary. I got to know him at last summer's "Before the Cradle and Beyond the Cross at SFTS. The Wednesday reading for Week One is this poem by Emily Dickinson.
Will there really be a "Morning"?
Is there such a thing as "Day"?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like Water lilies?
Has it feathers like a Bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?
Oh some Scholar! Oh some Sailor!
Oh some Wise Men from the skies!
Please to tell a little Pilgrim
Where the place called "Morning" lies!
++++++
Blessings!
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Last Kearney Sermon
Everything is either in storage, or in the car or stored at Tom's apartment in Omaha. I am appreciating lovely folk who have been so kind from families who have had me over dinner or out to lunch, to the lovely lady I saw in the hospital today as my last act as pastor, to my brothers. Bill came over to carry all my stuff in, Tom is making me bratwurst and sweet corn for dinner.
Here is somthing excerpted and adapted from my last sermon at First Presbyterian Kearney. I say adapted because I tweaked the ending! Sometimes the Holy Spirit throws something else in after the sermon is preached! This sermon will also appear as my last Pastor's Pen in this weekend's Kearney Hub. My text was Luke 13:10-17, the story of how Jesus healed a woman bent double in a synagogue on the Sabbath.
Right now, our Christian Education committee is getting ready for the start of Sunday School. We usually start Sunday School with a Kickoff Sunday that includes grilling up burgers and hot dogs.
A few years ago, I learned that someone had a problem with how this event was announced in the Kearney Hub. The announcement had the usual information, what time Sunday School stated, what time worship was held and that a free burger and hot dog lunch would follow. The problem that this anonymous critic had was this part, it ended with these controversial words, “All welcome.”
This brought up the question, “So what do we do if everyone in Kearney shows up?”
Now, please understand, this was something that was passed on to me 2nd or third hand. The person with the complaint did not come directly to me, but rather to several other people. But when I heard it, I thought it was quite a happy problem to have: What if we opened the doors to this church and everyone in Kearney showed up?
Would we be ready for that? Is that even what we want? Would we see this “everyone in Kearney” as a blessing? Would we see them as Children of God longing to hear God’s word? Or would we think they were just a bunch of mooches looking for a free hot dog? Would we resent the trip we would have to make to Wal-mart for more burgers and buns?
What if we issued an invitation, join us in God’s name, and everybody showed up?
In Jesus day, everyone showed up at the synagogue, including this woman that is bent over. Mickey Anders says, “All of us are bent people in one way or another, at one time or another. And this passage marks good news.” She was bent with her illness; she could not stand up straight. She could not meet the gaze of another person. The great commentator Charles Spurgeon writes, “She lived in a posture of forced humility.”
This woman had been bent for so long, that no one saw her anymore. She was part of the landscape, she was scenery. She came to pray to God, just like everybody else, but her infirmity kept people from seeing her.
Jesus saw her. He was teaching in the synagogue and while he was teaching, he saw her. I like to think of him walking over to her and bending down himself into that position of humility to look into her face. I like to think he grinned when he said to her, “you are set free.”
That’s what Jesus was about: setting people free, unbinding them from physical limitations, from sin. Jesus unbent those who were bent.
But there was a scheduling problem with when he did that. That darn Jesus, upset the leader of the synagogue. Jesus had healed on the Sabbath. Something had to be said.
Notice that this angry synagogue leader doesn't approach Jesus with his complaint, but addresses the crowd. On one hand, that's a tactic still is common use today -- frequently referred to as "triangling." Those who might be upset with the pastor or the organist or the youth director, etc., tell all of their friends who they think represent "everybody in the congregation", rather than talking with the person with whom they have the complaint to seek constructive ways of dealing with the perceived problem. It is an old problem. It is a modern problem. It is as far away as the Galilee in Jesus’ time. It is as close as Kearney, Nebraska in our time.
But Jesus doesn’t allow this destructive pattern to continue. He confronts the leader and everyone there by reminding them that people are more important than structure, more important than rules that are followed just for the sake of rules. This woman, imprisoned for 18 longs years, is free. People feed their donkeys and oxen on the Sabbath, they give them water. Why shouldn’t this woman, this daughter of Abraham, this child of God be set free?
William Barclay in his Daily Study Bible speaks about the tragedy of systems becoming more important than people.
I believe that many of us are in love with the structures of our churches. It has amazed me as your pastor that any changes I want to make to the worship service are usually instituted with little or no comment, but any change in committee structure or government has been opposed with vehemence.
I believe that many of us are in love with our causes, we can only oppose someone by demonizing that person. During the Bush Administration, there were those on the left who posited crazy conspiracies about the 9/11 attacks, that the Bush Administration itself was behind 9/11, that explosive charges where used to bring down the World Trade Center. There is not a shred of legitimate evidence to support these ideas, yet people still believe them.
During the Obama administration, there are those on the right, who posit crazy theories that the President is some kind of secret Muslim; that he was not born in the United States. There is not a shred of legitimate evidence to support these ideas, yet people still believe them.
There are good valid reasons from the left to oppose policies of the Bush Administration. There are good valid reasons from the right to oppose policies of the Obama Administration. But instead of simply holding a debate about the issues, people feel a need to demonize the opposition. What has happened in this country? Why have we become people who can no longer debate things in a civil manner?
We need to realize that people who disagree with us, are people. They are not awful people just because they may hold a differing opinion from us. If we don’t start to see each other, just as Jesus sees us, as children of God, we have no hope.
Last week, I spoke of the death of Rev. Dr. Howard L. Rice. Dr. Rice was moderator of the General Assembly in 1979. This is the highest elective office of our denomination. Howard was elected moderator when he was in a wheelchair from multiple sclerosis. Many Presbyterian churches were not wheelchair accessible and suddenly had to be.
Howard was the preeminent authority of his time on Presbyterian government. He sought to deepen spiritual practice to the Reformed Tradition and his book, “Reformed Spirituality” is the premier resource.
But the greatest mark of his influence was his many years as Chaplain and Professor of Ministry at San Francisco Theological Seminary. He not only taught hundreds of pastors, but for his students, Howard was the one who supported us unconditionally. I am one of many of his students who can say, most of the good things I know about being a pastor, I learned from Howard Rice. As Chaplain, Howard was the one who sometimes took his place between hope and despair, between life and death for so many of us.
Here is a Howard Rice story. Being a prominent Presbyterian means that you serve on national committees of our denomination. Howard was once serving on such a committee. Also on the committee was a member of the board of conservative organization in our denomination. This organization publishes a national paper that is critical of many policies of the Presbyterian Church. The paper has a policy of lifting quotations out of context, using a hysterical tone and finding the least flattering photograph of the people with whom they disagree and publishing it. While greatly beloved in some quarters, in many others, this organization is seen as divisive and shrill. This board member, who I will call Joe, was about as popular as a case of the flu with the others on the committee. No one talked to him, no one sat with him at meals.
That bothered Howard. He started eating with Joe, talking to him, getting to know him as a person. He asked him about his family, his work, his home church. Howard saw Joe, really saw him, not as a problem but a person. Ultimately, Joe ending up leaving this divisive organization, not because he stopped holding a conservative viewpoint, but because he learned that reconciliation is better than confrontation. Joe learned that from the same person who taught it to me: Howard Rice.
Reaching out to someone, seeing them, eating with them, talking with them, listening to them is hard work. It is certainly harder than gossip, triangulation, and anger. But it works better. It is what we are called as Christians to do, to be agents of reconciliation.
Learn to listen to each other. Learn to know that those who may feel differently than you do about any issue, are not evil, but just genuinely have a difference of opinion.
Jesus calls each one of us who follow him to notice those who are part of the scenery, those who are bent double with physical infirmity or the burden of sin or addiction or oppression or poverty. We are called to be agents of reconciliation to look around and see each other as we really are: Children of God. All Welcome.
Amen.
Here is somthing excerpted and adapted from my last sermon at First Presbyterian Kearney. I say adapted because I tweaked the ending! Sometimes the Holy Spirit throws something else in after the sermon is preached! This sermon will also appear as my last Pastor's Pen in this weekend's Kearney Hub. My text was Luke 13:10-17, the story of how Jesus healed a woman bent double in a synagogue on the Sabbath.
Right now, our Christian Education committee is getting ready for the start of Sunday School. We usually start Sunday School with a Kickoff Sunday that includes grilling up burgers and hot dogs.
A few years ago, I learned that someone had a problem with how this event was announced in the Kearney Hub. The announcement had the usual information, what time Sunday School stated, what time worship was held and that a free burger and hot dog lunch would follow. The problem that this anonymous critic had was this part, it ended with these controversial words, “All welcome.”
This brought up the question, “So what do we do if everyone in Kearney shows up?”
Now, please understand, this was something that was passed on to me 2nd or third hand. The person with the complaint did not come directly to me, but rather to several other people. But when I heard it, I thought it was quite a happy problem to have: What if we opened the doors to this church and everyone in Kearney showed up?
Would we be ready for that? Is that even what we want? Would we see this “everyone in Kearney” as a blessing? Would we see them as Children of God longing to hear God’s word? Or would we think they were just a bunch of mooches looking for a free hot dog? Would we resent the trip we would have to make to Wal-mart for more burgers and buns?
What if we issued an invitation, join us in God’s name, and everybody showed up?
In Jesus day, everyone showed up at the synagogue, including this woman that is bent over. Mickey Anders says, “All of us are bent people in one way or another, at one time or another. And this passage marks good news.” She was bent with her illness; she could not stand up straight. She could not meet the gaze of another person. The great commentator Charles Spurgeon writes, “She lived in a posture of forced humility.”
This woman had been bent for so long, that no one saw her anymore. She was part of the landscape, she was scenery. She came to pray to God, just like everybody else, but her infirmity kept people from seeing her.
Jesus saw her. He was teaching in the synagogue and while he was teaching, he saw her. I like to think of him walking over to her and bending down himself into that position of humility to look into her face. I like to think he grinned when he said to her, “you are set free.”
That’s what Jesus was about: setting people free, unbinding them from physical limitations, from sin. Jesus unbent those who were bent.
But there was a scheduling problem with when he did that. That darn Jesus, upset the leader of the synagogue. Jesus had healed on the Sabbath. Something had to be said.
Notice that this angry synagogue leader doesn't approach Jesus with his complaint, but addresses the crowd. On one hand, that's a tactic still is common use today -- frequently referred to as "triangling." Those who might be upset with the pastor or the organist or the youth director, etc., tell all of their friends who they think represent "everybody in the congregation", rather than talking with the person with whom they have the complaint to seek constructive ways of dealing with the perceived problem. It is an old problem. It is a modern problem. It is as far away as the Galilee in Jesus’ time. It is as close as Kearney, Nebraska in our time.
But Jesus doesn’t allow this destructive pattern to continue. He confronts the leader and everyone there by reminding them that people are more important than structure, more important than rules that are followed just for the sake of rules. This woman, imprisoned for 18 longs years, is free. People feed their donkeys and oxen on the Sabbath, they give them water. Why shouldn’t this woman, this daughter of Abraham, this child of God be set free?
William Barclay in his Daily Study Bible speaks about the tragedy of systems becoming more important than people.
I believe that many of us are in love with the structures of our churches. It has amazed me as your pastor that any changes I want to make to the worship service are usually instituted with little or no comment, but any change in committee structure or government has been opposed with vehemence.
I believe that many of us are in love with our causes, we can only oppose someone by demonizing that person. During the Bush Administration, there were those on the left who posited crazy conspiracies about the 9/11 attacks, that the Bush Administration itself was behind 9/11, that explosive charges where used to bring down the World Trade Center. There is not a shred of legitimate evidence to support these ideas, yet people still believe them.
During the Obama administration, there are those on the right, who posit crazy theories that the President is some kind of secret Muslim; that he was not born in the United States. There is not a shred of legitimate evidence to support these ideas, yet people still believe them.
There are good valid reasons from the left to oppose policies of the Bush Administration. There are good valid reasons from the right to oppose policies of the Obama Administration. But instead of simply holding a debate about the issues, people feel a need to demonize the opposition. What has happened in this country? Why have we become people who can no longer debate things in a civil manner?
We need to realize that people who disagree with us, are people. They are not awful people just because they may hold a differing opinion from us. If we don’t start to see each other, just as Jesus sees us, as children of God, we have no hope.
Last week, I spoke of the death of Rev. Dr. Howard L. Rice. Dr. Rice was moderator of the General Assembly in 1979. This is the highest elective office of our denomination. Howard was elected moderator when he was in a wheelchair from multiple sclerosis. Many Presbyterian churches were not wheelchair accessible and suddenly had to be.
Howard was the preeminent authority of his time on Presbyterian government. He sought to deepen spiritual practice to the Reformed Tradition and his book, “Reformed Spirituality” is the premier resource.
But the greatest mark of his influence was his many years as Chaplain and Professor of Ministry at San Francisco Theological Seminary. He not only taught hundreds of pastors, but for his students, Howard was the one who supported us unconditionally. I am one of many of his students who can say, most of the good things I know about being a pastor, I learned from Howard Rice. As Chaplain, Howard was the one who sometimes took his place between hope and despair, between life and death for so many of us.
Here is a Howard Rice story. Being a prominent Presbyterian means that you serve on national committees of our denomination. Howard was once serving on such a committee. Also on the committee was a member of the board of conservative organization in our denomination. This organization publishes a national paper that is critical of many policies of the Presbyterian Church. The paper has a policy of lifting quotations out of context, using a hysterical tone and finding the least flattering photograph of the people with whom they disagree and publishing it. While greatly beloved in some quarters, in many others, this organization is seen as divisive and shrill. This board member, who I will call Joe, was about as popular as a case of the flu with the others on the committee. No one talked to him, no one sat with him at meals.
That bothered Howard. He started eating with Joe, talking to him, getting to know him as a person. He asked him about his family, his work, his home church. Howard saw Joe, really saw him, not as a problem but a person. Ultimately, Joe ending up leaving this divisive organization, not because he stopped holding a conservative viewpoint, but because he learned that reconciliation is better than confrontation. Joe learned that from the same person who taught it to me: Howard Rice.
Reaching out to someone, seeing them, eating with them, talking with them, listening to them is hard work. It is certainly harder than gossip, triangulation, and anger. But it works better. It is what we are called as Christians to do, to be agents of reconciliation.
Learn to listen to each other. Learn to know that those who may feel differently than you do about any issue, are not evil, but just genuinely have a difference of opinion.
Jesus calls each one of us who follow him to notice those who are part of the scenery, those who are bent double with physical infirmity or the burden of sin or addiction or oppression or poverty. We are called to be agents of reconciliation to look around and see each other as we really are: Children of God. All Welcome.
Amen.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Doctor, Goodwill, More Packing and some Winston
In which our heroine is still packing.
Saw my doctor today. Blood pressure 122/75. Pulse 82, blood drawn for cholesterol and vitamin D. I continue to have problems with my back and she wrote me a new prescription for physical therapy when I get to Oregon. In the mean time, I will have some gentle exercises, especially swimming, after I get to Omaha. I made my next appointment for when I am back in Nebraska for Thanksgiving with the family. OK, and the last Colorado game.
Friend of a friend was nice enough to take all my extra stuff from garage sale to Goodwill. Actually pulled out some things that didn't sell. My yoga mat, a metal basket I like for silverware, another willow basket. Also sent some things that should have made it to the sale, but got overlooked.
Spending this eve packing up paintings and prints. Movers coming on Tuesday to take remaining things.
Am enjoying Wit and Wisdom of Winston Churchill on Kindle for Blackberry. (Free App!) Good choice for an e-reader because it is written in such little bursts.
Churchill has always been one of my fave in history and when I was 13 or so I did a passable imitation for him. I'm sure you can imagine how popular this made me with the other 13 year olds. I was a very odd little girl. And teenager. So weird in college. Seminary, I seemed to fit in pretty well.
I've got a lot of gems bookmarked from this, but here is one for today. "In my behalf you cannot deal with the most serious things in the world unless you also understand the most amusing."
Blessings.
Saw my doctor today. Blood pressure 122/75. Pulse 82, blood drawn for cholesterol and vitamin D. I continue to have problems with my back and she wrote me a new prescription for physical therapy when I get to Oregon. In the mean time, I will have some gentle exercises, especially swimming, after I get to Omaha. I made my next appointment for when I am back in Nebraska for Thanksgiving with the family. OK, and the last Colorado game.
Friend of a friend was nice enough to take all my extra stuff from garage sale to Goodwill. Actually pulled out some things that didn't sell. My yoga mat, a metal basket I like for silverware, another willow basket. Also sent some things that should have made it to the sale, but got overlooked.
Spending this eve packing up paintings and prints. Movers coming on Tuesday to take remaining things.
Am enjoying Wit and Wisdom of Winston Churchill on Kindle for Blackberry. (Free App!) Good choice for an e-reader because it is written in such little bursts.
Churchill has always been one of my fave in history and when I was 13 or so I did a passable imitation for him. I'm sure you can imagine how popular this made me with the other 13 year olds. I was a very odd little girl. And teenager. So weird in college. Seminary, I seemed to fit in pretty well.
I've got a lot of gems bookmarked from this, but here is one for today. "In my behalf you cannot deal with the most serious things in the world unless you also understand the most amusing."
Blessings.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The New Journey Into the Morning
In which our heroine begins to blog.
I've decided to blog during this time between calls.
I am leaving my call at First Presbyterian Church in Kearney. I don't have another call yet, but I do have six months severance. I'm officially on staff until August 31, but I will be leaving on August 24 for some vacation. The movers are arriving on the 24th to move the rest of my things to storage and then I am off to Omaha to participate in the wedding of a friend and to spend time with my family.
Through the generosity of some friends, I have the use of their beach house in Lincoln City, Oregon for a while. So on or near Labor Day, I will be heading west, visiting friends in Nebraska, heading to Colorado for a soak in some hot springs and some fishing, then Lake Tahoe, Santa Rosa and San Francisco. I'm invited to a SF Giants game on September 17 (Brewers, City College Night!) Then on to Portland and Lincoln City.
This is not a blog about what went wrong, it is a blog about getting healthier. I want to spend this time getting healthy, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. I want to lose the sixty pounds I've gained in the last three years. It's a blog about looking for a new call, a new direction, to see how what the Holy Spirit has in mind.
I've had a lot to grieve in the last few years. I left a ministry I had loved for 12 years for one was back in my home state, but that lasted just over three years. It was a stressful end. My mother died after I was back for a year and a half and while I am grateful I was here for her during her last months and for my brothers and their families after her death, I still lost my first and best confidant and friend. I recently ended a relationship that could not endure long distance. My favorite seminary professor and my personal mentor died just ten days ago.
But this is not a blog about grief, it is a blog about joy. I know that I can and will be happier. I know that God has plans for me to serve in ways that may and probably will surprise me.
The title from for this blog is from my favorite book, Willa Cather's, "Death Comes For the Archbishop."
"Something soft and wild and free, something that whispered to the ear on the pillow, lightened the heart, softly, softly picked the lock, slid the bolts, and released the prisoned spirit of man into the wind, into the blue and gold, into the morning, into the morning!"
Blessings
I've decided to blog during this time between calls.
I am leaving my call at First Presbyterian Church in Kearney. I don't have another call yet, but I do have six months severance. I'm officially on staff until August 31, but I will be leaving on August 24 for some vacation. The movers are arriving on the 24th to move the rest of my things to storage and then I am off to Omaha to participate in the wedding of a friend and to spend time with my family.
Through the generosity of some friends, I have the use of their beach house in Lincoln City, Oregon for a while. So on or near Labor Day, I will be heading west, visiting friends in Nebraska, heading to Colorado for a soak in some hot springs and some fishing, then Lake Tahoe, Santa Rosa and San Francisco. I'm invited to a SF Giants game on September 17 (Brewers, City College Night!) Then on to Portland and Lincoln City.
This is not a blog about what went wrong, it is a blog about getting healthier. I want to spend this time getting healthy, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. I want to lose the sixty pounds I've gained in the last three years. It's a blog about looking for a new call, a new direction, to see how what the Holy Spirit has in mind.
I've had a lot to grieve in the last few years. I left a ministry I had loved for 12 years for one was back in my home state, but that lasted just over three years. It was a stressful end. My mother died after I was back for a year and a half and while I am grateful I was here for her during her last months and for my brothers and their families after her death, I still lost my first and best confidant and friend. I recently ended a relationship that could not endure long distance. My favorite seminary professor and my personal mentor died just ten days ago.
But this is not a blog about grief, it is a blog about joy. I know that I can and will be happier. I know that God has plans for me to serve in ways that may and probably will surprise me.
The title from for this blog is from my favorite book, Willa Cather's, "Death Comes For the Archbishop."
"Something soft and wild and free, something that whispered to the ear on the pillow, lightened the heart, softly, softly picked the lock, slid the bolts, and released the prisoned spirit of man into the wind, into the blue and gold, into the morning, into the morning!"
Blessings
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