Category Archives: Life at Home

On Connecting

01 Thursday Dec 2011

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Well, I did pick up the phone to call my good friend Wynona.

We didn’t talk long.   Like me, she stays too busy everyday of the year and today I caught her on her way to visit the dentist.  But we talked long enough for my eyes to grow watery.  Not because of what she said.  Or what I said —  which is strange, since I love words so much.  But oh my gosh, the tears came simply from hearing the sound of her voice.   And if tears lead to heart’s truth — then it’s clear I’ve allowed myself to become Wynona-deprived.

Why is it that we don’t pick up the phone more often to speak to old friends — or family — to check in and hear the sound of their voices.  Life gets in the way and I tell myself I’ll do it later — yes, I’ll do it after doing this or that — not really realizing I’m telling fibs to myself because  — don’t you know — I always have a this and that in my life to do!  And can I be the only one saying these things to myself, to deny myself such little pleasures in life — as a phone visit with a good friend?

While staying connected is important all the time, I’m only diligent about it this time of the year, when I take time to send out old-fashioned greeting cards.  It’s sad that I don’t receive as many as I once did.   And that a few I do receive sometimes carry hidden — or not so hidden motives — like the one I received this morning.

My first Christmas card of the season — no, after opening it again, I see it’s a “Holiday” Card rather than the Christmas variety, though the front of the card, as shown in the photo above, does contain a scene of the seeds of the season.   “Peace” the headline says — and Lord knows, in a year where family feuding has rattled my home more that those four (or is it five?) earthquakes we’ve suffered — that’s all the card has to say to garner my full attention.  So I open the card to read:

“May your Holiday Season be filled with all of the joy and peace on earth.”

It’s a nice wish.  Though I’m greedy enough to wish that the peace and joy weren’t limited to just what we had on earth.  But wait, beneath this greeting in a tiny soundbite of Scripture:

“God blesses those who hunger and thirst for justice, for they will be satisfied.”  St. Matthew 5:6

Justice is good, I suppose, though what is justice to one is not to another. Depending upon outlook, depending upon which side of the fence one stands on — which side of the war zone one lives in.  Oh, I wish it had been a Scripture about peace — such as the one just a few verses down the page, which reads:

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”  St. Matthew 5:9.

Yes, I’m being nit-picky.  More than a nit, if I’m being honest.  But not a nit-wit I think, because under the Scripture, is the name and address of my newspaper delivery man, who’s hoping  — I’m pretty sure — that a card to me will inspire gifts of seasonal greenery.  Because he’s such a good delivery man at all.

Well, truth is — he is.  And so — not out of fear that my failure to respond will cause him to no longer connect with my front sidewalk, which he does with unerring accuracy — I’ll grant that wish.  And I’ll do it for the best of reasons — because in doing so, I’ll connect — even if ever so dimly — with something far greater than myself — to that one “whose sandals I’m unfit to untie.”

Today I’ll tuck that monetary gift into a Christmas card with a simple “thanks.”  Because sometimes less is more.  Except, of course, when it comes to gifts of seasonal greenery.  And staying connected with good friends — like Wynona.

About Face

30 Wednesday Nov 2011

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My face is no longer on Facebook.  Last September, I wiped my wall clean — much like my windows will be by the end of today, thanks to a lovely window-washer named Katherine.

I “met” Katherine by phone this past spring break, when she was on vacation, taking it easy in the Caribbean.  She ended up spending a day and a half washing windows at our Mesta Park two-story the following week — and as it happens with many contractors that work for me — my relationship with Katherine became a mix of business and pleasure.

It’s not that I know Katherine all that well.  What I know I can count on less than ten fingers.  First, she’s a single mother of two older boys.   Two, she’s a hard worker.  Three, she likes historic homes well enough to own one.  Four, she’s conscientious — when she’s running late, she calls.  Five, she takes pride in her work, and in leaving my home better than she found it.  Six, she’s attractive.  Seven, she injured herself badly somehow and sometimes, when working, she’s in pain.

It’s puny knowledge, truly.   But even this is more than I knew about the current lives of many Facebook friends.  Yet, it was something all together different that triggered my departure, because I quit soon after wishing my grandson a happy birthday via Facebook — which happened when I couldn’t reach him on his cell phone — which happened since we no longer enjoyed an everyday relationship —  due to reasons beyond his control.  And mine — or so it felt at the time.

The act of writing that solitary birthday greeting on his wall left me sad.  And it made me wonder:  Is this what my relationships — with those I hold most important in the world — is being reduced to?  Sending birthday greetings through a social media service — to follow up an old-fashioned greeting card delivered by others.  Though it works for some, I’d rather breathe a prayer in the silence that separates me from those whose lives I cherish.

It was one of those decisions made in an instant — the kind which often lead to regret —  where I clicked a button before I could change my mind.  And without mention to any of my friends — except for my husband — my demise on Facebook, I think, was not really noticed.  One minute I was there — and in the next, I wasn’t.  As far as I know, no obituary or announcement was delivered to my friends.

I’m looking forward to clean windows today — the kind so clean, one can see the reflection of their own living face within them — that one can look beyond their own face to a world full of trees and flowers and sun and moon and real people, with legs and arms and backs and hands to wave out a greeting.

But sometimes — I’m not gonna lie — I regret that rash decision of mine.  Why it happened yesterday, in fact, when I set out to address Christmas cards, when I realized I no longer have my good friend Litha’s new address, which she shared with her friends via Facebook.  But not enough yet, I think, to do an about-face.  I’ll just have to call our mutual friend Wynona.  After I catch up with Katherine.


Attending to Sundays

29 Tuesday Nov 2011

Posted by in Life at Home, Soul Care

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What is it about church that gets into a person’s blood, that makes them put aside their Sunday paper or doings to attend?

Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s God.  At least, not for me.  If two years of abstinence from church has taught me anything, it’s that I don’t need church to find God or to experience the Holy.

I sense God everywhere.  In the everyday. The sunrise, for instance.  Or sunset.  Sometimes in a bite of buttered toast.  Or the smell of rain — especially this year.  The smell of a newborn — always.  Looking into a dog’s soft eyes.  Laughter.  Tears.  Hugs.  Hope.  Joy.  Beauty.  Truth.  Forgiveness.  God is in whatever it is that makes my heart sing, in that which makes me stand in attention and awe.

So if not God, then what?  Well, there is the pastor.  And the sermons — most which I can’t recall an hour after hearing them.  Here it is Tuesday and I’m wracking my brain for Sunday’s topic — surely it was about Advent — I know I listened.  But all I can remember is what the preacher looked like and what he sounded like.  Not a word he said.

Ah, but there are others words for which I do have a soft spot in my heart.  All that rich liturgy — and why wouldn’t I? — being a writer of sorts, there’s something a mite powerful about uttering ancient words passed down through the centuries by those who first heard them spoken by the Christ — or his Apostles — which they recited over and over to ensure they got just right, so they never ever forgot the seeds of their faith.  So help them God.

For the same reason, I adore singing hymns though I can’t carry a tune.  The music, of course, is memorable.  But again, it’s the words that hold and carry such power across time and space:

“Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus.  Born to set Thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us.  Let us find our rest in Thee.”

Who in their right mind doesn’t wish to be free of fear and sins and guilt?  Surely we’re united in this, whether ‘churched’ or ‘un-churched.’

But as I think about it, it’s not just the words.  It’s the act of speaking and singing them in unison.  Or taking communion in unison.  Being a church-goer is about being part of something bigger than myself — sitting in the pew surrounded by others like-minded but totally different sitting in their own pews — with their own individual joys and fears and gifts and quirks.  And when church is really good and right, all these gentle souls simply fade away to leave space for communion with God.  And when that happens, even I fade away.

Something like this happened to me last Sunday.  I was in a chapel full of worshipers, and a preacher in robes in the pulpit with a booming voice  — and for a brief moment,  all I felt was God.  Afterwards —  I think it was afterwards —  I began to remember a recent conversation with my spiritual director; about how I felt Jesus, of late, had become like one of those Facebook “friends” — you know, the ones you knew and hung out with, many many lifetimes ago — that you’d all but forgotten until behold, they found you again on Facebook and asked you to become their friend.  The kind that you say yes to — or is it ‘accept’  or ‘confirm’?–  for old times sake, rather than because you believe saying ‘yes’ will make them friends again.

Well, as I was thinking about this snippet of spiritual direction confession, it came to me that I should read a book  — something contemporary, preferably fiction — where I might actually bump into Jesus and get to know him again.  To really become his friend again.  And so that’s what I’m doing.  I’m reading Margaret George’s novel, Mary Called Magdalene, which I began last Sunday.

Perhaps the best part of attending church is that one never knows what will come of it  — sort of like everyday life, when one really attends to it.