diablog: CSLewis

Thursday, October 4, 2007

CSLewis

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep swallowing." A Grief Observed page one.

No comments:

musings...

7 February 2011.

My dad is a Korean War veteran. He was a marine at the 38^th parallel. His only tattoo is a small series of numbers -his military identification- and on the wall of his office hangs a medal and a black and white photograph of his marine squadron. He returned from the war fresh faced because he was 17 when he enlisted, needing his mom’s signature to do so, and returned home when he wasn’t yet 20. He once told me that someone spit in his face when he returned saying said that he should be serving his country not realizing that he had just come back.

My dad was a tough marine, I’m sure, because he was a tough and disciplined karate instructor. I was his young student and the only female who ever stuck it out. Many in his classes were young men; fresh faced who resonated with his tough approach. That was in the early 1970s and many of those young men were of the age to be drafted. I don’t remember details about any of them, only that none ever declined knuckle push-ups or fingertip push-ups, or the hundreds of sit-ups or leg lifts that we did. Perhaps some of them were returning from the conflict and needing the structure my dad provided as rehabilitative recourse. I just don’t know.

What I well remember is the nightly news. My dad was a voracious consumer of the news. My earliest memories are of images of body bags and fist waving protestors. It seemed like every night there were hundreds more body bags and thousand more protestors. After the news, twice a week, my dad and I drove to karate and on Saturdays, as well. Perhaps it was rehabilitative for him, too.

It’s hard to know what I remember about the conflict. I was less than ten years old, but I do know there were never any celebrations or parades or flags waved for returning Vietnam vets. I remember hearing grandparents decrying hippies and their long hair and music. I don’t remember patriotic rhetoric only silent push ups and black and white images of loud protests.

Children growing up during the most recent conflicts have much different experiences: there is a much more concerted effort ranging from patriotic bags of potato chips at Kroger to American flag T-shirts and camouflage jackets to elementary school toy drives for soldiers’ children. Children’s experiences of the current conflicts don’t involve protests but parades. They don’t experience images of body bags, but of patriotic bags of potato chips.

It occurs to me that as a people we don’t rein our excesses very well. We either march in anger and spit concomitantly with our current assumptions of what service to country entails or we mindlessly consume patriotic potato chips. Maybe my dad had it right. Maybe quietly providing discipline via bloody knuckles was the way to honor his fellow veterans.

27 January 2010. Two springs ago I was eagerly waiting my first sitting on the porch. The day had come and five minutes into my "sitting" a canon-like booming began echoing in the hills around our neighborhood. Some machine is backfiring, I thought. But as it continued I was thinking it was probably just some guys with big guns shooting at things. It wasn't until the sun began to set and the booming continued that I started to get agitated. It wouldn't end for another hour.
At about the same time the next fine evening the booming began. Many neighbors came out as Steve and I walked to find the boom maker. One street over was two large canon-simulators. They were set up in a guy's yard in order to frighten the turkey vultures, aka buzzards, from their roosts in the tall pines far back in his yard.
Now, I have walked by those pines numerous times and never have I noticed smell nor droppings, but those were his reasons for running them off. Night after night for two weeks the canons fired in three to five second intervals for no less than two hours each evening.
The turkey vultures stayed away, but only for a season.
I suspect they've been here long before any of us have been. I suspect those pines are ancient and sacred grounds.
I was walking this evening and had to stop to marvel at the turkey vulture's come-back. On either side of the road very high in the tops of the trees they congregated once more. My standing there must have intimidated some of the chickens among them, because one and then another and then another dropped into flight. I heard the air between their feathers and the crackle of thin twigs break as their talons loosed of them. I heard what sounded like guttural huffs, the kind that emanate from my lungs when I heave something heavy. The birds soared in circles above the trees and I wondered if they would circle and attack me like wolves? But some just switched trees, some soared. In general they just seemed agitated. I couldn't move except to turn my head toward their movements; to this tree and then to that one. Eventually the pack flew off to near- by trees or to soar high on the uplifts, and only four out-waited me. Probably, I thought, they sat there because they are old and bored and not given to excitement.
I thought to myself just what I would have missed on this cold sunless day had I stayed in doors with the radio on and my face in a book? I would have missed many wonders.
If one is concerned about appearances of a property, the turkey vultures certainly don't add aesthetic value. In fact they look like they belong at the edges of war and suffering waiting to pull apart the dead. Like in a horror film. But in truth they do their part to clean up the neighborhood and all of Russellville.
I'm looking forward to another spring, this one not terrorized by canons in my neighbor's yard, but one where the wildlife can roost wherever they want. For even as I stood in their neck of the woods, the turkey vultures didn't attempt to run me off. And they certainly could have, big and ugly as they are. I'm just glad the canons are gone and maybe my neighbor is staying in with the music on and his face in a book or computer or TV on so he won't notice them at all. That might just be the easiest solution for everyone, and definitely the safest but for sure the most boring. Ugliness aside, I'll take the vultures any day!

29 June 2009. Scott and I attended his orientation at Berea College last week. It's a little over a 3-hour drive, but is easy on the Cumberland parkway where traffic and construction are minimal. Scott and I got there the night b/f and stayed in the dorms, Scott with another freshman, me in a single room in another dorm. At 7:15 we had breakfast in the foyer of the physical fitness complex then went to the historic chapel. Much of the campus is historic. We went from session to session learning, for instance, that they have all of Scott's immunizations, and that S will owe some money for room and board based on our expected family contribution. (For some students even room and board is free.) This payment can come out of his check as he works on campus. We learned that B is one of 7 schools in the country that are "work" campuses, meaning that all students work for the common good of the campus. As a freshman, S will earn 3.08 per hour. He has to work 10 hours a week.
We learned that Berea chooses only 1 of 5 applicants and those based on academic ability. 80 percent of the student body is from Appalachia. Most students are in the top 20 percent of the h/s class.
We had lunch on the grounds under huge shade trees. They provided hamburgers, veggie burgers and hotdogs. The setting was very pretty. Afterwards, while Scott took 4 math placement tests I went with the other parents on a tour of the area. I learned that Berea owns almost 8 thousand acres of forest, called, of course, Berea Forest. One day a year Berea cancels all classes and the student body and staff go there and have games, blue grass music, food, etc. Berea also owns 11 acres of farmland for their agri-classes, land management, etc.
Berea College existed before the town of Berea so Berea College owned all the land and all the water rights. As the city as grown, the college has sold those to the city. I figure that the proceeds from these sales are what provide the base for the generous gift of a free tuition. Berea pays the cost of tuition for each student but the students must come from families of modest means (less than $70,000 a year).
Berea used to own the hospital, too, which they sold. But Berea maintains docs and some nurses on staff at the hospital who are for B students only and the cost to us is free. Laundry is even free for the kids. I don't know about the cost of printing yet. But at least they all get free used laptops as fresh and new ones as juniors. I figure the cost of printing is free, too.
After orientation was over Scott ran with some of the freshman x country runners on the beautiful course. (they ran 9 miles together.) He learned that the first weekend after they arrive at school, the team will take a retreat together where they will run, canoe, etc.
Also nice is that the county is a dry county, which means the campus is as well. I spoke to a security guard after a q&a and he said that they even find out ahead of time whether a party is being planned. (not that Scott has issues with this, but no one was asking the security guard anything so I asked some innocuous question and got a fifty dollar answer) Security is taken seriously. And BTW, None of the dorms are co-ed.
About the math tests Scott took, you'll be glad to know that S was one of two students who passed all 4 tests. He can now go on to Calculus, but he wants some tutoring this summer, so may need his sissy to help him?? I went to two different art shops of only local and student artists. The artistry is second to none. I mean impressive. And the prices reflect it! So Scott can take some of those classes, too.
We also learned that they guarantee a degree in 4 years, which means they are on top of things from start to finish.
The married housing is in "Eco-Village" (not that this is an issue for Scott, either). Everything is sustainable. They use clotheslines, have solar power, green roofs, etc. There are vegetable patches (I suspect organic) and the yards look like they are mowed only with those old fashioned reel manual mowers. It's very cool. On campus every building uses water saving measures, my favorite is the flushers on the toilets. There are two choices; one button for a bigger load and another button for a smaller load. Recycling is everywhere. In eco-village they recycle the sewage water so that water is purified to swimming pool (not drinkable) quality. This they use for the gardens, for flushing, etc. All the showers and water faucets are aerated to use less water. Berea college even bought up a bunch of land in the city so the land could remain wild.
There are 27 classes that S could choose from for a writing seminar called “Critical Thinking in the Liberal Arts." One class is described, for instance, "Futuristic Fiction: What can Futuristic Fiction Teach Us about Ourselves Now?" How cool is that? He could also choose, "Questioning Authority: Skepticism as an Antidote for Oppression." This is for English writing courses! BTW, he chose both of these. Another that he didn't choose "focuses on Nature-based, Eco-tourism trends and issues in the Appalachian region..." I might have taken that one. Compare these writing seminars to the ones I am offered at WKU where I can choose between American Lit and British Lit, pre Victorian or post. Blah.
He is already connected with a fusion jazz group and an international drum group where he wants to learn about different kinds of drums. Of course B does all kinds of stuff in the community like Habitat for Humanity, adopt a grandparent, mentor a kid, etc. But there is a ton more as you can imagine.
I learned that Berea is committed to "inclusive Christianity" and has been from the start. We learned that even at Berea's beginning in 1855 that B was proactive in educating blacks as well as whites. So if you remember in your history well, this was pre-civil war where educating slaves in a slave state was var-var radical. I am impressed that B is still proactive and a little radical in its forward thinking, progressive attitudes in learning and to environment.
Well, I feel like I have written a reaction paper for school. I am done. Did I get an "A"? Maybe we can all take a tour together some time.

17 November. Perusing an old email account I was reminded of an old MySpace account I haven't paid attention to. Remembering it was my brother who invited me to join, I looked him up, finally, two months after his death. His last entry was August 31. He listed his mood as "angst." A week later he was dead. A month later my mom, sister and I traveled to California to take care of his belongings and his remains. We still don't have an official death report because the toxicology reports are not in. He took a bag of anti-aids pills every day. He was recently diagnosed as bi-polar for which he took more pills. He died on 9/8/08 at 8 in the morning. I don't think that was a mistake. I am, pretty sure he orchestrated his death. More as I process this.

16 August. I admit we are broke. Not poor, but broke. To try to conserve I'm trying many things. Like I wash my hands over a basin to catch the water and use the cooled water in which I've boiled corn, etc, to water the plants. I brush my teeth and take showers without the lights on (why do I need to see to do that?). I stay away from shopping and accept every free tomato, egg plant, zucchini, green bean, and squash even if it means we eat zucchini three times a day and I compost all the fruit and veggie scraps. I coast to stop signs and drive under the speed limit carefully watching the rpms. Have turned off the air conditioning in the house. Shop midweek to catch the manager mark-downs. Drive used cars that we paid cash for. We don't eat out as a rule, eat meals from scratch as opposed to prepared meals, and use up all leftovers.
Juneau Alaska inspires me in some of this. In early spring an avalanche took out their electrical source so industrial sized generators were brought in but the cost is so prohibitive that folks have just turned stuff off and unplugged things. It is from them that I decided to shower in the dark. I still run my dishwasher, but they even turned those off. I just make sure mine is full. They read during the day and sleep at dark. It's kind of neat to be more in tune with the cycle of the day. Environmentalists were surprised at how Juneay rallied around the desire to cut electricity usage. Now that the avalanche has been cleared away and electricity is back to normal costs, the citizenry still desire to stay "green." They are my heroes.

But it seems the harder I work to save and the more hours I work, the more the doctors send bills, and the more insurance doesn't pay. Some of the endless bills are from pre-state coverage, and some from after state coverage when we made up doctor visits we had put off. Remember when Steve was in the hospital 10 days? Pre-coverage...
Of course the cost of food and gas, don't get me started!
And then there is college. Middle child is so sad that she can't start at Lipscomb in two days and we are so sorry how it all went down. Has to do with FAFSA and complicated taxes due to the endless repercussions of a former employer and not hearing of her award until a week b/f the first day of classes. Friends are going off to school this week end and none are left. Part of her desire to go to school was to get away from here. We understand that. It's not a bad place, but it does seem like bad things keep happening here. Repercussions, bad judgments keep slithering into our lives and biting us. The financial award would have left us and her with a total of 10grand per semester. Ouch. She said, "Daddy, I'm glad you caught it before I left." That's awful mature, but it still hurts.
So who do I talk to when I have this lump in my throat? To someone at church? Doesn't that come across like asking for money? To the doctors that keep sending bills? To the insurance agency? To employers?
The only One who hears is a God who has plans to prosper us and not to harm us, plans to give us a hope and a future. So that is who I yell to, who I cry to, who I tell of my daily struggles and who I thank if only for my daily bread.

4 June. I realize I am most jazzed when I get hold of a kingdom vision for ministry, a kingdom vision for my existence. When there is team effort, all with the same vision, the same purpose of existence. The same desire to honor a great God.

30 May. Bobby Ross at the Christian Chronicle wants to know the "creative ways one will honor God this summer." I've been thinking about this. I feel so dull. All of my adult life I've been a believer and I had this idea that other Christians were eager to serve in a kingdom that was huge and unlimited and that we were limited only by our imaginations. That we were a grand family connected by unseen bands. That I could go to any town and knock on any believer's door and have an instant home. That they would want to know the latest good works, how they could implement them, how they could tweak it. Space here does not allow the scope of it, my words can not contain the magnitude of it of what I thought we could do.
So I think, what creative thing will I do to honor God this summer? What does one do when she doesn't see the bigness of it anymore? When she sees Christians as competitors (see the disciples arguing over who would sit at Jesus' right hand)? When she doesn't feel welcome at another believer's home?
She becomes one who is content to clean the house for her family, read a book because she deserves the break, to watch movies and take walks and go to work and come home to a nap. She doesn't clean her house to serve God anymore (who might pop in today, an angel unawares?), she doesn't read the book that she can study with someone, she reads a sentimental light hearted book that lifts her own spirits. She doesn't plan grand gatherings in which Christians can gather to network and to share news of good works, she instead works in the garden and shops for deals at flea markets. The magic is gone, the power sneaks into the air like a slow leaking tire.
Ironically, though the magic is gone, she is more aware than ever that the power is not in her, not in her networking, but is God's. The tragedy is that this realization does not translate into continued ministry. Pair the energy of ideology with the real Power... What could happen?
So she rationalizes why she can have a leisurely life now. Remembers guiltily what she once found urgent and chooses an idea to implement, more out of habit than of heart. Creative ways to serve God? What is that anymore? Didn't she once have that? Didn't she at one time think that it was the craving of each Christian's good works and life and that she could bring those ideas and people together in her small way that would bring big results because God's people were eager to bust the world open for Him? It is a cross-road moment. I will pray about a creative way to honor God this summer, pray to have an eager heart, pray to move forward in a new way that will honor Him because it is a new day and too much life has happened to hold on to old ideals and energies. Pray for new energy. To walk and not grow weary.

29 March. No youth group yet. But what Jadie brings is a sense of team that we have longed for. And energy and ideas but mostly a will to follow where Jesus goes first. Moses and the Israelites followed a plume of smoke during the day and a flame at night. When it didn't move, neither did they. And the disciples followed Jesus. They hung with him and where he went they also went. He led the way and where He walked they walked and where He rested so did they. It gives me great security to know that God still moves and that Jesus leads the way. Help us Lord to move when You move and stop when You stop. Guide us because we really want to glorify You.

23 March. I love the quote by Merton in this blog. I think about it a lot when I hear of human tragedy. I'm reading a book about a young man who adventured to Alaska (Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer). While the young man's death was tragic, an older Christian who had been praying for the him renounced his faith when the young man died, the bigger tragedy in my mind. The older man had said, "I prayed. I asked God to keep His finger on the shoulder of that one; I told him that boy was special. But He let Alex die. So on December 26, when I learned what happened, I renounced the Lord. " Merton says, "It is only the infinite mercy and love of God that has prevented us from tearing ourselves to pieces and destroying His entire creation long ago. People seem to think that it is in some way a proof that no merciful God exists, if we have so many wars." And death. Did God not love the young man? Did He not love the old man who prayed? What about the fact that the young man had gone against the warning of numerous people into wild country with out proper provisions? The young man had free will and God sent warnings. The greater tragedy is loss of faith in a God who is One who suffers passionately when we suffer, when we make mistakes, when we are careless with life.

22 March. Our new youth minister is staying at our house until his apartment is ready May 1 or so. I am quite interested in how this ministry will work as currently we don't even have a youth group except for my two kids. (It is a MissionAlive work in action, see link.) Perhaps he is afraid that the church will be disappointed in him if he doesn't grow a big youth group right away. But so far he is impacting my kids. Are two kids worth it? Many times churches think in terms of money; are two kids worth the salary? yep. But that is not where it will stop thankfully because God can/will use faithful acts of service no matter how small to accomplish His stuff.
12 March. I returned last week from visiting the best friend of my youth. Each time we are together over the last 20 years we talk about God. I don't know where she stands with Him, but she seems to resist Him because of what she observes in the lives of other Christians. That they divorce and have affairs and the many things that we do. That we hurt our neighbor, that we crush each other. I kept thinking of the Thomas Merton quote, "People seem to think that it is in some way a proof that no merciful God exists, if we have so many wars. On the contrary, consider how in spite of centuries of sin and greed and lust and cruelty and hatred and avarice and oppression and injustice, spawned and bred by the free wills of men, the human race can still recover, each time, and can still produce men and women who overcome evil with good, hatred with love, greed with charity, lust and cruelty with sanctity." Love, charity, goodness, sanctity are evidenced every day in every corner of the world, yet the power of sin seems to win. I want to tell her that the joy of the Christian life is the turning of the paradigm. To see first the goodness, to see first the giving and sacrificing that people, in spite of the prevalence of divorce and affairs and war and evil, do every day.

12 February. Steve got the seton removed last week. A seton is a wire that is inserted so that infection can drain. The doctor seemed amazed that he was healing so fast, but we who have prayed for this understand it of course. The possibility for reinfection upon removal was very high. The seton has been out for a week now and the site is just perfect. Grateful, grateful.
We feel pretty normal now. Settling into a routine. Blessed by meals in which the four of us eat together, talk and laugh, praying first for JaneAnn off at school. Sometimes settle in for a movie in the evening. Blessed by a warm house on some cold days. Planning for the future: Erin graduating, applying at Lipscomb University. Rejoicing: Scott getting lots of mailings from universities, making it to the finals to be a governor's scholar, getting fourth place in Social Studies academic contest and Erin making fourth in composition. JaneAnn getting her scholarship back after losing it after the events of our move here to KY. She is happily pursuing new degree choice and planning for a missionary trip to Uganda. Me applying for school at Western KY University to finish a long overdue degree. Steve settling into doing law in Kentucky.
So far the law in Kentucky is a different beast than the other three states Steve has practiced in. We theorize the difference has something to do with dueling. Part of the oath for becoming a member of the Kentucky Bar is to swear one will not duel. Now an interesting venture might be to investigate the ramifications of dueling as a means to settle disputes and how this has continued in the institutional memory and in order to understand Kentucky law. All that to say, Steve is settling into to practicing law here even if it does require looking at it through the spectacles of a good old fashion gun fight. Nice that his office is just blocks from our house. And that duels are outlawed.
We did have an "episode" one evening last week. Turns out the deep freeze door had been left open. Net result: pounds of thawed meat and chicken and pizza and ravioli. After a long day with elementary students, I spent the evening making a five pound meat loaf, 12 pounds of chicken breast, 4 pizzas which we cut up and put into baggies, dozens of hamburgers, spaghetti sauce with ravioli and 3 batches of Cincinnati chili. Scott's comment, "a dream come true." All in all it was an "episode" where though much could be lost, was salvaged and we have enjoyed a week and a half now of left overs. And I am always grateful for leftovers.
Grateful for unexpected blessings.
30 January. Steve is oh so much better. God's timing is perfect. As soon as Steve was able, God provisioned a new job for him and then also for me. Steve as a district attorney and me as a full time sub for fifth graders. Come April we will be on reasonable health insurance. I am watching the presidential candidates carefully as I am convinced that health insurance is a moral issue. It has certainly dictated our lives: where we can live, what jobs we should choose. Paying for self insurance has put us into a financial hole that we will be in for a long time, and that is not even counting the medical bills being heaped upon us just because we were not one of the Americans who were provided care through an employer. Two years ago Steve left the law to pursue a dream of full time ministry. Since then health insurance more than any other one issue has defeated that dream. We are not alone. There are many gifted people working jobs instead of pursuing vocations. So while I am happy for our new jobs, I am also sad. It is bitter and sweet.

24 January. It was 4 in the morning and I was wrestling with God in prayer. It was one of the most intense times of prayer I have ever experienced. Steve was two miles away in the hospital. Neither of us knew what his fevers, what his infection ultimately meant for our lives. I was tortured with fear for our future. The past confirmed the present, that in the nearly two years we have lived here, we have never felt safe. Perhaps cursed.
The wrestling was not all done with words. I was working very hard to listen.
This might sound odd, but I became aware that I needed to exorcise the house. I got out of bed. The Christmas trees were sparkling, little electric lights glowed in the windows. It did not have the look of cursed ground. But I stood at the front door in view of the driveway and in view of the back stony yard. I begged for holy ground. I prayed that this house -that we- could be protected from evil. I prayed that Satan be barred from us, be denied access to us. I thought of how in the story of Job Satan had "been walking here and there, roaming around the earth" and I feared he had had far too much roaming power in our lives.
In the days since, when a negative thought, when panic or fear, or judging comes to my head, I am praying that God protect me from The Evil One.
"For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places."
3 January. The doctor says that Steve is "half" recovered. He cried at this news as he so badly wants to be totally recovered. This is a man who never cries. We have cried more in the past year than he has ever cried his whole life. But this is good news from the doctor.
Many are praying for peace in Kenya. Many of us have missionary friends there. Father, please send peace like rain to an embattled land. Amen

1 January 2008. I am so excited it is a new year! The last two years have been very difficult for us, but this is a new beginning.
Today Steve has slept most of the day, but this evening played cards with us and had conversations. Tomorrow we are hoping to get a referral to a new doctor. I have many questions.

30 December. Some friends dropped in unexpectedly tonight. I was so excited to have company; we have not been able to have any for so long. First because Steve was taking so many grad hours, and then because he has been so sick.
One of our guests is the author of a book called Centered. It juxtaposes the balance found in nature to the balance available to humans through the Ultimate Center. In nature there are cycles and patterns and there is symmetry and balance. We find centeredness through the Creator at the Center of all things. This is a good book to offer to the searchers in our lives because it is concise, centered, and beautifully illustrated. The author, Kent Smith is a professor at Abilene Christian University. His dad is a co-minister with us at Fellowship Church of Christ.

29 December. Steve is some better today. He has coherent thoughts. It is good enough.

28 December. Upon returning home Naomi didn't mince her words. "Isn't this Naomi?" old friends and family asked. She could have answered as we commonly do, "hi, yes, it's Naomi! How are you?" She could have hid her anxiety and depression and sorrow. Why would she want to burden others anyway? Everyone has their own burdens to bare. Just buck up.
Instead Naomi answers, "My name's Mara!"(you don't know me. The person you knew had a family, love, safety.) And they all knew what "Mara" meant because names have meaning. Bitter. She could have chosen a name that meant sorrowful, or sad or depressed. But she was beyond that now because she didn't see hope anymore. Hadn't seen it for a long long time. In fact was returning to her homeland because she had heard there was food. Was nothing to eat in Moab. Terrible for a woman because that's what we do, we cook and feed people. Not only did she lose family, she lost identity. And her belly was empty, probably really empty.
Yesterday I was really empty. Had been for a while. Smiling for the world.
Yesterday I didn't mince words anymore. Things are not good. Things are terrible and I am bitter. But in His mercy, God used folks all day today to cheer us. Just when I was feeling forgotten, he sent love and kindness. God used Ruth to bless her mother in law and in turn to bless generations. I used to really hang my hat on this hope that through my faithful acts God would bless. I am really trying believe that again. I am really trying to remember to hope. Thank you God for the people you have sent to us today.

27 December. Call me Mara. Naomi said this as she fled a land where her husband and sons died. Widowed with nothing to sustain her, Naomi took on a name that meant bitter.
Call me Mara, because I am bitter. I hate Kentucky. I want to flee. We left a land where we were safe;protected from the violence of an indifferent society. Could have continued in law, but chose instead to leave home to work in a foreign land. Left law to work with a church in Western Kentucky, because church is safe, isn't it? (don't mistake God's church for church people, however.)
Decision made to leave the law, to leave West Virginia, our home for 11 years, we had a two-day garage sale, several trips to the dump, trips to Salvation Army and Consignment shops all to down size. This is very hard physical work even before a single box is packed. Physically difficult, mentally tiring work. And then stack and cram into moving van, save money by using church people. Move our belongings to a storage unit in far Kentucky and live in a the basement of gracious Christian servant's home. Insufficient pots, pans, utensils. Every thing's packed away. Could eat out every meal, but saving money living in a one bedroom studio apartment in a windowless basement.
Health insurance- cobra. Good for now. But to get insurance in KY proves difficult to get and once gotten, expensive (!). Almost 1,000 a month only to pay $40 each time we leave the doctor's office and a $2500 deductible per person that starts over November 31 of each year.
The day new school starts we are finally moving into our new house. Not dream house, but has four bedrooms so each kid feels comfortable, so they feel valuable.
And then on moving day, the unthinkable. A Christian servant who is helping you to move into your new home makes a mistake on his truck and is crushed by it in your driveway. In your driveway on moving day a good Christian servant loses his life and your life is covered by the first of the darkest of shadows.
In two days your oldest needs driven to her new university for her freshman year. The shadow lengthens over a thousand miles. You leave her there and return a thousand miles away to the driveway with a house on it. You cry. Unload a million meaningless boxes. Work to make his death worth your move. Reach out. Host gatherings, Lots of people. Teens. Parties, game nights. Sleep-overs. Want to get to know the people. Want folks to know how precious they are. How precious.
At new church sermons are well liked. Have many friends, teach Bible classes, small group studies, weekend retreats, conversions from the community, plans. Our two teen-age children make very close friends, are spiritual leaders, well liked by both students and teachers at school and at church.
After a year receive feed back that has conflicting, hateful, negative messages from church leaders. Church should be safe, shouldn't it? Contract is up in March, but renewal is not secure. Working in people's lives with the knowledge that a man died to bring you here. Make his death mean something (like that is possible).
In the mean time school year is coming upon us for our two teens, one to be a senior, one to be a junior.
No feedback yet from the leadership except the negative document. In fact, unbelievably, they wait until July, one month before new school year begins, to sever the contract. Too late to move away to a source of income, to a new ministry before the school year starts. And the severance package is not long enough to cover time it takes to acquire license to practice law in Kentucky. Stay on for the kids.
For years the dream has been to teach in a Christian university. Such a pleasant dream. But long ago didn't get the MDiv or the doctorate, got the law degree instead. So during the lull, why not pick up 12 graduate hours toward a lesser sister of the MDiv, a Masters of Arts? Know now teaching is not an option, but think the discipline of school will be good for this period of unemployment and also good in the long run for future employ. The scholarship is good.
Day after classes are over, go in for a "simple surgical procedure." It turns infected while repeated phone calls to surgeon go unheeded. For four days the infection rages. Excruciating pain. Finally have an audience with surgeon and immediately hospitalized 6 days. Fevers, chills. Every movement hurts. Out of head with pain. The man who once spoke fresh words of God's grace and goodness can only mutter worries and fears and wordless pain. In the mean time receive phone call from hospital business office asking for $2500 cash. In the mean time receive letter from church leadership confirming last severance check minus $70 since insurance prices went up. In mean time Christmas is very "lite." In mean time our parents and extended family is far away. And in the mean time we write another check to insurance for $1,050 and still no word from the Kentucky Bar.
What of dreams? What of ministry? What about honesty and integrity and kindness? Does the kindness of those who reach out to us negate the evil done to us since we've been here? Can we ever get out from under this?
Who can help? Who will hear us? Will we be able to keep the house? Will we ever be safe? Call me Mara, please.

24 November. Today is my daughter's 20th birthday. Early in the morning we will drive to Nashville where she will catch a ride to travel back to school. When she is not here we attend to routine; we go to church and work and have meals, not missing a beat. So it amazes me how whole I feel when she is home again because when she is gone I don't realize how un-whole I am when she is gone. We've raised her to be independent, courageous, curious so it is good and fitting that she leave us. I'm just whole when she is home. Will it always feel this way?

19 November. As I continue remembering my old joys I recall that I used to take joy with folks who show up late. Not that they are late, but that they show up. Much of what we do in life is strictly voluntary. It is simply not mandatory that I show up for any thing. That I show up means that I value what I am showing up for. That folks show up means they place value on what they are showing up for. Could've stayed home, could've enjoyed a leisurely meal, could've kept on the warm slippers. But they came and I am glad to see them.

8 November. A while back during a dark time in my life, I felt my joy slipping away. I was aware of losing it, but I just couldn't hold on. Eventually, I couldn't recall any of the past things that brought me joy. I had joy-amnesia. I had a joy-hole. With its absence I felt fragmented and depressed. I was judgmental, angry, intimidated, sad.
Four months have passed. Recently two occasions have triggered memories of past joys. One came to me in a Bible study where women were discussing difficult issues from the Bible. I wrote in my study guide, "my old joy appreciated small steps folks make."
The second trigger was my friend's staircase decorated in "harvest" colored mini lights. I remembered that my old joy appreciated holiday decorations. Even ones that didn't appeal to me aesthetically. Like houses adorned with red mixed with pink lights, or flamingos in the yard, or those audacious blow up Santas and pumpkins that flop in the breeze. The fact that someone had a desire to brighten up a spot of the world brought me joy. My old joy appreciated pink plastic flamingos.
I think there are others, too. As I remember my old joys (and find new ones) I will write of them here. Stay posted.

4 November. My son ran his personal record in the regional cross country meet yesterday in Madisonville Kentucky. I get choked up each time my kids cross the finish line. Erin and Scott crossed and got their personal best times, but Scott actually finished in the pack that will run in the state meet in Lexington.
I watched from a vantage point high on a knoll and counted as Scott passed the other runners on the steep inclines. I thought back to months he spent in physical therapy learning how to crawl and then learning how to walk. About the special shoes and his first steps when he was 19 months old.
Erin and I knew he was really competing when we saw how many other runners that he passed. I cried and bounced up and down at the same time. I couldn't help seeing him back in Easter Seals.
That morning before leaving the house I had received a phone call that a friend had just died. He had just been diagnosed with a cancer, was in great pain and was actually leaving a body he wouldn't have wanted. I was relieved for his sake that he was now experiencing a fuller and more alive reality than I could ever imagine. That now his spirit was truly alive with God.
So when Scott crossed the finish line with a great time, I had not prepared myself for its eventuality. That morning had been difficult; the past two years had been difficult. So his personal victory became a moment that made the troubles of the past year and a half seem almost worth while. I needed this victory. I needed the vantage point where the whole race was set out before me and that indeed everyone crosses the finish line. And I needed to see that some were actually victorious and I realized that that made three of us.

25 October. I work at a fitness center in the pool area. There is a therapy pool and there is a six lane lap pool. I've learned a lot from the elderly who come to the pools. They are my heroes. Despite sometimes severe physical adversities they come day after day with the promise that the 90 degree water will relieve their pain and joints will move better. I am amazed at the ones who come with walkers and canes and feet braces and swollen ankles and gnarled arms and humped backs. Some are over weight. Some are terrified of the water.
I think about the paraplegics and the blind who waited for the angels to stir the waters of Siloam. How hopeful they were for healing.
When I first started working at the pools I was resentful that I wasn't in school anymore. When I read a book about prayer and meditation I realized I actually had the perfect job for a contemplative and unhurried prayer life and that God was blessing me with a perfect job for this!
I am now reading a book called Loving God When You Don't Love the Church. "Do you believe that in Him, you have what it takes to do what the occasion requires?" the text asks. Yes. The occasion requires that I learn how to grow old. It requires that I learn how to persevere by watching the elderly add a new motion, another lap, a few more steps through the water; to learn that fears can be overcome no matter someone's age; that water is amazing and so is skin, even wrinkled, loose, cellulited skin because little rivulets form and drain off whether it is old or young; that the waters of Siloam were stirred by angels, and so are the waters of the pools I sit by everyday. I am learning that the occasion requires that I help stir the waters with prayer. I am learning that my job is best performed when I come empty - prepared to be filled with the presence of God in these moments when the angels stir the waters.

8 October. My friend in BG inspires me. She is currently hosting two exchange students in her home & cares for her grandkids regularly. "Offer yourselves as a living sacrifice to God, dedicated to His service." Many of us don't want to serve sacrificially. We want to serve comfortably. I call us to serve radically, sacrificially, wholly & holy to God.

5 October. While I sit in the safety and comfort of my home I listen to the news from Myanmar where protesters are being jailed in terrible conditions for protesting against abuses in government. The jailed will be subjected to torture, starvation, disease... Ironic that the conditions for which they protest are they very ones to which they will be subjected in their incarceration. For more info read The Heavenly Man, the autobiography of Liu Zhenying, aka Brother Yun. This book rocked my world. Brother Yun is a Chinese Christian living now in Germany. In the 1990s he was jailed in Myanmar. To down load a report about persecuted Chinese Christians: www.persecution.com/chinareport

4 October. Water is an amazing element. It is good but it is not safe. Teaching a person to swim is like teaching about God. "HE is good, but HE is not safe. (This quote is from the Narnia series by CSLewis)."

2 October. God is not done writing His story. He writes it now through His faithful remnant; by the faithful decisions made by men and women; by His people treating each encounter with another human being as an encounter with God; by His faithful ones acknowledging the God-given dignity and imprint on each person. God writes His story everyday through each person who calls Him Lord. Read Sex. God by Rob Bell for more about God's grand story and where we fit in.