Author: cometsgirl

At 4:45 am my weather app said it was snowing. With sunrise in 2 1/2 hours, it was too dark to see if this was true. I wandered around the casa until I found a light switch for the patio.

It was true!

Snow has a way of quieting things. It covers over and makes things unseen. I love the hush of snow.

Inside it’s not quite as quiet because I have built a morning fire and it’s “exploding” a bit as it burns.

Today I was invited into her space of quiet, and I accepted. It began with a gong. Of course.

Words of Martin Luther King, Jr. were spoken, with an invitation to chose one word that touched my heart. Then ponder that word in silence, and consider the invitation that word is offering me today.

I chose trail. I’m thinking about how trail can be something you follow, or something you blaze for others to follow.

Given that each day I’m pondering how can I lift the cup of my life to God, it may be that I’m to walk with God in such a manner that others might feel drawn to do so in their own lives. That sounds kind of presumptuous.

But I’m sincere and intentional about the trail I find I am forging at this time in my life. Perhaps others will come along.

After a day of parish events – services, breakfast, vestry installation and annual meeting, I was ready to head to the hills. The northern New Mexico mountains.

With a 8:30 pm departure and eventual 1am arrival at our Santa Fe hotel, it was a long day. But having a destination to which I longed to return, the hours passed easily.

A 400-step walk from the hotel to 35 degree North Coffee this morning, brought me to the cup that would begin the day. As I sipped my first cup of the day, I pondered – how can I lift the cup of my life to God this day.

From today’s Daily Office I read Psalm 25:1. To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul.

That became my intent today. To lift up my soul. As I walked the labyrinth on the grounds of St. Francis Cathedral, a favorite song came to mind. It is well with my Soul.

As the song played in my head, it seemed to me I might be lifting up my soul through the prayers uttered as I walked the labyrinth. Ice obstacles on the surfaces of the labyrinth reminded me of the need to be intentional in all things.

Leaving Santa Fe a short time later, we chose to drive what is known as the “High Road” to Taos. This route is through small towns and villages, up through Carson National forest.

Expansive views along the way invite one’s soul to soar.

At last. Our destination.

Now in for the night.

It is well
With my soul
It is well, it is well with my soul.

The Lectionary readings for today, the Second Sunday after the Epiphany, shared a theme- jars, goblets, cups. Saint James parishioners gather with our rector weekly to discuss the readings for the coming Sunday. During the recent study gathering, the  readings gave me an idea for my blog while I travel this coming week. The following sentences are from the commentary that accompanied the readings.

The passage from John’s Gospel (2:1-11) speaks of huge stone jars holding water.  Jesus makes use of them for his first miracle, turning water into wine for wedding guests. which teaches that our journey to the sacred comes through the ordinary.

Within everyday water, we can still glimpse the burgundy of grace. 

Paul’s letter to the Corinthians (1 Corinthians 12:1-11) praises another kind of container for the ordinary.  Us. We are vessels, and even though we look unpromising as vessels, and seem to be unlikely disciples. the spirit transforms us just as Jesus changed water to wine.

The Spirit blesses a wide variety of ministries, so that no two goblets will ever be identical.

 

Isaiah (62:1-5) says that God delights in us and with that affirmation we are encouraged to love the mystery we are, accepting the chips, the cracks and unfinished nature of our cup. Knowing that the cup of our life is held securely in God’s hands, enables us to endure the tension of filling and emptying that goes on throughout a lifetime.

At the end of the study, we were invited to consider this: Reminded by every cup I drink from today, how can I lift the cup of my life to God, to be refilled and transformed?

I’ve decided to be intentional about this invitation, while I am on retreat in northern New Mexico during this season of Epiphany. Sometime during each day, as I drink my coffee or my water, or my juice, or coffee again,  I will consider how can I lift the cup of my life to God.  As I write a blog post each day, I will include what I drank and what I considered. Join me as I sip and as I consider.

Traveling mercies.

Recently I read Mary Oliver’s poem, Mindful.  One of the lines caught my attention – “the prayers that are made out of grass”.

In the poem Oliver says “everyday I see or hear something that more or less kills me with delight…”.  She states she is not talking about anything exceptional or extravagant,  but of the daily ordinary and common presentations, such as “the ocean’s shine, the prayers that are made of grass”.

Wow.  What to make of these words?

“…kills me with delight…”, “…prayers made of grass”.

What a lovely reframing of the word kill. To be killed with delight.  That’s gotta be some kind of delight!  I felt that kind of delight on my trip to the Faroe Islands last year.

I’m pretty sure I’m often “killed with delight”, but I have never used the word delight with the word kill. What does that really mean? I guess for me it means experiencing a moment that all but overwhelms; or a moment of astonishment that completely covers me. Knocks me over. Stuns me into silence.

Or, perhaps, to be Gobsmacked.  I learned this word on a trip to Scotland while riding a ferry.  After I looked up the definition, I was gobsmacked by the word “gobsmacked”.

And then I beheld this view on the Isle of Iona, and I experienced a gobsmacked moment, or as I now realize, killed with delight.

I’ve felt this level of delight on a much smaller scale, of course, as well.

Yep, I’m still able to stand a salt shaker on its edge.

We all need to pause to focus, see and appreciate the “daily presentations”, so as to not miss being killed with delight.

Just this morning as I drove off from home, I was killed with delight as I turned out of my driveway. The reflection seen in the image is the sky reflected on the hood of my car.

So what of “prayers made out of grass”? I’m certain many people – from poetry scholars, to those who simply enjoy reading poetry- have opinions about what grass prayers mean. I’ve been thinking about what it means to me since I first read the poem.

My first thought was about how grasses face upward, implying God, who is to receive our prayers, is “up” somewhere. As I’ve matured in my faith, I know now God surrounds, not hangs from up above.

Another thought- grasses sway. This reminds me of prayer and praise music, that often causes one to sway to both the melody and the words. A kind of swaying prayer.

And then I come to the natural world.  God’s creation. Grasses are rooted in the earth, providing a foundation of sorts – just as I want my life to be a foundation rooted in prayer. Swaying now and then when the breeze of God’s presence makes me take notice.

I’m headed to northern New Mexico on Sunday. It’s a place where true native grasses are found. It’s also a place where it’s often easy to be killed with delight.

And it’s a place of wide-open places where prayers can be cast upwards, and cast about.

As I was finishing this blog post just now, I learned of Mary Oliver’s death today. I give thanks for her beautiful and “not fancy” (as she was quoted as saying) words that have given me such delight.

Traveling mercies.

A chilly twenty degrees greeted this day.

Bustling preparations began early for the noonday game – as seen from the hotel window.

We enjoyed brunch at the rooftop terrace restaurant.

Then it was time to layer-up for the much anticipated Packers game. My layering was two pair of long johns, heavy pants, wool turtleneck, wool sweater, toe warmers stuck on my wool socks, boots, insulated gloves filled with hand warmers, three hats, and….. the puffy coat.

I was quite comfortable. I did require assistance up and down the steps, as the steps were extra high in addition to my extra layering and subsequent bulk.

Georgia, Jack and I decided we should purchase bright yellow Packers shirts to wear over our coats so as to be able to flash a bit of Packers gear. The other family members labeled us the “minions”.

We thought ourselves quite hilarious, and very appropriately garbed for the game.

Papa, the Packers fan that was the reason for the trip, was ecstatic to be here. He has had a grin on his face since we first arrived in Wisconsin.

Lots of traditions before the start of the game. Running onto the field with banners, bands, players and staff.

Unfurling of the US flag for the national anthem.

And Brats for sustenance.

While not the outcome we had hoped or expected – the Lions won – it was first and foremost a Packers game in December. And it offered all the fixins of a yearned-for experience.

There’s a snowstorm expected tomorrow. We should be airborne before it arrives and that suits me just fine.

Traveling mercies.

There is no mistaking I am in Packers country.

Everyone wears Packers garb.

After breakfast this morning we walked across the street to the Pro shop at Lambeau Field. The Pro shop sells ALL things Packers.

A good number of items were purchased by my family today. From clothing to knick knacks to Packers M&M’s.

A tour of the facility was next. About twenty of us gathered around a tour guide and followed him up and down and all around Lambeau Field. A Packer alumni joined us and after we took our seats in a skybox, regaled us with stories about playing Packer football.

We even “ran” out the tunnel to the field just as the Packers will do tomorrow. Of course we were required to yell “GO PACK GO!”

Up next was time to visit the Packers museum. It was quite a wonderful history adventure.

The Packers are unique in that they are publicly owned. In 2011 the organization issued stock in order to expand the stadium. I bought a share for Jack, making him an owner. I understand there is a special website to purchase owner gear, requiring the stock certificate number to make a purchase. Definitely an owner perk.

It was a wonderful family day. Also a very cold day. Just walking back and forth from the hotel was so cold I felt like I had a total head freeze. Ag least tomorrow is forecast to be twice as warm…34 degrees. For sure I’ll be in my puffy coat with both foot and hand warmers for my hands and feet.

Every night on the half hour there is a light show projected on the stadium wall. We have perfect viewing from the hotel room.

A fitting end to this most excellent day.

It’s not likely you could guess where I’m headed today.  It’s also not likely you will be surprised when you learn where- and why.

I’m going to a Green Bay Packers football game – IN Green Bay, Wisconsin – ON December 30th – WITH expected temperature for the game in the low 30’s. Lambeau Field is an outdoor stadium. Oh boy.

I have been to Lambeau Field for a Packers’ game.  Three times.  ALWAYS in August. And each time with my grandson, Jack.

You see, Jack and I were in a ski accident just about nine years ago.  He was eleven at the time, and we were on a family ski trip in Colorado. In the late afternoon the day before we would all depart, Jack and I found a place to sit and watch the skiers complete their ski runs.  We found a good viewing area and sat and watched.

Suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, a young woman- a teenager- lost control as she skied too fast and too recklessly.  She careened into us. She hit us both, but Jack bore the brunt of the crash and suffered two broken bones in his left leg.  It was awful.  It was so hard to see him in such pain.

Transported by ambulance to the ER in the ski center, he lay on a gurney, wearing his Green Bay Packers jersey, with great fear on his face as the nurse approached with intention to run an IV in his arm. Wanting to distract him, I gasped out. “Jack, would you like to go to a Packers game?”  Shaking his head yes, the IV was quickly inserted.

Months later as summer approached, I needed to figure out how to do what I had promised. I managed to do just that, and in August of that year Jack and I flew to Green Bay, Wisconsin, for a Packers pre-season game.

 We went again the next year.

And again two years later.

Jack is a Green Bay Packers fan because his Papa (grandfather) is a fan.

Each year during the regular NFL season, when Papa would watch Packers’ games on TV, I would say something snarky like “oh, Lambeau Field, I’ve been there.  Actually I’ve been there several times.”

Papa would reply, “I would only go in the middle of the winter, as a true fan would.”

And so it has come to pass, that Papa is going to find himself at a Packers game in the middle of winter. Jack and his parents and sister will join Papa for the game. And so will I. Jack’s dad, my older son, is making this trip possible.

A friend has lent me a “puffy coat”. It’s an original, when puffy really was puffy. Here’s a glimpse. It folds up surprisingly compact. But wait until you see me wrapped up in puff.

Earlier this year I met up with this family in Keystone, CO. They were there to ski and snowboard and I was there to enjoy time together in the Colorado Rockies. Jack and I took a walk one afternoon, past the site of the accident now viewed in the distant past. We talked a bit about how it felt to return, and we noted fencing had been erected to prevent ski-viewers from sitting where we sat that fateful day. It was healing to walk this part of the accident journey with him.

And now, this day we return with his family and with Papa to a place that gave us the most healing – Lambeau Field.

Traveling mercies.

You may remember my “Grinch” Christmas tree. My older son’s father-in-law makes them. A year ago when I first learned about them, I asked if he would make one for me.

“Of course” was his reply. A few weeks ago I detoured on a drive home from middle Georgia to pick up the tree. It was just what I had hoped for. It gave me such a smile as I drove home with it seated beside me.

The next day I took this photo.

Yesterday I placed it it with the packages that have been arriving just about daily. The tree soars above the wrappings of the season. I’ve chosen to leave it unadorned, with the exception of the bow it was sporting when I picked it up. In my opinion it is adorned through its design and color. And that is enough.

I think too often we think we need to add adornment to our belongings, our surrounding, and even to ourselves. Will a bauble here, an ornament there, or a particular garment provide a marked improvement? Is simple, or “as is”, enough?

What about belongings? Do we need more, or is what we have sufficient? Now in my 78th year of life, I need – and want – so much less. Gazing just now at what I see as I look up from writing, I see treasures amassed over my many years. What I see is enough, more than enough.

Sara Groves sings,

“Really we don’t need much
Just strength to believe
There’s honey in the rock,
There’s more than we see
In these patches of joy
These stretches of sorrow
There’s enough for today
There will be enough tomorrow.”

Indeed. There is, and will be, enough.

As for the stack of gifts under the Grinch tree, most are for the family who is just miles away from my front door. There will be enough for all.

I do have more shopping to do – for those who really do not have enough. Heifer International notified me this morning that any shopping I do today will be matched such that my one gift will be three gifts. I’m now off to shop, to help make “enough” a closer reality for others.

Advent IV Blessings.

Yesterday, on the day of Advent III, I found myself keeping Sabbath in an unstructured and unscheduled manner. Normally I would be in the midst of community worship in my home parish, or wherever my travels had taken me.

This Sabbath day was different. Holy Eucharist within a house-blessing service, was to be my community worship. At 5pm.

So my structure without structure was to begin the day with music. I’ve listened to a Public Radio program out of Rochester, NY, for over 30 years. With Heart and Voice. I listened to the 2-hour Sunday morning program when I was away from church. When I made my way back and found myself in church on Sunday mornings, I recorded the program for later listening.

That’s where I began this Sabbath. Listening to With Heart and Voice, featuring music specific for the Third Sunday in Advent.

The secular was mixed in with reading the Houston Chronicle. I read a most interesting story about a nun who tweets a daily prayer to the president. It’s become her spiritual practice, one she says, while difficult, is centered in encouragement for him to “grow in humility and the ability/capacity/willingness to focus on the common good and peace of all”. This is something we all might consider.

Next up was a live-streamed Christmas service out of an ecumenical church in Oregon. Beth’s grandboys were part of the children’s sing during the service. They sang contemporary versions of Christmas hymns. Charming.

Late afternoon we gathered for the house blessing. During the Hurricane Harvey flood, Beth took refuge in this home of St. Mary’s parishioners. A few days later it flooded and all had to be evacuated. Now rebuilt, restored, and a home for habitation once again, it was time for family to gather for the home to be blessed.

In the absence of photographs during the service, I’ll try to describe the scene with words. Beth, collared and stoled once again, stood with bible and prayer book. All present gathered around and at Beth’s feet was an enormous, elderly black lab. All settled in for the Gospel reading and prayers, her large tail wagged, and in doing so, flipped Beth’s stole into a wave.

Two cats gathered as well. As we moved from room to room through the house, the animals followed along. After all, this is their home as well. They too, had been evacuated and relocated for a time.

Holy Eucharist followed, as it was the first meal to be consumed in the now-blessed home. An enormous bbq feast followed. Abundance of food and fellowship.

Clearly, I found opportunities to worship God in quiet and in community.

We went to visit Tony.

The minute we turned into the hospice grounds, I was transported in time. Back to the days, and the years, where I was present with patients and their families for their end-times. Everything felt and looked the same. I was home.

The quiet joy of greeting Tony, and then talking with him about the times when our lives crossed paths, was filled with warmth and remembering.

The previous blog was written as I flew to Houston. On the drive down to the medical center I read it aloud to Beth. Then I clicked on Publish. As we sat with Tony, along with his sister and brother, Beth told him about the blog I had written as I journeyed to this time to be with him. She then read it aloud; the room grew silent as she read. The blog ended with a prayer from the Service of Compline and when she prayed the prayer, we all said Amen.

I did this hard thing, and just as I imagined, it was filled with grace, with gentle joy, with reunion. It was also filled with blessings and parting.

The walls of Houston Hospice are hung with period quits. To me they represent tapestries of lives. Tony and I have threads in each other’s lives, and today we tied them off.