Cometsgirl

Ah, the wonder of flight. The further wonder of the gift of my ability to travel by air. This trip is number 383. All since August 1985, the date I was set free to soar!  But hey, who’s counting? Clearly I am.

Images as we traversed the country from Atlanta to Eagle, CO

The descent begins….

Then just beyond the mesa, a quick drop to land.

And deplane. Such an awesome and awe-filled experience.

Sights as I drove to Keystone.

Then to be greeted by ‘the fam’.

We got a little carried away with creativity at dinner….

As this day comes to a close, “may the Lord Almighty grant us a quiet night and a perfect end.”

You have to really want to travel by air if you live up in the mountains as I do.

Allowing 3 hours for drive-time to Atlanta’s Hartsfield-Jackson airport meant a 5:30 am departure. SO dark the entire 110 miles.

After going through security, I set out on foot for Starbucks at Terminal C. It’s an educational and artsy walk.

Stone art from South Africa:

A tropical aviary installation:

And travel through the history of Atlanta:

At last – Starbucks! Me and MANY others await our orders.

Cross making the night before departure; inviting God in this creating activity as I prepared for travel.

Tied with Iceland yarn, a snippet from Beth’s knitting project.

Vine tendrils collected on a recent walk up the hill. Soaked in water to make flexible for winding together.

Soon to board. See you in the sky!

Traveling mercies.

Tomorrow I return to my roots. Those who know me, know how proud I am to be a native Coloradoan. While I have not lived in Colorado for 47 years, I still make claim to this identity. I’m especially delighted when someone asks what my “accent” is.  Accent?  Really? Well, I guess Coloradoans must have some type of accent that sets our speech apart.  That’s way cool!  Colorado cool.

I’ve accepted an invitation from my oldest son and his family to join them for several days in Keystone, CO.  A family of skiers and snowboarders, they will take to the slopes while I will take to the village complex to take in the sights.

I’m flying nonstop Atlanta to Eagle, CO.  Eagle is a small town nestled in the Rockies, not far from some of the major ski areas – including Vail, Breckenridge, Keystone. The landing is super dramatic as the airplane descends quickly to a small mesa INSIDE the Rockies!

A drive of about an hour and a half will take me to Keystone where I expect to be embraced by my family– unless they are on the slopes, in which case the embrace will come later. Regardless, I am soon to be wrapped in family arms. IN Colorado.

Traveling mercies.

The reframed Lenten trip ended with Beth returning home Friday afternoon. It’s clear that revising Tybee Time this Lent was a very good idea.  As the last day approached, we took stock of the reframing experience.

Extreme rest that had been sought, was found;

“Luxury” accommodation offered sunrise viewing from bed;

cappuccinos at will;

gourmet meals made possible by having more than a toaster and microwave with which to cook;

movie and TV streaming in front of either the fireplace or the woodstove;

mountains instead of sea and marsh.

All in all, a restful and rest-filled week of Lent.

And the making of crosses in the midst.

New Mexico seed pods before “exploding”.

Seed pods, now exploded.

A bit of wool to drape.

Found “as is” on my deck.

The color of Spring.

Wiley Presbyterian Church labyrinth.

I’ve been thinking about the idea of reframing, of doing things or seeing things, in ways outside the usual “because it’s always been done that way’ – or “that’s how I’ve always viewed it”. I know I have bristled when I’ve heard others say “because…”, always….”, “not going to change now”.  Yet I have been doing some of that, without hearing myself as clearly as I’ve heard others.

While I did not seek out change in the form of reframing, and while I resisted, in the end it has provided me with some wonderful opportunities and experiences I otherwise would have missed. It’s also taught me something about being open and even a bit flexible, when asked to reframe.

We all need some things to stay the same so as to have some familiarity and tethering in our uncertain lives. This day I’m basking in quiet joy of having untethered for just a while.

Monday began with one of the better sunrises of late. With that beginning, it was certain to be a large day.

At church on Sunday, a parishioner had told me about a field of daffodils just down a local road outside town. That’s where we began our mini day trip. Just around the bend, there they were.

While the structures on the property have been abandoned and left to decay, the field of daffodils is thriving.

Headed north to a yarn shop in North Carolina, we stopped to walk the Mountain Valley Center labyrinth in Otto, NC.

After a bit of shopping we enjoyed a scone picnic on a bench in town just down the street from the knit shop and adjacent to an outdoor provisions store. I mention this because we became part of the conversations of a gathering of Appalachian Trail through-hikers in town for rest and restocking of their trail provisions. While more of an overhearing of their conversations than actual conversation with, we none-the-less were able to provide helpful information to a late-comer who had missed the gathering. We surprised ourselves by the amount of facts we had heard and stored in our oldering brains!

Returning home, it was time for cross making.

While Beth is creating something which involves her phone and is not yet complete, I made a cross using found materials as I walked the labyrinth. Rhododendron leaves from last fall, rolled up through winter, and gold paper candy wrapper.

This day’s sunshine is inside as we settle in for a rainy day in Georgia.

Sunshine is sweet; it is good to see the light of day. Ecclesiastes 11:7

Having had to face the reframing of Tybee Time has given me a new lens for viewing change. This annual Lenten retreat moved from the sea to the mountains, and it’s caused me to embrace an alternative to my long time Spring travel.

Viewing this as more of a retreat from than a retreat to has helped me bend a bit in thinking things need to stay the same. I was able to hear the wish for and the need to retreat from the sea and instead climb to the mountain.

Here there are magnificent sunrises that simply require rolling over to view.

And cappuccinos to be enjoyed in front of the fire on a chilly morning.

Tybee Time has always been about retreating into rest and quiet, surrounded by the beauty of God’s creation. Seeing Tybee Time through the lens of hearing a need and the recognition of similarity of place, it would seem the mountain is the perfect place in which to do Lent this year.

You still the roaring….Psalm 65:7

Every season of Lent for the past 14 years, I have journeyed to Tybee Island on the coast of Georgia.  It’s been the perfect place to experience retreat during Lent. It has been so much more than a journey of miles; rather, it has been a journey for my body and soul.

One of the draws of Tybee Island, is the fact that it is what I call “away”.  It isn’t a place to which it’s easy to travel. And over the years, there have been more travel challenges than not.  Still, when you drive along Highway 80 sandwiched between marshes and the Savannah River Channel, and then cross over Lazaretto Creek, you know you have arrived “away”. You are officially on Tybee Time.

This year, Tybee Time is being reframed, reimagined. After a year of slogging through weather uncertainty and upheaval, it was time to seek more certainty in, and ease of, the travel that is required to get to Tybee Island.  It was time, too, to trade what has been referred to as camping accommodations on the island, for a bit of  “luxury” lodging in the Southern Appalachian Mountains.

Not being a person inclined to change, I’ve been surprised to find this change just seems to feel so right.

This day the reframed Lenten retreat begins.

A spring welcome awaits.

Traveling mercies.

 

 

Those who know me, know I’m not a big fan of being silent.  I’m restless when I’m surrounded by quiet. While my body has slowed down as I’m oldering, my mind has not. If anything, it has sped up. I find silence elusive. Uncomfortable. Even impossible on occasion.

I’m now in a forced period of silence because this day I’m uttering no words. While my silence is self imposed, it’s not by choice. I had a rather severe choking – coughing spell yesterday as I drove north from a town south of my home. I quickly turned into a convenience store parking lot and “blew out” my vocal chords as I struggled to breathe. Yikes! It was intense and frightening, but thankfully it all came under control and I drove on home.

However, my speech had turned into a series of barked sounds meant to be words. At that moment I gave up speaking, hoping silence would be healing.

Going to the grocery store today was comical, as I evaded conversations with a smile and a slit-throat gesture. Asking where items were in this recently rearranged store, was accomplished by enlarging the list on my phone so as to point out what I was seeking.

The point is that I had committed to remaining silent and while it was for good reason, it was difficult. Yet, it’s not without a kind of pleasure. Forcing a new way to communicate, while brief, has given me a taste of silence. I’ve actually found pleasure in making this silent-silence commitment,  while finding innovative ways around it. Clearly I’m not all in.

Recalling the crosses I have been making, I’m aware I have been in a place of silence as I have created each cross. In Making Crosses, the suggestion is to name each one after its creation. As I’ve just today read that directive, my crosses are unnamed. But I have decided to name a cross I created a couple of days ago.

It’s name is Found Silence. Beach glass nestled in an acorn shell anchored to wood scraps. All found.

Reflecting on Psalm 62:1, “For God alone my soul in silence waits”, The Reverend Barbara Crafton writes “…silence has come to feel sweet to me, sweet and expectant; something will come to me in the quiet, it seems: a thought, a word, maybe just a gentle sleep. Some sweet gift.”

Perhaps I, too, have had a taste of the sweet gift of silence.

As I mentioned previously, I’ve been really drawn to this activity.  I continue to collect material for the crosses wherever my steps take me.  I’ve been known for my powers of observation when I’m “out in the field”, but this particular intention of being observant is unique to me.  Looking for discards.  Looking for possibilities.  I feel this is a kind of practice for the more important task of being observant– that of sensing God’s presence, and hearing God’s message for me.

In Making Crosses, the author states: “take what the world doesn’t value and make it into a work of God.” That’s not to say everything I’ve gathered is without value, but for the most part these collected items would not have called me to pick them up.

The purpose in making crosses is not to create a beautiful cross, rather it is to focus on God.  Surprisingly that is what is happening when I sit down to put cross pieces together.  I say surprisingly, because I’m not really one to chat with God much more than at pre-determined times and places. This is a heart and soul opening experience, and I’m pretty much in constant conversation these days.  Who knew?

The author also says, “what I have found in this world is that when you are working on creating images of God, God is working on you.”

Here are the latest crosses.

Vine tendrils previously wrapped around stems, now affixed to arms.

Prunings from a Japanese Maple tree at Saint James Episcopal Church.

Ceramic coffee stirrers with Iceland bead.

“Debris” picked up along a path, centered by Japanese Maple cutting.

Julie’s frozen fruit bar sticks with bottom of garlic pod. I thought about turning the words to the rear, but decided this is a moment of whimsy. Besides, they are a favorite.

Spaghetti that fell on the floor as I tossed the package into a pot of boiling water.

Chips from the woodpile, adorned with apple tree bark chip. The apple tree is located in the commons where I live, and is thought to be around 100 years old.

This activity of making crosses seems to suit me as I find my Lenten rhythm. To make a cross, one must slow down.

It begins with seeking out materials. I’m drawn to looking around wherever my steps take me where I live and walk. I feel guided to be watchful. It feels like the materials I choose are somehow signaling me to take notice. As the author of Making Crosses notes, “the Holy Spirit opens our eyes to a different way of seeing the things of creation”.

Sometime during the days that follow, I feel a nudge to gather up my materials, find a quiet time and place, and settle in to chat with God as I’m guided to make a cross. “Making crosses locates you in a place of prayer and keeps you there.”

Wood chips and moss.

Palms from Palm Sunday 2017 with seed pods found along the path.

Palms with allspice seed pod.

Blooms gone to seed alongside the river.

Broken wind-chime with found metal washer.

The collected objects, the movement of the crossbeams, the prayer thoughts that God floats to the brain—all come together to create a cross of profound spirituality. E M Prewitt.