I need a man

I can't believe I haven't posted this story yet...

A few weeks ago, I visited an octogenarian couple in their home. I took a classic home cookin meal of stewed chicken, buttermilk biscuits, and soggy greenbeans. They welcomed me to sit with them while they ate. Sweet people! Conversation was simple and humble, going from family updates to the weather. The wife, however, was mostly deaf and unable to participate in the banter. In the midst of our polite conversation, the husband suddenly smacked the table and said, "Girl! You are wasting the best years of your life!" Shocked, I said, "---, what do you mean?" To which he replied, "You need to be under the sheets with someone every night! You need to be loving!" Aghast, I turned scarlet while he chuckled and tried to encourage me that I shouldn't stay single. (N.B. This is an absolutely verboten topic with single women. Do not try this at home.) He laughed and laughed, and started to chuckle, too. His deaf wife then leaned in to ask, "What are you laughing about?" Without replaying the whole exchange, --- shortened the conversation and just yelled, "She NEEDS a man!" And she, of course, said, "What?" To which he replied again, "She NEEDS a MAN!!" I decided to leave before the neighbors came over to see who exactly needed a man, and what, exactly, she needed him for.

The things I get myself into.

unplugged

I turned off my tv. I unplugged my computers. I disconnected my cable. And life got pretty quiet. I worried that it would be an extreme way of living. I worried that I would feel isolated and out-of-touch. Much to my surprise, the unplugged life is blissful! Listening to NPR at night has been a gentle way of winding down. Although I thought that watching the news or a little tv was a great way of zoning out before bed, comparatively, it was making me more tired. Now I putter (yes, putter) around the house, read, or sit on my patio. My wind slowly unwinds from the day's craziness. It's not a bad way to go. Try it ... I dare ya!

that look!

If only we could remember the look on our faces when we were baptized... (for those of us baptized as infants) Sunday morning's baby came with mouth wide open in happy surprise, and eyes looking up, as if asking, "Where is that wonderful water coming from? How did I get so lucky to get this treat today?!" Radiant inner joy! Of course, there are those who scream at the heavens, and those who simply endure in silence. The theological personalities of each are significant: we revel in the promises of new life; we must be dragged from seductive sin into Christ's holiness; there is much to ponder as we make this journey.

I am grateful to celebrate and accompany these moments with our newest members. Grateful, too, for those who made promises on my behalf, and grateful to make promises myself on the behalf of others.

yet again

I'm a fan of Christ coming to save all of creation. I'm not so much a fan of all of creation literally sitting at the Communion Table. This week, at their owner's invitation, an old dog was served the broken body of Christ. (The second such occurrence in my career when I have served home communion.) As my mouth fell open, I tried to remember the Psalms of creation clapping its hands, mountains singing, and rivers rejoicing. I believe that God redeemed every rock and tree, every iguana and gnat. But something about their sitting around the Table just doesn't feel right...

Lifeline alert

Delivering home communion recently, I found myself in a circle of older women. Our hostess, whom I will call "Alberta", was mostly deaf with a dead hearing aid battery. As I was breaking the bread (officially "the fracture"), Alberta's phone rang. Set on its loudest possible ring, everyone jumped in their seats then tittered while she searched high and low for the receiver. It quickly became apparent that Lifeline was testing its process. Alberta was instructed through a separate receiver/speaker to press the button around her neck. Unfortunately, she could not hear their instructions. So, holding the bread and wine in each hand, I yelled across the circle for Alberta to "PUSH THE BUTTON". She refused. "THAT'S ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES," she screamed back. "NO!" I said, "PUSH THE BUTTON NOW." The other ladies nervously watched the exchange repeated several times. They were caught in the decorum of respecting the hostess, yet hearing contradicting instructions. Finally, I took Alberta's button and pushed it myself. "We will now contact emergency services. Please stand by for assistance," said Lifeline. "NO!" Alberta screamed. "YOU AREN'T SUPPOSED TO DO THAT!" Still with bread and wine in hand, I sheepishly tried to explain that Lifeline had said to push the button. Everyone was aghast. No one moved. Silence descended. Everyone sent pointed looks in my direction. Then, over Lifeline's speaker, "Alberta, are you ok?" Again, she could not hear them to answer, so I responded for her. They demanded I identify myself, but quickly proceeded to say that it was a real test. We had done the right thing. The ladies all breathed a sigh of relief as Lifeline hung up. Again, silence. And, still holding the Communion elements in hand, I thought about how to possibly reclaim sacred space... so, I simply said, "Jesus Christ, the True Life Line..." Ugh.

for a beloved friend...

Vashti H. Flannagan, old soul and cantankerous cat, joined the yard triumphant on Thursday, June 10, 2010. Having lived a full life (fuller than we will ever know), she celebrated her twentieth birthday at least twice. Vashti was an active member of the Act Like a Pillow party, the Grow Huge Hairballs club, and the Early Morning Soliloquy Society. She is survived by an adoring sister, Addie, an estranged roommate, Esther, and two overly involved caregivers, Katie and Meg. A private service will be held followed by a savory salmon feast. In lieu of flowers, adopt an old cat from a shelter.

The following poem was found in Vashti’s favorite cushion:
There was an old cat named Vashti
Who lived secret lives – definitely!
She talked every day
‘til in the face, grey,
Wondering why no one heard clearly.

Why didn’t they appreciate
The things she’d sit and contemplate?
Ignoring her voice;
Instead hearing noise.
So she decided she’d vacate.

Adventures awaited afar…
She’d dreamed of being a star
Something dramatic,
Leaning dogmatic,
To tell all the wonders there are.

Poem as prayer

I love poetry! Here's a great one I read today...

"Song" (by Adrienne Rich)
You're wondering if I'm lonely:
OK then, yes, I'm lonely
as a plane rides lonely and level
on its radio beam, aiming
across the Rockies
for the blue-strung aisles
of an airfield on the ocean.

You want to ask, am I lonely?
Well, of course, lonely
as a woman driving across country
day after day, leaving behind
mile after mile
little towns she might have stopped
and lived and died in, lonely

If I'm lonely
it must be the loneliness
of waking first, of breathing
dawn's first cold breath on the city
of being the one awake
in a house wrapped in sleep

If I'm lonely
it's with the rowboat ice-fast on the shore
in the last red light of the year
that knows what it is, that knows it's neither
ice nor mud nor winter light
but wood, with a gift for burning.