Early Morning Quiet

One morning I was sitting at my desk watching the sun rise and wrote the following poem:

Early morning quiet,
The sun rises to begin a new day.
The same sun that rose
When God said, "Let there be light."

The present connects with the past.

Adam and Eve saw the same sun I see today. So did -
Moses
Job
Joseph
Jesus
Paul.

The sun links me to Adam and Eve,
and all humanity created since my birth.

Gather all these person,
They are a photo gallery of the
family of God living in me.

Alleluia!

Art Matters

Life's deepest wounds often leave us with no words. Those wounds shove feelings and memories into hard-to-reach places in our hearts, but no words. Without words, how do we process those wounds? When we can't speak our pain, how do we find healing?

Through art.

Art matters.

I believe art has the power to tap into those deep, hidden places and lure the experiences out so we can examine them, grow and with God's help, heal.

Two years ago my parents died four days apart. My family had two funerals in four days. My father died first, then my mother stopped eating and joined her husband the afternoon of his funeral.

My parents were beloved by their friends at work and church, by neighbors and other acquaintances. However, these people only knew one side of their life and not the childhood I experienced growing up in an abusive home.

I was in a swirl of emotions following their deaths. Reading a few books on grief added more confusion. My thoughts didn't fit into anything I read as the author referred to the reader's "beloved family member," or "cherished mother."

Seeking the counsel of pastors, therapists, friends whose parents had died and even a grief counselor did not help clear the fog in which my brain dwelled as I tried to resolve who they were to me with comments I heard over and over at the funeral home about how wonderful they were.

I always wanted to study art and writing. Within a few months of my parents' passing, I used my inheritance to begin taking classes in both subjects under the teaching of two strong Christian women.

Kandi, my young art teacher, took me under her wing as we began to draw objects looking at shape and value. My writing coach, Ann, a seasoned author whose first two books I read, introduced a new path to me of extracting deep wounds buried decades ago, through creative instruction. Her small writing assignments brought into the open anger, frustration, abandonment and injustice - words that were foreign to me, but started to give form and expression to my chaos.

I wrote about my early life and sent my work to Ann, who read each piece with the same care as if she were editing a prize-winning novel, receiving all of the ugliness of the past without judgment or questioning. The process was helping me put words to my wounds and address my pain. I would see Ann on Thursdays, and Kandi on Tuesdays, as well as a counselor on Monday. That trio formed a powerful combination for my healing.

Kandi suggested one day I take the sympathy cards I received - over 100 - and tear them into little pieces so we could make paper, which we did. After the paper dried, I was left with lots of unused torn snippets of cards. Most pieces had a word on them, whether handwritten or printed on the original card. I used the pieces to make even more art. I sewed together leftover scraps into a "paper quilt" putting into action Jesus' words to the disciples following the feeding of the thousands to "gather the pieces and let nothing be wasted."

I brought my art projects to show Ann, and she noted all the words and phrases remaining on the scraps, separated from their original messages. She suggested I create "found poems" using words found on these pieces and working them into a new message of my own. Below is one of my found poems:

                   Someone will keep your troubled heart,
                   Holding it close, with peace coming during a difficult time.
                   Words are inadequate to express concern and sympathy
                   When deepest comfort is needed for the heart.
                   Jesus reminds us, "I give unto you peace. Let not your heart be troubled."

Working with these hard, shriveled remains of sympathy cards to patch together my pain into a new form while writing "found poems" from remnants of verses from the cards, I felt my heart eventually arrive at a place of peace regarding my parents that I had not felt for decades.

The making of paper and a "paper quilt" tapped into those hidden places and pulled things to the surface so I could examine them, put words to them, and find healing.

Art and writing unexpectedly gave form to my loss, my past, and brought healing to my heart.

The Lost Art of Letter Writing

A few years ago one of my daughters asked how often Mike and I talked during the year we saw each other only on weekends. She was astonished when I replied, "We never spoke from Sunday to Friday. We wrote letters."

The Age of Letter Writing

I explained that before cell phones, long-distance calling was expensive. Rates were cheaper after 9 p.m. and before 8 a.m. Phone calls were only for emergencies or conveying information, rarely for pleasure. Even today when we speak with Sarah and Anna, I appreciate hearing their voices as much as the conversation. The pleasure and joy of "hearing someone's voice" has perhaps lost its value with texting and email communication.

Letters offer a permanent record of affection, information, encouragement and love. For example, my friend, Annabel, and her husband were members of Center United Methodist Church on the south side of Indianapolis, where Mike served from 1983 to 1989. Annabel, who will soon be 100, became a surrogate mother to me. She encouraged my writing and affirmed me as a young mother.

During my pregnancy with Anna, Annabel frequently brought muffins or vegetables to supplement our meals.

Letters from My Mentor

When Mike was appointed to serve in Vincennes in June, 1989, Annabel and I began a regular correspondence. After our move, I shared our family activities, and often asked questions related to raising children, managing my time or my walk with God. Interestingly, when we moved to Fishers, and visited often in person, we continued to correspond. The stack of letters and cards I have saved accumulated over 28 years is a treasured keepsake of shared memories, advice, and encouragement from someone who loved and cared for me deeply.

When I visited Annabel before Mother's Day, I took all of her letters and cards. We read through many of her thoughts and looked at the stationery she chose reflecting her passion for human rights, equality, nature, wildlife preservation, and reconciliation. Sitting side by side on her couch, she cried, realizing the importance her letters had in my life.

I've saved letters Sarah wrote to Anna from church camp and from when Sarah worked at Culver Academy Summer School and Camp during summer breaks from college. These letters are cherished and rest in a box of memorabilia.

A little pencil in God's hand - the Walking Letter

The apostle Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 3:3 - "You show that you are a letter from Christ ... written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone, but on tablets of human hearts." These words can be interpreted to mean that all who love and serve God are "walking letters," writing each day the ways in which we script our faith.

Mother Teresa was interviewed in the December 4, 1989, issue of TIME magazine. When asked to describe the nature of her work with the poor she replied, "I don't claim anything of the work I do. It is his (God's) work. I am like a pencil in his hand. That is all. He does the writing. The pencil has nothing to do with it. The pencil has only to be allowed to be used."

Jesus was more like Mother Teresa's description of her work. Jesus was a pencil in God's hand, writing how to live and love in the kingdom; whereas Paul used letters, some of which were penned in prison to speak to believers on various topics related to life in the church.

The Power of Writing by Hand

A few years ago a series of articles was published about the science of writing things by hand. The research indicated that our brains work differently when we form letters with a hand-held implement and we learn more effectively than when we type.

Another study found that when pre-school children look at letters of the alphabet, those who practiced writing the letters showed more activation in the visual areas of their brains than those who had practiced letter recognition alone. Writing by hand seems to help lay the neural groundwork for reading.

I write all of the articles for "Gather the Pieces" first, by hand, then I type. I find that ideas flow more from my heart when I hand-write compared to using a computer.

Of course, writing letters takes more time as well as organization to have paper or stationery and pen or pencil available. Recently, a book I purchased at a church rummage sale, Someone Cares - An Encyclopedia of Letter Writing, lists 23 topics for letter writing including letters for keeping in touch; blessing; thank you and appreciation; sympathy and condolence; complaint and employment.

Perhaps you know someone who would appreciate a handwritten note. Letters come from the heart and writing that comes from deep within can give the recipient a permanent record of our love, care and compassion.

Prayer: God, we thank you for the ways we can be expressions of your love to others. As we are pencils in your hand, guide us in tangible ways to let others know how much we care and write a few letters today. Amen.

I ate the cake!!!

I ate the cake!

We picked up the cake for Anna's 30th birthday at the vegan bakery earlier in the day when we were walking around Portland with her sister and Ryan, Sarah's then boyfriend. I placed the cake on a small table covered with a black cloth in the corner of the party room, where plates, forks and festive napkins waited to serve their function.

Usually avoiding sweets, I decided to have a piece of the vegan cake, curious about the taste. Even Sarah asked, "Mom, are you having cake?" as she remembered my aversion to high calorie items.

"I thought I would try a piece," I replied, ready to savor an unusual morsel!

The plates were gone when I cut my piece, which landed on one of the birthday napkins I purchased for the occasion. I sliced a corner covered with half-inch icing, and popped it into my mouth --- oh my!! What an experience to enjoy a flat-tasting cake camouflaged with delicious icing. I entered the fullness of the party by partaking of cake, which Sarah recorded in a photo.

When I licked the fork wanting to get every spot of icing, I thought how much the kingdom of God is like tasting a piece of birthday cake. I realized by eating cake, I was able to participate in all aspects of the party - planning the event, greeting and meeting guests, giving presents and eating cake. When I ate the sweets with everyone else, I left nothing out of the joy of the moment.

So often I deny myself the pleasure of full participation in events, however, in that rich icing day, I learned how complete immersion added meaning and depth.

I could not help but see a parallel to taking communion as a way to fully participate in God's kingdom. Be not afraid to come to the table and partake of the holiness of life in Christ.

A Summer Memory from Vincennes and Brownie Camp

When we moved to Vincennes in June, 1989, we found a large, single floor home built in 1954. This house eventually became our favorite parsonage because of the amount of storage, the two-sink, long-counter bathroom that Sarah and Anna shared, and the living room located in the back of the house.

A large, glass window spanned the length of the living room offering a view of our neighbor's pond and gazebo.

Our large backyard that I mowed each week was filled with moles that made a network of underground tunnels. Hills appearing from these tunnels made mowing a challenge. The uneven surface of the yard formed interesting topography as I pushed the mower over "hills and valleys."

One day I was getting the lawn mower from the rust-colored shed located in the side-yard. I noticed a small patch of Lilies of the Valley flowers growing next to the concrete porch. Setting aside the mower, I stooped down to get a close view of this plant. The tiny, white bell-shaped flowers were delicate and pure white. My hand behind the flower made a canvas highlighting the beauty.

In that moment I remembered a song I used to sing at the Brownie day camp I attended for a week when I was eight and nine years old.

           White coral bells upon a slender stalk.
           Lilies of the Valley deck my garden wall.
          Oh don't you wish that you could hear them ring.
          That will happen only when the fairies sing.

We sang in a round. Although I did not have a melodious voice, I do remember appreciating the mingling of words and harmony that happened.

Sometimes an object or book or smell will remind us of something pleasant from long ago. I was grateful for the memory of a song from seeing a flower growing in my yard.

Today I pray that you too may have a thought or image or from the past that makes you smile.

A Bowl from Betsy and Iya - A Metaphor of Life With God - A Project for June and July

Anna is the director of marketing and media for Betsy and Iya, an independent jewelry store in Portland, Oregon. When we visit Anna, we spend time at the store, perusing the merchandise and watch the jewelry makers put together unique and classic earrings, bracelets, rings and necklaces.

When we were in Portland last March to celebrate Anna's thirtieth birthday, I was captivated by a variety of colorful bowls, the owners, Betsy and Will, purchased during a recent trip to visit family in Guatemala. The tightly woven containers came in different shapes, colors and depths. I purchased two knowing I would use them for something, but in the moment I didn't know when.

I was reminded of a story I read many years ago about bowls in a book by Sue Bender, Everyday Sacred - A Woman's Journey Home. Sue tells about a monk who left his home every day holding an empty begging bowl in his hands. Whatever is placed in the bowl will be his nourishment for the day.

Sue continues,

     It was obvious to all who knew me that I wasn't a monk, and the very idea of begging would make most of us uncomfortable. In spite of that, the image of a begging bowl reached out and grabbed my heart.

     Initially, I didn't know whether I was the monk or the bowl or the things that would fill the bowl or all three, but I trusted the words and the image completely.

Sue spends the majority of the book describing stories, experiences, and people that filled her bowl during the following months.

Looking at the two bowls from Betsy and Iya resting on my office floor, I consider how a bowl can teach three things about being present to God; open, ready to receive, waiting to receive and holding.

Here's a project for the months of June and July, during this period of time called "Ordinary" on the church year.

      1. Find a bowl. Maybe it's your favorite mixing bowl or container for cereal.
      2. Remember where you purchased the bowl and how you use it. If it was a gift recall the occasion and the giver.
      3. Bless the bowl. Hold the bowl in both hands. Ask God to keep your heart open like the bowl to receive whatever God might want to fill it with.
       4. Invite God at the beginning of the day to fill your bowl. Ask God to keep your hear open so you are aware of how God is coming to you. Whatever you feel God leading you include as content in the bowl.
       5. At the end of July, look how your bowl was filled. Examine the contents to see what came to your heart.
       6. Send me a picture of your bowl and/or the contents as well as a brief summary of your experience. With your permission I'll share a few reflections at the beginning of August.

Several years ago I filled a bowl for a month with scripture, prayers, newspaper clippings and photographs. I wrote insights and perspective I received about life from God, people, books that I wanted to remember and placed all in the bowl. If I received a letter or note during this time, that, too, found a home in the bowl. Dried peonies, my favorite spring flower, rested in the bowl its beauty amplified while I dried. Small pieces of leftover fabric from sewing projects and a church bulletin with sermon notes rested in the bowl.

Each day I had a feeling of expectation and anticipation how God would fill my bowl throughout the day. I carried the bowl just about everywhere I went. The bowl "sat" on the passenger side of the car and followed me from room to room at home. God speak anywhere and anytime and I wanted to be ready. The bowl helped me remember to keep my heart open ready to receive, fill and the contents held.

Prayer: God, fill us to overflowing with tangible expressions of your goodness, love and challenge. Guide our reflections with what you give so we can learn more about ourselves and our lives with you. Amen.

Walking - A Way to Reduce Stress for Me, but For the Animals........ hmmmmmmm

Today I went for a walk in the morning when the day was fresh and beginning. The streets were empty as those who had to work were gone. Even those who I occasionally see walking dogs must have been sleeping or not ready to greet the day outside.

Quiet brought clarity in the sounds of chirping birds, each cadence quickly discerned blending together like different parts of a symphony or band performing a concert of nature's music.

Noting the color of squirrels who move quickly through the trees and brush along my path, I realized how grey and white fur provides camouflage for these animals as they blend in with shades of green, brown and gray in the foliage and rocks.

I saw two geese paddling across the pond, the water still, tree reflections over the water creating an image like a mirror. One squirrel scurried across the road in front of me, a nut latched securely in his/her mouth.

Reflecting on the birds singing, the geese swimming, the squirrels hurrying among rocks and fallen leaves, reminded me how people talk about finding peace in nature.

I've heard men and women reply 'nature' when asked where they go to experience peace or have time to reflect. The rhythm of watching squirrels gather nuts in the fall, watching birds build nests in the spring, seeing rabbits in my back yard dig holes and eat flower tops is captivating - sort of like being an "intruder" to their daily life.

People say watching animals in nature or leaves falling from trees or walking in forest brings peace, but two questions arose from my walk.

As the squirrels gather food, birds build nests, geese swim, squirrels run, and birds chirp, they look peaceful, but are there stresses in their lives too? Do these creatures look peaceful in their pursuit of everyday life to human observers, while in reality, their tasks have elements of risk about which we cannot know? Are birds stressed to find food or items to build a nest in a timely manner?

A second question occurred - Would someone watch humans purchase food, prepare, organize and care for a house find relaxation and peace?