I consider myself to be a fairly patient person. I honestly do not have a fit in traffic (OK not very often anyway and never so much that people in other cars would know!) I can answer the same questions over and over. "What do you like to be called?" At least once a week someone asks me that. The thirty years of women clergy has still not resolved the question. My answer is "Rhoda." I don't mind answering that question over and over.
I'm also patient with my asthma and don't freak out at the first sign of wheezing. Some would say (read: husband) that I'm patient to the point of complacent. But longer than there have been ordained women clergy I have had asthma so I've developed a sort of patience about it.
But when it comes to computer stuff I am INSANELY impatient! Nothing gets me cussing a blue streak more than when something about the computer is messed up or when the server goes down, and I can't email. It's as though I have lost the ability to phone people if I can't email them. It's crazy! And I am not proud.
On my church computer there is some thing/hiccup/problem/#?*! - ing deal where as I'm typing along all of a sudden some HP product assistant screen pops up and completely interrupts what I'm typing. It doesn't happen all the time and there is no discernible pattern. There's probably a way to make it stop, but I haven't figured that out. It doesn't cause me to lose any work (or you could hear me cuss all the way to your house), and it goes away as soon as I click OK. I'm tired of pitching a fit about it, so I have decided....at least for a while...to make friends with it...and use it as a call to prayer.
So far that's been working great! Of course it's only been two days...ask me again in a few weeks! But when that screen pops up and interrupts me, I'm choosing to stop what I'm doing, and take a brief moment to mention someone to God, or to offer a prayer of thankfulness for someone, or ask for direction about something.
God permeates our lives through and through all the time. I don't always live like I believe that, but I do indeed believe that. I don't think God is making this HP screen thing pop up! But I do think God "enjoys" receiving our attention, and offering prayers in random short bursts works for me better than setting aside some lengthy time in the morning or evening. Sometimes I'm able to engage a more traditional "prayer time", but lately these little bursts have really inspired me, and made me appreciate prayer all the more.
I am reminded of one of my all time favorite books: St. Benedict on the Freeway, by Corinne Ware. She was on the faculty of the Seminary of the Southwest in Austin for a long time, and is one of those people you think is truly mystical and connected to something great. But at the same time she is fun and joyful and completely approachable. Her book offers a way to look at prayer and connection that I find to be SO helpful. It's all about finding God in the daily interactions and choosing to let common things like the friggin' HP screen thing or your garage door opener be "triggers" that keep us in touch all day every day with God.
God is huge and transcendent and indescribable and infinite. And God is as close as your next breath. Making a conscious choice to allow something that is indeed irritating become something that calls me to prayer is making a big difference in my very small life. A day may come when the HP thing gets removed from this computer. Heck...I think this computer is on its last legs sometimes, but in this meantime, this wonderful ordinary meantime, I'm grateful that I get a little random nudge to pray. Thanks be to God.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Puttin' on the Ritz
Last week I was fortunate enough to have one of those occasions where I got to appreciate my journey to date. The Episcopal Church is VERY fond of pulling out worship services for all sorts of occasions. We even have a whole companion to our prayer book, and that companion book is called The Book of Occasional Services. We are a liturgical people...and that often means receptions with food and wine. Amen!
Last week I was formally "installed" as the rector (senior clergy person) of St. Thomas. There's lots of words and prayers and chanting and Communion of course. It's a celebration of new ministry, but it gets shorthanded as "installation" which kind of makes me sound like an appliance...which in some ways is the work of a priest. We should be "plugged in" to our communities, function without needing much fussing over, perform our duties regularly, and be missed when we "go out" but also be quite replaceable.
As I was getting dressed for the installation service (and yes that means I bought a new jacket and new shoes..duh!) I was flooded with memories in one of those surreal "is this what it would be like to watch your life pass before you eyes" kinds of moments. I had used this really cute pin to hold back the lapel of my new jacket while it hung in the closet because I hate to iron and I think this jacket can't be ironed. (That's my story anyway) The pin I used is a sort of laminated Ritz cracker that has been dusted with sequins.
It was given to me by my beloved New Testament professor from my M. Div program in Austin. I think she gave it to me for my 40th birthday...a number of years ago. (What? I'm sure you are thinking this girl can't be 40! OK maybe you are not thinking that...but humor me)
As soon as I touched the pin to take it off the jacket I was immediately transported back to a time in the seminary chapel when this professor met with me and several of my female M.Div student friends. We gathered in a circle and practiced saying the liturgy. (We really do have to practice saying the liturgy even though we are "just" reading it out of the prayer book.) I remember crying almost uncontrollably, partly because I couldn't seem to get all the reading and the hand signals and the handling of the "stuff" coordinated....it really is kind of like learning to drive!
And I was crying because I thought, "really? I'm supposed to be a priest? Are you kidding?" This professor was, as always, kind and patient, attentive and loving...as she had been throughout my seminary career and as she continues to be. I made it through the rest of that "play church" time, composed myself, and heard her say, "you can do this."
As I touched that pin on my jacket I could hear her voice, and Iwas reminded too of a book we read in seminary called The Sacraments of Life by Leonardo Boff. It is an outstanding book that captures what anyone knows who has ever treasured some little cup or ornament that is on one level not very valuable but on another level is THE thing you would grab if your house was on fire. The ordinary things in our lives, a pin, a coffee mug, a box, can become Holy if we allow them to do so.
That little Ritz cracker pin reminds me of that dear professor, reminds me of my dear friends from seminary, reminds me of other professors and friends I've had over the years....all of whom shaped me. I'm so grateful to have had some moments in my life like graduations, a wedding (OK, two if you are counting), ordinations (two for sure), this installation, where I had the opportunity to pause and reflect on how I got to that particular moment.
I wish everyone had more moments like those! We should do more milestone marking in our culture. There's a lot to be said for occasions that cause us to stop and reflect and think, even for a moment, "wow...how did I get here? Who brought me to this time in my life?"
Even if some sort of celebration is not in your future, I hope that you are surrounded by completely "worthless" things that you can see and touch and remember people who have loved you. Things that you would grab in a fire. Things that are utterly sacramental, utterly tangible signs of God's endless grace.
Last week I was formally "installed" as the rector (senior clergy person) of St. Thomas. There's lots of words and prayers and chanting and Communion of course. It's a celebration of new ministry, but it gets shorthanded as "installation" which kind of makes me sound like an appliance...which in some ways is the work of a priest. We should be "plugged in" to our communities, function without needing much fussing over, perform our duties regularly, and be missed when we "go out" but also be quite replaceable.
As I was getting dressed for the installation service (and yes that means I bought a new jacket and new shoes..duh!) I was flooded with memories in one of those surreal "is this what it would be like to watch your life pass before you eyes" kinds of moments. I had used this really cute pin to hold back the lapel of my new jacket while it hung in the closet because I hate to iron and I think this jacket can't be ironed. (That's my story anyway) The pin I used is a sort of laminated Ritz cracker that has been dusted with sequins.
It was given to me by my beloved New Testament professor from my M. Div program in Austin. I think she gave it to me for my 40th birthday...a number of years ago. (What? I'm sure you are thinking this girl can't be 40! OK maybe you are not thinking that...but humor me)
As soon as I touched the pin to take it off the jacket I was immediately transported back to a time in the seminary chapel when this professor met with me and several of my female M.Div student friends. We gathered in a circle and practiced saying the liturgy. (We really do have to practice saying the liturgy even though we are "just" reading it out of the prayer book.) I remember crying almost uncontrollably, partly because I couldn't seem to get all the reading and the hand signals and the handling of the "stuff" coordinated....it really is kind of like learning to drive!
And I was crying because I thought, "really? I'm supposed to be a priest? Are you kidding?" This professor was, as always, kind and patient, attentive and loving...as she had been throughout my seminary career and as she continues to be. I made it through the rest of that "play church" time, composed myself, and heard her say, "you can do this."
As I touched that pin on my jacket I could hear her voice, and Iwas reminded too of a book we read in seminary called The Sacraments of Life by Leonardo Boff. It is an outstanding book that captures what anyone knows who has ever treasured some little cup or ornament that is on one level not very valuable but on another level is THE thing you would grab if your house was on fire. The ordinary things in our lives, a pin, a coffee mug, a box, can become Holy if we allow them to do so.
That little Ritz cracker pin reminds me of that dear professor, reminds me of my dear friends from seminary, reminds me of other professors and friends I've had over the years....all of whom shaped me. I'm so grateful to have had some moments in my life like graduations, a wedding (OK, two if you are counting), ordinations (two for sure), this installation, where I had the opportunity to pause and reflect on how I got to that particular moment.
I wish everyone had more moments like those! We should do more milestone marking in our culture. There's a lot to be said for occasions that cause us to stop and reflect and think, even for a moment, "wow...how did I get here? Who brought me to this time in my life?"
Even if some sort of celebration is not in your future, I hope that you are surrounded by completely "worthless" things that you can see and touch and remember people who have loved you. Things that you would grab in a fire. Things that are utterly sacramental, utterly tangible signs of God's endless grace.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Those darn digital cameras
Two very dear people gave me a digital camera (pink of course) back in May of 2009 when I finished by Doctor of Ministry. One of the dear people, Sandy, teased me a LOT about my propensity for using those disposable cameras. Sandy insisted that I take one giant step toward embracing the 21st century (and now look at me, I'm blogging and everything). These sweet friends were completely right of course, and now I am a digital camera nut! I have THOUSANDS of pictures stored on my lap top and have even...are you ready for this...learned how to manipulate, send, post, etc! Though you are not going to see any evidence of that on this blog post. Enough already! I can only handle so much technology at one time.j
A few weeks ago my sweet husband and I were doing our annual year-end pilgrimage to the beach. It seems to us to be the best possible place to end one year and begin another. We were taking pictures wildly of course with the aforementioned pink digital camera. It is a delight to be able to take all the pictures you want knowing that you can delete at any time! No more worrying if I will "miss' a great shot of something gorgeous or funny because I've "used up' all the film. (Kids you will have to look up the definition of film on Wikipedia or some such sight).
I am grateful for the wild abandon with which I can take pictures now and grateful for my sweet Austin friends who gave me this wonderful camera. It did, however, get me thinking...which is what you are paying for on this amazing blog...you ARE paying, right? HA HA.
I don't want to return to the disposable camera days, but I do want to make sure that I slow down and treasure the moments I am capturing on film. My digital camera allows me to take pictures without really thinking, which is a delightful wrinkle in the fabric of technology. The danger comes, of course, when I move through some experience without thinking.
No need to marvel at that seagull, I can take a million pictures later. No need to stop and appreciate how darn cute my husband looks when he's wading into the freezing cold water in Galveston bay and doesn't know I'm looking off our balcony at him. This won't be the last chance I'll have to snap that photo I think to myself.
And on the one hand I'm really glad for that. Glad that if I take 50 pictures of seagulls I haven't "used up" the film in my camera causing me to miss a great shot later. But on the other hand...I can get pretty careless because I know there's an (almost) unlimited supply of film/space/whatchmacalit on my digital camera.
I don't want to be careless as I move through life. I want to soak up what I see and experience around me and still hold onto some bit of that feeling of "is this worth my last frame of film?" I realize a person could take this to extremes! Let's don't do that. I'm not saying that I want to be afraid all the time or miss what's right in front of me because I'm waiting for that one big picture.
I'm just saying that I waste a lot of "film", and I hope in this new year I can be more thankful and aware. More aware of my words, my time, more aware and thankful for love, more aware of my faith....striving not to take any experience for granted. Never putting a person in the category of, "I can just delete him/her later".
Digital cameras are so fun and provide for instant gratification! I love that. But I hope in this new year to retain a little of the "old school"... a little of the feeling that keeps me grateful and protective of each moment, because it really could be the last opportunity I have to capture it. Blessings to you and yours in 2011.
A few weeks ago my sweet husband and I were doing our annual year-end pilgrimage to the beach. It seems to us to be the best possible place to end one year and begin another. We were taking pictures wildly of course with the aforementioned pink digital camera. It is a delight to be able to take all the pictures you want knowing that you can delete at any time! No more worrying if I will "miss' a great shot of something gorgeous or funny because I've "used up' all the film. (Kids you will have to look up the definition of film on Wikipedia or some such sight).
I am grateful for the wild abandon with which I can take pictures now and grateful for my sweet Austin friends who gave me this wonderful camera. It did, however, get me thinking...which is what you are paying for on this amazing blog...you ARE paying, right? HA HA.
I don't want to return to the disposable camera days, but I do want to make sure that I slow down and treasure the moments I am capturing on film. My digital camera allows me to take pictures without really thinking, which is a delightful wrinkle in the fabric of technology. The danger comes, of course, when I move through some experience without thinking.
No need to marvel at that seagull, I can take a million pictures later. No need to stop and appreciate how darn cute my husband looks when he's wading into the freezing cold water in Galveston bay and doesn't know I'm looking off our balcony at him. This won't be the last chance I'll have to snap that photo I think to myself.
And on the one hand I'm really glad for that. Glad that if I take 50 pictures of seagulls I haven't "used up" the film in my camera causing me to miss a great shot later. But on the other hand...I can get pretty careless because I know there's an (almost) unlimited supply of film/space/whatchmacalit on my digital camera.
I don't want to be careless as I move through life. I want to soak up what I see and experience around me and still hold onto some bit of that feeling of "is this worth my last frame of film?" I realize a person could take this to extremes! Let's don't do that. I'm not saying that I want to be afraid all the time or miss what's right in front of me because I'm waiting for that one big picture.
I'm just saying that I waste a lot of "film", and I hope in this new year I can be more thankful and aware. More aware of my words, my time, more aware and thankful for love, more aware of my faith....striving not to take any experience for granted. Never putting a person in the category of, "I can just delete him/her later".
Digital cameras are so fun and provide for instant gratification! I love that. But I hope in this new year to retain a little of the "old school"... a little of the feeling that keeps me grateful and protective of each moment, because it really could be the last opportunity I have to capture it. Blessings to you and yours in 2011.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
When is a bush just a bush?
I love the season of Advent even with all of the related craziness of preparing for Christmas. It is THE most graphic illustration of "in-between" time. At our house we still have a few stray pumpkins lying around, and an Advent mediation book out on the coffee table, and we have our pitiful blow up Santa in our yard because A. we heart Santa even if he does look this year like he's has many collapsed vertebrae and needs a titanium rod inserted and B. when some time off from work, the husband's energy level and good weather all line up on the same day you by golly get your Christmas decorations up even if it's Advent. All of that mixed up together is totally at the heart of Advent.
It's a season to celebrate both the right now and the not yet. We get all of those weird readings about the end of time and John the Baptist going postal on anyone within earshot and we will soon hear the joyous, familiar readings about angels and a young scared pregnant girl. Advent tells us to wait, to remain hopeful, to keep and eye out and Advent tells us to (like Cher in Moonstruck) snap out of it! Snap out of it and tend what needs tending right in front of you. (OK that's not really what Cher was talking about when she slaps Nicholas Cage in Moonstruck, but I love that snap out of it line and find it appropriate for Advent.)
At my dear St. Thomas parish I'm facilitating an Advent book study using my favorite book of all time: St. Benedict on the Freeway. I know I'm prone to exaggerate, but for real, I love love love this book. Corinne Ware is the author, and it was my great pleasure to know her when I lived in Austin. Her book, and I would say, her life, teach that God can be found every single day. God is present not only on those high and lofty occasions but in the nitty gritty every day. And if we practice a certain internal stillness we are more likely to "catch" God at work. As Corinne points out, it doesn't mean adding more stuff to our to-do list. It means, "seeing the daily in another Light."
Advent is a season that calls us to listen and look: look for ways God is speaking, look for ways God is loving even in the rush and crush of our daily 21st century Western speed obsessed culture.
BUT....(or as some of my former Bible study girls would hear me say so often...) COMMA...sometimes the burning bush is in fact something on fire that we need to tend to quickly! And sometimes the burning bush is right in front of us and we, like Moses, need to stop, take off our shoes, look and LISTEN.
I won't be able to tell you nor can you tell me exactly what kind of bush is on fire! It is the work of faith to listen and observe carefully enough that one can tell if it's time to run get that fire hose or if it's time to take off those shoes and hear the voice of God. And, just to confuse things even more, it might be both! Yikes!
I invite you now in this blessed season of Advent to carve out moments for quiet, moments for deep breathing, moments of thankfulness. And in the carving out I feel certain that God speaks and leads us to clarity. Peace! Rhoda
It's a season to celebrate both the right now and the not yet. We get all of those weird readings about the end of time and John the Baptist going postal on anyone within earshot and we will soon hear the joyous, familiar readings about angels and a young scared pregnant girl. Advent tells us to wait, to remain hopeful, to keep and eye out and Advent tells us to (like Cher in Moonstruck) snap out of it! Snap out of it and tend what needs tending right in front of you. (OK that's not really what Cher was talking about when she slaps Nicholas Cage in Moonstruck, but I love that snap out of it line and find it appropriate for Advent.)
At my dear St. Thomas parish I'm facilitating an Advent book study using my favorite book of all time: St. Benedict on the Freeway. I know I'm prone to exaggerate, but for real, I love love love this book. Corinne Ware is the author, and it was my great pleasure to know her when I lived in Austin. Her book, and I would say, her life, teach that God can be found every single day. God is present not only on those high and lofty occasions but in the nitty gritty every day. And if we practice a certain internal stillness we are more likely to "catch" God at work. As Corinne points out, it doesn't mean adding more stuff to our to-do list. It means, "seeing the daily in another Light."
Advent is a season that calls us to listen and look: look for ways God is speaking, look for ways God is loving even in the rush and crush of our daily 21st century Western speed obsessed culture.
BUT....(or as some of my former Bible study girls would hear me say so often...) COMMA...sometimes the burning bush is in fact something on fire that we need to tend to quickly! And sometimes the burning bush is right in front of us and we, like Moses, need to stop, take off our shoes, look and LISTEN.
I won't be able to tell you nor can you tell me exactly what kind of bush is on fire! It is the work of faith to listen and observe carefully enough that one can tell if it's time to run get that fire hose or if it's time to take off those shoes and hear the voice of God. And, just to confuse things even more, it might be both! Yikes!
I invite you now in this blessed season of Advent to carve out moments for quiet, moments for deep breathing, moments of thankfulness. And in the carving out I feel certain that God speaks and leads us to clarity. Peace! Rhoda
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
New Prayer Book
Howdy! That is THE word here in College Station home of Texas A & M---and---St. Thomas Episcopal Church, of course! I like howdy and the friendliness it conveys. Even
though I spent years living in Austin and...you know...rooting for that other football team...I am loving this community and all of the Brazos Valley. But no matter how friendly everyone has been, there is still no substitute for time. I am joyfully and painfully aware of that on Sundays in particular.
My sweet husband bought me a new Book of Common Prayer/Hymnal combo to celebrate this new chapter in our lives. Yes, we are dorks who buy things like that to celebrate new events. Rob also buys me jewelry and I buy him his favorite bourbon...we are dorks...not Philistines. And every Sunday I am aware of how stiff my new prayer book feels. I've been using it only 9 weeks.
The prayer book/hymnal I was using before was my original one. The priest who sponsored me for seminary bought it for me because at that point, over ten years ago now, $100 was out of reach. $100 now is not exactly "couch cushion" money, but a little more attainable. (Please note that the cost of the prayer book/hymnal combo has not, unlike other things, skyrocketed. Can I get an Amen?)
That original prayer book got me through my last year in seminary, my first years as a deacon then priest in Austin and went with me to Houston. Sometimes as I participated in worship at the Cathedral in Houston an old note would fall out of that aging, weathered prayer book. Once it was a funny little note by a kid I adored who was in the 7th grade at the time he wrote the note. When I found the note again on a Sunday in Houston I realized that little 7th grade boy was now in college. Most of the notes, wrinkled and smeared, had names on them.
Most of the notes were names of people I had loved whose funerals I officiated.
I'm always so anxious that I will say the name wrong...even of someone I knew for years!
So for every funeral I make sure there's a post it note with the person's name on it so I don't have one of those horrible blank moments during the service! There aren't that many things that can go wrong in an Episcopal funeral....we stick to that prayer book sister! But it would be awful if the priest blanked on the name of the dearly departed!
I hadn't realized how many of those notes were still stuck in various places in my prayer book. But I'm glad. Finding those notes added another little piece to the string that keeps me connected with all sorts of people, people both living and dead. Early in my two years at the Cathedral, I didn't feel connected to folks in that community at all. So sometimes finding those names in the middle of a worship service helped me remember that connection is not only possible but never ending. I was oddly encouraged even though that encouragement was tinged with some sadness.
By the end of my time in Houston, I was so grateful to have made connections with people. My prayer book had new names added to it and new notes from little kids. Notes and names that tumble out from time to time when I open my old prayer book at home.
My new prayer book is dear to me because my beloved gave it to me and because it symbolizes a new chapter in my ordained life. I will be glad when it's not so stiff, when the pages aren't so crisp, when some notes come tumbling
out. I certainly am not anxious for people I'm now serving to die of course! I am anxious, however, to be more deeply rooted in this place. This place I can already tell is so wonderful.
But of course, there is no substitute for time! I could run over this prayer book and make it look far more weathered than it does. But all that would do is ruin a perfectly good prayer book! I will have to use it, over and over. Hold it when I'm laughing, crying, griping, praying, day dreaming. Hold it, even as I hold this community. And one day, this prayer book too will serve as a reminder of all those I love. Peace, Rhoda
though I spent years living in Austin and...you know...rooting for that other football team...I am loving this community and all of the Brazos Valley. But no matter how friendly everyone has been, there is still no substitute for time. I am joyfully and painfully aware of that on Sundays in particular.
My sweet husband bought me a new Book of Common Prayer/Hymnal combo to celebrate this new chapter in our lives. Yes, we are dorks who buy things like that to celebrate new events. Rob also buys me jewelry and I buy him his favorite bourbon...we are dorks...not Philistines. And every Sunday I am aware of how stiff my new prayer book feels. I've been using it only 9 weeks.
The prayer book/hymnal I was using before was my original one. The priest who sponsored me for seminary bought it for me because at that point, over ten years ago now, $100 was out of reach. $100 now is not exactly "couch cushion" money, but a little more attainable. (Please note that the cost of the prayer book/hymnal combo has not, unlike other things, skyrocketed. Can I get an Amen?)
That original prayer book got me through my last year in seminary, my first years as a deacon then priest in Austin and went with me to Houston. Sometimes as I participated in worship at the Cathedral in Houston an old note would fall out of that aging, weathered prayer book. Once it was a funny little note by a kid I adored who was in the 7th grade at the time he wrote the note. When I found the note again on a Sunday in Houston I realized that little 7th grade boy was now in college. Most of the notes, wrinkled and smeared, had names on them.
Most of the notes were names of people I had loved whose funerals I officiated.
I'm always so anxious that I will say the name wrong...even of someone I knew for years!
So for every funeral I make sure there's a post it note with the person's name on it so I don't have one of those horrible blank moments during the service! There aren't that many things that can go wrong in an Episcopal funeral....we stick to that prayer book sister! But it would be awful if the priest blanked on the name of the dearly departed!
I hadn't realized how many of those notes were still stuck in various places in my prayer book. But I'm glad. Finding those notes added another little piece to the string that keeps me connected with all sorts of people, people both living and dead. Early in my two years at the Cathedral, I didn't feel connected to folks in that community at all. So sometimes finding those names in the middle of a worship service helped me remember that connection is not only possible but never ending. I was oddly encouraged even though that encouragement was tinged with some sadness.
By the end of my time in Houston, I was so grateful to have made connections with people. My prayer book had new names added to it and new notes from little kids. Notes and names that tumble out from time to time when I open my old prayer book at home.
My new prayer book is dear to me because my beloved gave it to me and because it symbolizes a new chapter in my ordained life. I will be glad when it's not so stiff, when the pages aren't so crisp, when some notes come tumbling
out. I certainly am not anxious for people I'm now serving to die of course! I am anxious, however, to be more deeply rooted in this place. This place I can already tell is so wonderful.
But of course, there is no substitute for time! I could run over this prayer book and make it look far more weathered than it does. But all that would do is ruin a perfectly good prayer book! I will have to use it, over and over. Hold it when I'm laughing, crying, griping, praying, day dreaming. Hold it, even as I hold this community. And one day, this prayer book too will serve as a reminder of all those I love. Peace, Rhoda
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Home
This blog post will be chock full of confessions. Sadly, these confessions are pretty boring. Sigh. I'd love to be an international woman of mystery, but I am simply a chubby middle aged Episcopal priest, and all of those words in that sentence are about all of the mystery I can handle. I sort of remember becoming an Episcopal priest but when did I get to be chubby and almost 48? Wow. But I digress.
First confession, I like country music. A lot. I like other music too. I like Michael Franti and Spearhead, I like Kings of Leon, I like opera, preached about that one day. And I even like rapper Flo Rida...OK..let me rephrase that...I like the stuff he can perform on the Today show which is probably about .1 of his actual repertoire, and I think if you use words like repertoire and rapper in the same sentence you are clearly middle aged and not cool. But back to country music.
There's a very touching song by Miranda Lambert called, "The House that Built Me". It's about her journey back to her childhood home and her desire to "take only a memory" from the place. The song recounts the places in the home where she did her homework, learned to play a guitar in a back bedroom, and buried a beloved childhood pet in the backyard. It's a really poignant song, and it's been on my mind a lot.
My dear husband Rob and I are moving from Houston to College Station (insert Aggie jokes here). We close on our new house in the middle of July. I am almost 48 years old (I know I told you that already, but see I forget things). This is the first house I have ever purchased. (OK there was that one time that I helped someone buy a very small very cheap $80,000 house outside of Austin and yes it was a huge mistake and I lost a lot of money so be careful before you do that with someone).
I have been so caught off guard by the emotions brought on by buying this house. It's been nerve wracking of course. I think we have signed a literal ton of paperwork. It's like going to the financial gynecologist to get a mortgage these days (unless you are a Russian spy then it's really easy). Every dollar we have ever spent, every dip in a salary, every increase in a salary, every credit card bill (gulp) everything is under such scrutiny. I knew all of that would be weird and hard. But I get a lump in my throat thinking about owning this house. And getting to own it with my beloved.
My house growing up was not a house of peace. There was violence and alcohol and fear. There were times of joy too, but the noise of fear and sadness still rings most loudly when I think about that house on 11th street in a small town in west Texas. So I don't really long to go back there. That house doesn't ground me the way the house in Miranda Lambert's song grounds her. I did drive by it one weekend went I went to my 20th high school reunion. ( o Good Lord..I just realized the 30th reunion is this summer!)
That childhood house is smaller than I remember because like all kids things seemed so much bigger than they were. I drove by our church having remembered that there were hundreds of steps leading up to the front door. I think really there were 30. It's a funny thing about our memories of home. We can romanticize them or over dramatize them. I think it's hard to remember things exactly as they were in many cases. We can't help but remember things through the lenses we now wear.
But the house where I grew up did shape me even if it doesn't function as a touchstone for me now. The people and events that took place in that house, I am convinced, make me a better priest and a better wife. I heard a wonderfully wise priest say once that "an awful lot of good has been done in the world because of my (his) dysfunction". Amen to that!
This house in College Station is beautiful...I mean really and truly...not just through a biased mortgage holder's eyes...but it's beautiful beyond the aesthetic. This house feels like the home I've always wanted. If the previous eight years of marriage are an indicator (and Dr. Phil says that past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior) then this house will be a house of peace. I think this is the house that I'll long to return to when the day comes that we leave College Station. I feel like I'm getting a giant "do-over" on the home front, and I am so deeply grateful.
I know that millions of people in the world will never be able to own a home so owning this one (even with all this debt) renews my enthusiasm for work like Habitat for Humanity and Episcopal Relief and Development. There are lots of statistics available about how much better children fare when their parents own a home. It's amazing what truth there is in the old cliche about the pride of home ownership. We have been so grateful to live in church owned housing our whole married life. It has enabled us to save a lot of money and retire some (yes, only some) of our debt (and by our I mean mine).
But there is something in owning this home that has given me a sense of freedom. I know you are thinking, just wait until you try and sell it. And I'm sure there are many headaches associated on that end. But for now, I feel like Rob and I are home in a way that I have never experienced. Ever. And that is so grounding that it makes me want to crank up the car radio and really belt out right along with Miranda. I probably won't bury a pet (what with the asthma and all...Rob would be burying me in the backyard if we had a pet), and I'm pretty sure I won't learn to play guitar in the "back bedroom". But I know that I will make memories in this new house in this new city and at this new church.
I am grateful for all that has gone before. I stand a much better chance of not taking one single light bulb or one single dinner for granted. Thanks be to God.
First confession, I like country music. A lot. I like other music too. I like Michael Franti and Spearhead, I like Kings of Leon, I like opera, preached about that one day. And I even like rapper Flo Rida...OK..let me rephrase that...I like the stuff he can perform on the Today show which is probably about .1 of his actual repertoire, and I think if you use words like repertoire and rapper in the same sentence you are clearly middle aged and not cool. But back to country music.
There's a very touching song by Miranda Lambert called, "The House that Built Me". It's about her journey back to her childhood home and her desire to "take only a memory" from the place. The song recounts the places in the home where she did her homework, learned to play a guitar in a back bedroom, and buried a beloved childhood pet in the backyard. It's a really poignant song, and it's been on my mind a lot.
My dear husband Rob and I are moving from Houston to College Station (insert Aggie jokes here). We close on our new house in the middle of July. I am almost 48 years old (I know I told you that already, but see I forget things). This is the first house I have ever purchased. (OK there was that one time that I helped someone buy a very small very cheap $80,000 house outside of Austin and yes it was a huge mistake and I lost a lot of money so be careful before you do that with someone).
I have been so caught off guard by the emotions brought on by buying this house. It's been nerve wracking of course. I think we have signed a literal ton of paperwork. It's like going to the financial gynecologist to get a mortgage these days (unless you are a Russian spy then it's really easy). Every dollar we have ever spent, every dip in a salary, every increase in a salary, every credit card bill (gulp) everything is under such scrutiny. I knew all of that would be weird and hard. But I get a lump in my throat thinking about owning this house. And getting to own it with my beloved.
My house growing up was not a house of peace. There was violence and alcohol and fear. There were times of joy too, but the noise of fear and sadness still rings most loudly when I think about that house on 11th street in a small town in west Texas. So I don't really long to go back there. That house doesn't ground me the way the house in Miranda Lambert's song grounds her. I did drive by it one weekend went I went to my 20th high school reunion. ( o Good Lord..I just realized the 30th reunion is this summer!)
That childhood house is smaller than I remember because like all kids things seemed so much bigger than they were. I drove by our church having remembered that there were hundreds of steps leading up to the front door. I think really there were 30. It's a funny thing about our memories of home. We can romanticize them or over dramatize them. I think it's hard to remember things exactly as they were in many cases. We can't help but remember things through the lenses we now wear.
But the house where I grew up did shape me even if it doesn't function as a touchstone for me now. The people and events that took place in that house, I am convinced, make me a better priest and a better wife. I heard a wonderfully wise priest say once that "an awful lot of good has been done in the world because of my (his) dysfunction". Amen to that!
This house in College Station is beautiful...I mean really and truly...not just through a biased mortgage holder's eyes...but it's beautiful beyond the aesthetic. This house feels like the home I've always wanted. If the previous eight years of marriage are an indicator (and Dr. Phil says that past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior) then this house will be a house of peace. I think this is the house that I'll long to return to when the day comes that we leave College Station. I feel like I'm getting a giant "do-over" on the home front, and I am so deeply grateful.
I know that millions of people in the world will never be able to own a home so owning this one (even with all this debt) renews my enthusiasm for work like Habitat for Humanity and Episcopal Relief and Development. There are lots of statistics available about how much better children fare when their parents own a home. It's amazing what truth there is in the old cliche about the pride of home ownership. We have been so grateful to live in church owned housing our whole married life. It has enabled us to save a lot of money and retire some (yes, only some) of our debt (and by our I mean mine).
But there is something in owning this home that has given me a sense of freedom. I know you are thinking, just wait until you try and sell it. And I'm sure there are many headaches associated on that end. But for now, I feel like Rob and I are home in a way that I have never experienced. Ever. And that is so grounding that it makes me want to crank up the car radio and really belt out right along with Miranda. I probably won't bury a pet (what with the asthma and all...Rob would be burying me in the backyard if we had a pet), and I'm pretty sure I won't learn to play guitar in the "back bedroom". But I know that I will make memories in this new house in this new city and at this new church.
I am grateful for all that has gone before. I stand a much better chance of not taking one single light bulb or one single dinner for granted. Thanks be to God.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Nine Long/Short Months
Have you started your Christmas shopping yet? Just kidding....don't send me angry emails. Yesterday, March 25th, was the Feast of the Annunciation. You know what that means...yep...9 months from now all the Christmas presents you haven't bought yet will be unwrapped and piled up in a corner or already in need of a good laundering or ready to be taken to the vet! (That last party might not just apply to clothing or Christmas pets either!)
The Church recognizes March 25th as the day that Mary began her amazing, weird, beautiful, difficult, miraculous journey toward delivering the baby Jesus. I love that the Church marks such a thing. Of course we cannot know for sure when (and some would argue if) any of these remarkable events take place. There's no incontrovertible evidence that Jesus was born on December 25th. The whole Christmas season as we know it gets developed LONG after the time of Jesus and was in many ways about taking over a pagan winter solstice festival...but I digress. And who knows if Jesus was a "full term" baby! We are presuming so which means March 25th to December 25th.
In the season leading up to Christmas Eve, the season of Advent, we get the reading about the angel Gabriel appearing to Mary on that last Sunday of Advent. Then a few days later it's Christmas Eve and we have a sweet little pageant with small children in bathrobes and tinsel halos and a plastic baby Jesus doll held...depending on who Mary is that year....with varying degrees of tenderness. Sometimes the young actor carries the Jesus doll down the aisle by its hair...and sometimes the Mary child holds that doll like it is truly her precious baby. So given that most of us don't hear the Annunciation reading from Scripture until just a few days before Christmas eve, it is easy to forget that the very real, very young girl most likely had to spend more than a few days pregnant!
From my friends and family members who have been pregnant I know that the time of gestation feels both long and short. I know women get exhausted and elated, have trouble getting comfortable enough to sleep, and sometimes lack energy to do anything but sleep. It's a roller coaster of joy and anxiety, expectation and worry...and that's under the best of circumstances! Factor in a young unmarried girl in a time and place when unmarried pregnant girls could be stoned and that is one wild ride of a pregnancy!
It's a perfect reminder here in the season of Lent...a perfect metaphor for our journey of faith in this Holy season and beyond. The nurture of faith, like the nurture of a growing fetus takes time...a lot of time. I am, perhaps like some of you, impatient. I too live in an email/microwave/text messaging culture (although that text messaging business doesn't look too cool or go very quickly when I have to put my readers on to see the tiny little screen with those tiny little letters).
I love that right smack in these final days of Lent we read about the Angel Gabriel's wild announcement to Mary. In my head I hear that cartoon screech sound like when Bugs Bunny or some other character slides to a halt and sparks fly out from his feet. And after the initial shock of " O M G!! I'll have to buy Christmas presents again"...I take a deep breath and think for a while about the daily preparation that Mary had to make. One day at a time...morning sickness..growing belly...whispers around the village....Joseph standing by her...one day at a time the Blessed child grew and grew inside of her. And we too are called...one day at a time...one day at a time to nurture God within us... to nurture our faith bit by bit. Some days we may find ourselves nauseous all day...some days we have energy and excitement and can't stop smiling...some days we cannot rest for all the turmoil in our minds and bodies...some days we wonder if we can go on. All of that...all of that bit by bit moving us deeper and deeper into a life with God. Deeper and deeper to that which we too shall birth one day.
May you find peace in this season and every season, Rhoda
The Church recognizes March 25th as the day that Mary began her amazing, weird, beautiful, difficult, miraculous journey toward delivering the baby Jesus. I love that the Church marks such a thing. Of course we cannot know for sure when (and some would argue if) any of these remarkable events take place. There's no incontrovertible evidence that Jesus was born on December 25th. The whole Christmas season as we know it gets developed LONG after the time of Jesus and was in many ways about taking over a pagan winter solstice festival...but I digress. And who knows if Jesus was a "full term" baby! We are presuming so which means March 25th to December 25th.
In the season leading up to Christmas Eve, the season of Advent, we get the reading about the angel Gabriel appearing to Mary on that last Sunday of Advent. Then a few days later it's Christmas Eve and we have a sweet little pageant with small children in bathrobes and tinsel halos and a plastic baby Jesus doll held...depending on who Mary is that year....with varying degrees of tenderness. Sometimes the young actor carries the Jesus doll down the aisle by its hair...and sometimes the Mary child holds that doll like it is truly her precious baby. So given that most of us don't hear the Annunciation reading from Scripture until just a few days before Christmas eve, it is easy to forget that the very real, very young girl most likely had to spend more than a few days pregnant!
From my friends and family members who have been pregnant I know that the time of gestation feels both long and short. I know women get exhausted and elated, have trouble getting comfortable enough to sleep, and sometimes lack energy to do anything but sleep. It's a roller coaster of joy and anxiety, expectation and worry...and that's under the best of circumstances! Factor in a young unmarried girl in a time and place when unmarried pregnant girls could be stoned and that is one wild ride of a pregnancy!
It's a perfect reminder here in the season of Lent...a perfect metaphor for our journey of faith in this Holy season and beyond. The nurture of faith, like the nurture of a growing fetus takes time...a lot of time. I am, perhaps like some of you, impatient. I too live in an email/microwave/text messaging culture (although that text messaging business doesn't look too cool or go very quickly when I have to put my readers on to see the tiny little screen with those tiny little letters).
I love that right smack in these final days of Lent we read about the Angel Gabriel's wild announcement to Mary. In my head I hear that cartoon screech sound like when Bugs Bunny or some other character slides to a halt and sparks fly out from his feet. And after the initial shock of " O M G!! I'll have to buy Christmas presents again"...I take a deep breath and think for a while about the daily preparation that Mary had to make. One day at a time...morning sickness..growing belly...whispers around the village....Joseph standing by her...one day at a time the Blessed child grew and grew inside of her. And we too are called...one day at a time...one day at a time to nurture God within us... to nurture our faith bit by bit. Some days we may find ourselves nauseous all day...some days we have energy and excitement and can't stop smiling...some days we cannot rest for all the turmoil in our minds and bodies...some days we wonder if we can go on. All of that...all of that bit by bit moving us deeper and deeper into a life with God. Deeper and deeper to that which we too shall birth one day.
May you find peace in this season and every season, Rhoda
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