Christmas Tree

Occassionally I have good ideas. Even more infrequently I'm very insightful. Mostly, I'm just pretty average. As a first- born hero child, I have quite an attachement to perfection. I'm also the child of an alcoholic; so I really want you to like me. Part of the challenge about having this blog is that I've put alot of pressure on myself to "have something worth saying, " or just be quiet. As I re-enter the world of writing, I'm going to try really hard 1) not to write for you, and 2) not care too much what you think. (Not caring at all is unrealistic; I'm not even going there.) At least for now, for so many reasons, writing needs to be for me. Today, I'm writing with no great spiritual insight or talk through some cool experience I had...I just want to write about my Christmas tree!

I've always adored Christmas. As an adult with my own place, I've taken great pride and greater joy decorating for the season. I especially love putting up the tree (though not so much love in taking it down). It goes up every year just before we travel for Thanksgiving. After I lug a dozen boxes down from the attic, I crank up the volume on Christmas music. and get busy Sometimes, I forego the tunes and watch a beloved Christmas cartoon. My favorite is the Grinch Who Stole Christmas. And I bake sugar cookies. It's the smell I love and just seems necessary. Sadly, though, no cookies were baked this year. My husband is not so much into this whole production, so I end up doing it by myself. Kind of a drag, but I guess I've accepted it. We have lots of ornaments and I use 8 strands of lights, so it takes some time to get everything done. I'm always so happy when I'm finished (tired too!). It's so beautiful. This year I starting thinking about all the memories that this tree holds. The tree itself and many of the glass balls are from my first marraige. Wes's family gave all the kids an ornanement for Christmas every year. So, we have quite a few from his childhood. As a former teacher, I have many ornaments that were given to me by students. Some of those are sweet reminders of friends I've long since lost touch with. Then there are ornanements that Wes, TJ and I paint every year. I started this tradition when we got married. It's was just something fun to do together since the boys go on a "trimming the tree" strike every year. They usually complain about the painting, but comply. It's fun and we now have quite a collection of interestingly painted wooden ornaments. All in all, I have a thing of beauty that brings me to pause, remember days gone by, loved ones and precious memories.

8 months later...

I'm back. Or at least I hope so. It's been a long year and I've really missed writing. I just haven't had the inspiration or energy. It's been a year of sadness, depression, beautiful surprises, irony and new paths.

Writing for me has always been the means by which I hear my soul. She speaks her voice through my pen. Surprisingly, writing has been the very thing I've resisted for the past several months. As I sat in church last Sunday, I felt it was time to resume writing. I hoped I would make this entry on Sunday, the first Day of Advent. Alas, it's Wednesday. I didn't grow up in a religious tradition that recognized Advent. I've only been learning and participating in this time during the last several years. And now, I love Advent. Advent affirms the parts of life that seldom get attention: waiting, expecting, listening...being still. I feel drawn to let Advent lead me back here. And so, Advent begs the questions, "What am I expecting?" "What am I waiting for?" Maybe it's not the expectation of any certain thing to come to pass, or a wish to come true. Perhaps it's an openness to the Divine...the unexpected...the miracles.

You are welcome to join me this Advent season. I would love to hear your stories of expectation, and encountering the Divine.

Namaste.

Catching up

As Lent began I had a renewed desire and intention to return to the writing of my blog. I've missed writing regularly and being connected to those who read. Alas, this is the 1st I've written since the Lenten season began. I've simply had little desire write, and honestly, many other things I truly enjoy. In the last couple of weeks, I've become increasingly aware of an inner restlessness. Most days I don't feel especially centered or grounded; though I may be very productive and feel as if my day went well. I've noticed a reluctance to be still or quiet for any substantial period of time. I flit and flutter from one thing to another whether it be physical or only in my head. At a deep level, or perhaps just intellectually, I know what this is. It's familiar; I've been here before. It's grief. Plain and simple, good old-fashioned grief. Last week marked 3 months since my dear friend's passing. It was around the 2 month mark that the veil of surrealism began to lift. His absence was beginning to feel wickedly real. I speak of him often, and even do things to intentionally honor or remember him. Done, perhaps, without the full attention of my heart. In the last week or so, I've felt this resistance to reality harder to keep at bay. Tears creep through for no particular reason, or at the occurrence of something completely benign, such as our college alma mater reaching the Sweet 16 round of Men, and Women's College Basketball Tournament. I went through a similar grief process after my father died. There was a period of time that was restless, and a time of feeling very paralyzed. So, I know what to expect. I know what to expect. Knowing and embracing are worlds apart.

I also have to acknowledge that this loss coincides with other grief in my life. I think I will withhold the fine details here, but just to say that I feel the grief of a lifelong dream that has not yet become reality. And conventional wisdom would say that I am in the twilight of seeing my dream come true. This, too, is a reality ( in most moments) I choose not to fully feel. But the very marrow of my existence knows my loss, my longings and my sadness; even if my mind refuses to acknowldge.

The Lenton season is, in part, a reminder of desert times. This metaphor is not lost in my life right now. I suppose there isn't much to do in the desert but just be. Wandering? Yes. Searching? Yes. Nothing that seemingly sustains? Yes. Yet, this place serves a necessary purpose. I don't know much about ecology, but I suspect the deserts throughout the earth serve a purpose for all life. Somehow the earth would be adversely affected were it not for these barren lands. And so, I trust God that this is surely true in my life.

I was reading this morning from one of my favorite prayer books, The Celtic Wheel of the Year. It tapped yet another little crack in this defense I've been carrying.


MORNING INVOCATION:
Deep down and darkly down, there you are
there in the core where the world turns,
here in my marrow where no one sees.
May I feel your touch in my flesh,
especially when I seem to have no skin.
May I feel your strength in my muscle,
especially when I have no fight.
May I feel you down to my bones,
when I can come no other way.
Go beyond my bones when all has run dry.
May you remain there at the seat of my deepest desire,
present when I have forgotten my passion,
Be my comfort and my stay as I move through the world this day.

OPENING OUT:
O,Vunerable One who hears our cry,
be with each person this day who is wandering their own lonely desert.
Encircle with your love
those who know there are no short-cuts,
who cannot go round but must go through.
Thank you that we do not get to the garden,
until we have travelled through this featureless barren terrain.
For this is not a detour for the unlucky,
but the touching bottom of being alive,
where we must reckon with what is.

BLESSING:
When all seems hollow bless me.
When all seems broken bless me.
When you seem like a mirage bless me.
When I know you are not there bless me.
When I do not care if you are, bless me.
Take me unkempt face in your hands,
smudged and grimy from the road
and stroke your blessing into my features,
for you will never turn away a broken spirit.

Ash Wednesday

Over the last several years, I've practiced the observance of Lent. Growing up in the Southern Baptist tradition as I did, we did not observe this season. I'm not sure I had even heard the word until I was in my 20's. Even still, it has become an annual ritual of mine and one that I eagerly anticpate. It is a time for me of reflection, repentance, rest and restoration (That sounds so "preacher-like"! I promise the alliteration was unintended!) I'll share more in the coming days of what I'm choosing to "let go of." At it's essence, it involves a slowing down. A slowing down of mind, body and spirit. I need this. For today, I simply leave you with a prayer. I discovered this prayer a couple of weeks ago as I was reading of Lenten and Ash Wednesday practices. It feels like a good way to begin.

Prayer of Saint Ephrem, the Syrian

O Lord and Master of my life, keep from me the spirit of indifference and discouragement, lust of power and idle chatter. [kneel/prostration]

Instead, grant to me, Your servant, the spirit of wholeness of being, humble-mindedness, patience, and love. [kneel/prostration]

O Lord and King, grant me the grace to be aware of my sins and not to judge my brother; for You are blessed now and ever and forever. Amen. [kneel/prostration]


Grace and peace to you.

Happy New Year

The entrance into a new year has been quite slow. The two weeks leading up to January 1 were so fraught with busyness and emotion, it's taken awhile to recuperate. And I'm just beginning to really feel the loss of my friend and navigate this grief. A time will come when I can process some of that here, but I'm not ready for that just yet.

The day before David's memorial, a friend and writer shared a poem on his blog that I've been reading daily. The poem was taken from Guerrillas Of Grace: Prayers For The Battle .

Guide Me into an Unclenched Moment

Gentle me,
Holy One,
into an unclenched moment,
a deep breath,
a letting go
of heavy expectancies,
of shriveling anxieties,
of dead certainties,
that, softened by the silence,
surrounded by the light,
and open to the mystery,
I may be found by wholeness,
upheld by the unfathomable,
entranced by the simple,
and filled with the joy
that is you.


Perhaps one of my greatest struggles is living my life with an "clenched fist." A feeling at times of desperation or anxiety for something to be different, a prayer to be answered, a circumstance to be changed. I don't pray to be rich, or famous, or anything extravagant (at least in my opinion!). I just hope for dreams to become realty, for example. Not too much to ask, right? And then again, I may be too hard on myself. For this "clenched fist" syndrome may just be a part of the human condition. The truth is, I'm a fairly peaceful person. I have learned the beauty of acceptance and faith. I know the pentrating tranquility in my soul that comes from breathing deeply and truly believeing that all is well. And yet, I worry how taxes will be paid, or how much longer I'll have to work two jobs, or if TJ will make it through track season without injury, or if (fill in the blank).

"Dear God, just for today, guide me into an unclenched moment...or maybe even more than one."

David Gentiles Day

Today I’m gathering with family and friends to honor the life of a great man, David Anthony Gentiles. David is one of my dearest friends for the last 16 years. He had a freak accident 2 weeks ago and died on December 18. David turned 58 years old just after Thanksgiving. He has three amazing daughters: Ariele, Hannah and Calla.

David is one of the most beloved and adored people I’ve ever known. He served in churches for over 30 years; primarily as a youth minister. Literally, hundreds of men and women from his youth groups would say that David changed their life. As one who volunteered in youth ministries since I was in college, I learned the most about ministry from David. His approach ministry was simple: build relationships and love kids. Nothing else was important. Anyone who knew him or worked with him, saw this in action. It wasn’t just a philosophy, it was the way he lived his life.

We shared many similar paths: a Southern Baptist upbringing. We often joked about some of those memories: Bible drills, GA programs and Vacation Bible School rituals. We both have been through divorce. He and I talked regularly when he became a single dad raising 3 young girls. He was worried and scared. He also turned out to be one of the greatest parents I’ve known. (I put him on my speed dial when TJ came to live with us. I called him A LOT!!) David took me to dinner and a movie the day my divorce was final. (that movie later proved to be a long-standing joke for us. I'll share that story another day.) When I started dating again, he was the person I called to share how a date went. He supported stories of "this guy was a total bore" or share in my excitement if things went well. And for a while, I was invited to share in the Saturday morning ritual of pancakes with him and his daughters. I even took a road trip with them once. Big fun. He helped me change the oil in my car (ok, he actually did the work but I was there). David and I shared many retreats, discipleship weekends, VBS and youth camps; amazing memories and funny stories. Telling stories of the legendary Country Camp may never quite be the same. We also knew what it was like to work for the church. It was during college that David began his work in the church, as did I. Although, David went on to devote his education and career to youth ministry. It’s only been in recent years that both he and I found an authentic beauty in a church that I think we both knew could exist, but never realized was actually possible.

David baptized me. Married me. Sat in a hospital waiting room for me -twice. Watched football games in my home. He was the emergency contact I list right after my husband. We both cheered for the Baylor Bears, even when we knew they wouldn’t win.

Two of my favorite characteristics of David, and the legacies I will remember the most…One is David’s deep, deep compassion for others. Especially for the outsiders, or the poor and mistreated. He modeled this for me and slowly, over the years, my fears or lack of comfort with those who are different than me is fading. I think perhaps his most striking attribute is his ability- his gift- to make everyone feel like they were special to him; that their relationship with David was unique. There is no doubt that each person who comes to his service today, or posts a note on Facebook, or looks through old photographs feels this way. That gift reflects paying attention, being present, really listening…part of everyday, just living life David Gentiles.

The memorial is being held at a baseball field. David was an avid baseball fan; it’s so perfect. I’ll be wearing my Baylor University baseball cap. Afterwards, an open house is being held at our church to visit with friends and pay homage to all things David, “The David Gentiles Experience.” His daughters have promised the most “badass-est” memorial ever. It is well on track for this goal. I was there for awhile yesterday helping his daughters and other dear friends prepare this space. It’s beautiful, and yet the cloud of surrealism slowly began to lift as I was there. I’m beginning to feel the heaviness of the sadness in my heart. I said good-bye to David at his bedside, but I know from experience that saying good-bye is really a process and it’s going to take awhile. I spoke to him or saw him several times a week; sometimes daily. He is the person I called or texted when a Baylor sport did something miraculous. He is one of the first people I called when I needed to talk. He was my partner in ministry: helping to plan, create, or brainstorm. He sat with me every Sunday morning in youth Bible Study. Yes, this is going to take awhile.

I know today will be a wonderful day of celebrating an amazing life and legacy. My sadness will take a back seat today as I hear stories, share my own memories, eat his favorite foods, hear his favorite music (from his massive LP collection!) and hug friends I haven’t seen in years.

This is going to be a good day, my friend. It’s all for you. Thank you for you love and amazing friendship. You always have a cherished place in my heart.


(for another wonderful tribute to David, read Eileen Flynn’s story in the Austin American Statesman. )

Advent

Yesterday marked the beginning of Advent. A season of waiting, expectation, anticipation. I started my morning by reading the newest blog from my friend and woman extraordinaire, Julie Clawson. She writes, “As joy arrived and dwelt among us, we discovered that there is meaning in the waiting.” Ah, yes. I’m learning over and over that the lessons in life; the richness of life comes not when we reach our destination, but rather on our journey in getting there. I find myself in personal season of waiting. Waiting for a dream; waiting for yearnings fulfilled. I suspect I’m not alone in finding that waiting can be difficult. Our fast-paced, instant gratification culture does not encourage patience. Today I asked myself, “What am I gaining from this time of waiting?” If we’re paying attention, there are always lessons. Some of mine are new lessons; others gentle reminders. I’ve learned that I’m stronger than I sometimes give myself credit for. I’m learning about the incredible power of community and being loved. I am so richly blessed with amazing friends. Gratitude is transformational. This is not a new lesson for me, but I’m continually astounded at the magic this simple act creates. Perhaps the most beautiful and comforting reminder is the constant presence of God. This isn’t a new realization for me either. Nor is this an idealistic, Sunday School answer. I’m just amazed. The ever-present communion with the Almighty God is one of the few things that I believe in without waiver. The Creator of all living things, vast and small, became flesh and blood and dwelled among us. And God hasn’t left. Recently, I’ve been rethinking some ideas that I’ve held about prayer. The answer to a prayer isn’t necessarily the moment when the “thing” you’ve prayed for finally happens. Perhaps the answers come simply in the act of praying. I’m aware of the presence of God in the asking, the questioning, the crying, or the disappointment. At times, it seems as though God is more evident in the searching than in the finding. For this period of waiting for me, I find this to be true. And I’m grateful. If I only found God at the end of the road, I suspect I would rarely finish the journey. Esther De Wall writes in The Celtic Way of Prayer, “I shall not find Christ at the end of the journey unless he accompanies me along the way.” At a time when answers are allusive, there is still laughter, hope, and happiness. This is the mystery of God…happiness in the midst of sadness, a glimmer of hope among despair, a smile through the tears. Still…waiting is difficult. Even my firm belief in God does not interfere with my struggle. Today, I’m finding comfort in the journey and in the anticipation of miracles, both seen and unseen, that are being born in me. Welcome Advent.