Have you ever watched a dog sleep? It is an amusing spectacle, observing them twitch and shake and grimace, eyes rolling back in their heads as they drift off to their dreams of chasing rabbits and going for walks and, it seems, the occasional nightmare as well.
They always seem to have one eye open, ready for anything that may come up which requires their attention, and hopefully, participation. Their enthusiasm for life is both irritating and inspiring.
They sleep in the most ridiculous positions, twisted and torqued, heads hanging every which way, tongue often drooping from their mouths as they give way to the inevitable. They never seem to mind their circumstances - they are as at home on the grass or the sidewalk as on the living room sofa.
Dogs are uninhibited about their sleeping. They do not care if they have gotten up for the day just a few minutes ago. They constantly doze off if they are not being entertained, preparing themselves for their next spurt of activity.
The old saying, let sleeping dogs lie, makes a lot of sense to me. I have a Jack Russell Terrier mix, and when he is at rest, the house is peaceful. If he is awake, there is a whirlwind of noise and activity. He is enthusiastic about his life and his job in the family circle. He is constantly on the lookout for interlopers so he can raise the alarm. He is a whirling dervish when he wants something, running in circles, barking loudly, to let you know he is excited and anxiously awaiting your next move. He is in my face, ever present, constantly seeking my attention and approval.
I also have a Papillion, a beautiful little dog that is charming, smart, and interested in everything all the time. He will fall asleep anywhere, but always has one ear cocked, and his eyes are never fully closed. He is ready for anything, and will join his "brother" in raising the alarm, and my blood pressure, whenever the need arises. He is ever present at my ankle, a constant companion who doesn't let me get out of his sight.
I have been reminded lately how much those little creatures mean to me, and how much more full my life is because they are in it. It is easy for me to understand why nursing homes love to have dogs come in to visit the residents. They bring a sense of bonhomie that cannot be found any other way. We are connected in an almost spiritual sense, as they watch my every move, trying to anticipate what I'm going to do next, so they can be prepared for anything.
Dogs are always eager to be petted and fussed over. They listen attentively and never spill the secrets you share with them. They love with careless abandon, unafraid of who knows where they place their trust. Their only agenda is making you happy, [well, that and getting a treat,] but they will love you even if you don't come up with anything.
I have been blessed with some very special dogs in my life, but some are more special than others. They connect with you in a way that seems almost super-human, and you know they understand you and love you even at your worst. They lick your tears and sit in your lap and lay with you when you are sick or in need. They will alert you to trouble brewing, and they will protect you with their very life, if necessary.
Today, I am happy to be sitting on my sofa next to two dogs that make my life more complete. I am happy to have them both here - they provide quiet companionship with very little demand in return. They are a nuisance at times, a lot of work and time and effort, but they return everything I give them a hundred-fold and more.
I went for a walk the other night without my usual canine companion, and found it boring and dull. Although I walked the usual route, and saw the same things I see every time I make my rounds, it simply wasn't the same without him. I didn't realize how much he adds to the walk, just by being with me, until he wasn't there.
One of the qualities I like best about dogs is that they never hesitate to make the extravagant gesture. They don't worry about how you will receive their attentions or whether you will like them as they are. They assume that they are good enough, and want to carry you along with their enthusiasm while they are at it. They give you everything they have, and they throw themselves into whatever they are doing with enthusiasm. They are extravagant in the way they live their lives, and I think they have a richer life for it.
I don't often see people making the extravagant gesture any more. Years ago, there were cards and heartfelt letters sent just to remind someone you were thinking of them. There were hours spent around the television watching wholesome programs you didn't have to be embarrassed to explain to your six year old. People played board games and card games and spent time dining and conversing together, uninterrupted by the vibrating cell phone in their pocket alerting them to all the possibilities of which they might be missing out.
My dogs remind me how impersonal the world has become. Despite the ability to be connected 24/7, we seem to interact less than ever before. I would like to see a return to that quaint time when the person right there with you was more important than the message on your smart phone. I would like to have a conversation with someone willing to look me in the eye and show me they are engaged and paying attention while we talk, rather than having one eye on their e-mail messages and the other on the clock. It would be lovely to see people dining without a cell phone sitting on the table or jangling in the pocket.
Life is very short. We do not know when we will draw our last breath. When that moment comes, who is most important to you? The person at the other end of a text message, or the person who is there holding your hand?
I think one reason people are so attached to their dogs today is the sheer level of attention they pay to us, a quality which is rarely found between people any more. They are never multi-tasking while they are with us - we are it, and they are oblivious to all else.
My college-aged daughter recently deactivated her facebook account. I don't know exactly what prompted her to do that, but I asked her recently if she misses it. She didn't even pause before she told me she doesn't miss it at all. It surprised me, because I think most people, especially those her age, would miss their facebook a lot.
But these days she is more focused on spending quality time in person with the many friends she has made in college and on the job instead of spending her hours perusing the daily doings of people she barely knows. I think she may be on to something.
Social media, like Facebook, aren't bad in and of themselves. They allow people to be in touch, share pictures and life events, in a way that we never could before. It enhances our lives to be able to participate, even if from afar, in events that are important in our lives.
But at the same time, the more hours you spend on social media, the less hours you have to spend in person with people who matter to you. My daughter is a smart girl, and she has chosen to focus on the people in her life who are important to her. She calls instead of facebook messaging. She wants to have conversations instead of tweets or e-mails. She is less interested in having an impersonal relationship for the world to see and comment upon than she used to be, and has found it is more fun spending real time with real friends instead.
These days, she focuses her time and attention on those who matter most to her, and it is paying off. She is building solid foundations with people who are important in her life, and she is finding it fulfilling. If she wants to know how someone is doing, she calls or texts to ask them directly, instead of gleaning the information from an impersonal web page. If she needs something, she calls and talks instead of e-mailing or chatting online. She takes time to see people in person, to spend time with them in meaningful activities, to experience the world with the other people who share it with her.
We will never go back to a world before Facebook and Twitter, and I don't suppose we have to. But it is reassuring that even in the younger, more electronically savvy generation, some young people have discovered the difference between online friendship and the real thing.
Maybe that is why she is so good at working with dogs and their owners. She puts the person into personal, and builds the relationship from there.
I have forgotten how to live the extravagant life. It is not about money; you cannot buy friendship or love or happiness. Calling someone, sending a card, giving a hug, focusing my attention on the person I am with and allowing the text to sit until I am finished - those are my goals. I want to experience life first hand, not through a million online eyes that don't really matter to me.
This week, join me in the quest for the extravagant life. Smile at everyone, look people in the eye and ignore the cell phone when you are talking to someone, hug your kid or your spouse or your pet every day, call your mother, send a card to your friend that is struggling. If you are extravagant towards others with your personal attention, I trust that the investment will be repaid many times over.
That's the kind of extravagant world I want to live in, today and for always.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
When you are a mom, every day is Mother's Day.....
On an early August morning 26 years ago, I gained 7 pounds 3 ounces of wisdom I couldn't get any way other than having my first child. Suddenly, I had a window into the world of my mom, and it's been a journey unlike any other ever since.
Until you become a mother, you have no way to know what it feels like, and once you are a mother, you cannot go back to the ignorant bliss that you once enjoyed. It is a turning of the kaleidoscope, a quantum change in your universe. For better and for worse, you are a mother for life, and it's a wonderful, scary, overwhelming, joyful, terrifying, beautiful thing.
My own mother engaged in false advertising. She made it look so easy, the ups and downs of parenting. Perhaps it is better that way - perpetuating the illusion, so the human race doesn't die out.
But it is not easy, this parenting gig. I think that's the real reason we celebrate high school graduation with such gusto. We are celebrating our own survival as much as their passage into adulthood, and it's a big deal for all concerned.
It is hard to believe how quickly the years have passed in my transformation from Mama to Mommy to Mooooom to Mom. I have always done my best to raise my children to understand what is expected from them, in life, in love, in friendship, in work, in whatever place they find themselves. I have worked hard to model appropriate behavior in friendship, love, employment and free time. I have worked hard, loved much, cared deeply, embraced the life I have been given in whatever circumstances I find myself. I hope those lessons have been noted and will be acted upon.
I have made many mistakes - sadly, there is no one "right" answer to parenting, and I have made full use of trial and error. I have yelled when I should have listened. I have hesitated where I should have led. I have failed to rise to the occasion where I should have, and I have barged into situations that would have been best left alone. I have protected when I should have exposed, and allowed more when less would have been better.
I have always believed that children are born with their personality already formed, and my job has been to direct and guide and advise, coaching them as they head onto the playing field of life. As they reach adulthood, I am no longer as much an active participant, and the life lessons they have learned and had modeled will have to suffice.
It is hard, letting go of the leadership role, and becoming a passive observer. But it is rewarding as well, because that is when you see the results of the job you have done. And far more often than not, you will find those results exceed your wildest dreams. It is thrilling and rewarding. It makes every sour moment even sweeter, because you know what you have overcome.
My mother has been the perfect role model for me all my life. From the moment she plucked me out of my uncertain beginnings until this day, she has been the constant element in a life unevenly lived. She is always there with her love, support, wisdom, strength and courage, and she has set an impossible bar for me to reach in my own parenting.
I have watched my mother struggle through every hardship life could throw her way, and she remains optimistic, cheerful, faithful, undaunted by any obstacle. She is amazing and ridiculously wonderful, and I will never deserve her, but will always be eternally grateful to call her my own.
I am also most fortunate in my own children, who have provided me with life lessons galore, and have taught me patience and wisdom and courage and selflessness in ways I could never have imagined. Their sorrows weigh on my heart like an anchor, and their joys make my spirit soar. They have uplifted me when I was down, and pulled me along in their wake when I felt like sinking.
In the journey of life, mothers and children are about more than simply parenting. We get something from the relationship we cannot find anywhere else. No matter how far we go, no matter how long we are separated, even death cannot break the bonds that are formed when our mothers shower us with their love and attention.
One year ago, I watched my daughter walk out of her childhood and into her life as an adult. She has transformed, utterly, into a young woman who is everything I ever hoped for, and a whole lot more of which I never even dared to dream.
She has found her direction, she has embraced her passion for living, she has struggled and survived and fulfilled and exceeded. She has learned to be independent and organized and self-directive and successful, and she has done it on the strength of her own character.
Seven years ago, my son made the same walk that began his transformation, and it has been equally amazing. Although his path has been entirely his own, it has been exhilarating to see him becoming the young man I always knew he could be. He is following his dreams, and his path, while uneven, is moving ahead. It is impossible to ask for more than seeing your child graze the stars he is reaching for with his fingertips.
Watching your child succeed and achieve is the most delicious thing life has to offer, and I am thrilled to have tasted it, twice over. I am truly blessed in my children, and I think I have my mother to thank for the relationship I have with them today.
Happy belated Mother's Day to all the mothers who make that day possible, and to all the children who make that day one worth celebrating. Mothers and their children are truly a reason to celebrate, every day!
Until you become a mother, you have no way to know what it feels like, and once you are a mother, you cannot go back to the ignorant bliss that you once enjoyed. It is a turning of the kaleidoscope, a quantum change in your universe. For better and for worse, you are a mother for life, and it's a wonderful, scary, overwhelming, joyful, terrifying, beautiful thing.
My own mother engaged in false advertising. She made it look so easy, the ups and downs of parenting. Perhaps it is better that way - perpetuating the illusion, so the human race doesn't die out.
But it is not easy, this parenting gig. I think that's the real reason we celebrate high school graduation with such gusto. We are celebrating our own survival as much as their passage into adulthood, and it's a big deal for all concerned.
It is hard to believe how quickly the years have passed in my transformation from Mama to Mommy to Mooooom to Mom. I have always done my best to raise my children to understand what is expected from them, in life, in love, in friendship, in work, in whatever place they find themselves. I have worked hard to model appropriate behavior in friendship, love, employment and free time. I have worked hard, loved much, cared deeply, embraced the life I have been given in whatever circumstances I find myself. I hope those lessons have been noted and will be acted upon.
I have made many mistakes - sadly, there is no one "right" answer to parenting, and I have made full use of trial and error. I have yelled when I should have listened. I have hesitated where I should have led. I have failed to rise to the occasion where I should have, and I have barged into situations that would have been best left alone. I have protected when I should have exposed, and allowed more when less would have been better.
I have always believed that children are born with their personality already formed, and my job has been to direct and guide and advise, coaching them as they head onto the playing field of life. As they reach adulthood, I am no longer as much an active participant, and the life lessons they have learned and had modeled will have to suffice.
It is hard, letting go of the leadership role, and becoming a passive observer. But it is rewarding as well, because that is when you see the results of the job you have done. And far more often than not, you will find those results exceed your wildest dreams. It is thrilling and rewarding. It makes every sour moment even sweeter, because you know what you have overcome.
My mother has been the perfect role model for me all my life. From the moment she plucked me out of my uncertain beginnings until this day, she has been the constant element in a life unevenly lived. She is always there with her love, support, wisdom, strength and courage, and she has set an impossible bar for me to reach in my own parenting.
I have watched my mother struggle through every hardship life could throw her way, and she remains optimistic, cheerful, faithful, undaunted by any obstacle. She is amazing and ridiculously wonderful, and I will never deserve her, but will always be eternally grateful to call her my own.
I am also most fortunate in my own children, who have provided me with life lessons galore, and have taught me patience and wisdom and courage and selflessness in ways I could never have imagined. Their sorrows weigh on my heart like an anchor, and their joys make my spirit soar. They have uplifted me when I was down, and pulled me along in their wake when I felt like sinking.
In the journey of life, mothers and children are about more than simply parenting. We get something from the relationship we cannot find anywhere else. No matter how far we go, no matter how long we are separated, even death cannot break the bonds that are formed when our mothers shower us with their love and attention.
One year ago, I watched my daughter walk out of her childhood and into her life as an adult. She has transformed, utterly, into a young woman who is everything I ever hoped for, and a whole lot more of which I never even dared to dream.
She has found her direction, she has embraced her passion for living, she has struggled and survived and fulfilled and exceeded. She has learned to be independent and organized and self-directive and successful, and she has done it on the strength of her own character.
Seven years ago, my son made the same walk that began his transformation, and it has been equally amazing. Although his path has been entirely his own, it has been exhilarating to see him becoming the young man I always knew he could be. He is following his dreams, and his path, while uneven, is moving ahead. It is impossible to ask for more than seeing your child graze the stars he is reaching for with his fingertips.
Watching your child succeed and achieve is the most delicious thing life has to offer, and I am thrilled to have tasted it, twice over. I am truly blessed in my children, and I think I have my mother to thank for the relationship I have with them today.
Happy belated Mother's Day to all the mothers who make that day possible, and to all the children who make that day one worth celebrating. Mothers and their children are truly a reason to celebrate, every day!
Sunday, May 1, 2011
April showers bring May Day flowers?
May baskets were, above all else, a tradition of giving to someone else, not for the credit - the whole point was that no one would know that you had given it - but for the sheer joy of giving. That is something rarely seen and seldom talked about in our acquisitive culture. It is a hole in the fabric of our society, and I regret it's absence because I think it's a crucial part of building a strong basis for moral values. As I used to tell my children, some things are just right, and some things are just wrong, and it doesn't matter whether anyone else knows or not, because you know. I fear a lot of people haven't learned that lesson, and it's to the detriment of us all.
There were many different ways of making May baskets. My mother, ever the creative artist, would help me fashion them out of old wallpaper samples, or construction paper, or whatever else might be available that she could turn into a pretty little basket. In the end, they would be works of art, as lovely as the filling inside them.
May baskets were, centuries ago, filled with flowers to herald the arrival of spring. Kings and queens and their courtiers would dance around the Maypole, celebrating the warmth and new life that comes after the long, dreary winter. After a day of eating and drinking and, no doubt, a bit of debauchery, they would gather flowers from the meadows to bring with them and shower upon each other. Their subjects would exchange flowers with each other, perhaps sharing a special meal or just a dance, but it was a recognition of thanks for the return of the sunshine and warmth to the earth that summer endows.
In more modern times, some people continued that tradition of filling the May basket with flowers, but increasingly, they would also be filled with candy or other treats. When all was in readiness, the little baskets lined up in neat rows in a box on the car seat, you would sneak with a basket to the front door of the receiving friend, lay it on the stoop, ring the doorbell, and then run and hide as fast as you could. You didn't want to run too far, because you wanted to be able to observe the laughter and joy when the person discovered the secret gift waiting for them.
The point was not the filling, of course, but the thought behind it - giving pleasure to someone else, with no thought for yourself. When you ran and hid, the rush of adrenaline would propel your legs faster than you thought you could run, and you would giggle as quietly as you could around a corner of the house or behind a tree, hoping you hadn't been seen. When someone talked later about the anonymous gifts they had received, it was so exciting to laugh behind your hand, knowing that you were the secret benefactor that had brought the joy.
I think that kind of unselfish giving is something too often lacking in our greed-is-good culture. We value those who give anonymously, Secret Santa here in Kansas City is legendary for his goodwill towards men at Christmas time, for example, but we don't emphasize, either for ourselves, or to our children, the value and importance of anonymous giving.
We want our tax write-off, to be sure, but I think the problem goes deeper than that. Most people are eager and anxious for their gifts to be recognized, and they want others to know what they have done so they can get their due credit. I fear that in so doing, they are missing out on the best thing about giving - the change that occurs inside of the giver when their gift is handed over.
I haven't delivered May baskets full of flowers in a very long time. But the joy and pleasure that those baskets brought are remembered long after the flowers have died and the candy has been eaten, and I can easily feel the rush of pleasure that the memory invokes. I wish I had some of those baskets now, they were little masterpieces, created with loving care by hands that were well intentioned. It would be a fun reminder of the carefree days gone by.
Happy May Day to each friend reading this post today. Welcome the spring warmly, and perhaps Mother Nature will respond in kind! Whether the sun is shining or the snow is falling in your particular part of the world, know that a May basket of good wishes is overflowing in my heart today for you.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
On loaves and fishes (or pita and lamb)....
Most Christians are familiar with the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand with the five loaves and two fishes that were available. There is also the Old Testament story of the widow who fed Elijah with an endless bottle of olive oil, allowing her to be an example of faith that does not fail. The Israelites were fed for the 40 years they wandered in the wilderness with manna falling from heaven each morning, just enough for the day, but no more.
Miracles with food are a staple of the Biblical tradition, the fulfillment of a basic need through trust in God alone. But I don't think most people expect that to happen today.
And yet, I recently enjoyed the same kind of miracle in my own life. It was a seasonal confirmation that God does have concern for both the soul and the human bodies that inhabit his earth. It never hurts to see a prayer answered, so when the faith wavers, you have something to look back on to bolster what you believe.
The setting? A very special dinner at church, wildly successful beyond all hopes and dreams by those who organized it. Instead of 250 or 300, over 400 people were there, with more turned away for lack of space.
The event? A remembrance of the Last Supper of Christ with his Apostles before he was betrayed by a kiss for 30 pieces of silver which bought a pauper's graveyard. (Such a fitting end for those tarnished coins, I think.)
The time? Maundy Thursday, the Thursday of the Passion Week in Christianity, when we recall not only the Last Supper, but Jesus going to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray and the betrayal of Judas.
The people? The congregation of my church, who have attended the events in this Lenten season in unprecedented numbers.
The place? The dining area at my church, which comfortably seats about 350 people, but which somehow expanded to make space for 420.
The snag? Food for 250. "God, we have a problem."
How it all unfolded....
I arrived at 5 p.m., expecting the food (ordered and confirmed for 400) to be there. The tables were set, the Seder plates were prepared, the Communion wine was poured, the bread was placed on the Paten. All was in readiness, and we required only food and people to complete the setting. Food which was very slow to arrive. And people who weren't.
The nerves started to fray as the clock ticked, and decisions were made to change how things would be done to increase efficiency. Salad plates were collected from the tables as we waited, nerves jangling, organizers beginning to show signs of panic as frantic phone calls were placed.
The food finally arrived, nearly an hour late and just minutes before the event was scheduled to begin. Relief was evident on the faces of everyone in the kitchen as the first pans came through the door. Covers were lifted, and salads were dished up as the deliveryman stood there waiting to be paid.
Eventually disbelief registered on those same faces as the realization sunk in that the small amount of food that had been delivered was all there would be. The delivery guy was pulled over to the serving out table, and someone asked him if that would be enough salad for 400 people. [A foolish question really, since it was self-evident that it wouldn't be, but desperate times call for desperate questions.] I think that betrayed the forlorn hope that somehow, some way, we could stretch food for 250 into food for 400.
With the cavalier assurance of someone who would be long gone when the food ran out too early, our own Judas kissed the problem goodbye with a breezy assurance that it would be plenty, and ran out the door with substantially more than 30 pieces of silver, leaving us to our fate.
Well, in not very many minutes, the kitchen staff could be seen counting lettuce leaves and tomato wedges, artfully mounding them on each plate to make them look more full (a hopeless task, but entertaining in retrospect.) Even so, we rapidly depleted the salad about halfway through the stack of plates, and while people began to pour in, we were desperately struggling to come up with solutions to a situation that had no good ending in sight.
There was talk of strategies that were destined to result in cries from the populace of doom upon our heads, all rejected for their impracticality. Ultimately, a mad dash was made to the nearest grocery store for 20 bags of lettuce, assorted mixed greens, Greek salad dressing with a couple of Italian thrown in for good measure (yes, that is dripping with irony,) Feta cheese and Kalamata olives. Then another mad dash back to church in the pouring rain. We may not have enough of the entree, but by the grace of God and OPEC, we would have salad.
When I got back into the kitchen after parking the car, bedraggled and somewhat wired from the whole experience, I saw something that confirmed my faith in my fellow men and women. Enormous food service bowls full of salad, lettuce flying into the air as people were tossing (with plastic gloves on, in case there are any food service inspectors reading, we follow codes,) followed by salad thrown onto plates which rapidly filled up trays that were then distributed to the waiting tables.
It is amazing how quickly something can get done when you have 25 eager people willing to pitch in and do the job. The tables were filling quickly, and the assembled attendees were none the wiser to the frantic explosion of activity in the kitchen, which was just as well. I even heard a rumor later that the salad was delicious, an irony which still makes me laugh out loud.
Of course, the overall problem remained. We had pita and entrees for about 250 people (the pieces of pita were counted, there were 250, I'm not just pulling these numbers out of my hat, you know,) and over 400 in attendance.
But somehow, with the salad situation worked out, it was easier to think clearly, and a strategy was devised. All the pitas were cut into thirds, and everyone got a couple on their plate, which, in the event, was probably enough for most people, anyway. There was plenty of hummus (did we really need three pans of hummus?) and there was enough falafel.
The main entree was lamb and chicken with saffron rice. Instead of being served out in separate dishes as originally planned, they all went together in a single serving dish, one per table. Somehow, miraculously, it was enough.
The remainder of the evening was a lovely recreation of that evening's part in the journey to the cross, a memorable event that put us in the path that Jesus himself followed. We observed the ancient rites of the Seder meal, followed by the communion which Jesus himself first observed that evening with his disciples, and it suddenly had more meaning for me than it has in the past. The symbolism came alive as I participated, and, as intended, it changed me inside.
The evening was enlightening for me in many ways, because it suddenly dawned on me how the miracles that Jesus performed were done in shadow, out of the knowledge of most of the people following his teaching. Although his disciples knew, and those close to him had some limited understanding, I would imagine most of the 5000 had no idea they were in the presence of a miracle. But it was life changing for those who witnessed it, and who saw the power of God to work in the lives of those who seek his help.
Isn't that really the message of our annual observance of Easter? No problem is too great that God doesn't have the solution, if we have faith? Even the irredeemably sinful have an opportunity for something more, if they will only accept the grace that God has offered them.
I don't expect a miracle in my life, but they do happen sometimes. Food for 250 can't be made to stretch into food for 400 no matter how creative you are without a little inspiration from on high. Whether it was the presence of someone imbued with the ability to make it happen, or the clearheaded perception to recognize the important piece of the problem and solve it, or a simple miracle of creating food where it didn't exist before, somehow God will provide if we trust that it can happen.
I think, for me, the Easter moment occurred on Maundy Thursday when we fed the 400. I wouldn't want to have to do it all the time, but in the end, it was inspiring and fitting that God would demand faith in order to mitigate disaster in the midst of Holy Week.
This week, I wish you a miracle of your own. They have an impact that is amazing, and they allow you to see a tiny slice of heaven on earth.
Happy Easter! He is risen! He is risen, indeed! Hallelujah
Miracles with food are a staple of the Biblical tradition, the fulfillment of a basic need through trust in God alone. But I don't think most people expect that to happen today.
And yet, I recently enjoyed the same kind of miracle in my own life. It was a seasonal confirmation that God does have concern for both the soul and the human bodies that inhabit his earth. It never hurts to see a prayer answered, so when the faith wavers, you have something to look back on to bolster what you believe.
The setting? A very special dinner at church, wildly successful beyond all hopes and dreams by those who organized it. Instead of 250 or 300, over 400 people were there, with more turned away for lack of space.
The event? A remembrance of the Last Supper of Christ with his Apostles before he was betrayed by a kiss for 30 pieces of silver which bought a pauper's graveyard. (Such a fitting end for those tarnished coins, I think.)
The time? Maundy Thursday, the Thursday of the Passion Week in Christianity, when we recall not only the Last Supper, but Jesus going to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray and the betrayal of Judas.
The people? The congregation of my church, who have attended the events in this Lenten season in unprecedented numbers.
The place? The dining area at my church, which comfortably seats about 350 people, but which somehow expanded to make space for 420.
The snag? Food for 250. "God, we have a problem."
How it all unfolded....
I arrived at 5 p.m., expecting the food (ordered and confirmed for 400) to be there. The tables were set, the Seder plates were prepared, the Communion wine was poured, the bread was placed on the Paten. All was in readiness, and we required only food and people to complete the setting. Food which was very slow to arrive. And people who weren't.
The nerves started to fray as the clock ticked, and decisions were made to change how things would be done to increase efficiency. Salad plates were collected from the tables as we waited, nerves jangling, organizers beginning to show signs of panic as frantic phone calls were placed.
The food finally arrived, nearly an hour late and just minutes before the event was scheduled to begin. Relief was evident on the faces of everyone in the kitchen as the first pans came through the door. Covers were lifted, and salads were dished up as the deliveryman stood there waiting to be paid.
Eventually disbelief registered on those same faces as the realization sunk in that the small amount of food that had been delivered was all there would be. The delivery guy was pulled over to the serving out table, and someone asked him if that would be enough salad for 400 people. [A foolish question really, since it was self-evident that it wouldn't be, but desperate times call for desperate questions.] I think that betrayed the forlorn hope that somehow, some way, we could stretch food for 250 into food for 400.
With the cavalier assurance of someone who would be long gone when the food ran out too early, our own Judas kissed the problem goodbye with a breezy assurance that it would be plenty, and ran out the door with substantially more than 30 pieces of silver, leaving us to our fate.
Well, in not very many minutes, the kitchen staff could be seen counting lettuce leaves and tomato wedges, artfully mounding them on each plate to make them look more full (a hopeless task, but entertaining in retrospect.) Even so, we rapidly depleted the salad about halfway through the stack of plates, and while people began to pour in, we were desperately struggling to come up with solutions to a situation that had no good ending in sight.
There was talk of strategies that were destined to result in cries from the populace of doom upon our heads, all rejected for their impracticality. Ultimately, a mad dash was made to the nearest grocery store for 20 bags of lettuce, assorted mixed greens, Greek salad dressing with a couple of Italian thrown in for good measure (yes, that is dripping with irony,) Feta cheese and Kalamata olives. Then another mad dash back to church in the pouring rain. We may not have enough of the entree, but by the grace of God and OPEC, we would have salad.
When I got back into the kitchen after parking the car, bedraggled and somewhat wired from the whole experience, I saw something that confirmed my faith in my fellow men and women. Enormous food service bowls full of salad, lettuce flying into the air as people were tossing (with plastic gloves on, in case there are any food service inspectors reading, we follow codes,) followed by salad thrown onto plates which rapidly filled up trays that were then distributed to the waiting tables.
It is amazing how quickly something can get done when you have 25 eager people willing to pitch in and do the job. The tables were filling quickly, and the assembled attendees were none the wiser to the frantic explosion of activity in the kitchen, which was just as well. I even heard a rumor later that the salad was delicious, an irony which still makes me laugh out loud.
Of course, the overall problem remained. We had pita and entrees for about 250 people (the pieces of pita were counted, there were 250, I'm not just pulling these numbers out of my hat, you know,) and over 400 in attendance.
But somehow, with the salad situation worked out, it was easier to think clearly, and a strategy was devised. All the pitas were cut into thirds, and everyone got a couple on their plate, which, in the event, was probably enough for most people, anyway. There was plenty of hummus (did we really need three pans of hummus?) and there was enough falafel.
The main entree was lamb and chicken with saffron rice. Instead of being served out in separate dishes as originally planned, they all went together in a single serving dish, one per table. Somehow, miraculously, it was enough.
The remainder of the evening was a lovely recreation of that evening's part in the journey to the cross, a memorable event that put us in the path that Jesus himself followed. We observed the ancient rites of the Seder meal, followed by the communion which Jesus himself first observed that evening with his disciples, and it suddenly had more meaning for me than it has in the past. The symbolism came alive as I participated, and, as intended, it changed me inside.
The evening was enlightening for me in many ways, because it suddenly dawned on me how the miracles that Jesus performed were done in shadow, out of the knowledge of most of the people following his teaching. Although his disciples knew, and those close to him had some limited understanding, I would imagine most of the 5000 had no idea they were in the presence of a miracle. But it was life changing for those who witnessed it, and who saw the power of God to work in the lives of those who seek his help.
Isn't that really the message of our annual observance of Easter? No problem is too great that God doesn't have the solution, if we have faith? Even the irredeemably sinful have an opportunity for something more, if they will only accept the grace that God has offered them.
I don't expect a miracle in my life, but they do happen sometimes. Food for 250 can't be made to stretch into food for 400 no matter how creative you are without a little inspiration from on high. Whether it was the presence of someone imbued with the ability to make it happen, or the clearheaded perception to recognize the important piece of the problem and solve it, or a simple miracle of creating food where it didn't exist before, somehow God will provide if we trust that it can happen.
I think, for me, the Easter moment occurred on Maundy Thursday when we fed the 400. I wouldn't want to have to do it all the time, but in the end, it was inspiring and fitting that God would demand faith in order to mitigate disaster in the midst of Holy Week.
This week, I wish you a miracle of your own. They have an impact that is amazing, and they allow you to see a tiny slice of heaven on earth.
Happy Easter! He is risen! He is risen, indeed! Hallelujah
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Rising from the ashes....
We have a ceremony for everything these days, it seems. Turning three? We have a party that would have eclipsed most debutante balls 100 years ago. Moving from elementary school to middle school? We throw a graduation party that rivals a high school graduation. If someone dies, we have a funeral, and whether we throw a wake or sit Shiva, it's usually a party of remembrance. We have sweet 16's, Quinceañera parties, and prom. But the mother of all parties, throughout the world, is a wedding, which on average costs more than a new car or a person's first annual salary.
The one party we don't throw, however, the one life event that goes unheralded, is the divorce that fully 50% of American couples endure. We don't send cards, we don't have a reception, there is no religious ceremony to mark the occasion. These days, with no fault divorce, mediation and lawyers doing all the talking, you often don't even have to go to court.
For myself, the moment came in a phone call while I was sitting in a parking lot near the courthouse, just in case something went awry and my presence would suddenly be required. There is something quite surreal about hearing that you are suddenly unmarried, that the solemn vow you made so many years ago binding your life to someone else's is voided. The glue is unstuck, and the life you built together is forever undone.
Divorce is awkward in the social context. Some people seem to fear that their own lives will be contaminated by the suggestion that marriage isn't forever after all, and they subtly recoil upon seeing you, like you are contagious
Your closest friends choose sides, find your former spouse entirely at fault, and deliver a sound declaration that you are much better off this way, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Although I can appreciate the impulse, often the wounded party is too confused and hurt to appreciate the underlying support. It is painful to hear your former spoouse denegrated, and it also makes you question your own judgment, since you were the one who picked that person in the first place.
Most people ignore it altogether, as if it's a social disease better left unmentioned.
Divorce is a death with tentacles that reach far beyond the couple involved, and I find it strange that such a seminal event in a person's life is without ceremonial observance. The collateral damage of a failed marriage, a family blown apart, spreads farther and wider than most people imagine when they are focused on their own misery.
The children, of course, suffer when their parents combined lives are rent asunder. Suddenly, they are forced to decide where they want to spend important holidays, birthdays, and other special occasions. Big events in their lives become a strategic planning circus, as they carefully manage who sits where and who takes precedence. Their daily lives change, not because they have done anything wrong, but because they cannot be in two places at once, and there is always one parent missing.
The extended relations also feel the rent in the family fabric, as the spouse is left out of occasions when they would previously have been included. Someone who has been important to them, perhaps even a Godparent or other close family member, is now shut out of their lives because they are no longer "family" in the way they were.
Friends are often caught in the middle of the warring parties, walking a tightrope between the ex-spouses, trying to remain friends with everyone. Eventually a new equilibrium will be found. Sadly, more often than you would think, that involves cutting both spouses from their lives, as they feel incapable of choosing one over the other, and thus, eliminate them both.
I found my own answer to this dilemma, and threw myself an "unwedding." I called it my Phoenix party, a way to rise from the ashes of what had been to something new and better. It gave me something positive to plan and look forward to, a focus on something new and different, and also encouraged other people to face the situation head on and deal with it along with me. It was a positive recognition of the huge change in my life, and one of the best things I've done for myself and my children in the aftermath of the devastation of a divorce.
I had my assistant pastor, a wonderful young woman who understood my need for God's blessing on the unmarriage, come and do a brief, but meaningful service for me and my children in front of the assembled friends and family. I wore my wedding dress, a ceremonial outfit fitting to the occasion. I chose the verses she read, and worked on things that would make the occasion meaningful to us. My children and I stood together and received a blessing that reassured us even though the marriage vows were broken, we were still a family worthy of God's grace.
And we partied, with food and drink and conversation. It turned out to be a fun occasion despite the serious moments, a celebration of our new life, a recognition that though a marriage had died, a family was broken, there was something new and wonderful that had now begun. It was, as all ceremonies are, a recognition of the new status that I would have, and it was important to me that it was done, not alone, but surrounded by people who cared about me.
I encourage anyone who has been through the agony of divorce to consider a similar unwedding ceremony. I have never understood how we could allow someone going through such a difficult and painful time to do so un-remembered and un-recognized. For me, what began in a church with the blessing of God needed to end with the blessing of God, as well. If you got married somewhere else, then you will find your own way to honor and remember the ending of your union, and usher in the new place where you find yourself in life. But don't ignore it, do it!
If you know someone in the throes of divorce, recognize the loss and the hurt of the death of what was, and encourage them to find a way to celebrate their new status. It is healing, comforting, and normal to honor someone when they are going through a huge change in their lives.
Five years ago, I started planning my Phoenix party, and it's one of the most positive things I've ever done for myself and my children. I encourage anyone who is experiencing the pain of divorce to consider a similar event. There aren't many resources out there to help you, but once you embrace the possibilities, you can make it an event that is entirely your own.
My email address is sarahisawalton[at]kc[dot]rr[dot]com. Feel free to contact me if you want to talk about ways to honor your past and future with a ceremony that is entirely your own. It isn't for everyone, but it can be a lot of fun, and it provides a positive way to move ahead in a life that is new and different, but also worthwhile.
Embrace the possibilities!
The one party we don't throw, however, the one life event that goes unheralded, is the divorce that fully 50% of American couples endure. We don't send cards, we don't have a reception, there is no religious ceremony to mark the occasion. These days, with no fault divorce, mediation and lawyers doing all the talking, you often don't even have to go to court.
For myself, the moment came in a phone call while I was sitting in a parking lot near the courthouse, just in case something went awry and my presence would suddenly be required. There is something quite surreal about hearing that you are suddenly unmarried, that the solemn vow you made so many years ago binding your life to someone else's is voided. The glue is unstuck, and the life you built together is forever undone.
Divorce is awkward in the social context. Some people seem to fear that their own lives will be contaminated by the suggestion that marriage isn't forever after all, and they subtly recoil upon seeing you, like you are contagious
Your closest friends choose sides, find your former spouse entirely at fault, and deliver a sound declaration that you are much better off this way, despite all the evidence to the contrary. Although I can appreciate the impulse, often the wounded party is too confused and hurt to appreciate the underlying support. It is painful to hear your former spoouse denegrated, and it also makes you question your own judgment, since you were the one who picked that person in the first place.
Most people ignore it altogether, as if it's a social disease better left unmentioned.
Divorce is a death with tentacles that reach far beyond the couple involved, and I find it strange that such a seminal event in a person's life is without ceremonial observance. The collateral damage of a failed marriage, a family blown apart, spreads farther and wider than most people imagine when they are focused on their own misery.
The children, of course, suffer when their parents combined lives are rent asunder. Suddenly, they are forced to decide where they want to spend important holidays, birthdays, and other special occasions. Big events in their lives become a strategic planning circus, as they carefully manage who sits where and who takes precedence. Their daily lives change, not because they have done anything wrong, but because they cannot be in two places at once, and there is always one parent missing.
The extended relations also feel the rent in the family fabric, as the spouse is left out of occasions when they would previously have been included. Someone who has been important to them, perhaps even a Godparent or other close family member, is now shut out of their lives because they are no longer "family" in the way they were.
Friends are often caught in the middle of the warring parties, walking a tightrope between the ex-spouses, trying to remain friends with everyone. Eventually a new equilibrium will be found. Sadly, more often than you would think, that involves cutting both spouses from their lives, as they feel incapable of choosing one over the other, and thus, eliminate them both.
I found my own answer to this dilemma, and threw myself an "unwedding." I called it my Phoenix party, a way to rise from the ashes of what had been to something new and better. It gave me something positive to plan and look forward to, a focus on something new and different, and also encouraged other people to face the situation head on and deal with it along with me. It was a positive recognition of the huge change in my life, and one of the best things I've done for myself and my children in the aftermath of the devastation of a divorce.
I had my assistant pastor, a wonderful young woman who understood my need for God's blessing on the unmarriage, come and do a brief, but meaningful service for me and my children in front of the assembled friends and family. I wore my wedding dress, a ceremonial outfit fitting to the occasion. I chose the verses she read, and worked on things that would make the occasion meaningful to us. My children and I stood together and received a blessing that reassured us even though the marriage vows were broken, we were still a family worthy of God's grace.
And we partied, with food and drink and conversation. It turned out to be a fun occasion despite the serious moments, a celebration of our new life, a recognition that though a marriage had died, a family was broken, there was something new and wonderful that had now begun. It was, as all ceremonies are, a recognition of the new status that I would have, and it was important to me that it was done, not alone, but surrounded by people who cared about me.
I encourage anyone who has been through the agony of divorce to consider a similar unwedding ceremony. I have never understood how we could allow someone going through such a difficult and painful time to do so un-remembered and un-recognized. For me, what began in a church with the blessing of God needed to end with the blessing of God, as well. If you got married somewhere else, then you will find your own way to honor and remember the ending of your union, and usher in the new place where you find yourself in life. But don't ignore it, do it!
If you know someone in the throes of divorce, recognize the loss and the hurt of the death of what was, and encourage them to find a way to celebrate their new status. It is healing, comforting, and normal to honor someone when they are going through a huge change in their lives.
Five years ago, I started planning my Phoenix party, and it's one of the most positive things I've ever done for myself and my children. I encourage anyone who is experiencing the pain of divorce to consider a similar event. There aren't many resources out there to help you, but once you embrace the possibilities, you can make it an event that is entirely your own.
My email address is sarahisawalton[at]kc[dot]rr[dot]com. Feel free to contact me if you want to talk about ways to honor your past and future with a ceremony that is entirely your own. It isn't for everyone, but it can be a lot of fun, and it provides a positive way to move ahead in a life that is new and different, but also worthwhile.
Embrace the possibilities!
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