German Day-Book for your enjoyment

Day Five: Friday, May 12th, 2017

Today was a different day altogether. The main mission was to see Hilde in the nursing home. Hilde (pronounced “Hilda”) is Bernie’s oldest sister-in-law. She was married to Hans, his older brother. Hans died in 1990 and she has been “alone” all these years. A couple of years ago, she was stricken with some sort of disability. She cannot speak anymore and swallowing is becoming more and more difficult. It is important for us to spend some time with her this trip. It may be the last we see her.

She looked very good laying in her bright and cheery room. The German nursing homes are so well kept. There are no odors. They are immaculately clean…and the “guests” as they are called, are treated like royalty. Hilde’s hair was coifed and clean. Her room was filled with flowers and it made us feel better about her circumstance. Apparently, the six children each come and visit one day a week. The closer ones come more often. But they spend time with her…reading, talking, etc.

When we go back, I’ll take the German music I brought and sing a little bit with her. Anne told us that when we go this next time, we will let them know ahead of time what we want to do, and they will bring Hilde and others out to the gathering space. Yikes! I may be singing for more than just Hilde!

Michael came over this evening and we took off. He’s got the phone situation taken care of and now I have internet through Jurgen upstairs. So, we’re all wired for sound again. Michael, Bernie and I went out to a little “Imbiss…” An imbiss is a little restaurant where one can get a little “bite” to eat. We had bratwurst and German French Fries (that sounds funny, doesn’t it?). No ketchup. You eat them here with German mayo. Yum!

After the little bite to eat, we drove around again. It is SO LOVELY here in the Spring. We’ll get some shots of the hedgerows for you and send them with the next installments of the Tagebuch.

Tonight, around the den table, we ended up having this amazing conversation about Church, theology, intellectual dishonesty and the need for the Church to embrace the Science and real history that folks know today. Michael served as interpreter/translator and did a lovely job. Jurgen was really engaged and Bernie just ate it all up! Anne even joined in. It was VERY lively.

In the meantime, they found out that I like to work jigsaw puzzles. Apparently, Jurgen has had this rather large puzzle he has been wanting to work. It isn’t very big…just 9000 pieces. It will be the size of the whole table plus about half more! And they just happen to have a puzzle board large enough to accommodate it. More later as that unfolds! Wow!

As we sat there together, Jurgen went and brought some Cuban Rum. Oh, dear heaven! I don’t care for rum, but this was the smoothest and tastiest I’ve ever had. It wasn’t drippy sweet like so much Rum I have tried. It was like a refined cognac…delicious. We had four…even Anne joined in. Aloys threw his hands and went to bed. He hasn’t quite adjusted to house guests yet. He’ll get there!

Well, that was Friday…more tomorrow. It will be full of family…Florian is coming up from Osnabruck for the weekend and we have dinner with Peter and Petra tomorrow night. Pete is Anne’s little brother (14 years younger!). Then, Sunday we will spend the morning at Birgit’s house in Vechta for MuttersTag and then Sunday afternoon with Cordula in Cloppenburg! It will be a busy weekend.

Monday, we will go to Badzwischenahn during the day and then Michael has gotten tickets for a concert in Oldenburg for that evening! Love to Everyone!

Saturday, May 13th, 2017

Wow! Today, we got to spend time with Florian. If you remember (or don’t know), Florian is Margret’s grandson…Bernie’s grand-nephew.

After a breakfast with Michael joining us at Anne’s house, we drove to Cloppenburg where we used to stay when Margret was alive. (She died in 2014.) You can take a peek if you’d like at https://www.cloppenburg.de/.

We drove to Manuela’s and Lothar’s home on Stoerweg Street. Manuela is Margret’s daughter and a lovely woman. She has a philosophical brain. Her husband Lothar, is in banking with some regional job that takes him all over the place. They are Florian’s parents. Oh, it was so good to see all of them together. And, I’ve noticed that the German family members who have visited us in the states feel “closer” to my heart than the others. But anyway, there was lots of hugging…then coffee and talking…and talking and talking.

As we left, we took Florian with us for a little meandering. Along the way, he and I talked of heavy things…theology, politics, and of course, his studies in economics. He is working on his bachelor’s thesis right now. Along the way, our twenty-three year old passenger got hungry…two very long legs to keep filled up. So, we stopped off in Schneiderkrug at the Grill. On past trips, we’ve always taken the boys there for bratwurst and German French fries. So, that’s what we did. He commented on his good memories of our previous visits. He ate…we had dinner to look forward to…

When we were done, we took Florian back to Cloppenburg to his girlfriend’s house. Her grand-parents are celebrating their 50th anniversary…which is done in a VERY BIG WAY over here. And then, we were off to Langfoerden to Peter and Petra’s house for dinner.

Peter is Anne’s little brother, although “little” isn’t the right word. He is a very TALL German. He is younger by 14 years. There, we enjoyed the company of his lovely TALL blond wife Petra, Nina, their daughter and her friend Daniel, and Dennis, their son and his friend AnneMarie. Everyone is tall here, so I spent the evening smiling and feeling VERY short. Haha!

Dinner was lovely. Asparagus, cucumber salad, potato salad without onions for Bernie, and grilled meats of several varieties. Everyone ate heartily and Michael enjoyed getting to know cousins he doesn’t see very often.

Drinks were poured with great freedom. I had an orange drink of some kind. It is alcoholic, but pretty light. It was mixed with real orange slices and all the ladies seemed to enjoy it quite a bit. It was beer for the guys until Peter brought out the Ramazotti. Karl will probably know what that is, but I’d never heard of it. It is a strong after-dinner drink like Kuemerling…meant for the men. Of course, I was offered some because I have the odd position as being the only woman in the family who can out-drink most of the men and still stay somewhat lucid.

I asked if the custom was the same with the Ramazotti as with Kuemerling (which is, by the way, a rather nasty-tasting herb liqueur). They all laughed and said no. And the men sipped it. I tried it. It was worse than the kuemerling, so I just knocked it back and put my glass on the table. Peter looked at me with big eyes and then started laughing. He asked if I liked it and I said “Nein…es ist drecki…” (That means “No, it is nasty.”) All the guys laughed…and in a little while, he filled my little glass up again. (You know, I always like a challenge…)

Peter took Bernie and me into the old barn where he showed us all the work that Johann (Bernie’s dad) had done when Wilhelm (Peter’s father, Anne’s brother) moved the barn from the house at Spreda to here in Langfoerden. I didn’t realize that Johann had helped, although it makes sense. The beams are old trees (German oak) and will be here long after you and I are gone. He’s done such a nice job converting everything into a work/handy-man’s barn, instead of a barn for pigs and cows and farm necessities. Bernie’s eyes misted over as he looked around. He is realizing now that he is the last of his generation in the family who can appreciate all this “old” stuff…and tell about life “back then” to the young ones…

After two more rounds of Ramazotti, my German was amazing! And it was time to leave. What a wonderful evening of family, laughter, sharing, and remembering!

Sunday, May 14th: MuttersTag and Mother’s Day!

AH, today was “ein wonderbare Tag!” (a wonderful day!) We drove to Vechta ( https://www.landkreis-vechta.de/ ) which is like the county seat of the region where Langfoerden is. There, Birgit and Michael live with their two teenage “children”, Ina und Miko. They are lovely young people. Teenagers are so “grown up” here because they are expected to be. At around 15, each youngster makes up their mind whether they are off to three years of vocational school or to “gymnasium”—which is like a pre-college high school. From vocational school, they are ready for and move right into some career—a backery, a restaurant, a mechanic, a truck driver/mechanic, secretary, etc. From the pre-college, they move on to either a three year apprenticeship (for instance, banking…) and then the university (to major in economics) or right in university (to major in communications, English, teaching, chemistry, etc.). It is a good system. Wish the states would go back to vocational schools and less emphasis on everyone going to college. Not everyone is college material….but everyone can benefit from vocational education.

Anyway, breakfast with Birgit and her family was delightful. She was trained in baking before launching her own cleaning business in Vechta. I can’t remember what Michael (Birgit’s husband, Anne’s son-in-law) does…(not Michael, Bernie’s nephew…he’s in banking, but starting a new IT job at a food-preparation company called Wersing in October). We laughed and laughed and the kids were captivated by Bernie’s antics. Most Germans are much more proper than Bernie. I think most folks find him rather amusing because he is so different than the average bear here.

After Birgit’s, we were off to Cloppenberg to spend the afternoon with my other “fast-tochter.” (That means “almost daughter.” Manuela and Cordula are almost daughters to me. They miss their mother so much…and so do I… And they feel close to me which I treasure very much.)
We shared coffee and a strawberry torte…and some laughter. We also got a wonderful tour of the new house they bought since selling the house where Margret and Helmut lived (and the house where they built on a fabulous upstairs addition complete with Markus’ handy-cabinet making). The boys, Lukas and Tim, are almost grown up now. Lukas has decided he wants to be a semi-truck mechanic and starts his apprenticeship/schooling soon. He’s very tall for his age and very awkward…but so sweet. Tim is very lanky, very long and all legs. He’s only 11 and still “Cute.”

Their new house is amazing. They bought an “old, run-down” house and completely remodeled it. Cordula even bricked in a little cooking space outside…and Bernie was delighted. For her first time, it was remarkable! I see so much of Margret’s “way” in both her girls. I hope Cordula and Markus will come to the USA one day…but the boys will have to be grown, I think.

Agnes and Peter came over while we were there. I do love them so, too. They are Markus’s parents…and Beate, too. Beate is Lui’s sister…the Lui whose father-in-law is Fritz, the gentleman who was a prisoner of war at the same base Daddy was stationed in France. (Of course, ten years apart!) We’ll be over at their house this next weekend, so more about them, later… I will sing the four Volkslied I have prepared for Fritz, then…

Oh, I do love all of you so much and think of you so often. I wish I could pack all of you away and bring you with me. You’d love it, too, and find so much to be fascinated by and so many people to love.

We went back home and sat around a bit. Anne and Aloys had a nice day, too. And then, we turned in.

Monday, May 15th:

Today is a day with Michael. We have had such a good day. He arrived in the morning to find Bernie just getting up. (He’s been sick since we arrived…a rough night Sunday night…) We had a quick breakfast (yes, Bernie does eat over here…) and then took off to get to the bank. We needed to exchange some cash for Euros so we can function smoothly here. The credit card is nice, but there is a 3% international surcharge for using it. It’s cheaper to exchange the cash and pay as we go.

After that, we decided not to drive to Badzwischenahn. That will be saved for another day. (Take a trip there online… http://www.bad-zwischenahn-touristik.de/ )

Instead, we did something just a wonderful. We went to the Museumsdorf Cloppenburg! It is wonderful and there is a lovely website that you can enjoy…here! http://www.museumsdorf.de/

We spent the afternoon there and then had to find a place for dinner before high-tailing it to Bremen for their philharmonic concert. Michael had asked me what I would like to do while here and since there are still concerts everywhere in Europe (cultured music, not rock-n-roll or country) that are accessible, that is what I had suggested. The Bremen philharmonic does these concerts every three weeks. Oh, my! So off we flew after changing …for the concert. Here is another website so you can “see” for yourself and learn a bit about this excellent philharmonic. (http://www.bremerphilharmoniker.de/)

The concert was in a building called Die Glocke. (the bell) Apparently the likes of Herbert von Karajan and other music-notables have tauted Die Glocke as one of the best acoustical concert halls in the world. Having spent a fabulous night there last night, I concur. We sat in the second row, not the best seat in the house for an orchestras, but Michael tried. He’s never been to a concert like this before. Up front is fine for some things, but…I was astounded. The sound was perfect as if we were in the balcony towards the back. The sound was perfectly balanced as we enjoyed an evening of Debussy (L’apres midi d’une faune), Henri Ditelluex (a contemporary composer whose works are quite unique…and this one was his Cello Concerto which was written in honor of Rostropovich…a big WOW!), and Dvorak’s Simphonie 8.

This was Michael’s first concert. He was mesmerized and enjoyed it very much. There was a 20 minute explanation about the concert, the works presented and the musicians which was perfect for him. Even Bernie paid attention! Of course, it was all in German, but I know about programme music (the Debussy), contemporary concertos, and happen to love everything by Dvorak. I was in heaven. Bernie was transfixed and kept squeezing my hand. He was particularly interested in the young conductor. What a wonder he was to watch!

Anyway, we got home about 11:30 p.m. Good night! What a lovely day!

We are called to Peace…

As people of faith, whatever that faith may be, we are typically called to peace. It is rare to find a religion that blatantly calls its people to war, hate, violence, etc. Most religions do call their people to some sort of peace-making, generally speaking. That is done in a variety of ways, but it must be accomplished with intention. It doesn’t happen magically. Here, I briefly entertain the idea of the Peace that spins out of the celebration and reverence of the Christmas Season. I am a Christian, so my thoughts spring from that faith and are reflected here.

In this very fractured and fractious world, Peacemaking is intentional work…hard work…relentless work…and is not full of platitudes and catch-phrases. This is why “perfect Love casts out all fear” because our Loving God knows we are no good to anyone when we are afraid…anxious…tied up in knots. Love keeps us calm, clear-thinking, thought-filled, and able to look for those out-of-the-proverbial-box solutions or paths to reconciliation and justice. In a world polarized by “right” and “left”…ACTIVE Love propels us to the “third way”…that walks us through the rough places to that revolution of love that we hear sung about in the Carols of this Holy Season…that revolution of Love that took place when God whispered heaven’s way into the world on a mysterious night, unnoticed…when God put on skin and began a journey among us…when that first little cry echoed throughout eternity and split the sky with Peace and Hope and Love…(And interestingly enough, our world is not much different today than 2000 years ago. Those who search for and enjoy God’s presence are stuck somewhere between the global governments where power and control guide feet AND the church run amok that resembles the pharisee-ical mess of years gone by. A basic loving ten commandments had been overgrown to over 600 rules and regulations…much like the basic two [love God, love neighbor] run amok today.)

Enter God in all Gentleness, Innocence, and Love…quietly…surreptitiously…gently…the God of simplicity, elegant Presence, eternal Love, Gracious patience…in a tiny little cry, held in a maid’s arms to suckle, to wriggle His way into our hearts in order to change the world. Merry Christmas, Everyone!

The position of Love

As I listen and read, I am always fascinated by the word “love.” It has so many meanings in our society. We “love” hotdogs. We “love” a movie. We “love” doing certain things. We “love” our dog, our friends, our spouses or significant others… we love “love.”

It is always possible to overuse an item or a word or a description to the point of depleting the meaning. Perhaps this has happened to the word “love.” When I was studying at seminary, one of my professors spent an entire  Old Testament class teaching us about the word “love.” It took him as entire class to unpack the word for us. That one class effected me very deeply. Subsequently, I have never thought of “love” in the same way again.

“Love” is a word of “position,” not emotion. “Love”, as understood biblically, is not a word that describes a feeling or an emotion. Apparently, the best way to understand “love” is to think of it in terms of a motion or a direction. More specifically, “love” is understood by a forward motion toward its object. In other words, when we are instructed to “love” the Lord our God with all of our heart and mind and strength, the instruction is about movement, not feeling. To “love” God is to engage in a forward movement toward God. It is a change of position and direction, NOT A FEELING. To “love” God requires a change in the state of mind, and thus a change of direction. To “love” God means that you or I move TOWARD the object of our “love.” When I love God, I move in God’s direction. I make a conscious effort to care about God, to be in God’s presence, to allow God to move toward me, to…yes…invite God in. Hmm…

When we are instructed to “love” our neighbors, the implication is a  movement TOWARD our neighbor. It is not about having a warm, fuzzy feeling about them. Loving neighbor is about moving toward…with the intent of having a relationship with them. It isn’t about “liking them,” but moving toward them…being there in their presence… In short, loving neighbor is about caring about them, looking after their welfare, hoping for God’s best for them, and doing all we can to make that happen. It isn’t a static “Oh, I love my neighbor” with no acknowledgement of who “neighbor” is, with no conscious effort to be a part of the neighbor’s life in a positive way…to…ah, yes…invite my neighbor into my life.

In our anxious society today, we need the encouragement of the words “Love God, Love Neighbor.” It transcends religion, churches, groups, sects, and division. It is simple. Love God. In other words, let us move toward God… whether it is the God Christians claim, the God Jews claim, the God claimed by Muslims…which oddly enough, all stem from the same Fertile Crescent of ancient history, and from the same roots. (The story of Abraham is a part of the history of the Jews, the Muslims, and the Christians. Abraham is the father of Ishmael first, and Isaac second [chronologically]. Ishmael is the Father of those who hear the prophecies and teachings of Muhammed.  Isaac is the Father of those who hear the prophecies and teachings of all the prophets of the “Old Testament.” And Jesus, who is understood as God’s Son by Christians, is of Abraham’s lineage, and considered by all three religions, deified by one.) The Supreme Being who defies description, understanding, and control, appears in all religions. We hope beyond hope that Someone “out there” is at the very least subliminally in control of Creation. Let us unite as we move TOWARD this God. It doesn’t matter what we think about this God. What matters is that this God loves us and wants us to return that Love. Let us unite as we move toward this God…and we just might discover that it changes how we moved toward each other.

We live in a world in which too much movement is AWAY…away from God…away from each other. We justify ourselves by accusing others of stuff we’d never do and turn away. We segregate ourselves from folks we don’t “like” because of long laundry lists of reasons to move away. 1)  “They” don’t believe like we do. 2)  “They” don’t look like us. 3) “They” don’t come from “here.” 4) “They” dress differently from us. 5) “They” speak a different language. 6) We’ve heard a lot of scary stuff about “them.” 7) The news media has aired several stories about people like “them.” 8) They like things we find abhorrent.  It is interesting that every religion claims to have the monopoly on God. Jews are the chosen race and loved by God in a special way. Christians are saved (and no one else). Muslims believe that their relationship with God is paramount and unlike anyone else’s. The “other” is the infidel. Most religions form some sort of exclusivity. And thus, individuals are justified in moving AWAY from “the others.”

And instead of moving toward God in anticipation of relationship, we try very hard to force God into little boxes or into controllable locales that we can control. We’ve been doing that for a long time. The Israelites tried by putting God in the Holy of Holies in their temple. Christians place God in the heart or an interesting place like a church-building…or even in the “Church Universal.” (Jesus is in my heart…God has filled my heart…etc.) [A disturbing example of putting God in a box: The gospel of prosperity which is so popular in America where “profit is king”, places God in the position of being beholden to believers and expected to make them prosperous just because they ask and use certain words and techniques.] Muslims place God above the heavens. (That is interesting. The understanding of the heavens was “above” the sky in 570 CE, the year Muhammed was born. Much like the Israelites and the early Christians, earth was the center of creation and everything else was either above or around, so God must be, too. It wasn’t until Copernicus upset the early Church leaders with his theory about the Sun being the center of the solar system that one could question the understanding of God being “above” all of us. And most leaders back then didn’t want to be challenged.) We want God to be where we want God because then we have control of the situation. But, what God desires is that we move in God’s direction…to love…to open our hearts…to reach out…to be transformed by God’s creative energy, enormous love, and care for all of Creation. We struggle against that. We don’t want God to be anywhere and care about any one or group that might make us uncomfortable. We don’t want God to be a part of or concerned about individuals we find distasteful. We want God to love us “best.”

To love neighbor is pretty simple. We move toward the neighbor…whether neighbor exhibits different looks, skin color, language, dress, gender, sexual orientation, faith, economic status, ability, etc. We move toward them in anticipation of making some connection with them, meeting some need, striking up a conversation, building a friendship, or making a discovery about them. We move toward in anticipation of a relationship. This “love” is unconditional, just like the “love” shown to us by our amazing God…the Creator…the One who understands Creation better than we because God has been “there” from the very beginning. Love is not “work.” It is a simple movement.

Can this love be messy? Sure. Life is messy. Differences abound. Fear springs from that which is different. Differences can make us uncomfortable, apprehensive…afraid. But the perfect love that emanates from the God of Creation supersedes that fear. That Love can strengthen us to “love” in the way that our Creator God loves.

Will we always do it well? Probably not. We are flawed and broken. Our own imperfections combined with the imperfections of those we move toward can sometimes explode. We won’t Love well. But not loving well is no excuse to stop loving. It just means that we need more practice.

Right now, in our anxious, fearful world in which all sorts of negativity abounds, we have a glorious opportunity. We have the opportunity to turn around, to ponder, to take a leap to discover our many neighbors. We GET TO love one another. Period. Notice God never said we had to like each other. We don’t. We won’t. But God commands us (with the understanding that we have the ability) to love. It is a command that MOVES US  toward God and toward each other.

We can’t lose…unless we choose not to love neighbor. We can’t lose…unless we choose not to love God. If we allow ourselves to be consumed by anxieties and fears, to be distracted from life-giving energy all around us, to be crippled by negativity, we can lose. If we plant our feet in the hardening cement of hatred, bigotry, intolerance, and self-righteous judgment, we can lose. If we stop thinking, asking questions, exploring others and this world, and stop growing and expanding our experience on this earth, we can lose.

But take heart. The command is two-fold but simple. Love God. Love neighbor. Yes, we can lose sometimes. We won’t do it very well. But thankfully, we cannot be lost. We have a God who has promised to come looking for us when we get lost in the world’s ugliness. And since God is the master of the universe God created, God will find us. Thankfully, God loved and loves us…first.

 

Freedom from the myths that have shaped us…

We do seem to be captive to “the myth.” There are so many things that we want to believe, or that we accept unconditionally and without examination. I believe that the myths we embrace are like hugs. They make us feel safe and secure. But not one myth should live on without some examination. When I turned 50 (some years back), I started challenging the myths in my life. To my surprise, most do not remain.

The first myth I began to challenge was the concept of “American Exceptionalism.” I have been very interested in the public conversations surrounding our “great country.” It is perhaps quite obvious that most folks who live anywhere in the world probably feel like their country is “great.” (With the exception of those individuals who are forced to run from their country because of political unrest, terrorism, jihadism, or catastrophic reasons….) All my life, I have been raised with the idea that we (Americans) belong to the greatest country in the world. We learn it in school, if not be exact phrase, by the tenor of our lessons.

History is an interesting subject. It is most often written in the voice of those who have “won.” We tend to know about the Middle Ages taught through the experience of kings and feudal lords, reigning monarchs, and the people at the top of the political spectrum. We know about the Enlightenment because of the people who lit the world on fire with new knowledge and opened up the horizons beyond local geography by going beyond where the “little people” lived. We know about the Revolutionary War through the eyes of…well, us. We won! We separated ourselves from powerful England, later got the best of the French, the Spaniards and their settlements out West…

We also know some history through the skewed lens of “myth.” The cowboy and Native American era wasn’t about John Wayne, Gary Cooper and all those who played our “heroes” growing up. It was about Manifest Destiny and the white immigrants desire to plow across North America and possess it all. We literally obliterated an entire race (except for those we tidily put away on “reservations”) as we “won the Wild West.” Hardly anything to feel proud of. A LOT OF INNOCENT PEOPLE were slaughtered in that fight stretch to the Pacific Ocean.

We are taught some things about our American Civil War, but again, it tends to be through the lens of those who “won”… The Union. There are some folks today who know about the other end of things…because their families belonged to the Confederacy. Only recently have we done a better job at revealing experiences of the Confederate patriots, their families, etc.

The American problem of slavery is often glossed over from both points of view. There were Africans who literally sold other Africans for the price of the profit. There where whites who ran the ships and dumped off “these heathen” in the Caribbean islands and at the port cities of America. But we cannot forget the thousands upon thousand early slaves…who were not black-skinned at all. Indentured servants from Europe were the first slaves here in the New World. And ships full of Irish “slaves” who had been sold and counted as worthless also came to America. Some of the captains dumped those white slaves overboard when supplies got low! For the sake of convenience and profit, all races have sold their brothers and sisters for the chance at profit.

And, of course, when one considers the myth of American exceptionalism, one must come to grips with the years between “freeing the slaves” after the Civil War and the actual Civil Rights Act of 1965. It took almost one hundred years to make it right…and we’re still struggling with racial issues. Haven’t gotten it right yet. And with the advent of the first black president, racial tensions and economic tensions have risen as folks on all “sides” seem to feel disenfranchised, left behind, or worse yet, forgotten altogether.

We also have to come to grips with the continuing struggles of women in the United States. All is not equal yet. We women are not protected from religions that would subjugate us (and the Christian Church still has its own issues, so don’t immediately think I’m thinking about Islam). We still see polygamy, misogyny…everything from giving our daughters away at altars in marriage to mutilating their genitals to expecting them to cover themselves and calling it “modesty.” (That actually hails from another era when women, who remain property in some cultures, were expected to keep covered to protect others from “wanting them.”) Women remain hyper-sexualized in our media, used as products to sell all sorts of things.  We still don’t have equal pay, equal employment, equal opportunity, etc. We still have a long way to go.

Part of the sticky wicket for me is how intertwined our country and the Church have become. It is very disturbing to me every time I hear some TV preacher say that America is the “New Israel…” America is a “Christian nation.” America is “chosen by God.” Oh, good grief! No IT IS NOT! We are  no more “new” than any other nation that God may or may not choose to bless the world. We certainly don’t have that much to brag about. Even the good we’ve done politically in the last century is balanced with the “whatever” we can get out of it. (Case in point: We’ve not been real eager to help nations that have little to offer us. Think about the Congo, the Sudan, etc. in Africa. Not a lot of resources we’re going to get from helping them. Consequently, they languish.) We are not a “Christian” nation. We are, according to our Constitution, a nation that is not overtly tied to any religion and indeed, open to all who come to our shores. We do not discriminate because of religion. Yes, we have been blessed by any number of factors in our history, but so have countless other countries. We like to think God is blessing us more than others, but that in and of itself doesn’t make it true. However, that notion does sell nicely in our churches.

I know the lovely verse, “Blessed is the people whose God is the Lord.” I get that. But it doesn’t say, “The most blessed people in the world are those who just claim that God is their Lord.” We’ve used God’s name to justify some pretty horrific moments in our history. Let’s not be to uppity about being God’s favorite. That God Israel into all sorts of trouble time and again in their history.

The myth of our American exceptionalism died for me a few years ago. Are we a wonderful country? Yes, when we are at our best! Is it great to be an American? Yes, except as I watch this election cycle. I’m embarrassed and very worried! What a mess we’ve created for ourselves!

Another myth I have released is the myth of the Church being a safe and secure place to live and work and be. I even wrote a book where I fussed with that notion for 400plus pages. That’s another essay. (Or you can read my book, An Epilogue for Eleanor. Contact me here to purchase an autographed copy.) One of my personal myths that I also released was that I had to keep my bohemian side in check. I needed to “be good,” “do good,” and “think good,” in order to be acceptable. Nonsense. I finally learned to be the best me I can be and forget the rest. One can be totally strangled by trying to live by what one thinks everyone else thinks is “good,” including The Church. As I said, there’s another essay coming about that.

Myths without examination are just great stories we’ve embraced while we’ve checked our brains at the door. We need our brains. I believe we were created with them because there is an expectation that we will actually use them. We don’t have to accept every myth we’re taught just because everyone else is grabbing a hold of it. Research, conversation and honesty are great scales on which to weigh all those myths in your life. I know I’ve discovered a great freedom releasing the myths that were entrapping me. That freedom is…well…very freeing!

 

Cruising…a lesson in hospitality…and a reminder of the ugly American

Last week, my husband and I had the pleasure of taking my parents and sister on a cruise to the Caribbean. They thoroughly enjoyed the cruise and fun was had by all. As we enjoyed the ship, the service and the smiles of the crew, I spent private mental time reflecting about the hospitality industry involved in the art of “the cruise.”

Crew members are taught the value of and trained in the art of customer service. They learn well how to do their tasks and to make customer service a real part of everything they do. From the moment one drives into the port area and begins that initial adventure of wading through security and registration, every last person is working to make your experience positive. Having cruised seven times, I remain enchanted with the process and with the people that I’ve met on board these grand cruise liners.

I enjoy looking around and studying the people who cruise. Beautiful people gather with their families, speaking every language imaginable. These families and individuals have come from all over the world to enjoy this week (or whatever the length). They are excited, perhaps a bit bewildered by the whole process, and yet looking forward to setting feet on the ship.

If one can listen through the din, one can hear many languages. Spanish, French, Italian, German, Dutch, the various Scandinavian languages, British English, Australian English, Scottish English, Irish English…and yes, even American English. The many port staff members do their best to herd us all through to the point of registration where we can get our “set-sail-passes” and get on board.

This time, we spoke with an elderly gentleman who was herding us through, pointing people to the best lines or the next lines. The queue wound its way this way and that, back and forth, as each “almost-passenger” got closer and closer to their destination. This gentleman looked tired. Just before we got close to him, there was a family that really let him have it. They were so vile and ugly that I felt sorry for the man. And, much to my chagrin, they were Americans. What a great visual for all the guests to take back to their respective homes…an American behaving badly and bullying an elderly man whose sole purpose was to direct and move along the passengers.

I felt heartsick. Why is such ugliness necessary? Everyone else seemed to be able to wade through the queue with some sort of aplomb…some sort of decorum befitting the gentle-people all around. And yet, this family found it necessary to be rude in front of everyone. Ugh!

When we got close enough to him, I asked him “How are you?” He smiled. I commented, “You must feel your job thankless sometimes?” He smiled again, and this time he nodded. I reached over and hugged him and said, “Thank you for your service to us and your patience with ugly people.” He hugged me back and said, “It’s always us Americans who are rude…never the foreigners.”

I winced. Here is a man who works with thousands of people daily. He makes many observations along the way, and that is what he had to say. My heart fell. My spirit was buffeted.

What has happened to us as a country that gives any one of us permission to behave poorly to anyone else? I remember as a little girl learning about the concept of “the ugly American.” My father was privileged with a State Department assignment to Ankara, Turkey. We lived there 1967, 1968 and 1969. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of Ankara. Before we moved there, Mother sat us down and gave us quite a “talkin-to.” She told us that we were to behave there as she had always expected us to, but with even more emphasis that we treat the people kindly, eat whatever was offered (I learned to eat eggplant in a million different ways!), and to make sure we played and worked sweetly with the Turkish people. In no uncertain terms, she told us that if we misbehaved or made Daddy look bad because of our behavior, there would be severe consequences. We were NEVER to be “the ugly American.”

Alas, as a child, I saw many Americans who lived there in Ankara behave badly. I learned as a young girl about the puzzling myth of our own exceptionalism that many Americans have– that we are better than the rest of the world, smarter, more clever… And worse yet, there seemed to be the assumption by some Americans could walk all over “other people” because they were not Americans. It was sad to see over and over again. But, what a valuable lesson for me as a young girl.

There I was in this bastion of hospitality, mind reeling with memories of ugly Americans I’ve seen through the years, treating “foreigners” in an unconscionable manner…treating anyone “different” as scum… There I was, looking forward to the cruise, reminded of the hatred outside boiling and bubbling as now Americans are treating each other badly, too. Children have become bullies…as I imagine they watch their elders doing the same thing in different ways. Those who have some skewed sense of entitlement, whether from affluenza or from expecting someone else to provide for them in grand ways, have taught a whole new generation that mistreating others is “alright.” Troubling thoughts to have while looking forward to a week of cruising in the Caribbean.

Thankfully, by the time we had gotten aboard and my parents’ faces were filled with smiles, I had put aside those memories and that one unfortunate experience and given in to the “allure of the seas.” It was a great cruise. I am thankful for the magic of the cruising hospitality industry…and to the “friends” we make on every ship.

 

Random thoughts about Negativity and Anxiety for June 30th, 2016

I wonder now and then about consequences. Can what we feed our minds effect our behavior and our choices? As I flip through channels and look for something uplifting to watch, I am amazed how many shows are about murder and mayhem. Television series abound about criminal behavior, public servants such as police personnel, clandestine agents, and similar subjects. In addition to these shows based on violent behavior and the supposed causes, consequences and techniques to “solve” cases, we now have shows about the “un-dead”, futuristic violence, and apocalyptic endings or near-endings. What is more perplexing to me is that these shows abound because enough people are watching them to make it profitable to air them.

I’m also fascinated by the quality of the unending news media coverage of everything from politics, jihadism, religion, violent crime, etc. It is no wonder that the American public is possibly more anxious than any other time in our history. We are inundated 24 hours a day with BAD news…bad, disdainful and slanted toward opposite-sides politics, bad news about violent crime, bad new about this and that and more bad news about something else. As the airwaves have opened up for more media, the media have found more ways to fill airspace with every piece of negative anything that they can find. And what is more perplexing is that all that bad news actually sells. We appear to like it.

What happens to our minds when they are filled with negativity every time we sit to watch something? What happens to our spirits when we are inundated with violence, negativity, hatefulness, and bias on a continual basis? As our society continues down a pathway of negativity and anxiety, how does all this affect us as human beings?

Another piece to this that I’m curious about is the notorious celebrity we attach to the people who perpetrate crimes and violent actions. Every time we advertise the face, the name, and the “reasons” behind the violence, we actually encourage others to seek that attention… Every time we splash the names of jihadists who are guilty of their crimes against us, we add to their martrydom, to their “celebrity.” We make them “famous” instead of making them nameless, faceless, pitiful examples of hatefulness. When we publish the names and faces of those who commit crimes, we give a certain satisfaction to the sick mind. In this media culture, it is too easy to confuse celebrity and fame with notoriety and infamy. We also help to spread the word about these organizations that recruit sick or marginalized individuals to join their causes.

With all of this barrage of negativity blaring at us 24/7, I wonder about the consequences. Is there a way to have an intelligent conversation about more responsible ways to report a happening without sensationalizing it, feeding into perpetrators need for recognition, and the human tendency to happily ingest all this negativity without so much as a thought?

Sometimes I don’t have the answers, but I have a lot of questions. Sometimes, I wish I could find others to talk with, to struggle with them, to listen to…there is much to ponder in life. And no one can find the answers in a vacuum…alone. All I know is this. The negativity barrage doesn’t fill me with anxiety. It makes me sad. We are better and bigger than this. But we’ve settled…for the ugliness.

Life is too precious…too sweet…I don’t want to settle anymore.

A Post about God’s Presence for June 29, 2016

It is an interesting period of life when one is faced with aging parents, disease, and the need to move. Such has been the last six months of our lives. Faced with a new illness for my father, we decided that instead of waiting until death to deal with the estate, the state of their home, their personal needs to be closer to a dependable adult child, and the new health challenges, we opted to face everything directly. Within three months, we had moved my parents to Florida to be close to us. It has been, at the very least, quite an adventure.

At first, we were all a bit numb. Daddy was sick. Mother was feeling quite vulnerable. We lived over 700 miles away and there was that pesky promise I had made years before. I had put my arm around Mother’s shoulder and said, “Mother, when the time comes, don’t worry. I’ll be there.” That was all well and good. But in truth, I was not there…but over 700 miles away. What should we do? How were we going to deal with this? My only sister who lived close-by has been and continues to be “needy…”, even when my parents were beginning to struggle with their own new-found neediness.

I was very unhappy with the distance between my parents and me. Every time I talked with my mother, her vulnerability screamed out at me over the phone. It was tangible. It was palpable. It was un-nerving. My husband looked at me one night after a particularly difficult conversation with my mother. He just simply said, “We’re not doing this. This doesn’t work for you and it is not working for them.”

I looked at him quizzically. I asked, “So, what do you suggest?”

He nodded emphatically. “We move them here. There’s got to be a unit here in the building that we can buy, prepare and get ready for them. What do you think?”

I was stunned. He was serious. More than serious. He was emphatic. And so, in the next couple of days, my husband did what he does so naturally. He looked around for that perfect condominium unit, found several options, and suggested the idea to my parents. To my shock, they agreed. I realized then how providential it had been for them to have come to help me back in September when I had surgery. They had loved it here. Those five weeks had been great weeks. It was as if Someone out there was preparing the way for us…like that Someone often does when we aren’t paying attention. Those Footsteps go before us…pave the way…open the doors…set things in motion.

In the next few weeks, we had a unit in play. My husband had made an offer. It was accepted and was within my parents’ price-range. My head was spinning. It was a done deal before I could barely breathe. Now, faced with a 700 mile trip both ways every time I traveled, we began the process of readying my parents to move and preparing the unit for them.

The unit was a mess…mustard yellow and slap-you-in-the-face-bright-sky blue. The carpet was filthy…forty-years filthy. The bathrooms weren’t in good shape and my mother deserved better than that. The balcony was not enclosed and they needed that…for sitting and watching and enjoying the corner of Animal Planet and NatGeo that lives just outside our building. The kitchen was a disaster and the appliances were dinosaurs that had fossilized years before.

Somehow, I had to dig deep and find a way to help them where they were and get the unit whipped into shape for moving in. My time frame? Well, in my heart I figured if we could get everything done and them moved by the end of April, we would have a bonified miracle on our hands. Daddy had different ideas. No. October was a better time frame. I smiled. It didn’t feel right to me. Something heavenly was afoot.

My husband and I got a contractor on board who was responsible for the obvious things…remodeling the master bath with pocket door, safety shower doors, walk-in shower to replace the old tub-model, new toilet, new vanity, light-fixture and faucets and shower-fixtures. The floor had to be replaced—it was just awful. The carpet had to be replaced in the entire unit. We needed new blinds in the windows, etc. Strip it. Fix it. Make it right. That was their job.

I took off on the 700 mile trip to my parents’ house. Through gentle conversation and careful deliberation, we decided on an auction company to help with the estate sale and the sale of their house. At 85 and 88, there was so much they loved but so little they needed. Sixty-three years of memories had to be sorted through and decisions had to be made. It wasn’t easy. In the midst of all that, there were doctors visits and blood transfusions, periods of sickness, weakness, anger, sadness, frustration and small explosions. My Mother was an angel. Her Virgo practicality would win the day in those moments when my Pisces Father didn’t want to let go of something.

I would pack for a couple of weeks and then return home to paint, design the kitchen, fuss with nitwit contractors (literally), encourage my husband who was carrying that load all by himself, and try to prepare things for Mother and Daddy. When I got as much done as I could do, I would turn around and drive back, to pack some more, help with more decisions, offer comfort and encouragement and LOVE my parents like I’ve never loved them before.

And there was my sister to consider. Through the years of a fairly dysfunctional life, she had become unusually dependent on my parents. Co-dependency and enabling happens so subtly. But it was there. I encouraged her to move on, to literally move closer to her daughter, where she could start over again, spend time with her grands, and blossom in a way she had never before. Thankfully, she was also resolute. She understood the dynamics and I admired her for that. It wasn’t easy. She had some tough stuff to face and she did. And she did it on her own. I am very proud of her.

I had thought that we could do all this by the end of April. Daddy was pushing for October. In fact, he got angry several times and called me a “tornado.” And then, the auctioneer who was handling the estate and the house sale made the decision for us. “I have you on my calendar for March the 17th and 18th. We’ll have the house sold by the end of March.” Daddy was stunned. So was I. We freaked a bit. We laughed when we realized that it was right around the corner. It was already then mid-February. And then, we kicked into high gear.

Somehow, we got it done. The house was emptied of the “best stuff” with which my parents wanted to surround themselves. The truck was ordered and filled. My husband came to drive it and my parents filled their van. I drove ahead a couple of days to finish painting and the cleaning so everything was ready for them. The contractor had been an absolute nightmare of flooded units above and below the new one. There had been delays and snafus. Somehow, it was done. The day I was due to arrive at night, they finished the carpeting. Whew!

I set about to finish the kitchen, clean the unit, make sure everything was “mother-ready” and find a moment to breathe. I got it done. Meanwhile, Mother and Daddy, and my wonderful husband stopped along the way overnight. Smaller distances were a necessity. Daddy can’t do the long distances anymore. They made it late Tuesday and we had crew due on Wednesday to unload them and get things in their places.

It is now three months later. They are settled in and just today worked with one last handyman to get shelves in two closets so they can unpack the last of the boxes and clear out the front room that’s been used to store them. It is almost finished and they look so pleased. Everyday, they express thanks to us and thanks to God for bringing them here…for preparing the new home…for making this last adventure a good one.

God is like that…you know? Sometimes that Presence is just working behind the scenes making our lives work in wondrous ways. Sometimes that Presence works through others. Sometimes that Presence works through unknown means…and life enfolds and presents itself to us in all God’s richness and glory. Sometimes, that Light surprises…And it is always done in such a perfect way.

Hindsight helps us see how that Presence has been at work. It wouldn’t be as precious if it were obvious. That Presence still catches us off guard…causes us to catch our collective Breath…catches us unbeknownst…catches us. And we smile. We feel the warmth of that Present Face who looks in favor on us, even though we don’t deserve it. We thank God that God loves us, holds us, protects us, goes before us and puts the right people and circumstances in our pathway. And yes…as my sweet husband so often says, ‘It is all good.’

Advocating for those without a voice: June 27th, 2016

Today, I found myself in a very serious conversation with my mother. I am so grateful for her wisdom, life experience, and close proximity, now that they live so close. We talked of many things, but found our passion today focused on those young girls in the world who have no voice. This is an unhappy topic, but one free women everywhere should discuss, ponder, and concertedly search for solutions. Thousands of little girls are trapped in families whose religious practices include the unthinkable act of genital mutilation. Strapped down by their elders, they are forced to endure the removal of their clitoris. If they are “lucky,” it is done by someone who won’t mutilate them too badly. At worst, they suffer disfigurement so bad that they endure untold dysfunction for the rest of their lives. The only purpose of this evil is to rob them of any sexual pleasure…thus somehow making them more acceptable wives and bearers of children for their religious cultures. It is for control and domination. It is a deplorable and terrible practice.

No one wishes to talk about it. We free women turn blind eyes and plug our ears. We don’t want to acknowledge it, nor do we want to stop it badly enough to risk what might be necessary. In my thoughts, this problem began centuries ago when girls were first labeled as “father’s property.” Girls and wives (and all children, even boys, up to a certain age) were considered and treated as property. They had no rights, no privileges, and no protections. We still see vestiges of this in our own American culture. How many times do our pastors ask during wedding ceremonies, “Who gives this woman?” (When I was a pastor, I refused to ask that questions and indeed, taught the history behind it.) As property, the girls had to be kept pure and untainted in order to fetch the best price or to entice the best family to seek their “hands” for their sons. Different religions created spiritual reasons for this need to keep the property pure. Virginity was seen as one of the necessary requirements for the contractual passing of property from father to husband. “Who gives this woman?” was the question asked of the father as he literally put his daughter’s hand into the hand of the man chosen to be her husband and new owner of her as his property.

Women have endured all sorts of tests for virginity through the ages, including humiliating examinations of all body orifices…and in some cultures, their virginity was to be taken by the chief of the tribe…and in others, friends and colleagues got to watch the happenings on the marriage bed to attest to the woman’s discomfort and bleeding as her virginity was stolen from her. Her virginity became a kind of commodity to be bought, sold, or stolen…all ways of controlling and dominating the female.

The physical pleasure of women has often been seen as evil and the reason for wives who commit adultery, or daughters who “dishonor” their families. Indeed, in some cultures, adultery and dishonoring a family is punishable by death. Rarely is the man put to death…normally it is just the woman. In many religions, women are seen as the one who brought “sinfulness” into humankind. Just read the etiological tale in Genesis and you will see how Woman is blamed for the Sin of Humankind. In some religious cultures, the purity and control of women is so demanded that they are willing to disfigure and mutilate their women in order to control them, to constrain them, and to dominate them. It is wrong. Simply wrong.

What can women in the free world do about this? We need to speak up. We need to make each other aware that this is still being practiced…in the United States among those involved in religious cultures where it is demanded, in Europe…in the Middle East… in Africa…all over the world. And yet, there is no outcry. These little girls have no voice…no loving sister-humans who will speak for them, protect them, rescue them…

This is an uncomfortable and gross subject. It is a necessary one. It is time to talk about it…to advocate for these women and girls… TO STOP IT.

Please take a look at this link and discover 16 organizations that are working to stop this practice. Join us in the fight against it and become a voice for the voiceless.

16 Organisations, Charities and Grassroots Groups Working to Stop Female Genital Mutilation

 

A Quiet Heart: Sunday, June 26, 2016

So, it is Sunday, June 26th. It has been another lovely day here in South-Central Florida. My husband and I went to church with my parents today. It was an interesting experience to say the least. My parents have struggled to get going since moving here a couple of months ago. But, my father felt well this morning and they were ready to begin their journey of visiting churches. Off we went to one of the local churches. It is always interesting to go somewhere new for worship…to be “the guest” and try to find one’s stride amidst the assumptions that the homefolks are used to… We were all glad to have been, but it was an off-morning there. The Spirit whispered anyway through the audio-snafus and the VBS introductions and the longer-than-normal get-together. God is always present when one opens one’s heart. It makes worship possible even when it is difficult. And an open heart can find solace and comfort in God’s presence.

I am glad for a quiet heart in the middle of all the anxiety in our culture. In a world where the automatic response to everything is fear and hatred, a quiet heart is immeasurably valuable. In the midst of all the political shenanigans of this election cycle, a quiet heart is comforting. It keeps me centered and able to think clearly, instead of reacting to what I hear. A quiet heart helps me to cogitate on all the information and to form opinions and shape my thoughts very carefully. I am thankful for a quiet heart.

There is a lovely verse (Psalm 46:10) that simple says: “Be still and know that I am God.” In the Hebrew, the sense of the words “be still” is CEASE STRIVING. In a world full of such heightened emotional reactivity, resting in God’s presence is key to being able to CEASE STRIVING. It gives space in life for God to create a quiet heart. “Still” doesn’t have to mean without motion, as in “to sit still.” We can live and move and engage the life around us and CEASE STRIVING in the midst of it all. I am thankful for a quiet heart.

For this next week, I pray that you will discover a quiet heart, and that your quiet heart will shape your week, give focus to your life, and open you to the joy of God’s peace and presence.

Until the next time…

Poetry on June 25, 2016

HOME

 

We can see forever

Up here on the eighth floor…

The birds, the lake,

The Florida clouds and more.

 

This little place has become

Our refuge, our hideaway, our home.

It is a place to return to

When there is nowhere else to roam.

 

The blue walls and sandy carpet

Bring Florida inside each day.

The Tampa Bay woodwork

Reminds us of the bridge, The Skyway.

 

The hutch and the Waterford

Bring Munie* into our midst.

Her memory is sweet…

A gentle face to be kissed.
The Last Supper painting

And the clock on the wall

Bring Bernardine to us.

She blesses us all.

 

And Maba is here, too,

In blue and white dishes…

In pitchers and family pieces…

She fills my heart with wishes.

 

And Margret’s here, too,

Bernie’s sweet little sis…

Her picture, the lovely linens

She can’t be dismissed.

 

My children and grands

Float around on the walls.

Memories of their laughter

Fill our short halls.

 

And our memories hold it up

Surrounding us here and there.

Photos, common things, the stuff

That says, “Life is dear.”

 

I look at Bernie there

Sitting on the lanai…

High above Lake Grassy,

And a tear comes to my eye.

 

We are so blessed

And a smile fills my face.

The world is so full of strife now,

But none of that is in our place.

 

Today in the heat

There is a stillness on Lake Grassy.

A slight breeze and humid heat

Make this lake glassy.

 

We are home and still.

Our hearts are full of love and peace.

Here on Lake Grassy,

We share Life. We’re at ease.