Last night, I went to a production by dancing students at Marshall University. The talented students entertained and entranced us as their lissome, flexible bodies created shapes and structures that fed our senses. This was a modern play so sex underlined it. However, the dancing was subtle and understated which added to the dance’s meaning instead of detracted from it. Of course as my niece was one of the troupe, I think that they were all brilliant.
The arts be it music, painting, dancing or acting does not often make its students wealthy but artistes in these industries stimulate our imagination, remind us that man cannot live by bread alone. Sometimes, we need to have chocolate cake and lobsters as well as bread.
Today, at Ferguson, the pastor theme was “A song in a dry season” utilizing the story of Israel’s Babylonian captivity. I recalled Bob Marley’s lyrics: By the waters of Babylon” and the haunting echoing of the chorus which demanded to know: How can we sing the Lord’s song in a strange land?
Well, the pastor exhorted us to praise in song and sing of God’s faithfulness even when we are having difficulties. Singing when times are good is easy but to have faith to sing that our dry season, our times of crisis, rejection or loss will pass
demands spiritual maturity. Sometimes, it is a picture that evokes faith. Sometimes, it is a sunset or dewdrops shimmering on rosebuds. As the leaves fall in kaleidoscopes of purples, browns, reds, yellows, our spirits respond with joy. Whatever our situation, the world is beautiful. Let the music begin!
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Stewardship and Self
Tomorrow is Sunday, a day to meet with worshippers and celebrate the Christ.I do look forward to corporate worship but tomorrow I’ll be home worshipping from my internal space as I allow God to speak to me in the silence.
Two months ago, I returned from retreat relaxed and renewed; yet during this week, I’ve been like an over laden ship, running out of oil in the engine room, about to cross the Horn of Africa. I need to delay until I can get more supplies before I face a week riddled with commitments and challenges.
Sometimes, I treat my life with such disrespect. I paint over stress points, minimize my losses, ignore my wounds, neglect my soul and expect to function like a well-oiled machine. Yet I am fearfully and wonderfully made because of the holistically balanced measure of body, soul, spirit. Taking time to care for myself is a sacred trust not something I should do because I made a mistake that reminds me of my limitations and mortality.
So this week-end, I will worship God by taking care of his creation-working with Him to regain my balance. It would entail exercise and contemplation, tea infusions and candle-light. It would also include doing the laundry, tidying book shelves, creating order. There may even be time to really smell the fragrance of the roses I’ve bought last spring.
The world would be a better place if all children were taught to think of others and put them first. However, they need to learn that they are not expected to love themselves less. Indeed, they undermine their ability to help others if they fail to meet their own needs. This is a lesson that I am still learning with the greatest difficulty.
So with 2011, nine months old, I can admit that it has been a sad, difficult year with several unrealized goals. I also know that many more challenging moments lie ahead before calm seasons come; but the year has been littered with God filled moments so definitive that I saw His headlights. God is with me. My main job is to tend His body.
Two months ago, I returned from retreat relaxed and renewed; yet during this week, I’ve been like an over laden ship, running out of oil in the engine room, about to cross the Horn of Africa. I need to delay until I can get more supplies before I face a week riddled with commitments and challenges.
Sometimes, I treat my life with such disrespect. I paint over stress points, minimize my losses, ignore my wounds, neglect my soul and expect to function like a well-oiled machine. Yet I am fearfully and wonderfully made because of the holistically balanced measure of body, soul, spirit. Taking time to care for myself is a sacred trust not something I should do because I made a mistake that reminds me of my limitations and mortality.
So this week-end, I will worship God by taking care of his creation-working with Him to regain my balance. It would entail exercise and contemplation, tea infusions and candle-light. It would also include doing the laundry, tidying book shelves, creating order. There may even be time to really smell the fragrance of the roses I’ve bought last spring.
The world would be a better place if all children were taught to think of others and put them first. However, they need to learn that they are not expected to love themselves less. Indeed, they undermine their ability to help others if they fail to meet their own needs. This is a lesson that I am still learning with the greatest difficulty.
So with 2011, nine months old, I can admit that it has been a sad, difficult year with several unrealized goals. I also know that many more challenging moments lie ahead before calm seasons come; but the year has been littered with God filled moments so definitive that I saw His headlights. God is with me. My main job is to tend His body.
Monday, September 5, 2011
Worship and Write at Laity Lodge
Thousands of flamingoes rose in unison above the Great Rift Valley to embrace the dawn. Their fly-past draped the clouds in gold, leaving me speechless as it abruptly ended. I’ve also enjoyed the gardens of Versailles, the fragrant flora of Burma’s Middle Kingdom, where the abandoned pagodas testify silently of former glories.
Yet last September, as the truck edged its way along a Texan riverbed, despite the tiredness of day long travel, I suddenly felt on the brink of adventure. In unexpected places and ways God often meets with us and I did enjoy the exploration in creativity: thinking, seeing and writing I found during the retreat.
Laity Lodge utilizes the physicality of our world in such a unique way that it created a hunger for the Creator of the universe. Pictures in the gallery and expertly crafted sculpture in its natural setting were easily accessible. Man-made fountains gurgled and entranced, not caring that a river ran below. In the heart of the canyon beyond the reach of cell phones, hills beckoned to higher ground. The whole canyon reflected dignity of work and celebrated the work of men’s hands. The celebrity authors, poets and musicians and craft teachers who shared their gifts also stimulated me spiritually .as well as intellectually . I was often surprised and overwhelmed by the generosity, consideration and helpfulness, the attention to detail. Serving God through work is my highest calling and this place revived my soul.
It is the only place where I could dabble in paint not caring what I produced. The process was liberating and it was here in the poetry workshop so brilliantly led by Scott Cairns that I learnt to use scripture in a new way.
I did leave a better writer and I would like to return for a fiction workshop as that was my first choice. Nonetheless, Laity Lodge offered more than the excellent work-shops. The created environment made the imagery of the lion and lamb laying down together more vivid as I knew that harmony with nature would be achieved.
Although I’ve visited some amazing places and seen some phenomenal things, Laity Lodge fed my eyes, my soul and my spirit. They also feed the body too. It’s not just a place. It is a point of communion with God, with nature, with your inmost self It is a unique experience that is not only unforgettable but also life changing. I’d love to re-visit and re-charge. I’d love to learn and write. If you are interested in the arts, please visit http://www.laitylodge.org/writers-retreat-ii/
Even if you are not, it is a place worthy of one’s bucket list. See for more details http://www.thehighcalling.org/win-free-trip-laity-lodge-writers-retreat or @laitylodgeretreatcenter.
I feel blessed that I’ve gone and would dearly love to go again.
Yet last September, as the truck edged its way along a Texan riverbed, despite the tiredness of day long travel, I suddenly felt on the brink of adventure. In unexpected places and ways God often meets with us and I did enjoy the exploration in creativity: thinking, seeing and writing I found during the retreat.
Laity Lodge utilizes the physicality of our world in such a unique way that it created a hunger for the Creator of the universe. Pictures in the gallery and expertly crafted sculpture in its natural setting were easily accessible. Man-made fountains gurgled and entranced, not caring that a river ran below. In the heart of the canyon beyond the reach of cell phones, hills beckoned to higher ground. The whole canyon reflected dignity of work and celebrated the work of men’s hands. The celebrity authors, poets and musicians and craft teachers who shared their gifts also stimulated me spiritually .as well as intellectually . I was often surprised and overwhelmed by the generosity, consideration and helpfulness, the attention to detail. Serving God through work is my highest calling and this place revived my soul.
It is the only place where I could dabble in paint not caring what I produced. The process was liberating and it was here in the poetry workshop so brilliantly led by Scott Cairns that I learnt to use scripture in a new way.
I did leave a better writer and I would like to return for a fiction workshop as that was my first choice. Nonetheless, Laity Lodge offered more than the excellent work-shops. The created environment made the imagery of the lion and lamb laying down together more vivid as I knew that harmony with nature would be achieved.
Although I’ve visited some amazing places and seen some phenomenal things, Laity Lodge fed my eyes, my soul and my spirit. They also feed the body too. It’s not just a place. It is a point of communion with God, with nature, with your inmost self It is a unique experience that is not only unforgettable but also life changing. I’d love to re-visit and re-charge. I’d love to learn and write. If you are interested in the arts, please visit http://www.laitylodge.org/writers-retreat-ii/
Even if you are not, it is a place worthy of one’s bucket list. See for more details http://www.thehighcalling.org/win-free-trip-laity-lodge-writers-retreat or @laitylodgeretreatcenter.
I feel blessed that I’ve gone and would dearly love to go again.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
A time to celebrate
After the storms, Saturday was a, cool, clear day. Days are only memorable when events make them so and the eightieth birthday of a retired coal miner was really delightful. The whole celebration was so lovingly and carefully planned that guests were treated to more than a glimpse of a devoted family man of God This man filled many shoes with distinction. Senators and other leaders saluted him with gracious words but the tributes of his children and family are what really resonated in my heart.
When we are eighty, the world is engaged largely through children and the friends who have managed to survive with us. If we are extremely blessed we still have friends to share a high school moment, exchange memories about working with a tough boss or to recall the frolics of our children. We sit in companionship with these friends who have travelled with us and need not speak because they know us and of us.
However, Saturday was a day for remembrance to hear of a life through the narratives of his family and friends with themes of sacrifice, loyalty, and heroism intertwined. What a life story! Many chapters remain to be written.
The music was feet -tapping good, the food excellent, and the peanut fudge so delicious that I ignored feelings of guilt and ate a second piece. So full of good cheer, I reflected on the excellence of this party and thought how much it suited my style and temperament.
My satisfied state was rudely interrupted by memories of my aunt’s 80th celebration. She arrived in a sky blue gown with a train of sea blue on the arms of a gentleman in his fifties who led her to a dais shimmering with lights. At 2am in the morning, as her guests reluctantly left, each with wine specially bottled, she invited us to her house for a cookout to see the day in. I was tired but I declined because I had to leave at 4 am for my red-eye flight. My eighty year old aunt amazes me, intrigues me and occasionally horrifies me. But I admire her tremendous spirit. I enjoy her sense of style, her joie de vivre. Now, I have two models to emulate. Would it be finger- licking fudge or woody wine?
When we are eighty, the world is engaged largely through children and the friends who have managed to survive with us. If we are extremely blessed we still have friends to share a high school moment, exchange memories about working with a tough boss or to recall the frolics of our children. We sit in companionship with these friends who have travelled with us and need not speak because they know us and of us.
However, Saturday was a day for remembrance to hear of a life through the narratives of his family and friends with themes of sacrifice, loyalty, and heroism intertwined. What a life story! Many chapters remain to be written.
The music was feet -tapping good, the food excellent, and the peanut fudge so delicious that I ignored feelings of guilt and ate a second piece. So full of good cheer, I reflected on the excellence of this party and thought how much it suited my style and temperament.
My satisfied state was rudely interrupted by memories of my aunt’s 80th celebration. She arrived in a sky blue gown with a train of sea blue on the arms of a gentleman in his fifties who led her to a dais shimmering with lights. At 2am in the morning, as her guests reluctantly left, each with wine specially bottled, she invited us to her house for a cookout to see the day in. I was tired but I declined because I had to leave at 4 am for my red-eye flight. My eighty year old aunt amazes me, intrigues me and occasionally horrifies me. But I admire her tremendous spirit. I enjoy her sense of style, her joie de vivre. Now, I have two models to emulate. Would it be finger- licking fudge or woody wine?
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Food, Fun and Fellowship
It’s been a month since I started to write about the celebration in honor of Dr Huang, the John Hopkins neuro-surgeon who saved my brother’s life. God uses many channels to heal and we remain in her debt forever.
While festivities provide an enjoyable break from routine they can also be disruptive. Since my mother and sister left for St Louis, I find myself unable to regain my stride and the delicate balance between work and leisure.
Yet these last four weeks of dis-ease have not been without their memorable moments.
I wanted so much to learn photograph but during classes, my pink and purse fitting camera broke. I resisted buying one of the DSlRS but succumbed. By then, the classes were over so I missed a good opportunity. Yet, I was able to take photographs of a house where families cooked, loved, fought and played being burnt to the ground as the first step towards re-building. I couldn’t help feeling sad as the focus of all those memories lit the night sky.
ON July 2nd I spent a most relaxing afternoon in a forest in Beckley. For the first time, I watched horse-shoe being played. Tried a few throws and missed. The catering reminded me of scenes of medieval feasts where dish after dish arrived to tempt groaning stomachs to have one more bite of this or that. It might be fish or ribs or maybe the corn one forgot first or second time round.
Of course, cook-outs provide more opportunities for eating until my stomach protested. One had so much food that we continued after Church the next day.
The Church picnic itself was not exempt from temptations of over-eating as the grills sizzled and the air was heavy with delicate flavors of well -cooked meats.
Food, fellowship and Fun should not be restricted to summer. As social beings, we are programmed to get together. For many people, Sunday is the day where the single or the lonely, the student or visitor could enjoy home cooking and fellowship after Church.
I am indebted to those folk who shared what they had with me, teaching me many skills in the process and giving me the confidence to go and do likewise. When there are so many restaurants, it might be even more economical in time and money to eat out. However, sharing food at home in fellowship feeds body, soul and spirit. So when you ‘re invited to dine with me, please say Yes. I really want to celebrate knowing you in a personal way.
While festivities provide an enjoyable break from routine they can also be disruptive. Since my mother and sister left for St Louis, I find myself unable to regain my stride and the delicate balance between work and leisure.
Yet these last four weeks of dis-ease have not been without their memorable moments.
I wanted so much to learn photograph but during classes, my pink and purse fitting camera broke. I resisted buying one of the DSlRS but succumbed. By then, the classes were over so I missed a good opportunity. Yet, I was able to take photographs of a house where families cooked, loved, fought and played being burnt to the ground as the first step towards re-building. I couldn’t help feeling sad as the focus of all those memories lit the night sky.
ON July 2nd I spent a most relaxing afternoon in a forest in Beckley. For the first time, I watched horse-shoe being played. Tried a few throws and missed. The catering reminded me of scenes of medieval feasts where dish after dish arrived to tempt groaning stomachs to have one more bite of this or that. It might be fish or ribs or maybe the corn one forgot first or second time round.
Of course, cook-outs provide more opportunities for eating until my stomach protested. One had so much food that we continued after Church the next day.
The Church picnic itself was not exempt from temptations of over-eating as the grills sizzled and the air was heavy with delicate flavors of well -cooked meats.
Food, fellowship and Fun should not be restricted to summer. As social beings, we are programmed to get together. For many people, Sunday is the day where the single or the lonely, the student or visitor could enjoy home cooking and fellowship after Church.
I am indebted to those folk who shared what they had with me, teaching me many skills in the process and giving me the confidence to go and do likewise. When there are so many restaurants, it might be even more economical in time and money to eat out. However, sharing food at home in fellowship feeds body, soul and spirit. So when you ‘re invited to dine with me, please say Yes. I really want to celebrate knowing you in a personal way.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Finding Mama
The cloudy day has not dimmed my spirits as I recall the sunny Saturdays of the 11th and 18t . My mother is beautiful and elegant. At eight- eight, she often succeeds in losing Alzheimer’s, remembers the faces of family, thrives on domestic chatter and in the words of her youngest daughter and carer “can hang with me”. This includes leaving home at 6.30AM and returning at nightfall for extended days out. Hanging out involves having flights delayed, cancelled or re-routed so that her journey time is eight hours longer. She gets to son's house completely orientated in place and names. She eventually makes it to bed past midnight without a single complaint.
I am in awe of this woman.
We shared no common interest during my childhood. Attempts by my mother to get close to her firstborn were thwarted by my disinterest in shopping , cooking or any thing remotely feminine. So most of my life, we loved each other but not our lives. Yet, I always knew that hers is a complex personality. In a crisis, she is a rock, in grief dignified, in tough times, loyal, always generous, a sharer of what she has but a hoarder of her thoughts.
Age and re-location have forced a walk in my mother’s shoes. As I reflect on the journey, my admiration of my mother intensifies. I long for her courage and her strength. Her commitment to do the right thing, her sense of duty and her hospitality are impossible to emulate but still they inspire me to try.
Now, at this time of our lives, our paths intertwine as we draw closer in interests.
On the 11th, I shared with her the joy of my brother’s successful surgery. Then on Sunday, we went to Church together. I am delightfully surprised that these days, a Sunday with mama is the highlight of the week.
I am in awe of this woman.
We shared no common interest during my childhood. Attempts by my mother to get close to her firstborn were thwarted by my disinterest in shopping , cooking or any thing remotely feminine. So most of my life, we loved each other but not our lives. Yet, I always knew that hers is a complex personality. In a crisis, she is a rock, in grief dignified, in tough times, loyal, always generous, a sharer of what she has but a hoarder of her thoughts.
Age and re-location have forced a walk in my mother’s shoes. As I reflect on the journey, my admiration of my mother intensifies. I long for her courage and her strength. Her commitment to do the right thing, her sense of duty and her hospitality are impossible to emulate but still they inspire me to try.
Now, at this time of our lives, our paths intertwine as we draw closer in interests.
On the 11th, I shared with her the joy of my brother’s successful surgery. Then on Sunday, we went to Church together. I am delightfully surprised that these days, a Sunday with mama is the highlight of the week.
Monday, June 6, 2011
Another step
After the distractions of the last week , this week has blessed me with warm weather and good news. After the waiting and many false starts, I have a definite offer for my house. Of course, until she signs on the dotted line, she is free to change her mind but I am optimistic. I have seen the clear fingerprint of God in this and am hopeful. Strangely, now that I have reached the end of the beginning, I am surprised by my ambivalence. So many fond memories are rooted to that house, so many great ideas were birthed there. Many relationships blossomed into cherished friendships.
In that house, people of all cultures, classes and races gathered around my table or spilled over the lawn or field beyond. Children romped and were never out of place. When I think of huge American homes, I am somewhat astonished at the company and comraderie that found place within that small five roomed house.
While I enjoyed that house for the people who blessed me with their presence, I would miss it for more personal reasons. I learnt to pour cement, tile walls, neither of which I’ll do again. I also painted everyone of its walls. My friend, Seema, who is an artist painted a seascape in my bathroom after Leslie helped me wall paper two of its walls. There was always something to be done and it was done teaching me a lot about maintenance.
Bad things happened there too. I was burgled twice. I heard of the death of loved ones. I almost lost my sight in one eye. And it was in this house after many years, in the depths of the night that I said goodbye in my heart to a relationship that undermined my emotional well-being.
So although, I agree to sell my house, I know that I won’t be selling my home for it is indeed true that home is really where the heart is at peace. While Grasmere is clothed with precious memories, ever so slowly, I’m finding new points of reference. I ‘ve been blessed to have somewhere comfortable to live for five years. Two years ago during a crisis, I realized that this temporary place was home. Now that chapter too seems about to end and a new book beckons.
As I reflect this Sabbath Eve, I am acutely conscious of the impermanence of life, of possessions and situations. I know that I’m passing through on a pilgrimage. Abraham, Jacob and Moses had great encounters with God on their journey. Tomorrow, as I worshi , I yearn for a similar encounter but even if it never happens, I am content because I know The Way and the Guide on whom I rely to see me safely home.
After the distractions of the last week , this week has blessed me with warm weather and good news. After the waiting and many false starts, I have a definite offer for my house. Of course, until she signs on the dotted line, she is free to change her mind but I am optimistic. I have seen the clear fingerprint of God in this and am hopeful. Strangely, now that I have reached the end of the beginning, I am surprised by my ambivalence. So many fond memories are rooted to that house, so many great ideas were birthed there. Many relationships blossomed into cherished friendships.
In that house, people of all cultures, classes and races gathered around my table or spilled over the lawn or field beyond. Children romped and were never out of place. When I think of huge American homes, I am somewhat astonished at the company and comraderie that found place within that small five roomed house.
While I enjoyed that house for ithe people Who blessed me with their presence, I would miss it more more personal reasons. I learnt to pour cement, tile walls, neither of which I’ll do again. I also painted everyone of it s walls. My friend, Seema, who is an artist painted a seascape in my bathroom after Leslie helped me wall paper two of its walls. There was always something to be done and it was done teaching me a lot about maintenance.
Bad things happened here too. I was burgled twice. I heard of the death of loved ones. I almost lost my sight in one eye. And it was in this house after many years, in the depths of the night that I said goodbye in my heart to a relationship that undermined my emotional well-being.
So although, I agree to sell my house, I know that I won’t be selling my home for it is indeed true that home is really where the heart is at peace. While Grasmere is clothed with precious memories, ever so slowly, I’m finding new points of reference. I ‘ve been blessed to have somewhere comfortable to live for five years and two years ago realized that it was home. Now that chapter seems about to end and a new book beckons.
As I reflect this Sabbath Eve, I am acutely conscious of the impermanence of life, of possessions and situations. I know that I’m passing through on a pilgrimage. Abraham, Jacob and Moses had great encounters with God on their journey. Tomorrow, as I worship , I yearn for a similar encounter but even if it never happens, I am content because I know The Way and the Guide on whom I rely to see me safely home.
In that house, people of all cultures, classes and races gathered around my table or spilled over the lawn or field beyond. Children romped and were never out of place. When I think of huge American homes, I am somewhat astonished at the company and comraderie that found place within that small five roomed house.
While I enjoyed that house for the people who blessed me with their presence, I would miss it for more personal reasons. I learnt to pour cement, tile walls, neither of which I’ll do again. I also painted everyone of its walls. My friend, Seema, who is an artist painted a seascape in my bathroom after Leslie helped me wall paper two of its walls. There was always something to be done and it was done teaching me a lot about maintenance.
Bad things happened there too. I was burgled twice. I heard of the death of loved ones. I almost lost my sight in one eye. And it was in this house after many years, in the depths of the night that I said goodbye in my heart to a relationship that undermined my emotional well-being.
So although, I agree to sell my house, I know that I won’t be selling my home for it is indeed true that home is really where the heart is at peace. While Grasmere is clothed with precious memories, ever so slowly, I’m finding new points of reference. I ‘ve been blessed to have somewhere comfortable to live for five years. Two years ago during a crisis, I realized that this temporary place was home. Now that chapter too seems about to end and a new book beckons.
As I reflect this Sabbath Eve, I am acutely conscious of the impermanence of life, of possessions and situations. I know that I’m passing through on a pilgrimage. Abraham, Jacob and Moses had great encounters with God on their journey. Tomorrow, as I worshi , I yearn for a similar encounter but even if it never happens, I am content because I know The Way and the Guide on whom I rely to see me safely home.
After the distractions of the last week , this week has blessed me with warm weather and good news. After the waiting and many false starts, I have a definite offer for my house. Of course, until she signs on the dotted line, she is free to change her mind but I am optimistic. I have seen the clear fingerprint of God in this and am hopeful. Strangely, now that I have reached the end of the beginning, I am surprised by my ambivalence. So many fond memories are rooted to that house, so many great ideas were birthed there. Many relationships blossomed into cherished friendships.
In that house, people of all cultures, classes and races gathered around my table or spilled over the lawn or field beyond. Children romped and were never out of place. When I think of huge American homes, I am somewhat astonished at the company and comraderie that found place within that small five roomed house.
While I enjoyed that house for ithe people Who blessed me with their presence, I would miss it more more personal reasons. I learnt to pour cement, tile walls, neither of which I’ll do again. I also painted everyone of it s walls. My friend, Seema, who is an artist painted a seascape in my bathroom after Leslie helped me wall paper two of its walls. There was always something to be done and it was done teaching me a lot about maintenance.
Bad things happened here too. I was burgled twice. I heard of the death of loved ones. I almost lost my sight in one eye. And it was in this house after many years, in the depths of the night that I said goodbye in my heart to a relationship that undermined my emotional well-being.
So although, I agree to sell my house, I know that I won’t be selling my home for it is indeed true that home is really where the heart is at peace. While Grasmere is clothed with precious memories, ever so slowly, I’m finding new points of reference. I ‘ve been blessed to have somewhere comfortable to live for five years and two years ago realized that it was home. Now that chapter seems about to end and a new book beckons.
As I reflect this Sabbath Eve, I am acutely conscious of the impermanence of life, of possessions and situations. I know that I’m passing through on a pilgrimage. Abraham, Jacob and Moses had great encounters with God on their journey. Tomorrow, as I worship , I yearn for a similar encounter but even if it never happens, I am content because I know The Way and the Guide on whom I rely to see me safely home.
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