Junctions in the Journey

Over the last six weeks, my mind chased countless stories like a greedy child bewildered by many choices. I know that some stories would remain to warm my heart for some time yet. The glow of Thanksgiving cheer lingers amidst the hustle of Christmas preparations. The shock of seeing my mother looking aged has left me with a hunger for more visits with her. I watched my youngest sister, Esther, as she cared for Mom with tenderness, kindness and firm encouragement underlined by a passionate love and commitment. I worry about my sister exchanging her career to join so many millions of middle-aged women in care-giving but she has applied the same attention to detail in her new role and ensures that my mother’s physical, environmental, social and emotional needs are addressed. I am in awe of her quick grasp of all the issues of elderly care as it relates to mom and her approach to problem solving. As I visited, I realized that the family baby so sheltered and cushioned has been transformed into a skilful, unselfish and confident carer.

My mother stays in the kitchen when we cook or hangs out in the living room and when she goes to bed, she watches television with company. Sometimes, she will straighten a table-cloth or a cushion. She may even take a glass to the kitchen. Although she hardly speaks, she remains the center of life at home. As I fumble to find meaningful words to thank Esther, I could not help wishing that all the elderly folk could enjoy the care my mother enjoys in her own home around the familiar if only for this Season. That I have peace despite my mom’s obvious failing is largely due to Esther, lovingly supported by my two other sisters as well as a pair of helpers.

Last Saturday, while celebrating a couple’s 50th anniversary, I could not shake off the memories of my mom's 50th anniversary celebration. The joy of this occasion evoked vivid memories of another time when my parents were vibrant and death was in a far off country. We were all so young in mind and body. It was for my family a defining moment. I still have my bridesmaid dress and remembered the helium balloons floating skywards, their golden ribbons reluctant trailers. I remembered the cars honking through the streets. I remembered and in the midst of so much joy, cried; knowing things will never be the same. Dad, so handsome on that day is dead| As I chatted with the youngest daughter, I encouraged her to make the most of every minute, savor it and hold on to the joy. It is such a precious celebration in an age when long marriages cannot be taken for granted.

I am still house hunting and am about to make an offer but have an open mind. While I will never have a 50th anniversary, I want to live with passionate enjoyment and I’m looking at a place that frees me up to do that: minimum house-keeping, affordable rates and utilities. I’m from the “life is too short to stuff a mushroom” school and I want to make time to smell the roses for ever. Buying a house in late life can raise all sorts of existential questions e.g what is my real purpose in living? How do I want to spend the rest of my life? It’s even a value thing? What type of neighborhood to choose and what does it say about me? Well, you get the drift. So prayers are needed for patience and strength. Waking up at 4.30am to talk to British officialdom before their lunch requires lots of both. Hopefully, a few more calls should do it.

Truths color Lives

Modernism worshipped at the altar of science. Long held beliefs were discarded like soiled clothes as emerging facts revealed their nakedness of truth. But after a while, the pendulum swung again as we realized that even science can have a bias or an agenda. Then on the heels of swinging sixties, constructionists ushered in the postmodern age where plurality of truths was enthroned. This is in contrast to the ancient Greeks who supported different truths in relationship to each other. Today, everyone, everything has its own truth and societal norms struggle to keep up. These new truths that color our landscape do not necessarily discolor the picture of our moral certitudes. Indeed, they often illuminate some dark corners. However, landscapes devoid of all markers are like empty deserts and we risk the dangers of being lost in their tractless lands.

Today, I found myself confronted by the pain of two teenagers whose romantic life is marred by violence, disrespect and legal sanctions. I couldn’t help thinking that I was not dating at their age although I was curious about love and relationships. I day-dreamed a lot hoping that Prince Charming would ride by. Of course, there were always admirers and they gave me chocolates and candy but I was not dating and it would not have crossed my mind to live with any one of them. So I ended my teen age years leading a group of young people in their activities, planning parties, going to the theatre and always listening to older folk telling their stories. I also found lots of stories from books and I developed my passion for politics and mythology. I played pranks, kept my curfew for the most part and found a job. I emerged from the teen years with lots of growing-up to do; I'm still working on growing. However, the memories of those years bring a smile as I remain grateful for the choices I made.

Decades later, I think of these teens already weighed down with baggage I'll find intolerable. Try as I can to empathize, I cannot really understand why one should trade this special chapter of life for the derailment of broken hopes and broken bones, housewifery over the excitement of candle-lit suppers, television instead of visiting clubs or restaurants. I longed to say: You are on the brink of living. There will be periods to stay by the fire but now is the time to explore new places, things, ideas and people. Yet that would be my truth. Even after a life-time of being single, I have no regrets for my choices. Although I wished a few outcomes were different, I’m glad that I did not collect the experiences that they are enduring.

Nevertheless, these young folk have their truth and when I look in their faces and hear the excuses and protests, I feel disempowered. Society no longer helps by proclaiming its truth so each must find her own. There are no "Driver under Instruction" stickers for living life.

Singing in the Dry Season

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!

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.

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.

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?

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.