Poetry Sunday: "Nitpicking"

I don't often put unpublished poems online in their entirety.  Many journals consider blog postings to be publication, so I often put my already published poems here or poems that I don't think will be published.  I've written a lot of poems, so I have a lot to choose from.

This week, I wrote a poem that juxtaposed our happy Facebook pictures of beaches and church camps with children sleeping in different kinds of camps and that iconic picture of the father and daughter who drowned trying to cross the Rio Grande.  As I was writing that poem, the possibility of a sonnet came to me with these lines:  Children pick lice from each others' hair / and cry for parents who are not there.

Usually I can't write a sonnet--there are parts I just can't accomplish, usually having to do with rhyme schemes.  But as I played with lines, a bigger idea occurred to me:  a poem that had three stanzas that looked at how each branch of the government is dealing with the immigration crisis.  And the poem came together fairly easily.

I'm going to post it here in the hopes that these problems get resolved quickly and that this poem ceases to be relevant.



Nitpicking


Children pick lice from each other’s hair.
They sleep on cold concrete floors
and cry for parents who are God knows where.
Legislators look to settle scores.

A father and a daughter drown.
Immigrants die in the desert heat.
At least their bodies are found.
The president makes policy by tweet.

In October the Supreme Court will hear
the case of children without documents.
We dare to hope and sometimes fear
the end to years of arguments.

Historians may say the nation lost its way.
Or maybe this time we will hold the evil ones at bay.

Eye to Eye with a Dragonfly

Two weeks ago, I'd have been at Mepkin Abbey.  On that Saturday, we walked the outdoor labyrinth together.  It was a surprisingly temperate morning, for a Saturday in South Carolina.  Indeed, Sunday morning was much more hot and humid.

But Saturday was perfect.  I loved walking with my fellow retreatants.  It's always interesting to me to walk with a group in a labyrinth.  I love the symbolism:  we're walking alone, but we're also together.  At points, I look forward and I see no one.  At other points, I have 3-4 people in my field of view.  But at any point, if I just turn my head a bit, I realize I'm not alone. 

The Mepkin Abbey labyrinth is outside, in a huge field. 

We walked between huge grasses and plant stalks and the occasional flower.  Dragonflies zipped in and out.  The sky was clear and blue.  In the distance, we saw a variety of trees, roads, a small house, and a trailer. 

The center has five square benches. 

Once we got there, we sat in silence.  I am not good at sitting in silence, which is one of the reasons why I like walking in a labyrinth in silence.  I am the kind of person who manages meditation better when she has something to do:  journaling or walking or crocheting.  I am the woman at the end of yoga class who can't hold a corpse pose without checking her watch to see if we're almost done.

At first, I was uncomfortable sitting in silence in the middle of the labyrinth.  But then I relaxed.  On the stalk beside my bench, a dragonfly flitted.  I stared at it.  I have never stared at a dragonfly for more than 10 seconds.  I have been amazed at the intriguing wing structure of a dragonfly during a 10 second glance.  But a deeper staring allowed me to marvel at its eyes and its sturdy legs.

I thought of lines from poetry, primarily Mary Oliver's poetry, that glory in the wonders of staring at a part of nature.  I was never that poet--and I don't remember doing that in childhood either.  What a treat to be able to interact with nature in this time-honored way.

Inspirational Butterfly Gardens

What does it mean that the parts of my job that I've liked most this week probably have the least to do with my official job description?

Let me stress that I'm getting the parts of my job description done, to the best of my ability.  I'm not sloughing off my official duties.  But those official duties are not what has brought me joy at work this week.

My primary source of joy has been the creation of a butterfly garden.  We have an ugly concrete deck of an upper parking garage with some metal tables.  From the moment I saw it, I wanted to transform it. 

I had a vision of some sort of garden--at one point I thought of growing food.  But gradually, the idea of a butterfly garden inspired me.  Those plants are fairly hardy:  drought resistant to a point and tolerant of long hours of intense sun.

Plus, I love the idea of butterflies.

And so, I got some pots from a friend who's downsizing and some plants from my pastor who is also a talented gardener, and just like that, my dream became a reality.  I've been waiting for the rainy season to start, and once I procrastinated, I realized it would be a great welcome back message for students as they returned to class on Wednesday.

On Monday, as I finished the first phase, I thought, what this garden needs is an inspiration stone.  And so, I made one. 

Yesterday, I wanted another one.  As I was taking my morning walk around the neighborhood, I saw a chunk of concrete in a pile of construction debris.

By the end of yesterday, I had transformed it:

I do worry that it looks a bit amateurish.  And yet, I'm hoping that's part of its charm. 

Anyone can go to a garden center and pay for some mass-produced inspiration stone made in a factory in China.  Not every butterfly garden has repurposed construction debris!

The other favorite part of my week has been putting baked goods out for students.  We got a huge haul on Monday.  Some weeks I pick up the day old baked goods from a local grocery store, and I have to parcel them out carefully to last the week.  This week, we had more than we could use, and it's been fun to put out a variety.

What does it mean that I'm enjoying these aspects more than the onerous parts of my job, like accreditation report writing?  I'll think more about that in the weeks to come.  My initial thoughts:

--I like creating a beautiful space that might inspire us all.

--I like the way I feel like I'm nurturing people when I put out baked goods or creating a beautiful space.

--This week I also had an idea for a "Summer of Self Care."  I like creating co-curricular activies for students.

--I might like creating a beautiful space more than I like creating events. 

--I like creating a green space out of concrete and metal--the possibility of beautifying something that was ugly.

--I like the creating part of it all--the way that inspiration comes to me as a surprising, "I can do this!" moment.

--I like that I have supplies in my office so that, indeed, I can do this.

Whispers from the Universe at Midlife

A friend posted this Brene Brown quote, which has been making the rounds:

"I think midlife is when the universe gently places her hands upon your shoulders, pulls you close, and whispers in your ear:

I’m not screwing around. It’s time. All of this pretending and performing – these coping mechanisms that you’ve developed to protect yourself from feeling inadequate and getting hurt – has to go.

Your armor is preventing you from growing into your gifts. I understand that you needed these protections when you were small. I understand that you believed your armor could help you secure all of the things you needed to feel worthy of love and belonging, but you’re still searching and you’re more lost than ever.

Time is growing short. There are unexplored adventures ahead of you. You can’t live the rest of your life worried about what other people think. You were born worthy of love and belonging. Courage and daring are coursing through you. You were made to live and love with your whole heart. It’s time to show up and be seen.''

Then my friend wrote, "I have felt this. In fact, I’m in it now. Has anyone else felt the universe telling you to seriously start moving?"

I replied, "Piercingly I have felt this."

My friend asked, "What kicked it off for you? Was it an event? A feeling?"

I liked my response so much that I decided to post it here.  I can't always find things on Facebook again when I want, so I often transform them into blog posts or journal entries.  Here's what I wrote:

"It's been growing since the election, and then there was Hurricane Irma and reports of sea levels rising more rapidly than we anticipated, which made me think my retirement plans needed to be re-evaluated. Once I start to re-evaluate one thing, I've just kept going. But mostly, it's a realization that I no longer have as much time as I once did, and it's time to go into a higher gear. I don't always have the energy for the higher gear--which may also be saying something about my choices. What drains me? What energizes me? Once I'd have avoided those answers, knowing that the answers meant I should be re-evaluating. Now I know I need to re-evaluate, so I'm returning to the basic questions: why am I here? What needs to be done? Or, to paraphrase writer and theologian Frederick Buechner: what's the intersection between my deep yearning and the world's deep hunger?"

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, June 30, 2019:



First Reading: 1 Kings 19:15-16, 19-21

First Reading (Semi-cont.): 2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14

Psalm: Psalm 16

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 77:1-2, 11-20

Second Reading: Galatians 5:1, 13-25

Gospel: Luke 9:51-62


I write this meditation just after the feast day of John the Baptist, which makes an interesting counterpoint to the Gospel lesson for Sunday. In the Gospel, we see Jesus headed towards Jerusalem. He meets people who want to go with him, and some of them he seems to turn away, by warning of a sort of homelessness, a psychic isolation that comes from having no physical home.

Other people he invites to follow him, and they want to, but they have these responsibilities that they need to attend to first. And just like that, they've lost their chance. Many of us must understand the plight of the man who needs to bury his father. In the time of Jesus, this obligation would have loomed even larger than it does today.

Jesus seems to suggest that we forsake family responsibilities, and this theme recurs periodically throughout the Gospels. Or maybe he's suggesting that we shuck off the things which are already dead.

Jesus always asks us to consider what distracts us from God--what keeps us from our true home?  Is it family obligations?  The love that many of us have for our cell phones?  Work?  We live in a time of many distractions demanded by our culture.

Ask any sociologist, and they'll tell you that socialization binds us more thoroughly than any other aspect of our being. It's socialization that demands that we mop the floors when we'd rather be making music. It's socialization that tells us we must attend to our families, our jobs, our various responsibilities, in certain ways, even when those ways put our souls in danger.

Jesus warns us again and again of the dangers of taking our hands off the spiritual plow. Of course, most of us aren't leading agrarian lives anymore, so the metaphor may not be as powerful. But in our time of increasingly fragmented attention spans, the central message remains: Jesus tells us to keep the focus on him, not on our smart phones, our tablets, our larger computers, our e-mail accounts, our televisions, all the screens which rule our lives.

The life of John the Baptist gives us a powerful role model. John the Baptist had a belief and a mission so powerful that he was willing to go into the wilderness and to eat locusts. Would you be willing to eat locusts?

If we're not willing to brave the wilderness for our faith, perhaps it's time to deepen that faith. If our mission doesn't move us to eat locusts, perhaps it's time to adjust the mission. What would excite you so powerfully that you would never lose your grip on that Gospel plow, that you would never look back? How can you get that excitement into your daily life?

Praying Out Loud

A few weeks ago, I got a phone call from a faculty member whom I've known for a long time.  She was worried about a student--we were all worried about him.  He was homeless, but it took a few weeks before his mental instability became undeniable.

Those of us in the field of education can tell you that we all have many students who are unstable, but many of those mental instabilities are manageable.  This student's instability manifest itself through hostility and cursing and storming out of the classroom, leaving everyone anxious and worried about the threat of escalating violence.

After the phone call from the faculty member, I felt even more fretful than I had been feeling.  The phone call came later in the evening, which meant I had trouble sleeping.  As I lay in bed with multiple nightmare scenarios competing for space in my head, I decided to pray.

Praying silently didn't help--my brain just raced back to the threat of violence.  I decided to pray out loud, softly, but out loud.

Immediately, my mind quieted.  I kept praying, expanding the circle of prayers out from the student, to his classmates, and the teacher, and all teachers at my school, and then, all teachers.  I prayed out loud in this way for about five minutes, and then I ended the prayer this way:  "You know all we need even before we realize our needs or find the language to articulate our deepest yearnings. I ask your help in addressing all these needs.  Amen."

And then I drifted off to sleep.  The student decided to withdraw two days later.  While I wish we could have helped him back to a life that would keep him safe, we don't have the kinds of resources that larger schools have:  a psychiatric team, housing, regular meals.  He needs those things before he can be successful as a student.

Do I think that my prayers delivered that outcome?  Not necessarily.  That's not the point of this post.  I wanted to remember how much more effectively I prayed when I spoke the words.  By effective, I mean that I offered a complete prayer, rather than drifting off to sleep or getting distracted.

It also took me back to the pleasanter parts of childhood, the way I often ended my day back then.  A bit of reading, a bit of praying out loud.  I felt the friendly presence of my ancestors.  I felt held in a practice much more ancient than myself.

Leadership Thoughts on a Sunday Morning

I've been doing a lot of thinking about leadership and different leadership styles.  Do we trust the teams that we've hired to do good work?  Or do we feel that they won't do good work unless we're constantly checking on them?

As various people have chimed in on their ideas about how faculty should be managed, I have realized that I operate out of a place of trust: we've hired good faculty who cover the course objectives in masterful ways, and I'm going to stay in the background and let them do their work. 

Yesterday, I listened to an episode of On Being that looked at whether or not we can bring our whole selves into the workplace.  This part seemed worth recording:  "There are times in which those who have power need to speak with authority. But too often, we mistake and conflate that action for the day-to-day “directing” of people’s lives. And I think that leadership is much more subtle, much harder, and ultimately, more life-giving, more fulfilling. And that is, the leader’s role isn’t to be the authoritative figure telling everybody what to do and how to do it, but to be the model for creating a container in which their best possible work can get done and to perhaps remove obstacles from the paths that are in front of their colleagues so that they can then grow into their best possible selves. That feels very strong, very firm, and not particularly authoritarian."

The whole episode, an interview between Krista Tippett and Jerry Colonna was full of important insights.  Colonna noted that just as most of us are working out our childhood family dramas in our grown-up relationships, we're often doing that at work too:  "And so the middle way is to recognize that none of us leaves our personal stuff at the door, that we are always seeking to replicate structures from our childhood, and, by reinforcing that we have a shared sense of purpose, a shared sense of mission, and a shared commitment to work, we can use that as a kind of exoskeleton structure so that, internally, we can each do our work but not expect the organization to solve the wounds of our childhood. When we use our work environments to try to heal our wounds, we are actually opening ourselves up to even more pain and suffering."

Later, Colonna quoted Parker S. Palmer, a favorite of many of us who listen to On Being:  "Again, our friend Parker Palmer likes to say that violence is what we do when we don’t know what to do with our suffering. And I think that corporations, businesses, have a well-earned reputation for inflicting a kind of suffering on our communities and our planet; and I think that a lot of that stems from the fact that the leaders in those corporations don’t know what to do with their suffering, and so they inflict it on others. And so we see a kind of callowness, a kind of inhumanity, constantly perpetuated."

They circled back to the central question of how we know we're doing our best work and bringing our best selves to work. Colonna said, "There’s a line from David Whyte, which we use all the time, my colleagues and I, which is, “Good work, done well, for the right reasons.” And when I can lay my head down on the pillow at night, saying to myself, “Good work, done well, for the right reasons,” then I feel that I have done enough, and I am enough. And when I can hold that, then I understand that that is the kind of leader I am. I am not the kind of leader that is rapaciously seeking more, more, more. And when I can feel my way into that, then I know that the kind of adult I am, the kind of man that I am, is a man who knows — dare I say it — when to rest."

What an eloquent way of looking at leadership!  How I wish more people had these ways of leading.

Sketching Discernment

I slept later than usual this morning--in part because of tiredness, in part because we spent much of yesterday hanging our new drapes.  They are light blocking drapes, so we didn't have the natural light to help us wake up.

I often sleep a bit later than usual on Sundays.  If I can sleep, I'm happy to get a bit more.  But usually, I can't sleep, especially if I know I need to get up for spin class.

I spent part of yesterday falling down a rabbit hole of looking at real estate in other areas--actually, just one other area, my college town of Newberry, SC.  I could get a historic house, but it looks like it may need some work.  I am tired of home repairs, and I understand the sucking neediness of a historic home. 

I could get a goat farm outside of town.  I wonder if the goats come with it.  That site had a picture of some huge pigs as well.

I am astonished by how much one's monthly mortgage goes down when one isn't living in South Florida, with the high property taxes and the even higher insurance.

I also looked through my sketchbook.  I was struck by this one that I made during a presentation on clergy coaching while I was at Synod Assembly:

I also made this reminder for us all. And it doesn't have to be God calling.  It could be your soul or your childhood self or what the world most needs you to be:

And here's a sketch from language from the opening prayer for our Friday Synod Assembly.  It's a good reminder that God can create beauty in even the most chaotic times.  And so can we.  It's also a reminder that Divine timing may not be our timing.  And that there is value in imperfection--another good reminder for our chaotic times.

What Discernment Means to Me

As I was driving home from Mepkin Abbey, I thought about the fact that about a year ago, we started packing up our possessions in our process to get ready to begin the hurricane damage repair and restoration project.

Regular readers know that many of those possessions are still in boxes in the cottage.  As I drove the length of Florida on Monday, I gave myself a pep talk:  it's fine that things are still in boxes now, since the repairs and restorations took longer than expected.  It's not O.K. if they're still in boxes in a year.

Or maybe it will be O.K.  Maybe then I'll be convinced that there's no need to keep them.

Sometimes it's important to change our language.  Similarly, when I've been thinking about the future, I'm using words like discernment, as I think about the second half of life, and what I want that to look like.

What I'd really like (but I don't know if it would pay the bills): to work in a retreat center. To create retreats and programs that explore the intersections of creativity and spirituality--and I use those words creativity and spirituality in the largest ways possible. I think that the needs of people at midlife are overlooked by churches and by the larger society. We're so focused on youth and on the aging. I want to work in a place that's focused on the hungers and yearnings of people. That could happen in a higher education institution--but I'm distressed by how much debt we ask people to take on for a college degree and I'm weary of the compliance and assessment work that seems to come along with higher ed these days.

I also return to a vision of being a retreat coordinator who creates online retreats so that camps and retreat centers already in existence don't have to create them. They provide x amount of students, and for a pre-determined price, I deliver a retreat to those people. I can't imagine doing this part-time, but I'm also not yet ready to take the leap to creating that kind of company--lots of legwork.

I envision doing that, though, if something happens to my current job. Or if I keep thinking about it and creating a plan. I would yoke that with a dream of having a practice as a spiritual director--like a life coach, but with a spiritual lens.

While I was at Synod Assembly a few weeks ago, I talked to a woman who is finishing this program which gives a certificate in spiritual direction.  She says that there's a huge interest in people having a spiritual director. When one gets the certificate, one gets added to a database of directors. She's already had calls from people, even before she finished the program.

That program has a next class starting in Jan. of 2020, and right now, I'm leaning towards doing that regardless. I've been wanting to do this kind of program for a long time. This one is affordable and I can do it in my current job. It has on-campus intensive times, as do most distance learning programs, but it's a Wed-Sat. time, which is much more doable--the other program I was looking at for spiritual direction requires a week away. The seminary program I was thinking about requires a 2 week time away, which is not as easy in my current job.

Thinking of myself as being in a time of discernment helps my mood. I'm moving towards something different, although I'm unsure of the shape of it.

A Cool Way to End a Retreat

At our Mepkin Abbey retreat, we had a really wonderful ending to the retreat.  We spent some time on Sunday morning reflecting on what we had just experienced and writing a letter to ourselves.  Our leaders suggested we record three take-aways and then three practices we hoped to institute after the retreat.  They gave us envelopes to be self-addressed, and sometime in the next few months, the leaders will mail our letters.

I'd have been happy with that ending, but our leaders did something much more special. 

We gathered in the chapel after lunch for our closing ritual.  We read from our letters.  And then, our retreat leaders read a letter of encouragement they'd written to each individual.  That letter will be mailed with the letters we wrote to ourselves.

Each letter showed that the leaders had been listening deeply as the retreat went along.  I was astonished at the level of detail--and at the fact that they had been able to get them all written in the short space of time.

We then did a closing prayer, with an anointing of the hands and foreheads of each individual.  Here, too, we had an unusual twist.  We each blessed the oil before the prayer began.  Each person in the circle held the vial of oil, blessed it with words given to us, and then breathed in a word that we wished to see manifest for each of us as we moved forward (for example:  "patience" or "vision for a different future" or "grace").

I left feeling blessed in a multitude of ways.

A Different Online Spiritual Journaling Workshop

This week I began a different online journaling workshop.  Mepkin Abbey wanted to develop a program for those of us away from the Abbey, so they have created something they're calling Zip Code Contemplatives.  Those of us who are geographically close are gathering online to do some journaling and have some lectio divina.  People who are truly in the same zip code might decide to meet in person, but since my group contains people from various places in the lower part of the Florida peninsula, we're not likely to do that.

We are working our way through a group of CDs by the Marist brother Don Bisson--the title is Individuation:  Beyond "Happy and Normal."  Yesterday morning, I listened to the first 3 tracks.  Last night, we gathered in an online space (a Zoom meeting).  We did some talking and some individual journaling.  It was interesting to see what leapt out at each person.  I"m looking forward to our next session.

I'm doing some sketching along with writing.  It helped me stay focused on the CD tracks.  As I'm doing more to stay on task and stay focused, I am realizing how easy it is for my attention to wander.

Of course, the danger with sketching is that I can be so focused on the sketching that I forget to listen.

The tracks for this session reminded us again and again that society gives us all sorts of false messages.  We go to therapy to get some insight, and we often go again and again, getting the same insights.  But very few of us can live with the insights--we're in a quick fix culture after all.  Plus it's often a tough message/insight to live with--the idea that the ego isn't in control of its own destiny.

One of the final messages spoke to me:  the idea that we have a beautiful garden, where we continually plant weeds that choke the garden.  The weeds are the false dreams and illusions that our larger culture gives us.  The true self is the beautiful garden.

I'm interested in this process for many reasons, chief among them is that I think that more and more of us will be less and less able to get away for a full retreat.  Can online retreats nourish us?  And if so, will it be in similar or different ways?

I'm also interested, of course, because I have visions of being a retreat leader in the future--whether as a full-time job or a volunteer ministry.  These kinds of things can nourish those of us in a congregation to be closer, even if we can't gather in person throughout the week.

And of course, I'm interested in what I can learn for my online teaching, particularly if I move into jobs where I have some creativity and control.  Right now I don't--but in the future, I might.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, June 23, 2019:



First Reading: Isaiah 65:1-9

First Reading (Semi-cont.): 1 Kings 19:1-4 [5-7] 8-15a

Psalm: Psalm 22:18-27 (Psalm 22:19-28 NRSV)

Psalm (Semi-cont.): Psalm 42--43

Second Reading: Galatians 3:23-29

Gospel: Luke 8:26-39


I must have read this Gospel lesson over a dozen times through the decades, but this time, the depiction of the demons leaps out at me. These demons who drive the man to distraction--he lives naked by the tombs, he is so distracted. These demons who disturb the neighbors who try to contain the man and his demons by chaining him and guarding him. I recognize these demons!

I also recognize our helplessness in dealing with these demons. We may be horrified at the idea of this man kept in chains, but I suspect that future generations will be equally appalled at the ways we've dealt with troubling humans, or refused to deal with them.

Now, let me stress that I read the demons as metaphorical. I've met people who believe in literal demon possession, and some of them make a compelling case. But in the end, I agree with those who say that ancient people couldn't explain mental illnesses any other way. I've also met plenty of mentally ill people who would make me believe in demon possession, if I didn't have a medical explanation.

I don't want to spend much time writing about true mental illness, but instead about the demons who possess us all. Who among us hasn't spent an anxious night worrying about things we couldn't control (finances, our loved ones, our health)? Perhaps we fall into a sinister pattern of sleepless nights being haunted by the world's worries. Most of us have probably gone through periods where we come perilously close to wrecking our relationships with our loved ones because of our obsessive worries about them.

If only my inner demons could be driven out into a swine herd, or whatever the modern equivalent would be. If only I could be free from those wretches of worry that wake me at night and won't let me sleep for fear of all that could go wrong.

Perhaps I should try giving these cares to Jesus and let Jesus drive them away. I've tried doing that. When I can't sleep at night, I pray. I can't do anything to solve most of the world's ills, but I know a power that can. When I wake up at night and start worrying, I try to remember to turn to prayer. Eventually my mind quiets, and I drift off to sleep.

Christians have thousands of years of thought and practice in dealing with the demons that torment us. For some, it's prayer. For others, it might be working with the poor and the destitute. We might meditate to still our minds. We might need a healing service or a laying on of hands. We also shouldn't discount the powers of modern medicine, which offers us a powerful arsenal in our attempts to manage our minds.

God needs us to allow our demons to be sent into swine. God has creative work and play for us to do, and we don't have time for the hissing of demons to distract us.

An Overview of My Latest Mepkin Retreat

This time yesterday, I'd have been on the road for an hour.  I got up, made my thermos of coffee using a ridiculous amount of pods in the fancy Keurig machine, and drove down the very dark country roads under a full moon.

I saw the same moon rise the night before while I was walking the labyrinth one last time.  Most of the retreatants, including my two friends, had already gone home.  In our Sunday morning session, one of the retreat leaders told us of his experience walking the labyrinth under the full moon, and I felt this regret that I hadn't thought of it--but then I realized I still had one night left.

Watching the light drain from the sky after the sun set while seeing the glow from the rising moon was very cool.  Was it mystical?  No, not really.  I knew that I was fairly safe, but I still felt a bit uneasy.  Plus it was a bit humid and buggy.  But I do love a good moonrise:

The moonrise walk was not my only walk in the labyrinth.  I also walked with a group on Saturday morning.  We got to the center of the labyrinth and sat in silence together.  I looked at a dragonfly and marveled at its eyes.  I don't often sit and gaze at something--oh, let's be honest, I never do that.  It was wonderful.

Other highlights of the long week-end at Mepkin Abbey:

--I did get some writing done.  I had an idea for a poem about Noah's daughter, and I wrote it.  I also got an idea driving home about Noah's descendants selling the ancestral lands that once grew citrus fruits.  This morning, I wrote that poem.

--The weather was amazing.  I got out of the car on Friday and was struck by the lack of humidity.  It was warm, but I could walk from place to place without breaking a sweat.  On Saturday morning, it was downright cool.  What a treat to sleep with an open window.

--The retreat was a structured retreat, which is different from the majority of retreats that I've made at Mepkin.  Although I enjoyed our time together, it was strange to have less time for all the worship services.

--One of the retreat leaders is a specialist in a Japanese form of energy alignment and realignment, Jin Shin Jyutsu.  I had never heard of it before.  She called it accupuncture, but with fingers instead of needles.  I had a session on Sunday morning.  I stretched out on my back (clothed) on a massage table, and for an hour, she put light pressure on a variety of points on my body.  I felt interesting tingles on whole sides of my body, and at one point, my right hand fell asleep.  At various points, I fell asleep.  For hours afterward, I did feel energized beyond my normal after-nap feeling.

--I read most of a book of academic essays, Balm in Gilead:  A Theological Dialogue with Marilynne Robinson.  It was wonderful, and I felt my brain come alive.  I plan to reread Gilead, which I read in 2005 and loved it.  Maybe I'll read the whole trilogy again--and there will be a 4th book soon.

--The best part of the retreat was the chance to reconnect with old friends from my past.  We often meet at Mepkin, but it's been harder with the new retreat center and the new approach to retreats--the slots fill up fast.  I hadn't seen them in 2 years, and we agreed that we need to get together more often, even if it can't always be Mepkin.

--One of these friends is the one who said to me, "You've been talking about being a spiritual director for some time now.  Maybe you should look into that more seriously."  That was years ago.  This year I'm looking into programs and making plans and also considering seminary.  This same friend said to me this year, "You really come alive when you talk about these plans."

--I worry that I'll make decisions based on how I can fit them into my current life, rather than making decisions that will lead to the life I really want.  I feel like I've been fitting my true passions into the crooks and crannies of what's left over after I do what I need to do to pay the bills.  There's less and less time these days, and I mean that in all kinds of ways.

--I loved having long walks and beautiful gardens to see.  The hydrangeas were in full bloom--breathtaking!

--It was good to have time away.  It made me sad about all the reasons why I get so desperate for time away, and also sad about all the people whom I love and whom I wish I could see more often.

--I have returned home resolved to get some affairs into order.  It's been almost a year since I boxed up everything and moved it into the cottage.  I need to make some decisions about all that stuff.

Off to Mepkin Abbey

Tomorrow I am off to Mepkin Abbey.  My spouse will stay at the house, since he's got a Friday class to teach.  While I am there for a retreat on caring for caregivers, I'm also looking forward to getting writing done.

Some years, I've headed to Mepkin Abbey near February feast days and come home with interesting poems.  This year, I'm traveling with poems of Noah's wife in my head.  I'm looking forward to having time to write them down.

Two years ago, I went to a retreat at Mepkin in June.  I hope the gardens are blooming this year the way they were last year.

I'm planning on a quick stop at the SC Artisans center in Walterboro.  When I was there in November, they were constructing a cafe.  I hope to get a snack and artistic inspiration before I head up 17A to the Abbey.

I won't be posting as I go along.  Unlike many retreat centers, Mepkin Abbey doesn't provide Internet connectivity.  In fact, the copper roofs of the new retreat center make it tough to get a connection, even if one has a smart phone.  I'm actually happy about that.  I'd like to get some reading done.

So, there will be rich blog posts ahead as I look back on this upcoming week-end.  Now it's time to get the work of today done so that I can hit the road tomorrow.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, June 16, 2019:



First Reading: Proverbs 8:1-4, 22-31

Psalm: Psalm 8

Second Reading: Romans 5:1-5

Gospel: John 16:12-15


This week's Gospel reminds us of the mystical approach of John. I find the language almost tough to wade through. It makes me turn to the other readings for today. And I find a mystical theme running through all the readings today.

The chapter from Romans reminds us of our calling. Talk about suffering and endurance and building character--that's the kind of talk we might expect on a Sunday morning! Yet the more I read it, the more it seems to take on a mystical character too. We don't know exactly how these transformations will come, but come they will.

The verse from Proverbs is even more curious. It is here where we meet the first of God's creations, Wisdom. Imagine what a different understanding of the Trinity we might have had, had our early Church Fathers paid more attention to this passage. Wisdom seems to have existed long before the Holy Spirit, who seems a late addition to the Divine Package. What if the three parts of the trinity had been Creator, Wisdom, and Savior? Would there have been a 20th century Pentecostal movement if we had ignored these passages about the Holy Spirit, in the same way we ignore the passages about Wisdom most of the year? To be fair, some of the more Orthodox churches do embrace this Wisdom aspect of God more fully than we do here in the West.

In truth, there are many aspects of God that we could focus upon, but we don't. If you read the whole Bible, you get glimmers of the maternal side of God. How would life be different if we prayed to Our Mother, Who Art in Heaven? There are passages of the lamenting of a God who seems to be absent, and I understand why we don't come back to those throughout the year. We yearn for a God who is powerful.

We live in scary times. We see politicians still unable to act. We yearn for someone of true vision and stellar character, someone to lead us out of this morass.  We forget that we might have one of those people in our very midst.

In this time after Pentecost, let us turn back to our roots. Let us remember the promises that Jesus made. Let us remember the possibility of transformation.

Those promises still hold true. The spirit of Truth leads us. Granted, it's easy to be led astray, to be seduced by the passions of the world. But we know our mission--Martin Luther said that faith should move our feet. Where do your feet want to move today?

Prayer Frame Instructions

As I posted pictures of the prayer frame I created, I realized that the instructions couldn't be read in the photos.  Let me rectify that here.

Here's what I wrote:

Think about the prayer that’s most important right now. Is it a prayer of gratitude, or a request for assistance or a prayer of appreciation? What does your soul most need to articulate?

Now choose a strip of cloth to represent that prayer. Use it as the next layer in the frame, weaving the strip of cloth over and under the yarn.

As you weave, offer up your prayer.

If you feel moved, pray for the others who have woven strips of prayer together.

Reflect on the whole cloth that is being created when we pray both as individuals and as part of a group.

---------------------------

As I wrote it, I wanted to be aware of all the people who would be baffled if they discovered the prayer frame and strips of cloth in a prayer chapel.  I wanted to write clear instructions--and I wanted to write them for people who may have never woven or braided anything ever before.  I did weave a few strips at the bottom, a start to show people what it would look like as we went along.

I thought it had a bit of poetry about it.  And I loved the weaving that we created together:

Creating a Prayer Frame for the Chapel

Once there were raw materials:  strips of fabric, yarn, branches, a frame designed for posters.

I spent Friday morning creating a frame for the prayer project I envisioned for the chapel at Synod Assembly.  I had a smaller frame that I used last year with our church, but I couldn't get the yarn tight enough.  I thought it might do, but by Friday, I wanted something better.  Plus, I bought the frame and didn't particularly want to take it back to the store.

Taking the frames through the Synod Assembly crowds at different days and times helped publicize the fact that we had a chapel.  It was far away from the traffic patterns, but people still found it and made their way to weave some prayers.

The finished project was part of the altar area of the Synod Assembly.  It will go to the Synod Office.  The woman who asked me to participate was pleased with the project and asked if I'd help next year.  Of course I said yes.  I feel good about this first foray into helping create a prayer chapel for Synod Assembly.

As I was getting the baskets after the closing service, a woman rushed forward.  She said, "Wait, wait, I want a picture.  I've been waiting for a good time to get a picture all morning."  Hurrah!

Early Pentecost Morning

I feel like I've fallen out of time, more so than usual.  I've been away at Synod Assembly, with a full-out worship service twice.  And now it's Sunday again--and Pentecost Sunday at that.

It's a strange time in the life of the nation to come to Pentecost again.  I am hollowed out and exhausted.  I've been hollowed out and exhausted before, of course.  But my low points rarely intersect with a national low point, the way they are now.  How does one resist this administration, with its contempt for what I thought were shared values?  How are we ever going to repair this shredded fabric of society?

Pentecost visions are more important than ever, aren't they?

The festival day of Pentecost reminds us that great things can happen when the Holy Spirit takes hold of a community. If we need a reminder of that, all we need to do is to look at the state of the church on Pentecost morning, and then think about the spread of Christianity in the decade after Pentecost.

And Christianity was spread by regular people--sure, there were some superstars like Paul. But Paul came and went and then regular people had to keep the vision alive.

They did. Pentecost both celebrates that fact and invites us to welcome the Holy Spirit in to our modern communities.

Pentecost reassures us with the mystical promise of the Spirit. We do not have to know what we are doing; we just need to be open to the movement of the Spirit. Pentecost promises daring visions; we don’t have to know how we’re going to accomplish them. God will take care of that.

God became incarnate to prepare humans to carry on the work of Kingdom creation. And Pentecost reminds us of our job description, to let the Holy Spirit blow into our hollowed out spaces and to fill us with the fire to dream and the resources to bring our visions to life.

Report from First Full Day of Synod Assembly

As I have moved through the Synod Assembly, I've taken a mental note of many things.  Because I'm traveling with a laptop, I'm not making as many handwritten notes as I might have.  But the laptop is in my room.  I wonder if I'm losing anything?  And of course, I have to wonder if it matters.

I did go back to look at old blog posts yesterday.  I was trying to determine when I was last at Synod Assembly as a voting member--it was in 2013.  In 2014, we came to the Assembly for a day so my spouse could go to a board meeting.  When I looked at my posts on my theology blog, I discovered this one from 2013 that shows that I've been thinking about seminary for a long time.

Happily, Rev. Dr. Mary Hinkle Shore the new dean and rector of Southern Seminary, reminded us yesterday that "there is no sell-by date on a call."

This Assembly has been one of the ones where I wonder why we bother to meet in person.  Most of the people running in any of the elections are running unopposed.  The reports that we've gotten could have been delivered by way of e-mail.

Still, it's good to meet in person, and I remind myself that many of the people here may need these face-to-face encounters in ways that I can never fully understand.  I ran into an old friend from my former church, and it was great to have a chance to sit with her at the WELCA table and catch up.

This year, I'm also in charge of one of the prayer stations in the chapel.  I created a prayer weaving station:

By last night, the loom was half full--that made me very happy.  The prayer chapel is very far away from the rest of the Synod events.  I'm not sure I would have found it if I hadn't been looking for it.  I brought too many strips of fabric, but that's O.K.  I'd rather be overprepared, especially since we drove here, so it didn't take much extra effort/money, the way it would have if I had to fly.

Last night, we went to a church that's also a brewery:

In the photo above, I'm standing next to one of the founders (the one in the white shirt).  He used to have an extensive home brewery set up in his garage, where people would gather to sample his beer and talk theology.  Still, the steps it took to go from the garage to the building they're in now--it sounded daunting to me.

Of course, it sounds daunting because it's not something I want to do.  What vision would make me want to fling myself at all the obstacles?

Last night, I wrote this Facebook post:   "Interesting to go to a brewery that's also a church--I would not want to create/be in charge of a brewery that's also a church. A church that is also an urban/suburban retreat and arts center--now that could be thrilling!"

There have been moments here where I've thought that once again, I'm with a group of people who would only understand part of me, the spiritual part, not the creative part.  The only place where I feel I'm with a tribe of sorts is at the Create in Me retreat.  And even there, I sometimes find myself yearning for more intellectual heft, depending on the type of Bible study we're doing.

That yearning for integration may never be fully realized--I do know that.  But it also makes me wonder if I should be contemplating an on-ground seminary program.  Southern Seminary has just announced a commitment to having their graduates leave with no debt--hurrah.  And it's in Columbia, SC, where I went to grad school and still have friends and community there.

Could we have a Florida base and a Carolina base (whether in Columbia or at Lutheridge)?  As my old boss used to say, "More will be revealed."

Now, it's time for breakfast.  One HUGE difference between this gathering of Lutherans and the gathering of AWP folks:  Lutherans get to breakfast early.  I don't have the omelette line all to myself, the way I do at AWP gatherings, where writers have stayed up too late to get up early for breakfast.

Sketching the Synod Assembly

Last week-end, I tried to follow the Southeastern Synod Assembly from a distance--they were electing a bishop, and I knew two of the candidates.

Our Florida-Bahamas Synod Assembly has not been nearly so thrilling.  We are not electing a bishop.  So far, in most of the elections that we're doing, people are running unopposed.  It doesn't make for a riveting election.

We've heard lots of reports, and while they're interesting, I did find my attention wandering away.  I'd already had a long day, in a way--I was up early catching up on grading and then there was the trip to Orlando and the checking in and the locking myself out of the room and the waiting for elevators.

So I pulled out my sketchbook.  I worried a bit that I might not seem respectful of the speakers, but I decided that if I drifted off to sleep, that would seem even less respectful.  Plus, I noticed lots of folks were tap-tap-tapping on their phones, which seems like a sure sign of lost attention to me.

I didn't have my full collection of markers, but I'm pleased with the sketch:

I found myself paying much closer attention, even though to the casual observer, I might have seemed zoned out.  I can look at that picture and remember some of the information about the good work being done by various groups.  For example, I made the marks at the bottom left of the page when the speaker was talking about seminarians helped by various scholarships.

My pastor is the official photographer for the Synod Assembly.  Yesterday I dreamed of a future where in addition to official photographers and note takers and the video record, we might also preserve a more impressionist record.

Off to a Synod Assembly

I am soon off to Synod Assembly.  My spouse will stay here, since he has a Friday night class to teach.  I am going up with my pastor and his wife--I get along well with them, so the carpool trip to Orlando doesn't cause me anxiety.

We are not electing a bishop, but we shall meet to take care of various legislative things.  I often think of these non-bishop-electing legislative years as a waste, but then I remind myself of the year that it wasn't, the year in 2009 where I was on hand to cast a vote for a more inclusive Synod.  It was not a pre-ordained deal, and my vote really counted.

This year I'm going primarily to be part of the prayer chapel creation team.  I'm creating an interactive prayer station.  I have a suitcase full of supplies to do a prayer weaving project like the one I talked about in this blog post.  More on that in a later post.

I am looking forward to being away.  Yesterday was an exhausting day at work.  Most days feel that way.  I am aware that my life may be telling me something.  I am discerning what the next steps should be.

We will be at an Embassy Suites, which will be a treat for me.  I always think about the money that we spend on these gatherings.  I worry about the better ways the money can be spent.

I haven't been to a Synod Assembly in many years.  I was able to go when we had the gathering in May, but when it moved to June, it was usually during the one time where I couldn't be away in my old job, the week of graduation.  And then, in my new job, I didn't have any time off accrued.

This year, I was so happy to be asked to be part of the prayer chapel team--I was glad that it was this year, when I have some vacation time.

This joy points me in a direction, I think.  I would love to be part of team that's creating meaningful worship.  I would love to be part of a team creating meaningful spaces.

On Sunday, as I was playing with some ideas after church in the sanctuary, ideas with fans and ribbons for Pentecost.  One woman said to me, "You should be an interior decorator."  This woman had once fussed at me for creating spaces for worship that are "too busy, too messy."  She prefers the old altar paraments.  She doesn't think that anything should be put on the altar but the Bible and the communion elements.  I took her comment on Sunday as a compliment. 

I'm assuming, of course, that she didn't mean that I should be decorating people's individual houses.

I've been thinking about seminary and wondering if there are programs out there that combine an MDiv and MFA degree, like those various degrees that combine with a law degree.

But now, back to practical matters.  Let me finish packing for Synod Assembly.

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, June 9, 2019:


First Reading: Acts 2:1-21

First Reading (Alt.): Genesis 11:1-9

Psalm: Psalm 104:25-35, 37 (Psalm 104:24-34, 35b NRSV)

Second Reading: Romans 8:14-17

Second Reading (Alt.): Acts 2:1-21

Gospel: John 14:8-17 [25-27]

It's interesting to think how different churches celebrate Pentecost. Some churches will be stressing the rushing wind and the coming of the Spirit; perhaps parishioners will be exhorted to become more Spirit-filled. Some churches will be focused upon the mission of the early church, and I predict parishioners will be asked to think about the mission of the contemporary Church, both global and local.

This is one of those years when I'm relieved to turn my attention away from Acts, to think about the Gospel of John. I want something a bit more comforting, like John, not readings that make me feel inadequate, like Acts. I know it's called the Book of Acts, not the Book of Relaxation, not the Book of Taking a Nap. Still, some years I find all the energy in that book to be a bit draining. Some years, it all seems a bit loud, a bit energetic, a bit amplified.

John's Gospel reading for today has a different emphasis. Throughout the whole fourteenth chapter of John, Jesus promises that we're not going to be left alone. Jesus must know how hard it will be for his disciples; it's been somewhat easy for them as they sojourn with their Savior. But once he's gone, how will they carry on?

Once again, we have Jesus saying he will pray for the disciples. He tells the disciples that they will have everything they need as they go out into the world. He suggests that the new incarnation of himself/God/Spirit will dwell inside us.

I feel like this Gospel lesson peers straight into my soul, my tired, overstretched soul. Jesus reminds us that we are not alone. The verse after the Gospel ends has Jesus promise, "I will not leave you orphaned; I will come to you" (John 14: 18). That's the Good News of this Gospel: we are not alone. We do not have to go about our Pentecostal mission alone. Jesus reminds us that it's a team effort: "Whatever you ask in my name, I will do it, that the Father may be glorified in the Son; if you ask anything in my name, I will do it" (John 14: 13-14). Jesus reminds us of all that we can accomplish, if we would but call on God.

I love the way the Gospel ends, with these images of all these incarnations of the Divine, swirling in the world around us, gathering within us. This Gospel gives me hope that I will be enough. It's unlike some of those other readings that make me feel so inadequate. Speak in tongues? I can hardly get my laundry done in any given week. Help in the Kingdom mission of redeeming the world? Who will do the grocery shopping?

In our Gospel today, Jesus reminds us that we are enough because we're not all alone. It's a message that's so unlike the messages beamed to us from the larger culture in which so many of us live our daily lives. Our larger culture does not treasure teamwork. Our popular culture likes the larger-than-life leader, the one who goes it alone.  Don't believe me? watch T.V. for a week, watch politics, go to the movies--it's rare to see a team working together for the greater good. It's a poisonous message, one that's very useful in selling us stuff, because most of us don't feel very adequate all by ourselves.

Jesus reminds us again and again that we are more than adequate. We see disciples that are gloriously human in many of the ways that we are too, and Jesus takes a small band of these flawed humans and changes the world as he sends them out to work in small groups. Jesus can take our overscheduled selves and transform us, so that we love each other, his ultimate dream for us.

Defining Good Work

The election of a church bishop doesn't often produce such mixed emotions in me.  But over the week-end, I found myself following the election proceedings of a synod in the Lutheran church--not my synod, mind you.  But it's not often that I know personally not one but two candidates for bishop.

We all went to the same college.  I was friends with one of them while we were in undergraduate school together.  The other candidate came along later, and I got to know him through the years when we attended the Create in Me retreat together.  He's the one who won.

He already had a fascinating job in the larger Lutheran church as assistant to the bishop and executive for worship.  I spent some time wondering what elements of the new job made him want to change to be bishop for the Southeastern synod.  Both positions have the potential for making lasting change.

And then, part of me wonders why making lasting change is one of the elements that immediately come to my mind when I think about the nature of good work.

My spouse is certain that he is doing good work as a college Philosophy instructor.  He's frustrated by having so little time to make the classes even better, but adjuncts don't often have the luxury of time and all the resources they would have if they were full-time.

I go through my days rarely certain that I'm doing good work.  Actually, that's not true.  There are elements of my job that let me know I'm doing good work.  Yesterday, a student came by, and I was happy to find out that he was doing well in his English class.  A few weeks ago, he had decided that he needed to drop out of school because of a variety of family crises.  I helped him figure out how to stay enrolled in his English class so that he wouldn't have to leave school completely, and he could salvage at least part of the term.  That's good work.

But I am weary of some of the elements of my job that don't seem as essential to me.  We spend a lot of time looking for reasons why students aren't successful--but we've considered just about every possibility, both the obvious ones (they're working two jobs in addition to going to school) to the more obscure.  Do we really need to keep bringing up the possible reasons and considering them?  Do I really need to color code the classes that the dropped out students were taking so that we see if we see a pattern?   For one program, we've analyzed multiple times, and so far, nothing leaps out.

In an ideal world, we'd talk to the students, and they'd be honest about why they're leaving.  I'm fairly certain that we'd still be facing elements we can't change.  That's the frustrating part of my job.

Days like yesterday leave me dreaming of a different kind of job.  I don't want to be bishop of a synod in my church.  I think that might be a bit too similar to my current job:  lots of problems that I acknowledge but lack power to change.

I dream of a job that lets me lead people exploring the intersections where spirituality and creativity come together.  I dream of a job where I create opportunities for people to do that.  I want to explore how God speaks to us through our creative yearnings.  I want to explore how we can do our part in making the kingdom of God manifest through our creative work.  I want a better phrase than "kingdom of God."

When You Know the Candidates for Bishop of a Synod

On Friday night, my step-mom-in-law sent me this message:  "Don't you and Carl know Terri stagner-don't know her last name. She's running for bishop of the Southeastern synod."

Why yes, yes indeed we know Terri.  We go way back, and my spouse's friendship with her goes even further back, back to when they were both teens meeting at Synod gatherings, that same Synod where she is now on the list of the top 3 candidates for Bishop.

I have spent the whole week-end feeling strange and trying to figure out why I feel strange.  I knew about Terri before I met her; when I got to Newberry College, she was out for a year in a program that allowed college students to go to a church to be an intern of sorts--much the same way the internship program in seminaries sets up those opportunities. 

For a year, I heard about how wonderful she was, which made getting to know the real person difficult for me.  And yet, by the time she graduated, we were very close friends.  She went to seminary, I went to grad school, and we drifted apart, the way people did in those pre-social media days.

We had a reunion dinner last year, but I don't know her enough to assess her skills for the Bishop position.  I don't know many people in that way--primarily because I'm not sure what skills would be optimum.  I think the ELCA needs new ways of being church, and I'm not sure that the current administrative structure is the optimal one for that.  But it might be.

When it comes to many societal institutions--church, higher ed, family, k-12 ed, government--I'm just not sure of what we need to do.  It's easy to be paralyzed, but modern times don't allow that.

And here's where the story gets even stranger.  This morning, I realized that I know one of the other three candidates, Kevin Strickland.  He, too, went to Newberry College, but he attended after I was there.  I know him from meeting him at the Create in Me retreat, back when he was a parish pastor, before he skyrocketed to his current position as Assistant to the Bishop (that's the national Bishop).  He's an amazing Bible study leader, an incredible musician, and extraordinary creator of worship.

I saw the 3 candidates' photos on the SE Synod Facebook page.  The 3rd candidate appears to be a non-white female.

Let us take a minute to pray:  Oh God who makes all things new, please be with the people of the Southeastern Synod as they elect their new bishop.  You have a larger vision than any one of us can imagine.  Please lead your people--today and every day.

It's not my best prayer, but it's heartfelt--and now, to get ready for church, where we will pray some more.

Social Justice in the Form of a Bus Stop

When I look back on the events of this week, I think my all time favorite will be the news that in 30 days, we'll have a bus stop in front of our campus.  We've been working a long time to get a bus stop.

When I first started at the school, in the fall of 2016, I was told about the need for a bus stop and that the campus had been told that we couldn't get a bus stop until we had at least 250 students.  But as we looked at our campus neighborhood, we realized that we're not the only business on the street.  The nearest bus stops were over a mile away.

In August of 2017, I was at a Hollywood Chamber of Commerce breakfast, and I had a chance to speak to the mayor of Hollywood.  You may remember that I wrote about it in this blog post.  I realized I had one chance, and I introduced myself and identified the college campus, and then I said, "I know that a lot of government attention goes to the beach and the downtown area of Hollywood, and I live in the historic district, so I understand that it’s easier to work for the prettier parts of town. But the citizens who live out west need government help too.”

He said he would see what he could do.  I came home ecstatic, and my spouse reminded me that it's not just up to the mayor.  But throughout the months, we've seen the mayor at various events, and we've always reminded him about the need for a bus stop.

On Thursday, my boss told me to look out the window.  Lo and behold, there was a worker, installing a bus stop sign.  My co-worker (who has kept up the drumbeat for a bus stop even when others got tired) took this picture:

I realize that we may have had nothing to do with this bus stop.  There's been a lot of development, so an increase in bus lines may have been in the works long before we started advocating.

But I'm letting myself feel a sense of accomplishment anyway.  We saw a need, and we saw a solution, and we kept it in front of politicians.  I like the idea that there are still politicians who will do the work required to make life better for all of their constituencies, not just the rich and powerful.

I realize that some people might scoff at the idea that we've done anything worthwhile.  They might point to the crisis with immigrants being treated inhumanely at the border.  They might point to the Constitutional crisis that seems to be unfolding at the Federal level.

I would remind us all that most humans aren't wired to be able to respond to crises on this global level, at least not on a regular basis.  We are, however, able to help those that are within a certain radius of us.  We're more likely to understand the situation on a local level:  who's hurting and how we can help.  We're likely to be able to make those changes happen.

At the end of my blog post that I wrote back in August 2017, I wrote this:  "I can't make Trump quit sending out tweets that bring us to the brink of annihilation, but if I could get a busline to an impoverished area, that would make me feel proud."

Let me take a moment to feel proud.  And then let me keep working on making the world a better place.  It will take more than a bus stop, but for the people who need a bus stop, what we've accomplished is a big deal.