Making Cut Paper Cards

Earlier this week, I went to the studio of a neighborhood friend.  She wanted to make cards out of cut paper, and I was happy to try my hand.  She had the supplies, including papers we painted earlier in the year for a retreat.  If you look closely, you can see the hymnbook print behind the paint.

One approach is to look for words that match the picture or mood.  I rarely did that.  I was primarily looking for the colors that I needed.  But when I returned to the picture below to add some additional green circles that I hope look like a tree canopy, I saw some bits that worked, most notably at the top word "Seasons."

It was a fun exercise, but harder than it looks.  I was trying to make shapes that evoked tents, but I'm not sure the purple under the trees or the red shapes at the bottom of the mountains in the upper card do that.  I was more pleased with the trees and with the mountains.  

My friend also decorated the envelopes to match the image on the cards, but I didn't have the patience to work with that canvas that needed to be smaller so that there's room for the addresses.

It is fun to work on a project like this one while catching up.  I'm grateful to be able to share her supplies and the hospitality of her studio.  And now I have two more cards to send out.  I am feeling truly fortunate.

Gratitude Before the Start of Quilt Camp

Quilt Camp starts today.  This time, unlike last Quilt Camps, I'm part of the leadership team.  I will help with set up today, I will deliver the very short sermon for Saturday closing worship, and beyond that, I'm not sure what being on the Quilt Camp leadership team means.

In the early days of summer, when I thought about Fall Quilt Camp, I thought I would head to Spartanburg today, do my teacher duties, and then arrive for Quilt Camp.  But as the semester has gone on, I've changed my mind.  My students can use today to get caught up, and I'd like to be a bit less tired when Quilt Camp starts.

I am so grateful to be working at a place where I have this kind of flexibility.  I am so grateful to be at a place where when I say, "I'll be leading a quilt retreat this week," and no one says, "What does that have to do with you as a teacher?  No, you can't be off campus this week."  I'm thinking of past bosses who made their disapproval known, even as I was using my personal vacation time to be away.

Make no mistake:  I do get teaching inspiration from retreats.  It may be a different kind of inspiration than I would get at a literary conference, but I am a different teacher, a better teacher, because I go on these retreats.

I am also grateful that I live closer to camp.  When I first heard about Quilt Camp at Lutheridge, back in 2018 or 2019, I lived in South Florida, a twelve hour drive if all the traffic went smoothly.   I was torn--on the one hand, it was a longer retreat, so the drive would be worth it; in those days, I never would have made the drive for a retreat that started Friday night and ended Sunday morning, as so many retreats did then.  But on the other hand, it was such a long drive.

Because I live here now, I have the best of several worlds.  I don't have a long drive.  I get to sleep in my own bed.  I don't feel like I'm abandoning my spouse or my other duties at home.  Of course, that benefit has a shadow side--it's also hard for me to completely disconnect on retreat.  But that was true of past retreats too.  My brain is always working at various levels, and it's hard for me to focus on just one.

This morning I realized another value to coming to Quilt Camp from my house that's less than a mile away.  I feel less pull to do the other area attractions:  apple orchards, fabric stores, and Appalachian arts and crafts.  At least my active brain will calm down around the other wonderful outings that I would want to be taking, if I didn't already live here.

On this morning of the day when Quilt Camp begins, I am most grateful to be feeling like my life is in better alignment than it was back in 2018/2019 when I thought about the possibility of coming to Quilt Camp and decided I couldn't make it work.

Sermon for October 12, 2025

October 12, 2025
By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Luke 17:11-19





My heart sank a bit when I read the Gospel for today, specifically when I got to the last sentence. I did a mental scan of this congregation, and I thought about how many of us have suffered through sickness and death in the past year. I’m not betraying any confidences when I observe what a tough year it’s been.

So what do we do with this last sentence of the Gospel? “Your faith has made you well?” What does that say to the people who aren’t healed? We could say, Well, they’re not healed yet. But we know that not everyone gets healed, no matter how strong their faith. However, if we only paid attention to wider culture, we won’t hear this message. If we have disease, it’s somehow our fault. We didn’t eat the right food or do the right work outs. We had our shots or we didn’t have our shots. On and on I could go. We may know that the reasoning is flawed, but it’s hard to escape it.

This last sentence that Jesus says might make us think that this idea is Biblical, that a strong faith can make us well, that if we’re sick it’s because our faith is flawed. Again, it’s the reasoning that is flawed.

I wish today’s reading used a different translation. Think about how we might understand this text if we used a different translation of the Greek word: “Your faith has made you whole.” Not well—whole. We can be sick and still be whole. We can be spiritually healthy, even if our bodies aren’t in the full bloom of health or if disease is impossible to cure.

“Your faith has made you whole.” That translation makes more sense to me. After all, the other 9 lepers are also made well. Jesus cures them of their leprosy. Jesus doesn’t have pre-conditions. They don’t come back to say thank you, but Jesus doesn’t take away the cure of the physical disease that afflicted them.

It’s a disease that afflicts them in more ways than just the physical. Leprosy was seen as one of the most contagious diseases in the ancient world, and lepers were banned from society. Jesus doesn’t only restore them to physical health, but, as we’ve discussed with other healing stories, Jesus restores them to community.

Of course, Jesus can only do so much. The Samaritan returns to his role as an outcast in Jesus’ society. He’s not as much of an outcast as he was when he was a leper. But he’s still a foreigner. As such, he’s the only one who doesn’t need to go show himself to a priest, the way the other 9 must do. If we wanted to give the other 9 the benefit of the doubt, perhaps they are simply following Jesus’ instructions. Of course, they could say thank you, the way the Samaritan does, and then make their way to the priest.

Why does only one leper return to say thank you? Why is it the Samaritan who does so, not the others? By now, we’re probably not surprised that it’s the person on the bottom of the societal structure who returns to say thank you. We’ve had reading after reading of outcasts who understand the true nature of Jesus, the bleeding woman and the Syro-Phoenician woman, among the people who take risks and ask for healing, and Jesus grants them their deepest desire.

This story of healing goes a bit deeper. This story of healing reminds us that there’s more to wellness than physical health. There’s a deeper way to be made whole than to be free of sickness.

Once again, Jesus tells us that a life of faith is not about quantity, but about quality. All of the lepers had a similar faith, if we want to assume the best—perhaps their calling out to Jesus for healing isn’t faith but desperation, if we assume the worst. Still, they all have enough faith or hope to call out to Jesus. Jesus heals them.

One leper turns around, turns around to return towards Jesus. He returns to show his gratitude. These two actions—his turning back to Jesus and his gratitude—they show wellness beyond the physical.

It’s gratitude that redirects the Samaritan back to Jesus. Gratitude is the foundation, not faith. It’s a subtle message, an intriguing idea that gratitude can move us towards God. The Samaritan shows us a way to be whole that we may not have made a daily practice—the practice of gratitude and thanksgiving that can ground our faith.

I want to believe that gratitude is easier for us than giving up all our money or forgiving over and over again. But I’ve met enough people who have so much and who don’t have a scrap of gratitude. They are like the man in the parable from a few weeks ago priding themselves on their economic fortune rather than acknowledge the work of those who have made it necessary to build bigger barns.

It’s human nature to assume that our successes come to us because we are talented and that our lack of success is not our fault. If we assume that our success is justly ours, we may not ever find our hearts moved to gratitude. We may find ourselves spiritually starved and stunted.

It’s gratitude that can make us whole, make us more faithful people who can do the harder work of forgiving and sharing our resources and working to restore peace and wholeness for the wider world, a world where we no longer see the stark divisions between insider and outsider described in the recent letter signed by a majority of bishops from the ELCA.

Gratitude is one of those spiritual practices that is easy to start. Decades ago, many of us kept gratitude journals, a simple practice of writing down a list of things we’re grateful for, and doing that each and every day. Some days, we listed profoundly good luck. Other days, the list was more basic: gratitude for a bed to sleep in and a stomach that was full.

Keeping a daily gratitude list is a great way to end the day or to start it. If we do this practice for a few months, we’ll find that we are more profoundly whole. It’s a simple task, and in our Old Testament lesson, we get a warning about how hard it can be to do the simple tasks that can make us whole.

In another story of healing from leprosy, Naaman has a simple task, to wash in the Jordan. But he wants the healing to be different, We hear him grumble: “sure, I get healing but can’t I go to Damascus? Those rivers are just as good—maybe even better!”

His servant is the one who turns him around, who redirects him to God, by saying, “if the prophet had commanded you to do something difficult [than washing], would you not have done it? How much more, when all he said to you was, ‘Wash, and be clean’?” To paraphrase, the servant says, “You want it to be even easier than it is? Why are you being so obstinate?” Naaman’s story has a happy ending, because he has the capacity to recognize good advice, even if it comes from his underlings.

Once clean, Naaman returns to the prophet Elisha to acknowledge that Elisha’s God is the one true God. Keep in mind, it’s Elisha’s people and God whom Naaman has been fighting. Here, too, Naaman’s gratitude redirects him to God.

Gratitude like that of Naaman and the healed Samaritan can be such a simple task. Yet we know how difficult it can be to do the simplest practices that can lead us to spiritual healing and wholeness. We have known this basic fact about human nature since ancient times. “If it’s free, it’s worthless. If it’s easy, why do it? If it’s quick, I can always put it off,” we might hear ourselves saying. Eventually, though, this current of thought can lead from postponement to inaction to refusal to see that we have anything to be grateful for.

It's the daily practice of gratitude that can turn this tide. It’s gratitude that can turn us around, as the Samaritan turned around, that can reorient us to back to Jesus, back to wholeness.

Today and every day, let us wash in the river of gratitude. May the current of the river of gratitude turn us in a different direction, away from all the distractions that swirl our way. Let us swim in the river of gratitude each day and allow that gratitude to orient us to God. By doing this practice, we will be made whole.

And for that, we can be grateful.

Spring Schedule Wrinkles and the Ironing

I didn't write a blog post yesterday, and I didn't walk.  I was feeling grumpy and tired and there was an on again off again drizzle, plus I've had a dry cough for a few days.  It's the autumn game that I haven't had to play in the past few years:  is it a cold or is it allergies or is it dust or is it the change in the weather back and forth?  Do I have a fever or should I simply turn the AC back on?  I had a wrinkle in my spring schedule, and I spent a lot of time composing an e-mail to try to sort it all out--happily, by the end of yesterday, it was sorted, but it took time and mental energy.

Long story short:  because I went to a Methodist seminary, I still need to take at least one class at a Lutheran seminary.  The Lutheran theology class is offered once a year, a synchronous class, and the day and time that it's offered changes each year, which makes planning hard.  Last year, there was a conflict with a class that I was teaching, plus I was finishing up MDiv classes, so I decided to wait another year.  I had hoped that it wouldn't be a time conflict with my teaching schedule, but Tuesday, I discovered that there would be a conflict.  

Happily, I was able to strategize with my department chair, and we rearranged classes.  I had to let go of the American Lit class that conflicted with the Lutheran theology class on Thursday morning, but at least I can keep on my slow track to ordination.

I ended yesterday with some retreat planning and then went right to bed, as I will do tonight.  Last night's retreat planning was for Quilt Camp, tonight is Create in Me.  In the Spring, if I feel sad about my schedule, let me remember that taking classes in the evening, the way I did for much of my MDiv program, was not my ideal schedule either.

I began this morning by looking at the travel pictures of friends.  One of my friends just got back from a month long trip following the Mississippi River from its headwaters in Minnesota to the Gulf of Mexico.  Just looking at the pictures makes it sound phenomenal and makes me wish that I was at a retirement point.

Of course, chances are good that even if I was at that retirement point, I'd be staying home, baking goodies, reading, writing, and doing some sewing.  My friend's trip sounds like nothing but fun and feasting, but because I had a chance to talk to her before I saw the photos, I knew that the trip had challenges:  the rain, the extra time that it took to go through small towns, the set up of the campsites that took longer too.

So let me continue with the work at hand, and the work of appreciating the life I have.

Graduation Recap

Yesterday at the end of graduation, I said to one of my professors that I didn't think I would have many more experiences that were that meaningful in my remaining years on the earth.  My professor started to protest, and then we looked at each other, and she said, "You're probably right."  A graduation ceremony in the national cathedral, a graduation where we were lifted up and affirmed before being sent out into the world to do the work we're called to do--no, it won't get much better than that.

I knew that my graduation would be livestreamed, and I hoped that it would be available as a recording too.  Hurrah--it is!  You can view it here, and be sure to watch the benediction at the end, at hour 1, minute 58.  It was the most passionate benediction that I've ever seen, and I felt so blessed--not in the "Have a blessed day" kind of blessed, but the "I am casting a spell of protection over you as I give you your marching orders" kind of blessed.

We got to the cathedral in plenty of time, and there were still parking places left in the parking garage.  I took leave of my family to go wait in the Joseph of Arimathea chapel.  We stood in alphabetical order and waited and waited for it to be time to walk to the back of the cathedral.  

It was great to have that downtime before graduation, a chance to chat with my fellow students.  I reconnected with a student who invited me to go to a Carolyn Forche reading with her in the spring of 2023 (I wrote this blog post about it).  We talked about how rewarding it had been to be in classes, instead of learning on our own.  Before I went to seminary, I wondered if I couldn't just accomplish a similar amount of learning if I bought a lot of books and read them.  Perhaps I could have come up with something similar, but I wouldn't have been able to replicate the insights that came from professors and fellow students.

At first my heart fell a bit when I saw the program; it shouldn't come as a surprise when a seminary graduation is more like a worship service.  I was happy that all of the presentations and acceptance speeches and the main speech were so compelling.  More than once I reflected on how grateful I am to have been part of a seminary that is so committed to social justice, to diversity, to acceptance, to being a faithful and powerful witness in the heart of the nation's capital.

Soon it was time to get our diplomas.  We went to wait our turn, and then, suddenly, there's my name being called, and I made my way across the platform.  We got our actual diplomas, and I was happy that my name was correct--no reason that it shouldn't be, but it's more common that some part of my name is misspelled than that various entities get it right.

We got our fiery benediction, and off we went, out into the cloudy afternoon.  I was grateful that the rain held off, grateful that I was able to find my family, and so, so grateful that I was in a space where I could be fully present.  I didn't have a boss who told me that I couldn't go or who said that I needed to check in.  All of my jobs have been at a stopping point, a serendipity that I couldn't have engineered any more perfectly.

We ate dinner at Millie's, which had a synchronicity that delighted me.  During my first walk as a seminary resident, I discovered Millie's and came back for an ice cream--that became my occasional treat.  My sister and I ate there a few times.  The first time I had the steak salad, it was amazing.  It hasn't been that wonderful since, but I was happy to have it one last time with my family:  salads and wine and a dessert that a fellow student had sent to us.  What an expansive generosity yesterday we experienced yesterday!

At the end of the day, my spouse gave me a gift that he picked out at the cathedral gift shop:  beautiful blue prayer beads on a bracelet, with a charm that contains a small bit of paper with a Bible verse that reminds me not to worry.  I think of how many worries I've had about seminary:  could I do the work, would I have enough internet bandwidth, could I maintain all the kinds of balance I want to maintain?

I am glad to have the answers to those questions.

I am happy to have this diploma, this degree completed.

Prayers of Blessing at a Seminary Eucharist Service

Yesterday was an even more interesting juxtaposition of events than I thought that we would have when I first wrote a blog post in the morning.  In the morning, I learned of the death of Martha Silano.  In a way, it wasn't a surprise.  I knew of her ALS diagnosis, and her latest poems showed how quickly the disease was progressing.  Here is her May 3 Facebook post:  “If I could eat just one sliver of Genoa salami … and maybe a bite of crispy bagel …. I’d give back every poem I’ve ever written.”

Those words have haunted/inspired me in the days since, the idea that we never know when the things we enjoy might become unavailable to us, because of disease or the forces of history or the lack of time or tariffs or any other reason we want to plug in.  I think of all the times when I've been worried about something (weight gain or would I have enough money to pay the bills or would a teaching schedule come through or why did someone wrinkle their face a weird way which might mean that they are annoyed with me) when I should have been cherishing the moment in a different way, a savoring the richness way.

I thought of Martha Silano at lunch.  My mom, dad, spouse, and I had gone up to Fredericksburg, MD, and we ate at The Wine Kitchen.  It was the perfect day to enjoy their patio seating that overlooked the Carroll Creek, which had a vibe that was both commercial and natural; the weather was perfect with a light breeze, and it was shady.  They had a lunch special that included a glass of wine.  I had the glass of wine for many reasons:  because it went so well with the mushroom strudel, because it was a good deal, because it was part of a perfect lunch.  In my head, I made a toast to Martha Silano and all the wise ones who have reminded me that we need to enjoy life as we can, in all the ways that we can.

During the afternoon, we found out that we have a new pope.  There was some time in the afternoon between lunch and leaving for seminary for the Eucharist service, and I did some reading.  Pope Leo seems like an interesting choice (a Chicago native who spent so many years in Peru that he became a naturalized citizen of Peru).

And then we headed down to D.C.  We left early, because one can never be sure about rush hour traffic.  We got there a bit early, but that was good, because I could get the tickets my family will need to get into the graduation ceremony.  There was a moment when the person in charge of tickets looked at the list, and I felt this fear that maybe I wasn't on the list, that maybe there was some requirement I had forgotten.  Happily, that fear was ungrounded.  I got the tickets, and we went to the chapel.

It was wonderful to sit in the chapel, being surrounded by classmates and family members.  I was touched by how many people remembered me from my brief time living on campus; a few people could still call me by name.  The Eucharist service included a blessing of graduates-to-be by individual faculty members.  We waited in a line, and as each person was free, we processed to them.  I felt lucky to be blessed and prayed over by a faculty member whom I liked:  I took both her Ethics class and her Stories of Power class.  Some of the faculty members I didn't know, and I wondered how that prayer would have been--much more generic, I imagine.

My prayer/blessing included mention of me as a Literature professor, as someone who inspires good in the world, as someone who is both confident but with humility.  I found myself wishing I could have recorded it in some way.

But then I thought about how much I have recorded, which often means I'm not truly in the moment.  I tried to concentrate on staying present and tried not to think about how much concentration it takes to stay present with the moment.

There was a reception afterwards, with heavy appetizers, which made our evening meal.  We ended with a glass of wine each back at the hotel, a wonderful end to a wonderful day.

We live in a time where everyone uses the word "blessed" so much that it seems stripped of meaning:  "How are you today?"  "Blessed"--or "Have a blessed day."  But I really do feel blessed, along with the guilt that comes along with that.  Why do I get to enjoy a day like yesterday when a talented poet like Martha Silano does not get a longer time on the earth?  Even theological thinkers have some trouble with that question.

In the end, let me just remember that if we're lucky, we have good days, and the good days aren't a sure thing.  Let me remember to live with intention, to seek out the good days, to arrange my life so that good days are more likely. 

First Funeral of a Parishioner

Yesterday, after I finished banana bread baking and sermon writing, we got in the car and headed across the mountain to Faith Evangelical Lutheran in Bristol, Tennessee.  One of Faith's parishioners died last week, and his funeral was yesterday at 1:00.  I was happy that the family wanted me to preside and relieved that the funeral was at a time that was easy for me.

Let me stress that even if it had been at a time that wasn't easy for me, I would have done it.  The parishioner had been such an important part of the faith community, and his brother and sister-in-law are part of the congregation.  It felt important to be there.

The service was relatively short; we didn't have communion.  My sermon seemed well received.  The eulogy after my sermon was the perfect counterpoint.  I've only been part of the community for 18 months, so I didn't have the personal stories that were shared during the eulogy.  I did the theological stuff that needs to be done, the assertion that we are resurrection people and death doesn't have the final word (to read the sermon, go here).  But I wouldn't be surprised or hurt if the eulogy gave people more comfort.

As we got in the cars to go to the cemetary, I thought, this is what the Church does well:  comforting the grieving.  I know that many people would say that it's not enough, that the Church needs to be on the front lines confronting the federal government, and that may be true.  But there are plenty of activists of all types who do that job better than the Church.

I was struck by how many motorists stopped or pulled to the side of the road as the procession went by.  I was touched by that measure of respect and happy that it still exists in the world.  We live in a world that seems increasingly angry and cruel.  None of that world was on display yesterday.

We returned to the church where church members had prepared an amazing meal:  roast beef at a carving station, salad, potatoes au gratin, and several desserts--all delicious.  We are lucky to have a member who had a past life as a chef, and he took charge of the meal.  We ate around 3, which seems a perfect way to minister to the family.  They could eat a lot or a little, and it meant that they didn't need to think about preparing a meal later.

We headed back across the mountains to our home in Arden.  I had a few bites of cheese and a glass of wine while doing my reading for seminary class tonight.  I went to bed early.  Of course, most nights I go to bed early, but last night I felt a level of tiredness that's unusual for me, a depletion of my reserves.  It was good to be able to crash.

I am feeling a bit discombobulated this morning, even as I am more rested.  I have the "What day is it?" feeling.  Happily, today is an easy teaching day, and my seminary class tonight is wonderful (as is my Monday class--I am so lucky!).  And tomorrow, it's Friday again.  It's a week-end with a lot to get done, but it will be good to have a bit of extra time.

Christmas Eve Report

At the end of the day yesterday, when I realized I was very tired (a good tired, but tired), my spouse said, "Of course.  You spent the whole day getting ready for the Christmas Eve service."  My first response was, "No I didn't."  But then I realized that with the exception of some grocery shopping and a short walk, yes, I did indeed spend the day getting ready for the service, experiencing the service, and then coming back across the mountain.

It was a great day.  

I spent several hours making angels from fabric, only to get to the church to remember that we don't do a youth sermon on Christmas Eve.  Ah well--I'll use them later.  And it might work out well, because my little angels won't be competing with so much for their attention.

The church was beautiful, as was the music.  If you'd like to hear/watch the sermon, I am happy to be able to say that I've downloaded it to my YouTube channel, and you can access it here.

Everyone was in a great mood, which is one of my favorite aspects of Christmas Eve.   I've baptized three babies since being at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, TN, and all three were at worship last night--I felt a bit awestruck by it all.  I didn't expect to get a second Christmas with this congregation, and I felt overwhelming gratitude to be there.

I was also grateful that my spouse was well enough to be there.  It's been a tough autumn, and part of what made it tough is that my spouse was struggling with pulled muscles which led to extreme pain (happily resolved by bed rest, which was also a struggle) and then for the past 3 weeks, he's had a cold.  

I expected heavier traffic, especially during our trip over--we left at 2:30, and the traffic was more like Sunday morning than what I thought Christmas Eve afternoon would be.  When we travel through the mountains at night, I'm always startled by how dark it is, but happily, my spouse was nonplussed.

After the service, everyone took pictures by the Chrismon tree.  When the organist asked if we'd like her to take our picture, we said yes.

I'm not thrilled with this picture--who are these older people?  I want to believe that we don't look like this in real life.  We're both carrying extra weight, and I feel like I look even frumpier than usual in this photo.  But I'm also at the point where I care less.  Yes, I am heavier because I'm not spending several hours each day trying hard to keep weight off.  Keeping weight off takes extraordinary focus and rigidity on my part.  But despite extra weight, I'm healthy, and for that I am grateful.

Today will be a quieter day--we have a turkey to roast, and I think it's defrosted.  It will be not as cold this afternoon (52 degrees for a high), so I hope to take a walk.  Our families are far away, so there won't be extended family time today.  So today won't feel vastly different from other days, the way that Christmas did when I was a child.

But I am grateful:  grateful to have survived this tumultuous autumn mostly unscathed (but not unchanged), grateful to have several jobs which I love and which nourish me, grateful for health and a new roof over my head (bought and installed just a few weeks before the hurricane) and water that comes out of the tap that I can drink again.

The Wednesday before Thanksgiving

 The Wednesday before Thanksgiving has often been my favorite day of the year.  I love the years when we've done the travel on Tuesday, and on Wednesday, we can have mixes of relaxing and getting ready for the Thanksgiving feast.  I have such great memories of Thanksgiving Wednesdays of past years, when I was surrounded by children who are so happy to with the larger family (more people to read the favorite books or play games).

Our Thanksgiving break this year will be different:  different travel plans, different destinations, time with my spouse's family, not my family.  I feel fortunate that I have almost as many years being part of my spouse's family as with my family of origin, so I'm happy to spend time with them.  There's always the melancholy tinge that comes with knowing that we're all getting older.  We don't have unlimited time in the future to be together.

It was always an illusion, though, the idea that we would have countless holidays together.  So in many ways, I welcome the bittersweet insight, the chance to cherish the chance to be together in a way that I haven't always.

This blog post has been interrupted by packing, and now it's time to bring it to a close.  I should go get a walk in before the various activities start.  The weather in the coming days is unsettled, and I'm not sure what our vacation rhythms will be.  But I never regret going for a walk.

Veterans Day 2024

 Today is Veterans Day.  Here is a picture of my favorite veteran, my dad:

He's my favorite veteran for obvious reasons, but there are many other veterans who would also be favorites:  my father-in-law, an Army veteran, and my Florida pastor Keith Spencer and his wife, Piper Spencer, Navy veterans, for example.  I think of one of my best friends from high school, Chum Kimsey:

The above picture is from 2014, when she had just been diagnosed with esophageal cancer, which would take her life.  She served in the Army in the late 80's and early 90's.

Yesterday we watched a Veterans Day concert, which made me feel both grateful and teary-eyed.  I thought of our current country, how few people serve in this way, even as many people say they support our military.  The concert contained footage from an Honor Flight event, which made me think of my own experience with my dad and sister on a similar trip.  

It was both a joyful trip and a somber one, being surrounded by living veterans, all older than 65, and the monuments to the wars that they fought.  It was a sobering reminder of the ultimate cost that so many veterans pay/paid.

I am also thinking of all the quilters I know who make quilts for veterans as a way to say thank you:

I'm not at a point yet where I could do that--but this morning, I'm wishing that I could show gratitude in this way, a way that results in a beautiful quilt.  For this morning, though, words will have to do.

Bears at Camp

I saw a bear on my morning walk around camp at Lutheridge.  In fact, I was about 3 feet away from the bear.  Did I have my camera or cell phone?  No.  But that's O.K.  Even when I've had a camera or cell phone, I haven't been able to get a good picture.

I was standing at the entrance to Pioneer A, the sleepaway part of camp where the youngest campers stay with their counselors.  I looked at the lake, and then turned my face towards the path ahead and realized there was a bear on my left, between me and Pioneer A, travelling parallel to the main road.  He was on the small side, his back about the height of my hip, like a very big dog, and somewhat thin. 

 He was not far enough away for my liking, but he was not interested in me at all.  Maybe it was the chanting of the campers that made him intent on heading away from Pioneer A.

Based on their chanting, the campers were deep at the back of Pioneer A, gathering together for the morning hike to the lake and on up to the dining hall.  The bear was ambling away, so they were in no danger; I didn't see any reason to alert them.  I did look around to make sure that there were no other bears, particularly no cubs.  I figured that the bear would stay away from any campers.

I was tempted to try to follow the bear, but I didn't want to alarm the bear either.  Plus, I had already had good bear luck this morning, so I didn't want to tempt the fates.

I listened to the campers chanting their marching to the lake song.  I stared across the lake and said a prayer of gratitude for so, so much.

Thanksgiving 2023

Here we are, very early on Thanksgiving morning; I'm writing at the kitchen table while my uncle fries bacon.  Soon the younger parts of the extended family will get up to do the Turkey Trot down in Hendersonville.  Later, we'll eat a feast.  This afternoon, we'll try to replicate my grandmother's yeast rolls.

We can do that because my mother thought to preserve the recipe.  My cousin's wife asked if I had it, and I did not, so I asked my mom and sister.  My mom brought all the recipes she had, including the one for yeast rolls.

Yesterday afternoon, my cousin's daughter copied the recipes, and I made this Facebook post:  "My heart is so happy - - the next generation copying the recipes from my grandmother, which my mom preserved."

It may be one of my most-liked post in recent years.  For me, it captures so much about this holiday and why I love it:  family recipes, family time, family feasts, family traditions.  I realize these aspects are also the elements that can make this holiday, and life in general, painful.

I have had to use my cell phone's hotspot capacity to access the internet, which feels miraculous, but also makes me aware of being online.  I don't have unlimited data, and this hotspot consumes data as if it's a Thanksgiving feast.

That, too, is a blessing--it makes me move offline and enjoy being together in person.  It's an interesting insight.

One last thing I want to record:  last night, over dinner, we were talking about books that have been helpful.  My cousin said that the most important and profound book he'd ever read was Man's Search for Meaning.  I said, "You mean the one from the middle of the 20th century?  By Viktor Frankl?"  Yes, that very one.  I was surprised I could pull Frankl's name from my memory, and surprised my cousin had read it.  

Have I read it?  Surely I've read at least part of it.  Still, based on my cousin's recommendation, I'm planning to reread it again.  I am grateful for these connections.

Delivering the Mail and So Much More

 A few months ago, our residential community had a request for a volunteer to be the mail delivery person to campers for the summer.  So many of us volunteered that we're sharing the work/joy.  This week has been my turn, and I'll deliver two days next week, and then the following week.  

Above is a picture of me leaving Pioneer A, the cabins for elementary school kids.  I was a camper there once, with terrible homesickness, finding comfort from reading a book under a tree.  It was The Little Prince, a book my mom packed in my suitcase for a surprise. 

Originally, I thought I would walk the mail route and get my exercise that way.  One of our residents has said that we can  use her golf cart each week.  This week, with the end of my Social Justice and Cinema class for seminary, using the golf cart makes sense.  Plus, it's so much fun driving the golf cart!

So far, this week, we've had mail that I could have carried by hand, but if there are packages, the golf cart makes even more sense.  But really, I'm just justifying my desire to drive the golf cart around camp.  It makes me want to buy one of my own, a yearning which really makes no sense.  We don't work year-round at the camp.  We don't need a gasoline-free way to zip from place to place.

Still, I must confess that I've gotten a sense of deep peace as I've zipped from place to place, leaving mail for campers in each cabin's mail box, seeing this camp from a slightly different perspective than the one I've enjoyed across decades.

On Tuesday, I could hear the faint strains of music as I drove away from Wilderness, the area of camp closest to the pool.  Could it be?  Yes, it was John Denver singing "Country Roads (take me home, to the place, I belong)."

Not for the first time since moving here did I think, yes, I really have come home:  home to a place where my mom was one of the first camp counselors, where my grandparents' church came for a summer Sunday picnic, where my dad saw the job advertised in the Columbia newspaper (that a Music Week participant gave to him) that would become one of his more long-lasting jobs and the last one, to the place where my family has gathered for Thanksgiving family reunions for almost 30 years, to the place that has nourished and sustained me when I've come for retreats.  I am lucky indeed.

Library Love

Usually when we move to a new place, getting a library card is high on my list of priorities, along with getting a driver's license.  Last year, when we moved to North Carolina, we discovered that getting our driver's license would take much more effort than in any other location we had ever lived; I had a hint of that when I went online to make an appointment to avoid lines, and the nearest appointment was 5 months away.

So, I barely got my driver's license in time, and since I thought I'd be living in D.C. for the next several years, I didn't prioritize my library card.  But I've been yearning to read some books that I don't own, both light reading and some climate change texts, and the local library has them.  Yesterday I needed to escape some of the deconstruction noise at the house, so off I went to the nearest branch of the Buncombe county library.

Almost always, entering a library feels like coming home.  My earliest memories are of going to the library, and libraries haven't changed radically in appearance in my lifetime, so it makes sense.  Libraries have more stuff now--computers, meeting rooms, non-book media/items--but libraries still have books, shelves and shelves and shelves of books.

I got my card with no trouble, since I now have a North Carolina driver's license.  The librarian asked me if I'd ever had a Buncombe county library card before, and I said no.  Suddenly I realized that I've had a library card in almost every state south of the Mason-Dixon line and east of the Mississippi River.  I have no particular desire to live in the missing states (Mississippi, for example), so this might be the end of my run.

I spent some time in the stacks, wondering what I'd like to read.  Yes, I keep a list, but that list is in a box somewhere.  I ended up with Living Resistance by Kaitlin B. Curtice and Sue Monk Kidd's The Book of Longings--not the light and fluffy reading I wanted, but maybe they'll hit the spot.  I came home and went online to request the climate change books I wanted--they are at a library far away, and I'm happy to wait for them to be delivered to the branch nearer to me.

One of the cool elements of this library system is that I have borrowing privileges at many other North Carolina counties.  It's hard to imagine that I'll get to many of them, but I do live just one mile away from Henderson county.  There are no overdue fees, but after 30 days, the item will be charged to the card.  But if you bring the item back, you're good; I know this, because I heard it explained to the young child and his dad who had brought items back.  If you're charged, and you bring a new copy of the book that you got from somewhere else, you don't have to pay what the library will charge you to replace that book.  Once I lost a book from the Broward county (FL) system, and not only had to pay an exorbitant cost to replace it, but also a service fee; I ended up paying almost $50.00 for a paperback that was widely available for a few dollars elsewhere.

One feature of this library card is that I can get Zoom passes, which gets me and my group admission into a variety of educational spaces (the NC Arboretum!  the WNC Nature Center!  the Asheville Art Museum!), with one pass per place per month.  Wow.  It requires some thinking ahead because I have to get the pass at the library, but I'm fine with that.

On my way home, I heard that Cormac McCarthy died; I was surprised that he was as old as he was when he died.  I only read The Road, which had some of the most gorgeous language I've ever read, which is particularly unusual in a dystopian novel.  My reading life is short, and I'm unlikely to read more of his work, although this appreciation made me want to read more.  NPR commentator Wade Goodwyn recorded it just before he died of cancer--he died in his 60's, much younger than anyone should.

I did not waste time with news coverage of the Trump appearance at a federal court room yesterday.  This story will drag on and on and on.  In some ways, it's much like a kitchen remodel.  I did get kitchen counters ordered yesterday.  

It will take 3-7 weeks for them to be made and installed.  Sigh.  

But at least the process is underway.  I also got the tin for the backsplash ordered; happily American Tin still had some of our old pattern in stock, which we're getting in hopes of duplicating what we've had before.

In the meantime, we have a temporary sink, and we'll keep making due.  Earlier this week, standing on the deck in the morning dark, looking through the sliding glass doors, I thought, if this was a picture that I saw in a magazine, I'd want to live here--even if the kitchen doesn't have counters yet.

Sacrifice and Memorial Day

Today I am thinking about Memorial Day, about sacrifices, about what is worth the sacrifice and what is not.  I am thinking of U.S. soldiers, of course, as this day is designed to have us do.  I am thinking of people fighting in Ukraine, where the stakes must feel higher if one is Ukrainian.  Why would Ukrainians settle with Putin?  They must know that they would only have to fight again.

This morning I was thinking about Christianity, about a God who makes the sacrifice of taking on human flesh, who comes to be with us to show us how to live a God soaked human life.  I'm thinking of crucifixion, not as a required sacrifice, not in the substitutionary atonement theology kind of sacrifice, but as the price of taking on the Roman empire and the power structures they sanctioned.

I am thinking about sacrifices, the kind we make for each other, the kind we make for our larger communities, the kind of sacrifices we might feel compelled to make for a country.  I'm thinking about Christian martyrs, from Christ onward, and I'm wondering what martyrdom looks like in the 21st century (Christian martyrdom or other types).

I'm also thinking of our current year in the U.S., how so few seem willing to sacrifice anything.  I'm also thinking about the fact that the U.S. is such a death denying culture.  We don't want to think about death, we don't want to think about what might be required of us, unless we could be super heroic somehow and still live to tell the tale.

It's a good day for gratitude, for people who have been willing to do what must be done, for those who have done their part in preserving freedoms that we currently enjoy, and for those who thought they were honoring their country, even when their sacrifice seems futile or worse (idiotic or delusional) to future generations.

Here's a prayer I wrote for Memorial Day:

God of comfort, on this Memorial Day, we remember those souls whom we have lost to war. We pray for those who mourn. We pray for military members who have died and been forgotten. We pray for all those sites where human blood has soaked the soil. God of Peace, on this Memorial Day, please renew in us the determination to be peacemakers. On this Memorial Day, we offer a prayer of hope that military people across the world will find themselves with no warmaking jobs to do. We offer our pleading prayers that you would plant in our leaders the seeds that will sprout into saplings of peace.

Flooding, Windows, and a Retreat Begins

 After a week of really good sleep, last night was rougher.  I would have expected it to be better--we were at the end of a successful installation of sliding glass doors and windows.  But I was jangled.

I spent the day reading reports from my old neighborhood, the one in South Florida that flooded on a regular basis.  One of my neighborhood friends posted video of her flooded property, which I watched.  If her place flooded, I'm sure our old house flooded, since we often flooded when she didn't.

Ft. Lauderdale got 25.91 inches of rain in a 24 hour period.  The previous record was 14.59 inches.  I was first aware of the situation because I'm still on an e-mail list from the city of Hollywood, which was also inundated.

Yesterday was such a strange mix of emotions:  gratitude for not owning a house in a flood zone, survivor guilt because we left while others haven't been able to do that, sadness over a historic flood that one day will seem like a small flood in comparison, worry about friends who are still there.

I had emotions not related to the flood.  Yesterday was our window installation, which made me anxious:  fear that the wrong windows would be on the truck, fear that more rot would be discovered, fear that we'd have the wrong size openings for the windows going in where there weren't windows before.  Two of our windows are very high, up in the vaulted ceiling.  One of the installers told me that it wasn't really that high, that they'd worked on much higher windows.

Happily, I didn't have to stay in the house trying not to watch the installation.  I headed up the hill to Lutheridge's Faith Center to help get ready for the Create in Me retreat.  This year, we're exploring the theme of Creation out of Chaos, and our text is the Noah and the ark story.  We chose this theme and text back in 2018, for a 2020 retreat which had to be canceled.  Back in 2018, I pushed for that theme because of my experience with Hurricane Irma.  Sadly, it is no less relevant.

I created some fish out of foil and decorated them.  I made strips of fabric for an interesting garland that was designed to evoke water.  I helped others get materials and drove people to parts of camp and tried to stay out of the way when people were on ladders to create installations like this one:

I'm sure I will have more pictures later.  Today is the first full day of the retreat, and I am so blown away by all the raw materials that are in the Faith Center.  I'm sure that I was in a jangled state last night in part out of anticipation of the wonders of this retreat.

Breakfast will be served soon, so let me get ready for the day.  Again and again, I know how fortunate I am.  Again and again, I offer thanks.

Returning to the East Coast

Here I am, back on Eastern Standard Time, except that I'm really not.  I'm still at the point of jet lag where I have to stop to think about what day it is.  On Saturday, December 31, we began our long trek back from our very strange vacation in Hawaii.

We had to check out of our resort villa at 10 a.m., but our flight didn't leave until 5 p.m.  So we ate a last Hawaii meal at the better restaurant that's part of the resort, and then my spouse waited with me and my parents, while the other half of the family vacationers  made their way to the airport.  Then we went to the airport, spent some time at the airport lounge that's a perk of the resort, where we were the only ones.  It's not the kind of lounge where there's free food and alcohol, but it was a relief to be away from the huge crowds of people in the airport.

The flight back was easier than the flight to Hawaii.  We didn't sit at the gate for several hours for one thing, and the trip back took two hours less than the flight there--both direct flights.  The in-flight dinner was strange.  We were asked if we wanted vegetarian pasta or chicken.  I chose the pasta, which was not awful, as far as airplane food goes.

I thought back to my earliest flying days, the mid-80's, where even on short flights, we often got a meal, if the flight happened over a meal time.  I would call ahead to secure a vegetarian meal, which was often a baked potato with a cheese topping or a pasta with a tomato sauce.  Saturday's meal was pasta with a white triangle that seemed to be tofu, not cheese.  There was a bit of salad on the side, and everything had some sort of vinaigrette.  There was a hard roll and butter.  The highlight of the meal was the packet of chocolate covered macadamia nuts.

I did get some sleep on the overnight flight.  I also watched 2 movies, one at the beginning of the flight, and one at the end.  I started with Top Gun Maverick, which I wanted to see when it came out.  It was about what I expected.  Then I went back to the original Top Gun, which has not aged well at all--I couldn't finish it.  

After several hours of restless sleeping, I watched Reality Bites, another movie which hasn't aged well.  At one point, I thought it perfectly captured my life, but now, I'm not so sure.  At one point, I thought it was witty and smart, but now I'm not so sure.  It is an interesting time capsule, a society without smart phones, a young woman making a documentary with a bulky camera instead of her phone, AIDS as a death sentence.

The plane landed, we got our luggage, and off we went to retrieve our car.  My spouse and I returned to my seminary apartment, where he'll stay until tomorrow when he catches a plane back to North Carolina, where we hope our little house has withstood the challenges of last week's deep freeze.  It may have been a great time for him to be away, with power and water disruptions.  Hopefully the pipes didn't freeze and the new HVAC system will still be just fine.

We went for a late afternoon walk around my favorite streets of the neighborhood.  I am happy to see that many of the holiday decorations and lights are still up, and in fact a few more have been added.  We napped, read a bit, drank some wine, ate some cheese and crackers.

Today we'll try to map out a schedule for the remaining home repairs/improvements.  We'll take a walk to enjoy the unseasonably warm weather.  We'll do more of what brings us joy before getting back to the work that must be done.

New Year's Eve Gratitudes

Here it is, the last day of 2022, the year I will think of as the year of whiplash or the slightly more positive pivoting.  It was a year of thinking we were headed in one direction, then being yanked in another, in all the ways I don't want to list right now.  It was also a year of considerable blessings, especially when considering how much worse it could have been.

I am thinking of this end of the week news of those who have died, the famous ones, just in these final days of 2022 alone:  Barbara Walters, Pope Benedict, Pele.  I keep looking at these 3 names, seeing connections and distinctions, the ways they broke boundaries or established them, and the ways that various parts of society would use them, shape them and be shaped by them.

I will have a very unusual New Year's Eve--at 5:00 Hawaii time, if all goes well, our plane will depart the Honolulu airport, and we will fly and fly and fly, east to DC.  It's a direct flight, and we land at 7 a.m., so it will be unlike some other New Year's Eve flights we've had.  I'm remembering one flight that took off from Las Vegas, where the people in the seat behind us had already been partying hard while on the ground.  Happily, although they were loud drunks, they weren't combative or vomitous.  I expect tonight's flight to be quieter.

I always say that I can't sleep on planes, but perhaps I will be able to sleep tonight.  If not, if the United in-air entertainment system is working, we should be able to get good movies.  Coming here, while the plane was at the gate for 3 hours, I watched When Harry Met Sally again, and later I watched Everything, Everywhere, All at Once (a bit baffling, a bit intriguing, a lot tiring).  I watched part of Honk for Jesus, Save Your Soul, which I might return to, but I found the characters tiresome, so I probably won't.

I will peek out the window from time to time, watching the ground below, the sky above, the boundaries dark, the blinking.  I will think about stars and navigation, both the Polynesians following the Southern Cross in their impossibly small canoes, the wise men following a new star (Epiphany approaches), the book lists for my seminary classes that bring me joy.  I am returning from a resort vacation for the first time in a long time not dreading what lies ahead:  no soul-draining job awaiting my input (my ongoing online teaching is not soul-draining), no physical therapy (last May's vacation--so grateful for healing from my wrist surgery, so glad I'm not facing that kind of body repair right now). 

I am a lucky woman

A Look Back at Fall 2022 and the Whole Year

For some of us, it's the time before Christmas where we feel the full-on crush of Christmas needs.  If we have friends and family members employed by churches, this is a high-stress time.  I imagine it's similar for people working in retail.  For me, this year, the bulk of my work is done, and I'm at the stage where I'm checking to see if my professors have turned in grades yet.

Let me make a list of what I want to remember about this term, Fall 2022, my first term living on campus.  Some of it I've already mentioned, I know.  But it's worth looking back, at this point in time:

--The only grade I've gotten for the Fall term, the grade for the whole course, not individual grades on assignments, is an A for Church History I.  That grade was not assured--for my first short paper, I made an 80, which is the lowest grade I've made post-undergrad studies.  It was a paper full of proofreading failures (my spell-check changed Perpetua to Perpetual, and I missed a few times it did this--grrr).  I also misspelled my professor's name.  It was not the first impression I wanted to make, and I spent a restless night wondering if I should drop the class.  I decided not to drop the class and to write an e-mail apologizing for misspelling my professor's name and poor proofreading; even if I ended up making a B in the class, I could be OK with that.  But I thought that if I worked intently, I could make an A- or maybe, maybe, an A.  

--I realized that the kind of writing that often works for classes wouldn't work for Church History I.  In my first paper, my professor was sharply critical of me bringing my 21st century views to judge the martyrs of the early church.  I had suggested that the early church may have championed martyrdom to make it more palatable to believers who were going to be facing the ultimate penalty by the state.  As I reviewed for the final exam, I thought about my early beliefs about martyrdom and how there were aspects to it that I resisted.  In fact, it's still hard for me to shake my belief that the early church turned martyrdom into the best kind of virtue because they couldn't make the empire stop killing believers.

--My Church History I class pushed me to do different kinds of writing, and so did my Foundations of Preaching class.  My teacher expected us to do a depth of exegesis that I was never quite capable of doing.  But attempting to do it pushed me in good ways.

--My Creative Process, Spiritual Practice class introduced me to new practices, along with pushing me to go deeper in forms I already knew.  Some people might think I got a good grade for doing what I'd already be doing in terms of creative stuff, but that's only partly true.

--Let me also record some memories of housing.  When I first arrived in my apartment and started getting settled, I wasn't sure what my spouse's housing plans would be in terms of where he'd be spending the most time.  It turns out that it was easier for me to come to him in North Carolina than for him to come here.  At first, I felt this guilt, like I had given misleading information in the housing application that I filled out back in March.  But then I realized that there were still 2 bedroom units empty, so I decided to stop feeling weird about claiming a 2 BR apartment for myself.

--Still, it took months before I moved anything onto the top of the dresser that would have been my spouse's if he lived here, his side of the closet.  I still haven't much.  Our housing still feels unsettled, with a house under reconstruction in North Carolina.

--Of course our housing situation is still unsettled because of the seminary's plan for bulldozing older buildings and putting in a high rise.  The seminary president will have an informational meeting by way of Zoom on Jan. 5.  I hope he has more specific information about timelines and costs that will help me make plans for next year. 

--I have so enjoyed living right on campus.  It has been great to be just steps away from my apartment when evening classes end, not half a mile or further away.  I have loved neighborhood walks.  I have loved being able to leave materials spread out without feeling like I'm in anyone's way. I have loved being able to set up a schedule that's best for me, without it impacting others too much.

--My spouse and I have had a video chat by way of Facebook once a day--it is a game changer.  So much better than talking on the phone.

Let me close (for now) by admitting that I am thinking back to this time last year, when it looked like my job might not end, but it did, when we were beginning to feel despair that we might never actually sell our house, but we did.  In so many ways, this Fall 2022 Semester leg of my seminary journey has been similar to how I imagined it (the immersion, the opportunities) but in some ways, so different with not as many people living on campus as I imagined, with fewer extracurricular opportunities.  And a year ago, I had no idea that my dream of owning a house at Lutheridge was about to come true.

What a strange time it's been, this past year, full of pivots and whiplashes, and so many blessings. 

Headed Back to Seminary

 Soon I will take the last loads of stuff to the car, the stuff from the fridge and freezer.  Soon I will drive back along the mountains, back to DC, to my seminary apartment.  Soon I will enter the rush of the last 3 weeks of seminary, projects in process coming to completion.

I will try not to think of how I wish it was a different time I was driving back to seminary:  2 weeks ago, with Thanksgiving still to come, or just after fall reading week with beautiful leaves all around.  I am looking forward to what I'll learn in these last 3 weeks, and the tasks are doable.  But this term has been so full of riches, and I don't want it to end.  

Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays, and now it is over.  Sigh.

And yes, I go through this every year, no matter what I am facing the Monday after Thanksgiving.  I am grateful that I am not returning to the work of hurricane recovery, as we did in 2017 and 2018.  I am grateful I am not returning to accreditation work, as I did in 2016.  I am thinking of 2019, when the world was about to fall out from under us, but we didn't know it yet--I hope we're not at a similar hinge this year.

I am grateful for the goodness that life holds now.  Let me remember that gratitude as I go forward.