A Walk on the Virginia Capital Trail

 Yesterday, my dad and I went out for a walk.  On the face of it, it's not a remarkable statement:  my dad and I have exercised together through the years, usually with a walk or a run, and we're both able to move right now, to walk but not run (I have arthritic feet, and he has an Achilles heel injury that persists and persists).  The weather was beautiful, somewhat rare for late May in Virginia in a time of global climate change:  warm but not too hot, not humid at all, a slight breeze. 

We went to the Virginia Capital Trail that runs right outside of their house.  We could have walked all the way from to Richmond, if we had energy enough and time.  Instead, we walked a few miles towards Jamestown and then back.  We shared the road with bicycles and a few other walkers.  The paved trail was wide enough for us all.

I can imagine that if a Saturday had gorgeous weather, the trail might get crowded, but it's a trail for everyone, regardless of the speed they're going, the people and pets with them, the types of vehicles they might use (bicycles, skateboards, rollerblades, etc.).

It covers 55 miles, so it goes through various municipalities.  I asked my dad if all the various governments support the trail, and he said yes.  As we walked, debt ceiling negotiations raged (or were they stalled) in D.C., not very far to our north.  We seem to be in an age where many people go into government not to make the world better, not to make government more efficient, but to make government come to a crashing halt.

There's also a lot of citizen support for the trail, people who volunteer to keep an eye on parts of the trail, people who show up to clean up parts of the trail.  It runs along a state road, 5, and I was surprised by the lack of litter.  Some of that is the volunteer force, but some of it might be because State Route 5 doesn't have much development beside it--no fast food places to give people food wrapped in future trash.

I know this, because I traveled on State Route 5 on Tuesday, and I saw the trail that ran beside it, back before I knew that the trail had a name and an infrastructure.  That afternoon, too, was beautiful, and I was not surprised to see lots of bicycles.

We stopped along the way to look at fallen trees, to look at a creek where a turtle sunned, to look at my dad's health statistics on his smart watch.  We walked at a decent pace but not enough to leave us breathless or aching.

 Part of the joy of yesterday's walk was knowing that we won't always have these near-perfect conditions, both in our bodies and in our surroundings.  Part of the joy was in the visible reminder that people can come together to create and protect a beautiful thing like a trail or a bridge.  Part of the joy was realizing that although the world is changing, and will always change, we might be able to muddle through.

Poets Walking in the Woods

Earlier this week, I got an e-mail from blogger and poet Dave Bonta that ended this way:  "Just wanted to mention that I'll be in DC for 12 days starting tomorrow night, on the off-chance that you're still in town and able to get together for a walk and/or chat."  We exchanged possibilities for a walk, with yesterday being the day that was best for both of us.

So much was fortuitous:  we didn't choose Thursday, a day of relentless rain.  Dave had 12 days, which gave us lots of flexibility.  I was at the end of the term, so scheduling a walk was more possible than it would have been in, say, November, when we would have had to schedule around my classes and paper due dates and travelling that I was doing.

Even though we've never met in real life, I've known Dave for over a decade through his blogging, poetry, photography, and online presence on Facebook and Twitter.  We've e-mailed off and on and worked on some projects together; one of the early ones was a celebration of the birth of Emily Dickinson (in 2010?).  One might protest that we don't really "know" anyone virtually, but I would say that long-form blogging is a different way of knowing someone than one would by way of tweets.  We also have mutual friends in the blogosphere and beyond.  

In short, I felt more comfortable going for a walk with Dave than I would with someone I knew from class.  I wasn't too worried that Dave would turn out to be a serial killer--and yes, I am aware of all the serial killers who have managed to hide their true selves for decades--and yet, they didn't blog or post poems and photography, so there's that.

DC is a city full of greenspaces and parks and trails, so we met at Glover Archbold Park, at a spot where several trails meet.  I got there a bit early, which was fine, because I had a chance to take pictures of this tree and to wonder who had decorated it:

Shortly after I took this picture, Dave and his friend arrived.  We made our way down to the trail and started our walk.  

At first, the trail was easy, wet but not treacherous.  In places, we had to go more slowly because of wet leaves and mud, but that was OK.  Along the way, we talked about poetry and technology and politics and science, both climate science that tells us of a difficult future approaching (so glad we sold our South Florida house!) and the science that gives us a glimpse of what formed the land.  We hiked on top of aging sewer pipes cased in concrete.  We crossed major DC streets and descended back to the trail. 

We did not try to go across the stream, even though in my younger years, when I had better boots and had never broken a bone, I would have fearlessly forged across all sorts of obstacles.  Not this year.  I was grateful that we were all in agreement about not taking risks.

Dave had me stand next to a tree that was so tall that he estimated it was over 250 years old.

We walked for a little over an hour, and then it was time for me to head back to studying for my Church History I final that I take today.  Dave and his friend headed south to continue their rambles.  On Massachusetts Avenue, Dave's friend took this picture of us with the trail entrance behind us:

I am so glad that I had this opportunity to meet Dave in real life, glad to be reminded that if I get along with people online, I'm likely to have a pleasant time in real life.  I'm also glad that we took a trail that I probably wouldn't have been brave enough to explore on my own; it seems mysterious and less passable when viewed from the street/sidewalk than when viewed at trail level.  I'm also glad to be reminded that although I'm older than I once was, I'm more steady on my feet than I sometimes fear.

Now let me go on one of my walks that is more usual for me, a walk around the seminary neighborhood, enjoying the holiday lights.  And then, let me get ready for my final exam and take it.

Pumpkin Offload 2019

Today I am sore.  But it's a good kind of sore.  Yesterday was the annual pumpkin offload at my church.  We buy part of a truckload (the 18 wheeler kind of truck, not the Ford F150 kind of truck) of pumpkins that come to us straight from the fields of New Mexico.  We have to get them out of the truck and into the front grassy area.

Some years, it's taken over 5 hours.  Yesterday we did it in just under 2.  Because it was a Saturday afternoon we had a lot more help--it's been tougher in years when it's a school night.

Because it was a Saturday afternoon, we had some people we didn't know show up:  3 kids on bikes and a homeless guy   We also had teenagers of church members that we hadn't seen in awhile come to help. 

Not everyone can help.  But that's fine.  They can cheer from the sidelines or just enjoy the parade of pumpkins.

This year we got a larger amount of the smaller pumpkins.  Over the past several years, we've noticed that people don't buy the bigger pumpkins like they used to.

Because more of us are using pumpkins and gourds for decorating than for carving or cooking, we got a lovely assortment of those.  Bonus:  the littlest children can set those up, while those of us with bigger muscles can get the bigger pumpkins off the truck.

Here and there we found some rotted pumpkins.  Back to the earth they go.

At the end, we swept the hay out of the truck.  We put it on the pathways between the pumpkins.  Does it protect the grass?  Does it protect our shoes?

Some children further north get to jump in leaves.  Our children jump in hay.

This year, our pumpkin offload was tinged with even more nostalgia than usual.  There's the usual nostalgia--children whom I have known since they were in elementary school are now teenagers.

And then there's the larger nostalgia--our church is in the process of possibly selling the front part of the 4 acre property.  If the sale goes through, we will build a new structure in the back.  Where will we be this time next year?

We may be in exactly the same place, offloading pumpkins, transforming a church yard into a pumpkin patch.  We may not.

Of course, that's our situation every year.  We just aren't always as aware of it.

September Steps of Progress

It is already October--hard to believe.  It is the first day of the fall quarter, both at my current school and at my old school--but for the Art Institute of Ft. Lauderdale, it is the first day of the last quarter that the school will be open.

Ordinarily, I'd be changing out prayer books today.  I use Phyllis Tickle's 3 volume set, The Divine Hours, although in this summer of upset schedules, I haven't used it as much as normal.  I remember packing up the bookshelves and putting the other 2 volumes of the prayer books in the box.  I said to myself, "Surely the floors will be done by October." 

The floors are almost done, but I'm not sure of the timeline for when we'll have everything back in the house, the books back on shelves.  When I think about how much we've gotten done, I feel happy--how far we have come.  When I think about the tasks that are still left to do, I feel overwhelmed if I linger on that list.

Let me continue to go one step at a time.

Speaking of steps, let me record a different type of progress.  On Sept. 1, as I took my morning walk, I reflected that it was the beginning of the month.  I said to myself, "What would happen if I resolved to get my 10,000 steps every day during this month?"

I knew that there would be some challenges, including my quick trip to Lutheridge.  But I made the resolution anyway.  And yesterday, I completed it!

Not much time to write this morning--there are day old baked goods to get from Publix on my way to spin class.  It's not really on my way.  But I still feel like it's helpful to have the baked goods available to the students.  I've had more than one share with me that they find it helpful to have some free food because they don't always know where they're getting their next meal.  So, they can get some goodies and a loaf of bread.

As with the house repairs and the moves towards fitness, sometimes the steps seem very small.  But the important part is to keep taking the steps.

Inspirations: Jesus, Fitbits, and Larger Collections

--Last week, I arrived to spin class after having spent time writing about Jesus and menopause.  I thought about Jesus having a Fitbit.  So much to say about the incarnation, so many ways to write a poem.

--I plan to revisit my collection of Jesus poems, along with my poems that write about feast days and their intersections with modern life.  I plan to have a new collection ready to submit to the Two Sylvias Press Wilder Prize in the fall.

--Of course, there's the question about my old collection.  I've been submitting it for years now, and I'm still convinced that it's a strong collection.  I've had at least one editor give me encouragement along with rejection. 

--I'm also thinking of how many books I might have published in my life.  If it could only be one collection of poems, which would I want to leave as my legacy?

--Can't I have 2 collections?  Is that so much to ask?

--And part of me thinks about how my vision has shrunk.  Well, not my vision, but the realities of publishing--traditional publishing.

--Part of me also knows that the reality I see in front of me might not last.  I might put a manuscript away, and in later years, there might be interest.  Maybe it's time to move on.

--I've also resisted the idea of my new collection because it's so overtly religious.  I've worried about all the readers I might not have because of that theme.

--And I know that my religious poems will be strange and perhaps offensive to people who like religious themes.  What if I end up with no readers?

--I certainly won't have readers if I publish nothing.  Maybe I should focus on the work itself, and not who will read it.  I should create collections that delight me and trust that there will be communities that embrace that work.

--Let me go out for a vigorous spin class and ponder these things.

Trying a Simpler Approach to Worship Variety

Several weeks ago, our spin class teacher had a very simple approach to our class.  We would climb for six minutes, go fast for 20 seconds, and then recover for three minutes.  Then we'd do it again, cycle after cycle, until class was over.

Some teachers have more complicated routines.  For example, we might climb switchback style, adding gears and pedaling for 30 seconds, taking off gears and pedaling, adding one here, taking off two there.  I like those routines because they keep calling me back to the moment, reminding me to be present.

But when we did our streamlined routine several weeks ago, I was reminded of the benefit of a simple approach.  When it was time to climb, I added as much gear as I could stand and pumped away.  When it was time to speed, I took much of the gear off and went as fast as I could.  We didn't worry about the music--although I like a routine matched to the beat of the music, the beat of any particular song seemed less important that day.

As I think about that approach and the satisfying workout that I had that day, I wonder if we could adopt a similar approach to other areas of life.  I think about it especially in terms of church.

We often create worship services that try to be all things to all people.  We have a band and we have traditional hymns.  We do liturgy in a variety of ways--and all in one service.

Or we create several services, each vastly different from another, as we try to please everyone--and then we spend lots of time wondering how to increase attendance at each one.

My church has gone with the variety of services approach, but we don't spend as much time as we once did thinking about attendance numbers.  I worry a bit about burn out; as with many small churches, the brunt of the work falls on the shoulders of the few.

But so far, our approach has been working--it's good to rest in this space, without trying to reinvent our worship approach every year.

Sidewalk Chalk Evangelism

On a discussion on Facebook the other day, a woman wrote: 

"I am using Brian McLaren's book: We Make the Road by Walking, for small groups starting September. We are using the walking/pathway/journey of faith image for next year, beginning in the fall. Looking for creative ways to be church with this focus. Weekly meeting in small groups will happen in homes, a Panera Bread and the church. Looking for new ideas for weekly book study gatherings and to make real the journey of faith image.

 My church is a smaller congregation in an affluent neighborhood. It is a higher educated group and many live very focused, purpose filled lives. Feeling desperate for new ideas.

 Need some inspiration from the creative clergy women community!"

I thought of labyrinths and of walking through the neighborhood in prayer.  But I also thought of this picture from Lutheridge, taken by Mary Canniff-Kuhn:

Thus, inspired by the above picture, I wrote this idea, which I want to capture here as well:

"I am impressed with things that my poet/teacher friends do with poems and big hunks of sidewalk chalk. You can make trails this way too. My friends would put poems on sidewalks. I bet you could do something similar with faith images, verses, inspirational words and phrases, prayers that are chalked onto the pavement. Or if not sidewalks, perhaps the church parking lot, driveways, and whatever Panera allows."

I love the idea of leaving wonderful, affirming messages on sidewalks and pavements across the nation.  What a powerful evangelism that would be.

I use the word evangelism guardedly.  I don't have a vision of the kind of evangelism designed to get people to come to our churches.  But I do have a vision of spreading the gospel good news this way:  angel messages for a different age.

Morning Movement in the Water

One of the things that I REALLY enjoyed while at the Create in Me retreat was the 30 minute Morning Movement session we did before the day got started.  We gathered at 7:30 and did a variety of stretches together.  It was very gentle and left me feeling oddly energized.  I say oddly, because I tend to think that I need to do vigorous activities to feel energized.

This morning I felt sore and worn out from last night's work out.  I yearned for a Morning Movement session.  I noticed the light starting to change.  I thought about the pool in my backyard.  Aha!

I changed into my swimsuit (or bathing costume, as my English friend calls it) and got into the pool.  It wasn't as cold as I expected.  I did laps with my head above the water.  I thought I'd do it for 10 minutes or 20, if I felt good.  As I paddled, I decided to go for 30 minutes, and I did.  Hurrah!

I tried to turn the experience into a more spiritual one.  I gave thanks for the water and for my body which can still move through the water.  I gave thanks for my parents who taught me to swim.  I fished some palm flowers out of the water and gave thanks for the plants.  I watched a squirrel scamper down the fence line and lizards scatter out of the squirrel's way--and I gave thanks for all the animals.

Several times I paused to float on my back and let the water hold me up.  I thought about the ways that God holds us up, ways that won't always seem obvious.

I made the sign of the cross on my forehead as I remembered Martin Luther's advice that we remember our baptism daily as we do our morning washing.  I thought about all the ways that we get  a fresh start, day after day after day.

As the sun started to dapple the water, I thought about the sun salutations in yoga.  I much prefer greeting the sun with a morning dip in the pool--my head can stay above my heart, so it's less dizzying.  Sun salutations can strain my joints; I didn't have that problem in the pool.

I hope I can do this more often:  begin and/or end the work day in the pool, giving thanks for creation, remembering my baptism.

Reformation Thursday

Last night I went to spin class and took a shower at the gym so that I could make it to the county-wide Reformation service.  As I finished up at the sink, another woman in my spin class came into the locker room, and we chatted.

I told her where I was going, even though I can't imagine that she fully understands.  I could almost see her confusion; I imagined her saying, "Of all the things you could do on a Thursday night, you're doing that?"

We talked about the appeal of Catholicism and the appeal of a mass that fully engages all the senses.  She talked about her frustration with the churches she's been to, with the rock bands that sing songs no one knows.  I talked about my frustration with the skill of the musicians, the inadequacy of the music as rock.

Last night's band didn't leave me disappointed.  They had a keyboard, a bassist, a guitar, and a drum kit.  Unfortunately, the instruments often overpowered the choir.  I've been to very few churches that get that balance right.  Amplified instruments with a non-amplified choir--it's hard to do.

Overall, I liked the service, although it was fairly small--not the high mass experience I'd have liked.  But it was cozy and nice for a Thursday night.  The bishop talked about looking for where God is at work in the world, and he brought it back to our synodical assembly theme of making all things new.  Where is God making things new?

I liked the chance to sing with a group.  I'm struck again by Marty Haugen's songwriting skills.  It was worth going just for the chance to sing "Gather Us In."  His language always blows me away.

I thought that Communion was a bit rushed, especially since we were such a small group.  We could have gone forward to kneel.  We could have had the bishop lay hands on us all and bless us.  Perhaps they expected a larger group.  Perhaps I'm the only one who would like the meal part of worship to be more leisurely.

I headed out humming the liturgy in the parking lot.  And not for the first time did I stop to think about what a strange life I'm living:  spin class followed by a Reformation service. 

Bombs: Boston and Birmingham

I have spent many formative years running road races. I've run neighborhood 3 mile events and more 10Ks than I can count. I've done the Army 10 miler once, and the Kiawah Island half-marathon once. I've been at numerous finish lines cheering for loved ones and everyone running around them. My dad just finished 2nd in his age division (70-75) in the Cherry Blossom 10 miler on April 7.


When I first started running, back in 1980, I didn't know many marathoners, and the ones I knew were male and young and just out of college where they'd run track and field. When I first started running, women didn't run the marathon in the Olympics--that event was first added for the 1984 Games. The world has changed--in some ways for the better, and in some ways for the worse. In all my running years, I worried more about my body failing or being attacked as I logged my miles in the early morning. Now, we may have had a new worry added.

Yesterday, when I heard about bombs at the Boston Marathon, my first thought was, is it that time of year already? Once upon a time, the calendar of road races and track and field ran alongside the regular calendar in my head, a different liturgical pattern. And then I felt sick and sad.

Those of us who have spent time around road races know that they're vulnerable events: runners move through city streets cheered on by people who really can't be screened. It's not like going to watch a baseball game.

I hope we don't decide to cancel a lot of events. I hope we decide that some things are worth the risk. Marathons teach us to be brave and to attempt things we never thought we could do. We can't turn into scared mice who refuse to leave the house.

Today may be a day when many of us struggle to feel hopeful. It's a week of grim anniversaries: the Virginia Tech shootings, the Oklahoma City bombing, the Columbine shootings.

Let me remind us all of a more positive anniversary. On this day, in 1963, Martin Luther King wrote his influential "Letter from a Birmingham Jail." Go here to read it and be impressed. Here's a taste: "I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly."

This letter didn't change the world immediately. In fact, it took months before a critical mass of people became aware of it. But it is one of the documents of the Civil Rights movement and of U.S. history that changed the trajectory.

We live in a more just world because of that letter. It was a bomb of a different sort.

We all have choices to make each and every day. Some actions will move the world towards peace, towards justice, towards love. Others will move the world towards terror, towards fear, towards hate.

Like marathoners, like Civil Rights workers, we are in training for a much larger event, maybe larger than we realize right now. In days like these, it's important to continue to commit ourselves to love, courage, and peace.

How Do You Live in Your Body?

The other night, I tried a Zumba class.  I knew I wouldn't be able to do every move.  I was a bit surprised to find out that I couldn't really do any of them.

I came home and said to my spouse, "I don't live in my body the way the Zumba instructor lives in her body."

He said, "I don't even know what you mean by that."

Not for the first time was I reminded that my relationship to my body is not the norm.  Well, not for modern times.  I used to joke that I had a medieval relationship to this body that I felt was always ready to go after the decadent, the extra calories, the slothful approach.  I felt like a pure soul trapped in a body that was always ready to embarrass me.

Of course, that's hardly fair to my physical form.  Lately, I've tried to develop a sympathy for my body, which after all, has done the best it could.  I take weight off, and I put weight on, and my body copes admirably.  Some days I give it fruits and vegetables and all the healthy things it needs.  Some days I gunk up the works with junk.

Let me just state here that I realize that I'm still sounding rather divorced from my body.  I'm far from integrated.  But it used to be much worse.

I have bodies on the brain as we approach the feast day of Mary Magdalene.  I know that church history is one of the reasons for my complicated relationship with my female physical form. 

I know that God delights in every part of me.  I suspect that God feels sadness at my alienation from my body which is the home of so many miraculous processes.

I do better in exercise classes that help us think of ourselves as athletes:  spin class and boot camp classes.  I love seeing muscles emerge.  I love feeling stronger and being able to do what I once couldn't do.

I do less well in exercise classes where there are lots of different movements.  Having arms and legs going in a multitude of directions is more complicated for me than I suspect for others.

Then there's the dance aspect.  I've always thought of myself as too klutzy and ungraceful/heavy to be a good dancer.  That said, I'd probably do better in an exercise class based in ballet than in Latin dance.

I'm circling around a different aspect, one also rooted in the life of Mary Magdalene.  Zumba moves just felt very sexual to me.  Sure, it was a class of women.  But for a variety of reasons, I've never felt comfortable in those sexy dance moves.

I've spent my life as a woman trying to blend in, trying to downplay my female body, trying not to attract negative attention.  I can't just turn that off for a Zumba class.

Maybe it's time to explore self-defense classes!

Praying to the Rhythms of Exercise

Yesterday was a trying and exhausting day on many levels, not the least of which was finding out that my credit card had been stolen when someone wanted to make a $1500 donation to the March of Dimes.

I'd like to eradicate birth defects as much as the next person, but if I could afford to make a $1500 donation, it would be to Lutheran World Relief or to the ELCA malaria eradication efforts.

We got the phone call from the Fraud unit of the credit card company after a long morning of all the phone calls that an impending real estate transaction takes--we are hoping to finally sell my mother-in-law's condo next week.  She died just as the real estate market imploded, and we've been stuck.  But selling a condo is not without special headaches.

So, by the time I got to evening spin class, I was wrung out from a day of anxiety and phone calls.  I was also feeling guilty (and yes, anxious) about my inability to turn off my anxiety response.  I hopped on the bike and spun and prayed.

I'm always startled when I can pray during spin class.  The music is loud, and the instructor has to give us direction, and we're often changing approaches.  But when I can pray, the rhythm often works.

I've had great luck praying during walks, either in straight lines or in a labyrinth.  But I don't often pray in other exercise situations.

The pounding music was great for short prayers, repeated over and over again.  The exercise setting reminded me to pray for health for so many people who are struggling.  The sweat poured off of me, which felt like a baptism.

I emerged from spin class feeling energized and cleansed.  I need to remember to try praying during exercise more often.