A Tale of Three Butterflies

 For most Create in Me retreats, we have a community art project, something we can work on together.  Some times, the work stays at Lutheridge, like the cross as tall as a human, made of clear plastic, filled with broken things.  One year, we knotted a quilt for Lutheran World Relief.  This year, we made a huge butterfly, decorated with bits of nature.  I brought it back to my house because Lutheridge didn't really have a place for it, and it had so much glue on it that I wasn't sure it was a good idea to leave it beside a trail to decompose, as we had once thought we would do:

Here's what it looked like at worship yesterday:

It began as a series of fan blades.  Here's what it looked like when my spouse and I first constructed it last week:

I felt a keen sense of failure and despair at this early stage.  My friend on the planning team had sent me this picture when describing what the group had in mind and asking if my spouse could build the base for it:

I wrote to my friend to tell her that we might not have created what she had in mind.  She wrote back the most perfect reply:  "It will look just as it should--a unique community effort."  I so needed those words, to know that I hadn't let the team down.

In the end, I like what we created better.  One friend used the leftover dried flowers that she created for her drop in station.  We used some of the leftover wood circles that had been cut for a prayer project.  We used interesting bits that people found during outdoor time.  

And in the end, yes, it looked just the way it needed to look--many good life lessons/reminders here.

First Full Day of Create in Me

In some ways, the Create in Me retreat is the same from year to year:  Bible study in the morning, workshops, drop in stations with a wide variety of supplies and projects, worship and song, and of course, food and snacks (not all of which have this artist theme):

This retreat came with a coloring booklet and pencils on every table.  I haven't colored mine yet, because I might want to make copies.

Our theme is rooted in nature, so we've spent time in and with nature--including a nature walk yesterday.  We had 20 minutes to spend how we wanted, in nature, even if it was no further than steps from the door.  We had some questions to make us more intentional.

I went to my favorite tree, the maple between the Faith Center and the Dining Hall.  I spent time gazing and looking, looking close up, like I require my first year Composition students to do.  It was amazing.

I had a moment where I wanted to lie on the grass gazing up at the tree, but I decided it was unwise for many reasons.  I made an intentional decision not to take a camera or a notebook, to be fully present with the tree.

I love retreats for many reasons, but one reason is because it forces me to do what I say I want to do:  to be more present.

In the afternoon, we did worship planning.  I am always amazed how we come to the meeting at 3:30 with the barest bones of a worship service, and we have a fully-realized worship service prepared by the 6:45 start time.

We ended the day in the Faith Center, creating and talking.  It was a good day.  Of course, every Create in Me day is a good day--it's a foretaste of what could be. 

Forbidden Fruit

Much of my teaching this week revolved around apples, which I wrote about in this blog post.  These are the Pink Lady variety: 

We also discussed apples in the Genesis story.  Of course, apples aren't in the Genesis story; it's just forbidden fruit.  So I also got to talk about Milton and "Paradise Lost."

It's interesting to think about how many of our ideas that we assume are Biblical are actually from British Literature.  And these days, I'm thinking about how many of our Biblical metaphors are from agricultural times that not many people understand these days.  

The bushel as a unit of measurement is probably not in the Bible, but I had my students lift the bushel box of apples, just so they would have a sense of how much it weighed.

Different Slant of Sunrise

Last week, I took my usual morning walk up to the chapel at Lutheridge.  The sun has shifted since summer, and I was struck by sunrise from a different angle as the light hit Dedication Altar:

I tried to take several pictures to capture as many of the trees with their fall leaves as I could.  It's hard to get that longer view.  But the light against the tree trunk to the right of the altar is interesting too.

Hurricane Helene, One Year Later

At this time a year ago, I'd be up and about, as I always am, doing some hurricane tracking, thinking about last minute packing.  A year ago, my plan was to wait for sunrise and then drive to Williamsburg, where I was scheduled to lead a writing workshop at my mom's women's retreat.  A year ago, I thought I might wait until mid-morning to leave, when I expected the worst of the rain from the remnants of Hurricane Helene to be over.

By mid-morning, trees were crashing all around our neighborhood.  Thankfully, none fell on our house, but some of our neighbors were not so lucky.  When I saw big trees across the neighborhood roads, I realized I wasn't leaving in the afternoon.  I asked my neighbor across the street if she thought I could get out of town on Saturday morning.  She said, "I don't think you'll be going on your trip."

She was right.  By afternoon, North Carolina authorities advised that all roads in western North Carolina be considered impassible.  Of course, I didn't know that, because I was trying to conserve cell phone power.  Our power went off just before 5:30 a.m. and didn't come back on for over a week.  Internet and water proved harder to restore.  We did have running water for all but a few days.  We had to boil it, but it did come clear out of the taps, so it was safe for flushing and relatively safe for showers (I was careful not to let any get in my eyes or mouth).  We were without internet for 20 days, and happily, most days our phones could work as a hotspot.

This year, I am in Williamsburg, hoping to lead my writing workshop today.  This year, it is raining, and I'm reminding myself that I am safe.  This year, I'm saying a prayer for all those who will find today a tough day, with hurricane memories and other triggers. 

Thursday Strands: Mountains and Abandoned Summer Camps and a New Version of "Frankenstein"

This morning, I'm a bit tired, and yet I still have two teaching days to go.  So let me collect some strands and see if they make a coherent cloth:

--I am officially done with CPE, although I'm sure I'll continue thinking about it and processing it all for some time.  It was such a mixture of things:  rewarding, exhausting, challenging, on and on I could go.  I feel very lucky to have had a great group of people in the Chaplains department.  I have heard the CPE horror stories, and each day I felt immense gratitude for the people around me.

--Yesterday, the morning view of the mountains was stunning, with swirls of clouds.  I thought, I will miss this view.  Of course, I'll have other views of other mountains throughout the week as I drive back and forth to Spartanburg and Bristol.

--I read an interview with Guillermo del Toro, who has directed/created a new version of Frankenstein.  How fortuitous that it comes out the same semester when I'm teaching it!  It sounds like it will be a movie that is more faithful to the book than past movies have been, but I've been fooled that way before.

--Last night, as I focused on bill paying tasks, my spouse had a YouTube video playing about Thoreau's Walden--it was a delightful listen of snippets from the journal along with some biographical and historical tidbits.  I have no idea what the purpose of the video was; it didn't seem deep enough to have an educational purpose, and it didn't include a lot of personal appreciation.

--This morning, as I walked around camp, I thought of families who have bought old camps.  I thought of the E. B. White essay, "Once More to the Lake," that my Creative Writing class is reading and using for inspiration.  I'm thinking of a book for middle school readers, sort of a Harriet the Spy, if Harriet lived at an abandoned summer camp and was an aspiring naturalist.  Or maybe it's a story for older readers, and maybe it involves a ghost from the 19th century.

A Look Back at Music Week

What a week it has been!  Today is the last day of Music Week at Lutheridge.  The pastor of my South Florida church and his wife have stayed with us.  She participates in Music Week, while he goes off to photograph waterfalls.  My mom and dad have stayed at Lutheridge lodging, but we've seen them every day, often for the evening meal.  My spouse has also participated in Music Week.  I have still been deep in C.P.E., but I have done evening activities:  worship service on Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday, and the hymnfest last night at the gorgeous St. James Episcopal church in nearby Hendersonville.

The week has zoomed by.  Each morning, I've gone for a walk with my pastor's wife, who is a dear friend.  

We've left the house at 6 a.m., take our walk, had heart-to-heart conversations during our walk, and then returned for oatmeal.  Then I've gone off for chaplaincy training.

One morning on our walk, we noticed a car up the road that had stopped.  As we approached, the car pulled forward and told us to be careful, as there was a mother bear and 4 cubs down the driveway.

I couldn't get a shot of all of the bears, but I am sure that there were 4 cubs.  That made me so happy.  Various neighbors have seen a mother bear with two cubs, which made us wonder about the other cubs.  Now it seems we might have multiple bears in the neighborhood.  I'm glad to see that they've survived.

We are at the midway point of chaplaincy training.  I've spent part of the week writing a document about what I've learned so far and what I hope to learn in the remaining time.  It's a more complex document than one might expect.  We also spent a day in our cohort discussing what we've written and experienced.  A major part of CPE is the processing of it all, and I'm grateful for that aspect.

Summer is zooming by!  In some ways we're at the midway point of summer, but in fact, we're slightly past the midway point.  My online classes that I teach will end in just a few weeks, and my onground classes begin on August 12.

Our houseguests leave today, but my mom and dad will stay for the week-end.  I'm glad that we can all take the time to be together a bit longer, to linger in the midpoint of summer.

Whirlwind Week

What a whirlwind of a week!  On Tuesday, I felt a bit draggy, with that, "It's only Tuesday" despair.  It's been exhausting and wonderful and overwhelming with some relief thrown in.  Let me capture a few overarching themes and capture some items I want to remember.

CPE Training

Of course, the big news of the week has been the beginning of CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education), the process that trains chaplains to work in a variety of settings.  My setting for this summer is the Asheville VA Hospital, and so far, it's a great place to work.  I've written several blog posts already, so I won't write much more. 

Yesterday we shadowed various people from the chaplain department.  We went on rounds, we visited individuals, and some of us went to groups.  It was great to leave the conference room and to have a day where we did a variety of activities.  By the end of the day, I had gotten all my keys and gotten my Chaplain badge that tells people more about who I am.

Poem Ideas

My work this week gave me inspiration for possible poems.  Let me record them here so that I remember.  The most promising idea is Noah's Wife working as a chaplain in the VA hospital.  Hospital, ark, are they really so different?  I also see some potential in putting Cassandra in CPE training--Cassandra who has spent so much of her life with people not listening to her.  And now, she is training herself to keep silent, which she discovers is not a gift she has.

Wildlife Sightings

Yesterday on my way to work, a commuting route that takes me down the Blue Ridge Parkway, I saw two big turkeys crossing the road, along with at least 12 baby chicks.  Are baby turkeys called chicks?  Anyhow, I was able to come to a stop to let them get safely across.  On Thursday, I had a less dramatic turkey sighting, just one turkey standing by the side of the Blue Ridge Parkway.

My spouse had a much more dramatic wildlife sighting.  In broad daylight, a smallish bear came up on the deck, raised up on two legs, and licked all of the birdseed out of the feeder affixed to the sliding glass door.  The bear then ambled around the deck and then left.  My spouse was inside.

Success in Advocating for a Student

One of my online students from several semesters ago wrote to me asking me for help:  a letter to his current school to help him get the class that I taught to be counted as a writing class.  I was happy to do it.  I had to go back to review the class, since it's not one I taught often.  I wrote a solid letter showing how the class met the writing intensive goals of the student's current school.  Yesterday I heard from the student who wrote to thank me and to let me know that the class had been counted as a writing class--my letter convinced them!  I am always happy for this kind of good news. 

What I'm Not Writing About    

In future years, will I wonder why I didn't write more about the protests in L.A. or the military parade and protests happening today?  Will I wonder why I didn't write more about the Israel-Iraq escalation?  In future years will I see CPE as a life changing experience?  What am I not seeing?

Wreckage and Ruin on the Way to Church

 Yesterday I made the trip to Bristol, Tennessee, where I preach and preside at Faith Lutheran each Sunday.  Yesterday I left at 6:50 a.m.; I took a book with me, in case I got there very early and needed something to do.  Google Maps told me that the optimum route would take me 2 hours and 10 minutes; it took me 2 hours and 45 minutes.

My spouse couldn't go with me yesterday because he's been recovering from the ways his body has been protesting all the chain saw work he did earlier in the week.  I was feeling anxious, so I decided to print the Google Maps directions, in case I got to a part of the backcountry roads and lost cell phone service, which I assumed would mean losing GPS.

I started on I 26, with signs that said the road was closed at exit 3.  I took the exit that got me to US 19, and that road was a 4 lane highway, straight and wide, with only one truck on it.  I thought, well, this isn't too bad. There were trees blazing with autumnal color, and I thought, you wanted to experience autumn in the mountains--here you go.

Then I got on NC197, a two lane road, but still not bad.  There were piles of debris here and there, a tree down here and there.  I was behind an 18 wheeler and a box truck, but that was fine--I wasn't going to be zipping down these roads because I knew that they had only just been restored.

I got to Green Mountain, where the road ran by the North Toe River, and I saw so much devastation.  I know I didn't take in the full extent of it because I was focusing on the road, which looked like it might crumble out from under us at any moment.  The road had stacks of trees on either side, and I am fairly sure that crews just cut out the middle parts of fallen trees to be able to access the roads.  On the other side of the river, railroad tracks had buckled and twisted, like some huge child had a temper tantrum.

As I went up NC226, up and up the mountain, I saw portions of the mountains where every tree had been flattened.  Yet there were other sections in the next curve of the road that hadn't been touched, trees in full autumnal glory.  The road got curvier, and I felt increasingly anxious--there was no shoulder at all, and the 18 wheeler truck ahead of me felt free to use both lanes to navigate the curves.  What if there had been oncoming traffic?

Eventually, I pulled into the parking lot of Faith Lutheran.  I felt frazzled, but took some deep breaths and pulled myself back together again.  Just 20 miles earlier, I had been in Elizabethton, Tennessee, where a different river had overswept its banks and destroyed everything in its path.  And here I was in Bristol, where the community was largely unharmed. 

When I think of October, I think I'll remember this feeling more than any other:  how can some of us suffer so much damage, while others of us (me, for example) emerge relatively unscathed?  

On the way home, my smart phone routed me down I 26, and I decided to follow its instructions.  If I was turned away and had to backtrack, I had time.  The road was closed at exit 3, at Irwin, NC, but the detour was clearly marked.  I got back on I 26 and went back across the mountains that way.

The damage at Irwin was as catastrophic as the news reports made it seem, with wrecked roads and houses no longer there, swept away when the Nolichucky River rose.  I remember last winter when all the leaves were down, and I realized what the true contours of the river were, how some of the houses weren't too far away from that wide river.  I think those houses are gone now.  

There weren't many of us going across the mountains, but as I got closer to Asheville, traffic increased.  I got gas at the station near my house.  It's always crowded, because the price is cheap, but yesterday was worse than usual.  I was glad to get home; I've been through hurricanes before, and I know there's a point when the "we're all in this together" phase of recovery shifts to despair and rage as the pace of recovery takes so very long.

At the end of the afternoon, with no fanfare at all, we realized that our internet had been restored. I spent the rest of the day, expecting it to go out again, but so far, it has held.  I'm still boiling several pots of water a day, but that inconvenience is so minor, compared to the wreckage and ruin I witnessed yesterday.

A single picture and even a series of pictures can't really do justice to the scale of the wreckage and ruin.  Neither can these words.  I've seen article after article that tells of people swept away in the raging rivers.  Those words, also, can't make sense of it all.

On some level, humans aren't equipped to make sense of destruction on this scale, whether caused by nature or caused by humans.  But as with the pandemic, it makes sense to create a record of what I've seen.  It may never be important to historians, but it's important to me to bear witness.

Writing, Sketching, Writing

In my office, I have a bag of leaves.  In mid-September, they were brilliantly colored when I picked them up off the ground.  By afternoon, when I used them in class, they had started to fade.  I had my English 100 students write descriptions.

I thought about having them sketch and then write again--would the writing change?  I didn't have pencils, so I decided to revisit that idea later.

The day after the hurricane, I noticed all the acorns and pine cones on the ground.  I decided to pick them up.  I made sure to pick up enough so that each student could have an object.  When I picked them up, I had no idea it would be so long before I returned to my in-person classes.

This week, I tried an experiment.  On the first day, I had them choose either a pine cone or an acorn off the desk.  They wrote a basic description of the object.  I then had them write a creative type of approach:  write in the voice of the object--what does it have to say to us?

I then made a list of items on the board:  weather related (hurricane, rain), places in nature (mountains, volcanoes), other objects from nature (stone, river).  I had them write again--choose an item from the board and have it speak to your object or create a dialogue.

Then I had them choose six of the most interesting words from all the day's writing and hand them in.  I have created a word list that we'll use next week.  

The next class day, I had them choose the same object from the table.  I had white paper and pencils for them.  We began by drawing the object.

The room was amazingly quiet.  For the first chunk of class time, everyone concentrated on sketching.  And here's what really astonished me:  no one reached for their phones.  It is the only--and I mean the only--time in the class where no one even considered reaching for their phone.

We did a variety of sketches.  My favorite was a variation on an exercise that we did in a seminary class (which I wrote about in a blog post).  I had them divide the paper into 6 squares.  We sketched for 30-40 seconds and then switched squares--quick, quick, quick.

And then I had them write a description of the object again.  I had the students compare the two writings, and we discussed what they saw.  Some of them said they wrote in more detail after sketching.  Some did not.

We talked about the value of doing something else, like sketching, an activity that wasn't going to be part of the grade.  I talked about the value of taking a break from intense studying or writing.

In English 101 class, from October 21-Nov. 1, we're doing a variety of these kinds of approaches, and then students will write an essay about what we did, what they experienced, and analyzing the effectiveness of these activities.  I've done variations of this kind of writing project before, and the writing has been phenomenally better than more "standard" essays.

But more important, watching my students sketch and write helps me feel less exhausted.  It helps me feel like we're doing something post-hurricane to return to normalcy and to affirm the value of writing, sketching, and other endeavors.

Partial Restoration

I wrote this post earlier this morning, but had no way to post it, since I still have no internet:

I sit here writing on this desk that was damaged by Hurricane Irma, almost exactly 2 weeks to the day and time we lost power in Hurricane Helene. What’s remarkable about that sentence is that we went through Hurricane Helene in the mountains of North Carolina.

We are just south of Asheville, so we have been spared the worst. We did go without electricity for two weeks, and we still can’t drink our water right out of the tap. But water does come out of the tap, and we can flush the toilets without a bucket. We still don’t have house internet restored, but the phone can work as a hot spot.

If I didn’t live so much of my life online, with classes that I teach and classes that I’m taking for seminary, this might have been an enjoyable time off. But I’ve needed to have an internet connection almost daily, so twice I’ve gone to a friend’s house in Columbia, SC to stay for 48 hours, and this week, my local church, Lutheran Church of the Nativity, opened up their fellowship hall from 10-2 to offer the community a place to charge devices, free wi-fi, and free water, both drinkable and not. It’s been a great service to members and the community.

As I reflect on our experience, I’m realizing how many parts of our lives have prepared us for these weeks that have been somewhat off the grid. We’ve kept some of our hurricane supplies and equipment, like the French press coffee pot. When we remodeled the kitchen, we chose a gas stove, thinking that if the power went off in an ice storm, we could still cook or heat water. Through the years, we’ve lived in various houses in various states of remodel and those experiences have given us skills in doing without modern conveniences.

I will be the first to admit that I did not take this storm seriously, and I won’t make that mistake again. It was my spouse who filled up our first round of water containers and captured rain water in every five gallon bucket he could find. We had both cars full of gas, but that was a fluke. I thought I’d be commuting, and I wanted to fill our cars up on Wednesday night, not Thursday when it would be raining. We had some cash on hand; we’d have had more if I hadn’t spent it at the farmer’s market a week earlier. It was a fluke that we had it at all.

Today I return to work at Spartanburg Methodist College. This past week, both the schools where I teach were closed due to different hurricanes, and today they will both be open.. Tomorrow we make the trip to Bristol, and then on Sunday, from Bristol I go to DC for the onground intensive week for two of my seminary classes. I hate that I will be missing my onground classes for a week so soon after this long hurricane break, but it can’t be helped. I had planned to spend this past week getting the students prepped for my week away, but now I’ll have them write about their hurricane experience.

Hurricane Helene Breaking Points

 One week ago, I would be sitting in the dark.  I would have gotten up early, as I always do, and when I made the coffee, I thought, let me make this now, before the power goes out.  But I didn't expect the power to go out so early.  I didn't think it would still be out a week later, at least not back a week ago when the lights first went out.

I had just made this Facebook post at 3:27 a.m., when I got up to check on the progress of the storm:  "Why I could never be a forecaster for the National Hurricane Center. I would say something like, "Hurricane Helene is in Flannery O'Connor country now. Beware of odd men in black cars, Helene. If a Bible salesman tries to seduce you, just keep going. You're in strange territory now, but you'll emerge able to tell stories of grace and salvation in new and terrifying ways."

The power went out, and I sat there for a few minutes.  I went to get a flashlight, and then I assembled our other battery run lights, which are mostly strings of fairy lights.  Happily, we have lots and lots of AA batteries to keep them running:

I've had a few breaking points along the way.  It's surreal to be experiencing a hurricane so far inland.  But we've done this before, and we know what to do and how to endure.  I felt a brief moment of panic the first time that water didn't come out of the tap.  But I reminded myself that other communities aren't impacted, and I can get to them to buy what I need.

My latest gulp/grief moment came last night when I looked up ways to get to Bristol, Tennessee, where I usually preach and preside on Sundays.  I saw a post that said the most direct way, across I 26, would be closed until March of 2025.  I tried to find information on alternate routes.

Not for the first time, I wish I had a paper map.  But even a paper map won't tell me which roads are washed away.  I can't find a website that tells me either--and yes, I've gone to the obvious ones, and they tell me the information might not be accurate because roads may have been washed away.

I will not be making the trip this Sunday.  We are still being asked to stay off those roads, which may or may not be there, so that emergency crews and restoration teams can get to where they are needed.  I will try making the trip next week-end, and then I'll see what the future brings.

Hurricane Helene Aftermath: The Overview

I don't have time to write a long post today.  I'm at a friend's house who has power, water, and internet, which I don't have at my house.  I need to make the most of this time with those things to catch up on seminary work, get some grading done for my online classes, and then I need to do some shopping and banking before heading up the mountain on Friday.

Last Friday, we lost electric at 4:30 a.m.,  as I was writing a blog post about how I didn't expect to suffer many effects from Hurricane Helene beyond some additional rain.  I didn't worry too much until a few hours later when trees started to fall.

Hurricane Helene's Position when the Power Went Out

We are fortunate.  No trees fell on our property or our house, like the 3 that fell on a neighbor's house:

We have spent the last week trying to help our less fortunate neighbors.  

We haven't had much internet access and spotty cell phone service, so it's been good to have a purpose.

Yesterday I headed to a friend's house in Columbia.  I needed to get to a place that had power and enough cell phone service that I could use my phone as a hotspot.  Happily, last night her internet was restored.  Today I plan to write and grade and try to regroup.

Spartanburg Methodist College still doesn't have power, so I don't know if classes will resume on Monday as previously planned.  My friend has offered to have me come back next week, and I may take her up on it if SMC doesn't have power.  I will need to do some additional class work, both for my seminary classes and the online classes that I teach.

I am still stunned by this storm.  I still find it surreal that I moved hundreds of miles inland and still found myself in this situation, and I'm still surprised, as I always am, that a tropical storm strength event can do this amount of damage.  I am hopeful that this will be a once a century storm, and I won't have to see this kind of storm in the mountains again.  But I am also suffering under no delusions that past planetary performance can predict future performance.

But let me once again stress that overall, I am in good spirits.  I know that I am lucky:  I have friends, family, support, a great neighborhood, resources of all kinds.

Field Work Report

As I've been outside with my students, I've been thinking about my own experience with writing.  We didn't go outside to observe nature, and my college campus would have been perfect for that.  My English 101 class was more like a literature class; we did a deep exploration of three short stories.  I never wrote the kind of papers I'm trying to avoid having my Spartanburg Methodist College students write:  the umpteenth billion "why pot should be legalized" kind of paper.

Until seminary, I didn't have classes that used creative writing approaches to help me learn to write or to see another perspective.  I'm thinking of the class I took 2 years ago, where we spent an hour in the courtyard with a sketchbook, a pencil, and our eyes (for more, see this blog post).  During my walk yesterday, I thought about a similar experiment with my students, but I decided to wait for a bit to plan.

I had picked up a variety of beautiful leaves, which I still wanted to use:

I picked them up because I didn't want students wandering campus yanking leaves off of the trees.  I thought we would sketch when I was picking them up.

I had them describe the leaves in words, and today, I'll try it again with the two afternoon classes.  In a few weeks, I'll pick up leaves again and have them sketch.  Still to be determined:  sketch with colored pencils or plain?

Some small part of me wonders if it's fair of me to force my students to have this closer experience with nature--just because I think it's important, why should I foist that on my students?  But the larger part of me knows that it's an important experience, and they're not likely to get it in their other classes.  I am astonished as I walk on campus; I am often the only one walking who is not staring at a phone.  I get to class, and everyone is looking at their phones.

Yesterday my students were outside doing a close observation of a tree, and while some of them were doing their best not to look at a tree, many of them were nose to bark with the trunk or staring up into the canopy of leaves.  Some of them are writing blissful accounts of how happy they are to have a favorite tree, and I do realize that some of them may be writing that way figuring it's what I want them to say.  Most, however, seem sincere.

I gave them a worksheet to fill out as they observed the tree, and some of them used factual language, while others had a more poetic approach.  Maybe they would have had a poetic approach even without the work we did in class.  But it's been fun to watch them experiment with language, even if they didn't realize they were experimenting with language.

I know that I am lucky to have this kind of latitude in planning my courses.  I know that I am lucky to be at a campus that is beautiful and safe.  I know that I am lucky to have escaped (mostly) the enchantments of the smart phone.  I know that I am lucky.

The Holy Trinity, in One Lakeside Picture

On Tuesday, I made this Facebook post:

"Some of us look at the lake, and we see trinitarian theology in motion: Creator, Redeemer, and the Mist of the swirling Spirit, all present this morning."

It included this picture:

As I stared at the lake, I was struck by the way the fog/mist moved.  I thought about earlier generations who might have wondered if they were seeing spirits out and about.  I tried to make a video to capture the swirls, but it looked more like a still photo.

So, I made the Facebook post, and when I continued to think about it, I made this post.  What will this morning's walk bring?

Morning Rambles and Brambles, Evening Concerts

When I was walking around camp early this morning, I heard a deep voice say, "Good morning."  But I didn't see anyone.  I called out, "Good morning--but I don't see you."

The person who owns the voice waved, and then I could see him walking down a path through the forest, the path that runs from the upper craft lodge to the lower lodging spaces for campers.  I recognized him as a counselor, and he didn't seem alarmed to see me.  I was surprised.  This year, campers leave on Fridays, and I have assumed that the counselors would be sleeping a bit later on Saturdays.

As I continued on towards the lake, I thought about hearing a deep voice booming out of nowhere and how my thoughts went to all those Biblical accounts of God speaking out of an non-embodied space.  I thought of hymns about people answering God's call.  I thought about how few call stories there are that involve women late in midlife.

Elsewhere in my walk, I ate the first black raspberry of the season.  I thought they were blackberries last year, but my plant identifying app tells me otherwise.  I am not hopeful about this berry season here at camp.  The few berries that are ripening are very small.  I keep wondering if that fact tells me something about the upcoming winter, but it probably just reflects erratic rainfall.

To get to this morning's berries, I had to scrabble up a small embankment and then try to hop back down without falling.  I did have the thought that I don't really like berries enough to risk a fall.  But it also made me happy that I could do it.

So far, it has been a lovely week-end.  Last night, we sat on our deck and listened to the radio, by way of streaming the station on a computer.  It was the opening night concert of the Brevard Music Festival.  Sure, we could have driven over to Brevard; it's only 30-40 minutes away. There were still tickets, but the cheapest ones were $35 each. 

But in a way, it was lovely to be on our deck, with wine and some nibbles, and the pot of petunias I bought earlier in the day.  It was wonderful to watch the light shift and to have candles.

Of course, the sound would have been better at the actual festival.  We have a fair amount of traffic noise from the main road beyond the trees, and I usually forget that we do, until I'm trying to hear something.

I suppose I should get to the main work of today, creating a sermon for tomorrow and creating the communion bread for tomorrow.  But there will also be treats, like the watermelon that I bought yesterday.  Here's hoping it's a good one!

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.

Children's Sermon for a Baptism Sunday

I am a Synod Appointed Minister at Faith Lutheran, a small country church near Bristol, Tennessee.  When I look at the population who comes to church each Sunday, I don't anticipate many baptisms or weddings; it's an older population for the most part.  But there are 5-9 children every Sunday, mostly grandchildren of members.  

We did have a baptism on Sunday--we baptized the grandchild/great grandchild of family members who attend.  The parents live in Nashville and were in town for the week-end.  Back in early autumn (late September?  early October?) the church members asked if I could do a baptism, and I treasured the look of joy on their faces when I said yes.  We began to plan for a baptism on the Sunday of Thanksgiving week-end.

I offer a children's sermon every week, so I didn't want to let this opportunity pass.  I knew that this baptism might be the only one the children see.  My sermon talked a bit about sacraments, in a less mystical way than I might have presented the ideas to adults; as I reflect on it now, I realize that children might be able to grasp the mystical ways in a more capable way than most adults.

I wanted to talk about the other aspect of baptism in the Lutheran (ELCA) church--that we're making promises that later the child will decide to continue with or not.  I also talked about the fact that we as a congregation are making promises too--we will promise to support the child and pray for our new sibling in Christ.

I had a family tree chart that my mom made for our September family reunion.  I saved it and brought it to our smaller family reunion at Thanksgiving.  I showed them the chart and added my name to it and Stephen's name to it--he and I are people they know, and we are part of this family tree as the generation goes on.  I added our names on sticky notes.

Then I talked about the Christian family--imagine a family tree that contained the name of every baptized Christian.  Imagine how we are all connected.  We are individuals in different times, and yet our baptism connects us.

I could have done more, of course.  There's the interconnectedness of literal trees through root systems and the fungi that support them.  There are ways that older trees protect younger trees (for more on this fascinating research, read this article from Smithsonian Magazine).  There's always more I could have done and so much church history that I always decide not to include.

I think it worked well, but I often think that.  It's a sobering fact of both teaching and being a minister that I will rarely know whether or not I've been successful in what I hope I am passing on to others.  But I'm also aware that this preaching and teaching feeds my soul too; I'm lucky to be able to do it.

Salad Potlucks, First Week Seminary Readings, and Other Delights

In a week where seminary classes are underway, and face to face classes that I teach are underway, and online classes have been underway, and another massive hurricane has come and almost gone, let me record some observations, instead of creating a coherent blog post about one subject.

--I have done the first two seminary writing assignments and turned them in.  My seminary is now using Blackboard Ultra (instead of the older version of Blackboard), so it all feels both familiar and unfamiliar.

--It has been cool to see familiar faces on the seminary class zoom calls.  Some I've only known through online classes, some through onground, and some both.

--Yesterday I went to the quilt group at the church near my Lutheridge house.  We had a salad potluck, which was much more varied than it might seem.  I was surprised by the variety of the salads.  I made the pasta salad I've been making since I first came across it in Mollie Katzen's The Enchanted Broccoli Forest Cookbook.  A pound of cooked pasta, some cut veggies (bell peppers this time), and a vinaigrette of 1/3 C. of balsamic vinegar and 1/3 C. of olive oil, plus dried basil and dried oregano.  So tasty!  Yesterday I had it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

--So far, my seminary reading has been more interesting than I thought it would be--it's been much older theology and church history, which doesn't always thrill me.  As I read about the early church leadership and how canonical texts were chosen for what would become the Christian Bible and what heretical movements were squashed, I was surprised by how much of it I already knew.

--Hearing about my classmates' internship sites made me happy for us all--such a wide diversity of placements.  Our professor reminded us all of the importance of self-care and to remember that we are at our sites to learn, not just to be used as cheap/free labor.

--Hurricane Idalia does not seem to have spewed as much harm as we might have feared, but it will be interesting to see what the final damage estimate is.  Extreme flooding doesn't leave behind as much camera-ready footage as wind damage.

--I got an e-mail from my chair to the English department at Spartanburg Methodist College about what we need to do if we need to be absent.  It was so reasonable.  I was saddened at how refreshing I found the tone, how sad I was that for so many years I have worked for other schools that suspect people of slacking off and shirking if they call in sick and/or arrange an online module when they are away at a conference or taking care of other responsibilities.  

--It is wonderful being at a small, liberal arts college in South Carolina, wonderful to see all the activities that are taking place.  In addition to sports, we've already had auditions for a play, calls for an art show, an ice cream social, a movie night.  And that's just what I see in posters that are up on the walls of the building where I teach and announcements in e-mails.

--I've been hearing so much about the death of higher ed; this week, I've thought, maybe it's not true.  And if it's maybe not true for that institution, maybe it's not true of others, like the mainline Protestant Church.

Poetry and Climate Change and an Acceptance

 In a week where southern California is under a tropical storm watch, with storm Hilary expected to dump as much rain in 2 days as some parts of the southwest get in 2 years (2 years!!!), and wild fires continue to blaze across northern Canada, and a heat dome will break all sorts of records across the nation--I began this week of historic weather by getting my contributor copies of this book, Dear Human at the Edge of Time:  Poems on Climate Change in the United States:

I'm very pleased that "Higher Ground," one of my Noah's Wife poems was selected.  When I read this poem, I remember clearly its genesis:  the flood of 2019 just before Christmas that wiped out one of our cars that was parked on the street.  There wasn't a tropical system or any warning at all.

This week was also the week where another one of my Noah's Wife poems was chosen for publication:   "Noah's Wife Gets to Work."  One of the joys of blogging is that I have an easy way of looking up my writing process, at least for this poem.  This blog post tells the genesis of this poem, the day in January of 2020 when my boss insisted that the registrar put unqualified/uninterested students in classes so that we would meet our ARC goal, which brought the wrath of Corporate on us, which made our boss enraged, an unpleasant day all the way round.

I look back and think about the ways our lives and our school were about to unravel, all of the power struggles that would mean so little in the end, as the pandemic unspooled, and new owners arrived to change the school in ways that meant that very few of us would still be employed there.  I think back to days like the one in January of 2020, and I'm amazed that I could tolerate that work situation as long as I did.

But back to the current publication.  I am pleased with the variety of poems that are included in this book.  One contributor and poet friend of mine, Dave Bonta, made this Facebook post, giving this review, an elegant expression of the beauty of this book:  "I got my contributors' copies of this, and have been extremely impressed by the variety, including poets from various walks of life, not just the usual suspects - everyone from a high school kid to a climate scientist to the current US poet laureate. It's also fun to share space with social media pals like Caitlin Gildrien, Kristin Berkey-Abbott, and Lesley Wheeler, not to mention folks I've met through qarrtsiluni and such. The topic is dire, but the fellowship is real. I suppose there's a lesson in that..."

Here's the poem that appears in the book:

Higher Ground


On the last day of the year, Noah’s wife waits
for the insurance adjuster.
She thinks of the Christmas flood
and the larger flood before it.

Her husband’s god speaks
in terms of measurements and building
instructions. Her husband’s god gives
out directions and punishments.

Noah’s wife has always heard
the subtle messages, the daily
communications that the men
ignore: how to feed
the family, how to comfort
the forsaken, which breaches
need repairing.

Noah’s wife studies
real estate listings and elevation charts
while she waits
for the insurance adjuster.
She should be researching
vehicles. She already knows
what the adjuster will tell
her about the drowned car.
She seeks answers
to the larger question
of how to find
the higher ground.