Rain and Writing

It's the kind of rainy morning that's saying, "Wait and walk later."  Of course, the risk in waiting is that I might not go at all:  it could continue to rain or I could submit to laziness.  It's the kind of rainy morning where I have writing that I need to do, so waiting to walk makes sense.  

I was feeling bad that I had no sermon rough draft written, but by last night I was glad.  We went to the last fish fry of the season at Faith Lutheran in Bristol, TN, where we discovered that a church member had made aprons for everyone, reversible at that.  As I looked at us all wearing our aprons, I thought about Pentecost and the metaphors for the Holy Spirit, and I got an idea that hadn't been there before.  I don't want to write about it further, for fear of losing the energy of the idea.  Once I've posted the sermon, I'll come back and put the links in this post. 

I am happy for the rain, even if it means my walk never happens.  We've been in such a deep drought across the southeast.

Of course, last night I was not happy for the rain as we drove back from the fish fry.  At first, as we left at 7:30, it was beautiful, with clouds across the mountain.  The rain settled in as we got to the top of the mountain; once we got to the road construction outside of Asheville, the rain got heavier and the road conditions worse with construction debris and barriers and various lines on the road.  I have rarely been more relieved when we pulled into our driveway as I was last night.

Let me keep this blog post short so that I can take advantage of this rainy morning and get my Pentecost sermon written.

Notes from an Off-Season Beach

We are at the beach in a slightly off season, here in mid-May.  It's warm enough to work up a summer-like sweat in the late afternoon.  But my morning walk today had a chilly enough wind that it was almost unpleasant.  Let me record a few other observations.

--Being here in mid-May means that the only children who are here are younger than elementary school age, which translates into lots of cute toddlers.

--We are also here with lots of older people, the ones with either very flexible vacation times or retired people.

--I am likely in the same age category as many of these older women, yet I am working from a different jewelry sensibility:  a nice way of saying that I love colorful glass beads that aren't very valuable, and I'm surrounded by precious gems and metals that are.  I am not wearing jewelry on vacation, and I'm in the minority.

--I have started judging restaurants by their playlists.  High marks go to Poseidon for having 3 Queen songs, including the more obscure "Hammer to Fall," which I am listening to in my earbuds right now.  What a great song--and it still feels very relevant.

--I do realize that "Hammer to Fall" was released as a single and went up the charts.  When I say it's more obscure, I mean that it no longer gets much airplay.  We're much more likely to hear "Somebody to Love," when we're out and about.

--A different musician performs by the pool each day.  Yesterday the musician could play steel pan drums, guitar, and saxaphone, but he didn't always know the song lyrics.  Strange to hear his version of Sting's "Englishman in New York," which didn't sound very English-y, and we're far, far away from both England and New York.

--Yesterday was my last Lutheran Confessions class.  It was a good class, and I learned a lot, although I'm not sure that much of it will be useful in my future life.  I love the idea that the creeds are not like a pledge of allegiance, but more like a love song of the early Church, more like a hymn than a confession of faith.  It seems counterintuitive--we say we confess our faith using the words of the _____Creed.

--It's been a good week, both bittersweet and tiring and inspiring.

Atlanta and Me

Atlanta is famous for its horrible traffic, and yesterday's traffic was horrible, just as we expected.  The worst part was some side streets which had cars parked on either side of the street, a 2 way street, which barely left room for one car to drive through.  Yikes!

Happily, we made it through and got to the hotel in Midtown Atlanta.  The car is parked in a garage, and we will not be moving it until we leave.  Last night, we walked down to South City Kitchen for dinner--what amazingly good food, drinks, and service!

As we walked back, I looked at the huge skyscrapers and thought about my connection to this city.  My earliest memories are of Atlanta and theatre.  In 1972 or so, we came to Atlanta to see Godspell, a life changing event even when I was 7--that play shaped my theology and that trip to Atlanta made me see big cities as thrilling, not scary.  In 1978, when I was 13, we came to Atlanta to see A Chorus Line and to shop for some Scandinavian furniture to go with what my mom and dad had bought when they were stationed overseas in France in the 60's.

We lived in Montgomery, Alabama, and when we would drive to see my grandparents in South Carolina, Atlanta was an unmissable landmark with buildings bigger than any in any other Southern city, a statement no longer true.  Later, in my undergraduate years, I would go to Atlanta or drive through Atlanta periodically.  I loved Atlanta and my Georgia Tech friends so much that I thought about going to grad school in Atlanta.  But instead, I went to the University of South Carolina, a choice I don't regret.

I remember coming to Atlanta in 1997 to see an exhibit at the High Museum, the first time I ever saw Pre-Raphaelite paintings, the real ones, not pictures of them in books--amazing.  I left and bought my first set of paints and brushes from Pearl, a local-ish art supply place (only later did I realize it was a chain when I moved to South Florida).

My fondest memories are of Charis Books, a feminist bookstore that is still in business, a happy surprise.  But I will not be going there today--the wedding week-end logistics don't allow for many other activities, but that's O.K.  It's good to see relatives we don't get to see often, and good to have a happy occasion to bring us together.  I am aware that in future years, it will be more likely to be a funeral that draws us near.

But let me not think about that today.  Let me marvel in this city, which 1980's Kristin would not recognize.  That girl could make her way through the city in her 1974 Monte Carlo without breaking a sweat.  I remind myself that she was younger and more foolhardy, and the city wasn't as crowded then as it is now.  Let me enjoy this time out of time, an experience that has always been quintessential Atlanta for me.

Recording of Sunday's Sermon

For the past several weeks, I've gotten up on Sunday mornings and studied weather reports.  I've enlarged screens to better study the radar and try to figure out where precipitation is falling.  Last week the forecast was for freezing fog, but we didn't see any impact on road conditions.  

Yesterday I knew we would encounter some precipitation between Arden, NC and Bristol, TN, but I was surprised by how much was falling.  The roads were mostly wet, but at the highest point, there was more snow sticking to the pavement than I expected.  I felt a bit of panic and wondered if we should turn around.  But I also knew that road conditions on the way back were likely to be just fine, and once we headed down the mountain, the road conditions went back to being wet, not white.

To view the recording of yesterday's sermon, head here to my YouTube site.  To read the manuscript, head over to yesterday's blog post.

I'm glad I had a chance to be with the congregation of Faith Lutheran yesterday.  My sermon went well, as did the rest of the service and Confirmation class.  The trip back was fairly easy, and we had a restful end of our Sunday.

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.

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 Morning

 It is graduation morning, a day which may have seemed improbable years ago, before Covid, before seminaries started experimenting with distance learning, before higher education began its long and then sudden decline, before, before, before.

I have earned an MDiv from Wesley Theological Seminary, and later today, I'll participate in the graduation ceremony that happens in the National Cathedral.  It starts at 2, and you could watch from a distance by way of this livestream link:  https://youtube.com/live/hAGLcoosBYo?feature=share

I am not sure what to expect, beyond the usual:  lots of folks in caps and gowns, walking across some sort of stage to get a diploma.  I have participated in many graduations, but rarely as the one getting the diploma.

I have sensible shoes, and I'll wear the olive skirt with the pockets, not the black but pocketless skirt that would blend with the gown better.  I am not nervous about the graduation ceremony.  I'm not speaking, after all.  My family will park the car, and I'm hoping we'll be early enough that they can get a space in the parking garage.

Because the Eucharist ceremony was on Thursday, we've spent several days here in the DC area, days with family members, precious time.  Some of us have been in a local hotel, sharing space with lots and lots of soccer players who are in town for various championship games.  This morning, I'm hearing sniffling and sneezing and hoping it's just allergies.  I have avoided airline flights for a variety of reasons, but belatedly, I'm thinking about the risks of crowded hotels.  We haven't lingered in common spaces or crowded spaces, so hopefully we'll be O.K.

I'm thinking about the last time I stayed in this hotel, back in October for the onground intensive week.  At that time, it seemed more populated by business travelers.  I remember feeling so exhausted, not just from the intensive work, but also from the cumulative fatigue that comes from having a natural disaster fall on one's head.

It's good to remember that it hasn't all been easy. I still feel a bit weird, like people are making too much fuss over me.  After all, I've enjoyed my classes and most of the work felt like it came naturally to me.  But as I think about this 4 year journey, I am reminded of all the ways it has taken perseverance.  It's good to celebrate these milestones.

The Day Before Ash Wednesday

Today is Mardi Gras, and it's also Shrove Tuesday. It's the day before Ash Wednesday, the day before Lent begins. The holidays of Shrove Tuesday, Carnival, and Mardi Gras have their roots in the self-denial of the Lenten season. These holidays are rooted in the fasting traditions of Lent and the need to get rid of all the ingredients that you'd be giving up during Lent: alcohol, sugar, eggs, and in some traditions, even dairy foods.

Mardi Gras and Carnival, holidays that come to us out of predominantly Catholic countries, certainly have a more festive air than Shrove Tuesday, which comes to us from some of the more dour traditions of England. The word shrove, which is the past tense of the verb to shrive, which means to seek absolution for sins through confession and penance, is far less festive than the Catholic terms for this day.

In the churches of my childhood, we had pancake suppers on Shrove Tuesday. In the church of my childhood, a church could count on its members gathering whenever the church doors were open. Thus we had Shrove Tuesday pancake suppers and Wednesday Bible study meetings and groups of all sorts gathering throughout the week.

These days, most mainline churches feel lucky if members come on Sunday, much less at other points in the week. Many churches have Confirmation classes during Sunday School time, unlike my experience of trooping back to church in the late afternoon of a Sunday. Many churches do the whole Holy Week journey on Palm Sunday because they know that church members won't be coming back on Thursday and Friday.

It feels like we should do something special on the day before Ash Wednesday, but I suspect many of us aren't interested in traditional Mardi Gras festivities which often include large amounts of alcohol.  This blog post has a recipe for a quick yeasted bread that is relatively healthy.  It's fairly simple to make, and easy to make more festive if that's your thing.

My Mardi Gras/Shrove Tuesday will consist of driving; it's the day I head back to my mountain home.  It's been a great visit with my parents, and I know that I am lucky to be able to say that.

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.

Travel and Thinking of the Great Letter Writers of the Past

I have spent a lot of the month of October in the car.  Some of it was expected travel:  going up to DC for the onground intensive week for 2 of my seminary classes.  Much of it was unexpected:  going back and forth to Columbia, SC to get some internet access and electricity in the aftermath of Hurricane Helene and taking the long way to Bristol.

I thought of that long way to Bristol, of my little church that I love so much, of how the route to that church, all the routes that are more direct, have been washed away.  The remaining routes are over 3 hours long; on Saturday October 12, we took the only remaining route (west on I 40, north on I 77, south on I 81) which took us 5 hours and which we cannot do every Sunday.

As I drove, I thought of all the letter writers of the past, Christian and not, who have kept people and communities in their hearts, even as they find themselves far away.  My thoughts went back to Paul, who has never been my favorite Christian/theologian/letter writer.  On Sunday, as I drove home from DC, I thought of Paul, starting congregations, unable to get back to them very often.  I thought of Paul, who from his letters seems so disappointed so often.  But maybe there are other letters that tell of his joy--we see a glimpse of that.

Let me remind us all of the high cost of sending letters back in the day of Paul.  You wouldn't send letters then, the way you send letters now.  You would likely write on some type of animal skin or parchment, and you'd have to find a messenger to take your letter to the recipient, which often involved a very dangerous trip.  All of this would cost a significant amount of money.  So you probably wouldn't write just to say, "Keep up the good work."  You'd make that effort for communities that needed guidance.

I don't know how my sojourn as Synod Appointed Minister for Faith Lutheran in Bristol will end.  It's already gone longer than the original plan; my original contract went through February of 2024.  And of course, every position is temporary, whether we realize it or not.  I take comfort in knowing that I can continue to pray for this community, even if I can't get there to lead them in worship.

A Morning Trip to Downtown DC, An Afternoon of Biblical Storytelling

I am happy to report that yesterday went well.  I had so many jitters and worries, but one of the nice things about being older is that I recognize my anxiety, and I know how to keep moving forward, in spite of it.  And yes, I do realize that I'm lucky to have that kind of anxiety and not the crippling kind of anxiety.

I got to seminary campus yesterday after a morning commute that isn't exactly hard (stop and go traffic followed by traffic at full speed and lots of merging here and there).  I parked the car, got organized for the morning expedition, and walked to the Metro station that's a mile away in Tenleytown.  I've been enjoying these neighborhood walks in the morning, and this was no different.

Two years ago when I took the Metro places, it was very deserted.  Not yesterday.  I did manage to get a seat, and it was an easy trip to downtown DC.  I was an hour and a half early, and I thought I might get a coffee, but the coffee places I saw didn't really have a place to sit, so I kept going.

I ended up walking around the Mall, which was delightful.  I do wish the museums opened earlier, but I enjoyed exploring the outdoor attractions.  The Hirshhorn Museum has a sculpture garden that is under construction, but some of the sculptures are now outside around the museum.

The gardens around the National Museum of the American Indian were even more of a delight.  Each section of the garden represents a different habitat (except for polar or desert) of the American Indian.  I loved these sculptures, created when the museum was first built.

The artist created these sculptures with the idea that the natural elements would interact with them and transform them.  Now they are home to birds and small creatures.

Finally I made my way to the Museum of African American History.  Faithful readers of this blog know that I went to this museum two years ago, and I'm glad that I did.  Yesterday I didn't have as much time, but I did go up to see the art, and then I did a quick walk through the lower history levels.

I caught a ride back to seminary with a fellow student who also had an afternoon class, and we got back in time for the lunch that was offered by the seminary.  

My afternoon class is called Parables and Parallels, which is a class in Biblical storytelling.  Yesterday was the day for our first offerings.  I had chosen Luke 8:  43-48, the story of the bleeding woman who touches the fringe of Jesus' cloak and is healed.  I chose that text back in early September and while my mind returned to it, I didn't really work on it.  On Sunday, I thought that it was time to get serious, since we were going to present it on Wednesday.  There were moments where I thought I would never get it pulled together.

Happily, my teacher is not the kind of person who is looking at the original text and seeing how many words we missed.  We had the latitude to make judicious changes.  We had the opportunity to be dramatic in so many ways.

We all did a great job, at least from my point of view as a fellow student.  It was both familiar to me, yet completely different.  It's not at all like a sermon, and vaguely similar to various drama projects, yet different.  We're supposed to engage with the audience, which is different from most drama projects.

I felt a weariness as the afternoon went on, so it was nice to end up at the house of my sister and brother-in-law for supper.  Then I went home and went almost immediately to bed.

And now, day four of the intensive--let me take a shower and get ready for the day.

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.

Blessed Brides and Other Blessings

Once again, I am up early for this time zone in Arkansas, writing in the CCC room, sipping coffee shared with me by the front desk park ranger who has been here all night, keeping watch while the rest of us slept.  I am happy to have slept through the night because at 3 a.m. I banished the thought that said, "Screw it.  Might as well get up and get the day started."  I managed to get back to sleep and slept until just before 5, which is always a rare event for me.

I am up and thinking of yesterday's dramatic weather as I hear the rumbles of thunder:

Yesterday morning's view from the patio overlook was the most clear that the skies were going to be for the rest of the day:

I don't have a picture of today's view; it's early and most of the exterior doors are locked.  I'm set up here at this table, with thunder rumbling, and I don't feel like tromping around outside.  Yesterday when I first heard thunder rumbling, we were an hour away from the rains and storms that lasted all day.

The afternoon wedding had already been moved so that we could be near a shelter, and all day, we kept  an eye both to the skies and social media, in case plans changed.  We had been told the shelter was 13 miles up a road that was described as both muddy and gravel with limited parking when we got there.  I had already decided to wear my running shoes, and frankly, I wish I had a pair of sturdy hiking boots because I would have worn those too.  I am envisioning my elder years as shod in boots of various sorts. But I digress.

I wore a pair of shorts on under my skirt.  If the vehicle got stuck in the mud, I could take off my skirt and not ruin it.  I'm not sure what I thought I would do after that, but it made me feel better to be prepared that way.  In my sneakers with shorts on under my skirt, it also made me feel like my 5th grade self.  That grade, we all wore shorts under our dresses and skirts because the boys delighted in trying to expose our nether regions.  Even once they got tired of the game, it felt good to have that protection.  But I digress.

We made our way up the road in the most rugged vehicle we had, and it wasn't as bad as we had been told.  Although cloudy, the weather was perfect.  That weather did not hold.

Just before the ceremony, I looked up the severe weather alert, and then I looked up which county we were in.  The weather alert told us to take shelter immediately.  I don't think the weather folks had our shelter in mind.

The view was dramatic, as I watched various weather systems moving across the land below.  And when the ceremony started, the clouds descended and mist moved through the shelter.  The guests were able to avoid most of the rain, but I can't say the same for the wedding party.

Happily, we avoided the kind of headline I envisioned when I saw the weather alert that warned of dangerous lightning and 60 mph winds.  We took post ceremony pictures in the rain, and then we moved down the mountain to an enclosed picnic shelter for the reception.

We talked about the old folk wisdom that a bride who has rain on her wedding day will have a blessed marriage.  If that's true, the bride in our family is blessed beyond measure.

As I sat at a picnic table watching adults and children dance, I thought about how we are all blessed beyond measure, with food in our stomachs and weather the only threat from above.  We have come through many storms already, and I know that more will come.  But it's good to remember that we have more people rooting for us than we may know, the ones who are there in person, the ones who pray from far places.

Don't Be a Zombie: Celebrate Love

I am writing in a state park in Arkansas, Petit Jean State Park, in the CCC room.  A very kind park ranger who tends the front desk overnight offered me a cup of her strong coffee, and I said yes.

As I understand it, this lodge where I am writing was constructed by the CCC, and the furniture in this room was constructed to match the original furniture.  It's not exactly comfortable--a straight back chair with a woven seat--but I've used worse.  There's a charm in being the only one in this room, while the sky slowly lightens.  Here's a view of the lodge from the table where I'm writing:

As we drove across the state of Tennessee yesterday, I thought about how much of the state I've seen in the past week:  from Bristol in the northeast corner all the way to the Mississippi River.  As an English major, it's impossible not to drive by places and reflect on the literature that these places have inspired.  

And of course, there are darker thoughts, about the Civil War and the Civil Rights movement and the fierce battles for the soul of America.  My younger self would have thought that these battles were settled and that we were on a trajectory towards a better future, a more egalitarian future where everyone (except for the very richest of us) has similar opportunities.

As we drove and drove and drove across Tennessee, I thought about the current battles over land, especially Ukraine.  I understand the value of that land, the literal land and the historic ideas of it, from reading Timothy Snyder's Black Earth.  It wasn't the book I was expecting, but I haven't forgotten it--an excellent book.  

As we drove and drove, I thought back to history, people who lived in the lands that the car drove by, people in the 1850's who tilled their fields and tended their farms, people who lived far away from decisions made in Washington, D.C., people who had no idea how history was about to rip apart their lives.  Most of the people who lived in most of the country in pre-Civil War years didn't own slaves.  Their lives were about to be upended over policies that would never have impacted them otherwise.

Happier reasons bring me to Arkansas, a wedding and the family reunion that these kinds of events can create.  Last night I watched small children lurching around the picnic area pretending to be zombies.  The smallest one came over to me, looked directly into my eyes, and said, "Be a zombie."

I am of an age where I don't get these kinds of invitations/directives often.  And so I rose from my camp chair and played at being a zombie.  By the end of the evening, most of us, all ages, had taken a turn at this game.  I talked to the child's mom about how kids these days are learning about zombies, and now I have a Disney creation to look up.  I didn't realize that Disney had travelled to the land of the undead.

I am traveling through the land, rejoicing that we are not yet dead, that there are still kind front desk managers who share their coffee with early morning writers, that there are still children who will spend hours playing make believe, that the land offers up so much beauty, as does life itself, if we look away from our screens and 24 hour news feeds and the other ways we allow our joy to be killed.

Today we celebrate love.  Today I am remembering that we should celebrate love, in all of its forms, in every way we can, each and every day.

Retreats and My Current Life

A few weeks ago, I was at Quilt Camp at Lutheridge.  This week I'm at a different retreat at Lutheridge, the Create in Me retreat.  Both of them make me happy, but in different ways.  Create in Me has a variety of activities, with workshops and Bible Study and much more involved worship services.  Quilt Camp gives us lots of time and space to work on our own projects that we bring with us.

When I'm at one, I'm missing the other.  Having gone to both for several years now, I know to expect this feeling.  I'm also missing past years, past people.  Again, I know to expect this, but it often makes me feel strange.

It's not a new revelation:  I'm happier when I'm not comparing experiences.  Still, it's so hard for me not to compare.

I've also been thinking about past years, about how sad I was as I made my way home to the flat land of Florida.  I've been thinking about how astonished past Kristin would be to find out that I had finally found a home in the mountains.

Of course, one of the disadvantages of a house here at Lutheridge is that I don't really feel like I'm on retreat, like I've been away, when I return to my house each night.  Of course, one of the advantages of my current life is that many of the elements of retreat life are present in my daily life.

A Colonial Lunch

Yesterday's weather was pleasant for January, and the Colonial Williamsburg info line told us that the Christmas decorations would be up until January 7, so we headed over for lunch.  Unfortunately, we got there just as they were finishing the process of taking them down, but happily, we still got to see a few.  We expected crowds, so we headed over to the King's Arm Tavern to get there just as the restaurant opened.

We took in the atmosphere and looked over the menu.  Our server put water glasses on our table, reminding us that we had clean water, safe to drink, which wouldn't have been the case in colonial days.  A nearby table asked what the colonial people would drink, and the answer was beer for all, even the children.  The father told his daughter that no, she couldn't have beer.

The child was actually more interested in her book than in beer or any other part of the lunch.  It did my heart good, although I understand how it was probably frustrating to her family. She made the kind of bargain that you might with younger children:  "If I eat 5 bites of my lunch, then can I read?"  I was that kind of reader too, and with the right book, I still can be.

The meal was full of historical information.  We learned that colonial gentlemen would try to impress women with their shapely calves, and if they didn't have shapely calves, they would put fabric in their socks or a wooden form--this led to the phrase "putting your best foot forward" because men would doff their hats, put a foot forward, and bow, while ladies surreptitiously surveyed their calves.  We learned about people traveling with huge napkins which they would tie around their necks (tying up loose ends) to protect their clothes from food.  We also had a lovely mini-concert on the Irish harp, and we learned that only Ireland has a national instrument, which is the Irish harp.

The other table was a family speaking Spanish, and I thought about how far the country has come:  we have water that is safe to drink, little girls who want to read, and more food than colonists could dream of.  We have dining rooms where people who can afford it can have a meal, all of us mixed together in ways that wouldn't have happened in the U.S. until late in the 20th century.

We decided to have onion pie for our lunch.  It was a mix of potatoes, onions, and apples, with a pie crust on top, and an egg on top of that.  I thought the chunks of potatoes, onions, and apples would be distinct from each other, but they were boiled into a mush.  It was a delicious mush, like a savory applesauce.  We had carrots and skinny beans on the side.

I made this Facebook post:  "When in Williamsburg, one should eat like a revolutionary. This onion pie is made from one of Martha Washington's recipes."

After lunch, we made our way down the street, being careful to avoid the horse poop from the carriage that had gone ahead of us.  We wanted to see the Bruton Parish Church; on previous trips, we hadn't been able to go inside.

It was truly beautiful (later, when I've uploaded the photos from my phone, I'll add them to this post).  The decorations were still in place, all made the way they would have been made in colonial times, which is to say, they were made from natural materials like magnolia leaves and pods and flowers.

I've been in historical churches before, always as a visitor, and I always wonder what it would be like if one was a regular worshipper there.  I imagine that sooner rather than later, one forgets the history, except when the building needs repair.

We made our way back to the car, a chillier walk as we faced the breeze.  I was glad to sink into the car, even as part of me wanted to be riding in a carriage.  I wondered what it would be like to work as a server in the restaurant or the people who walk around the town in character and in costume.  It looks like a fun job to me, a former drama club kid, but I realize in the end, it would be a job similar to other jobs that happen without the costumes and the colonial overlay.

It was a delightful lunch, both a trip back in time and a look to the future.  We returned home, nourished in all sorts of ways.

Christmas Eve and the Ghost of Christmas Past

Today is a day unlike our regular Sundays.  Instead of getting ready to leave for Bristol, Tennessee by 7:30, we don't need to leave until 11:30.  Faith Lutheran, the church where I am a Synod Appointed Minister, celebrates Christmas Eve at 2, with no morning or evening worship.  I have never gone to an afternoon Christmas Eve service, but it makes sense for this congregation.  I have noticed that many churches no longer do the late night service, the one that begins at 10 p.m. or later.

I have my sermon written, which I'll post tomorrow.  I had thought I might bake a small braid of Santa Lucia bread for every household at the small church, but I didn't have time for that.  It's fine.

We might be home in time to go to a local church's evening service, but we probably won't.  A regular Sunday leaves me a bit worn out, what with traveling and leading worship.

Last year, by this time, we'd be on our way to Hawaii.  Or would we still be sitting in the airport?  In the gate area of the airport, waiting to board the plane, we were near a crew member who was sick; we knew he was sick because he collapsed and vomited.  I thought the flight might be delayed because of the lack of a crew member, but we were told it was because of some airport issue.  Still, soon we were on our way--but we would spend that week in Hawaii with various family members getting sick.  It was not our best family vacation, but we tried to make the best of it.

So today we will travel, but it will be by car, over the mountain.  I am fast approaching the point where I will avoid air travel as much as I can.  Last year we flew to Hawaii and got sick; in September, we flew to Maine and got sick.

A year ago, I had no idea where I would be in a year, but I was coming to think I wasn't likely to be in seminary housing, since it seemed certain to be torn down.  A year ago, I didn't know what I was about to set into motion, by thinking about the possibilities of not living in seminary housing.  And now, here I am with a Synod Appointed Minister position, an internship with the Southeast Synod of the ELCA, and a teaching job at Spartanburg Methodist College.   I am thrilled with these changes.

I thought it would be nice to have a more leisurely Sunday morning, but I really prefer our regular schedule.  It will be nice to have time to go for a walk, to think about this sermon one last time.  I need a sentence or two that explains why any of it matters.

A Deeper Look at a Family Reunion

If you follow this blog, you know that I have a 9 month appointment as a Synod Appointed Minister (a part-time appointment) at Faith Lutheran Church in Bristol, Tennessee.  Long ago, my grandfather served 5 parishes in Bristol, Tennessee, and they have merged through the years; one of the merged churches is Faith Lutheran.  Here's a picture of one of the older churches that my grandfather served:

The members of my grandfather's generation have died.  Here's a picture of my grandfather (on the left) and my grandmother's youngest brother, Jim Crumley; both men served the Lutheran church in a variety of ways.

Here's a picture of my grandmother Mary 

And here's one of her only sister, Martha (there were 2 other brothers, but I don't have pictures):

Yesterday, the children of that generation came to the front of the church for communion.  As I handed each one the bread, I felt this spookiness.  Their faces looked like the faces of the people in the pictures above, the faces as I knew them when they were older, not in the pictures.  And of course, I am not the young woman that I was when I first met many of them, at a long ago family reunion in 1977 I'm in the lower right corner, to the left of my mom who is wearing a striped shirt, with my little sister sitting between my mom and dad):

Here's a picture of Saturday's family reunion, held just down the road, at the Faith Lutheran's picnic pavilion:

And here's a picture that I snapped of the church at sunset, a sunset made more spectacular by tropical storm Ophelia to our east.

I thought it captured a sense of liminal space, that sense of something passing away even as other things remain.  The family remains, as does the church, as do the mountains that surround the church and the farms, some of which have remained in family hands, some of which have not.  The news delivers a steady drumbeat of reports of challenges ahead--so many challenges.  But that would have been true for the people in those old pictures above, the pictures in this old album of pictures of people who are gone now.  

My grandfather went off to seminary in the early 1930's, even after the seminary sent him a letter encouraging him to stay on the farm where at least he would have food to eat, but if he was determined to come to seminary, he was welcome, even though the church wasn't sure of job prospects at the end.  My mother was born in 1939, a year filled with bad news and worse news to come.  

And yet, the sun rose and set, the lights stayed on, forces of good prevailed, and so did forces of evil.  I try to take a longer view of history, although it doesn't come naturally to me.  Every generation has had struggles, and we are no different.  I hope we continue to gather as humans, in groups large and small, to tell the stories, to be nourished in so many ways.

Family Reunion

 A quick note to say that this is what we did yesterday afternoon and evening:

Hurrah for family reunions held at the old family church, Faith Lutheran!  Yes that's the church where I am currently the Synod Appointed Minister.  The weather was gorgeous despite tropical storm Ophelia to our east.  We were able to gather in the picnic pavilion on the church grounds and walk up to the building to use the kitchen and rest room facilities.

We ate barbecue on buns (the sliced meat kind with a great sauce), amazing watermelon (so sweet and in late September!), other fruits, cut up veggies, and wonderful homemade cookies.  I haven't had a snickerdoodle in years, and these were mighty fine.

Some of us will return to church today for worship.  I'm trying not to feel nervous.  But some of these people (and not just my parents) have known me since I was a little girl.  

Yesterday I created this Facebook post:  

"Happy autumnal equinox! We are headed to Bristol, Tennessee for a family reunion, and then tomorrow, a lot of family will be at Faith Lutheran to worship. I will preach a sermon to people who have known me since I was young and reading Laura Ingalls Wilder and trying to learn those pioneer life skills from my elders--hope they like my sermon! It won't have much to do with little houses on prairies, but it will have to do with life in God's abundant vineyard."

Maine Wedding Week-end in Words

This morning, I'm back from a whirlwind week-end trip to Maine.  I planned to write while I was away, but I had some computer issues or perhaps Blogger issues or perhaps Google issues or perhaps wi fi issues.  Or maybe I just felt lazy.  I did get some grading done and other work for my online classes.  

I was in Camden Maine for the wedding of the oldest son of grad school friends.  Long ago, they left for England, where she was from; they decided to settle there, not here, because she had an extensive family there and because of what England provides citizens (like health care) that the U.S. doesn't.  She was pregnant when she left, and we've seen the whole family through the years.  In 2016, we went to Arizona for the wedding of their younger son, and we met some folks that we saw again this past week-end.

I had never been to Maine before, and I was surprised to find how much it reminded me of the parts of Maryland that are near the Chesapeake Bay.  The buildings look similar, as does the landscape, and the vistas of water that seem to be at every turn of the road.  The weather was perfect, which was fortunate, because the week-end plans were mostly outdoors:  a gathering at a picnic shelter on Saturday and the wedding itself on Sunday afternoon.

We got to Maine on Friday afternoon and made our way to Camden after flying in to Portland.  One of the best meals we had was on our way, at a roadside pizza place.  It may be the most perfect pizza I've ever had.  The crust was perfectly crisp with abundant toppings:  cheeses, onions, bacon, and mushrooms.  We ate at the Sea Dog brewery Friday night after we literally bumped into the friends we had met in Arizona as we passed each other on the street.  That was one of the more perfect settings as we settled into a picnic table on a back covered terrace that overlooked the bay.

It was a week-end of various festivals around town.  In addition to Labor Day, there was a Windjammer celebration, and some other smaller events that had streets blocked off and lots of traffic.  Because we were there for a wedding and to see friends that we don't have a chance to see as often, we didn't do much sightseeing.  I didn't buy anything except for food and drink.  I didn't even really go into the small shops that looked like they had interesting stuff.

The only good cup of coffee I got was from a bookstore, The Owl and the Turtle.  It was a mocha, and the woman in line behind me recommended that I opt for the whipped cream on the top.  It was homemade and worth every calorie.  The food was good, but the company was better.

The wedding was held at a beautiful venue.  It was one of the first times I'd been to a Jewish wedding; the bride is Jewish.  I sat there as we waited for the wedding to start and went back to previous weddings I've attended--could it be possible that I've never been to a Jewish wedding?  Yes, it is possible, but then I remembered that we went to the wedding of the mother of a college friend.  In terms of the ceremony, it seemed similar to every other wedding I've attended:  a celebration of love and a reminder that marriage doesn't keep us safe from hard times.

The wedding event included an open bar and a delicious meal and cake and dancing.  We didn't stay until the very end--we had to be on the road early on Monday to get back to the airport.  We had an easy trip back.  It may have been one of the easiest zips through TSA security that I've ever had.  Returning the rental car was also quick and effortless.  The plane took off five minutes early; I guess one of the advantages of a small airport is that we don't have to wait for the one lone passenger making their way to the concourse.

And now it's back to Fall.  Today I teach, and tonight I don't have class.  Tomorrow, my schedule heats up.  But it's OK, because I'm looking forward to all the events that are coming my way.  It's very different than other times I've returned from vacation where I've dreaded all the work stuff about to fall on my head.

Tomorrow I'll post some pictures from the trip.  Today I need to make sure I'm ready for teaching.