Spirit Scraps

Life Comes at You Fast

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 13:30:00 +0000

On the morning of May 27, I was enjoying a bike ride before work. Heading for home, I gave my left turn signal and began to move towards the center turn lane. The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back, being attended to by a paramedic.

I'd been hit by a Buick (as in, the car hit ME, not my bike!) The result of that collision was a pelvis fractured in three places. Thankfully, I did not have to have surgery; however, I am spending all of June and July in wheelchair, and will face months of rehab before I can climb on my bike again.

(Public Service Announcement) If you bike, wear a helmet. 90% of all bike accident fatalities come from head injuries. My helmet has four cracks in it... but my skull has none. (Public Service Announcement over)

It's the fashion nowadays to talk about how isolated we all are, but thank God it's not always true. I have been the recipient of many kindnesses, like the neighbor who kept my dog until I came home and who now takes her for "play dates" when she needs the exercise I can't give her. Or the neighbor who picks up my paper every morning and brings it to my door. Or the complete strangers who have opened doors for me and helped get my wheelchair over a curb when there was no curb cut available.

Most of all, there have been the churches. I first stayed with my parents after getting out of the hospital, and their church (the one I grew up in) responded with calls, cards and food. A church for whom I'd led a women's retreat last winter did the same. I have received notes and prayers from people in a church I served twenty-two years ago.

And then there's my church. Our diaconate is divided up into various ministry teams; for example, a team that helps with prospective members, a team that makes hospital visits, a team that goes into action whenever there's a death.

I've always thought it was a good idea; now I know it's a powerful one. I cannot tell you what it meant to me to get a call from one of the deacons saying, "don't worry about cutting your grass this summer - we've got it taken care of." Or for folks to show up with food. In short, I have felt taken care of, by loving and generous hearts.

I think one reason these teams are working so well now is that people are truly in positions where they belong. People are getting the chance to do what they love to do. So, it becomes an easy thing to reach out.

The church gets some bad press these days, and frankly, some of it is warranted. Burt we also need to tell the stories of when they get it right.

So, to First Baptist and Ardmore Baptist of Winston-Salem, Beth Car baptist in Halifax, VA, and especially College Park Baptist in Greensboro,

Thank you.

technorati

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Mon, 26 May 2008 19:59:00 +0000

Technorati Profile

I just don't know

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Mon, 26 May 2008 17:39:00 +0000

It was Youth Sunday at our church a few weeks ago. the youth choir sang and youth took over all aspects of the service. Our four graduating seniors spoke in place of the sermon, sharing the story of their faith journeys and their hopes for the future.

One spoke of how a mission trip to Hungary and later to post-Katrina New Orleans shaped her perspective and her future work as a social worker. Another spoke of the support he received during his parents' divorce. A young man who is originally from Latin America spoke of seeing the impact of economics on his people, and the differences he wanted to make as an adult. The last young man spoke of growing up in the church. Lately, it seemed, he' d been paying more attention to the world around him and trying to make sense of how terrible things could fit into a life of faith and what he believed about God. "It's a tough time right now," he said, with voice cracking. "I just don't know. I don't know what I think or what I believe."

We were proud of all of our students. We were especially pleased that they felt like they could be honest. And we were also grateful to be a part of a community of faith where a teenager didn't feel like they had to put on a spiritual grin and quote a party line, but could share truthfully and deeply from their heart.

Last Sunday our pastor started his summer sermon series. As a part of the series, he has a "talk back" time following the sermon. People are free to make comments and ask questions. Sunday a member asked a particularly thoughtful question. Our pastor's initial response? "The Bible doesn't give an answer to that, so I'm not sure I have one."

In the days when I was editing a devotional magazine, I received many wonderful notes of appreciation. but I once received a card from a pastor, chiding me. "You raise questions," he said, "but then you don't give people the answers." He thought that was too unsettling, too disturbing. I could live with that criticism because I believe that living with the questions is a part of faith.

The questions lead us out of our comfort zone. If we are very brave and keep journeying, we find ourselves in a new place with answers we never expected. Sometimes the answers come, but not for a very long time. And sometimes the answers never come, at least not in a way that truly and deeply satisfies us.

The truest test of our faith may not be our certainty but in how we live with the questions.

Dog Park wisdom

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Fri, 23 May 2008 19:11:00 +0000

Rachel Remen has written a beautiful book entitled, Kitchen Table Wisdom. I guess my own wisdom comes in even more earthy ways.

I took my dog to a local dog park for the first time last weekend. After some initial shyness, she loved it. She ran. she played. She belly-flopped into a mud puddle. (For a picture of a filthy dog, see my other blog, Pets and Other Friends.)

It didn't take me long to realize that we need to become regulars at the park. There was such joy in my dog's play, and such joy in me at seeing her be so fully a dog, hanging around with the pack.

So, I stated planning... Let's see.. I could bring a book and get some of my reading done... get caught up on some articles....

Then it hit me. I could just sit. On sweet summer days, I could just sit beneath a tree and watch the dogs at play. I didn't have to DO anything (except maybe keep Oakley from the mud puddle.)

I could just BE.

I'm not a person who has a hard time just sitting. I love it when the weather turns warm enough for me to sit on my patio in the early morning, soaking in the free concert given by the birds. But sometimes I have a hard time giving myself permission. Even this morning - I took the time to sit in my favorite rocking chair with a cup of coffee, to journal a bit and read a bit and offer a prayer or two. But in reality, I don't think my spirit ever slowed down. It was one more thing to do.

I once gave a friend a small sign for her desk: I only have to do two things today... Breathe in. Breathe out.

It's a good thing to remember.

Sin?

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Sat, 22 Mar 2008 13:11:00 +0000

An article in a recent USA Today focused on the complaints of some clergy that the church has shied away from talking about sin. Everything is just a matter of self-improvement. And if there is no sin from which we need to be rescued, then there is no need for salvation, thus robbing this Holy Week of its power and purpose.

I think that a large part of the problem is that we have focused on sins as actions. This is what we have done that is wrong. The problem is that across the spectrum of Christianity, we are not at all in agreement of what those sins are. I remember someone telling me of visiting a women's group in Rome years ago. The Baptist visitor was astounded to see the women drinking wine at their gathering. One of the women leaned forward and asked the American visitor, with some incredulity, "Is it really true that in your country Christians smoke?"

Some of the ministers complained that sin had been replaced by self-help. As one who is both a minister and a licensed counselor, I see both sides. Many times people act in selfish and hurtful ways out of their own woundedness. They don't do better because they have never been equipped to do better. Woundedness is not an universal excuse. I believe that as you become aware, you also have to accept responsibility. Yes, you had a terrible childhood. Now, what are you going to do with that?

So, has good insurance coverage replaced our need for grace?

I don't think so. I think our fault has been in neglecting Sin in terms of relationship. The big sin of Adam and Eve wasn't the action of eating the apple. It was breaking the relationship of utter trust between them and their Creator. Our sin (in biblical terms, "missing the mark") is in neglecting to foster and nurture our relationship with God. It is forgetting that God desires this relationship as passionately as any lover, that God desires our well-being as deeply as any parent. God wants us to live into the fullness for which we were created.

Grace reminds us that the relationship isn't all our doing and the work is not all ours. Grace holds us even when we make a terrible mess of things, reminding us that God doesn't give up on us. Grace holds up a clear mirror of accountability, but also extends the invitation for new beginnings.

The Ten Commandments may be roughly broken into two parts: How we live with God and How we live with each other. It's no accident that living with God comes first. When I am living in close connection with God's Spirit, seeking to honor God and serve God and love God with my life, things like taking advantage of other people or being less than honest don't even come on my radar screen. Of course, sometimes my own vision can get cloudy, which is why I need a community to help me see the blind spots I've been avoiding.

Perhaps what we need is not more preachers telling us how wrong we've been. What we need is more people reminding us of who we are, and what it means when we live as something less than God's beloved creation.

Hands of blessing

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 13:59:00 +0000

Last night I went to the funeral home for a visitation. The deceased, who'd lived to the ripe old age of 97, had been a long-time and faithful member of the church where I grew up. Her husband had died some twenty years before.

As I talked with both of her children, we reminisced about what a strong advocate their minister father had been for women in ministry. He was truly well ahead of his time in his support. He felt so strongly, in fact, that he stipulated that he wanted women among his pall bearers, and I had the distinct honor of serving that function.

Last night I commented on what a gift it was to me to receive the blessing of his support so early in my own process. I still remember a note he sent me, outlining a writing project he thought I should undertake. "You can do it," he said, underlining the words for emphasis. "We need what you have to offer."

Once when someone learned of my denominational background, they asked, "How old were you when they first told you that you were bad?" I replied that they never did. In fact, what I received from that community was the message that God loved me, God had blessed me with gifts and that part of my faith journey was in learning how to offer those gifts for the sake of the love of God. My church gave me a chance to try my wings even in high school, whether it was using my written prayers in worship or calling on me to preach my first sermon as the designated pastor for youth month.

I think one of the crucial tasks for Christian community is blessing the children and youth among us. We bless them by accepting them and valuing them. We bless them by holding them with loving hands in the nursery, by encouraging their own relationship with God as they grow (and by listening when they teach us.) We bless them by affirming their gifts, listening to their questions and by challenging them to make a difference.

Next month a young woman who grew up in my present church is being ordained. I remember her as a painfully shy little girl when I first met her. Now she preaches with a clear voice. When her mom asked me this week if I'd written a hymn that would be suitable for the service, I sent her a hymn text entitled, "Hands of Blessing."

circle of prayer

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 14:17:00 +0000

When my friend told me that he'd been diagnosed with a brain tumor, one of my first responses was to go home and send an e-mail to friends all over the world, asking them to keep my friend in their prayers. People from all over the country and around the world wrote back to let me know they were doing just that.

Later, I thought about it. Did I actually believe that God answered prayers based on the volume of requests, that if more people were praying for my friend, the greater the likelihood that something good would happen? No, I don't think that it works like that. I don't think there's a critical mass of prayers that have to be reached before something good happens.

I do know that there is some mysterious comfort that comes. Part of the comfort is for me. I know that I am not alone in my concerns and prayers for my friend. People who have been prayed for have described the comfort and strength they felt in that.

Maybe part of the grace is that in sharing our prayers, we become part of God's healing work. Whether or not physical healing takes place, by sharing our prayers we share the comfort, strength and warmth of God's love.

Retreat time

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Wed, 20 Feb 2008 13:04:00 +0000

I spent last weekend leading a women's retreat for a local church. We packed up the cars on Friday afternoon, and headed to a lakeside conference center.

We spent the weekend sharing our stories, relaxing, engaging in some cutthroat card games (or so I hear) and laid back ping pong. And, of course, listening for the movement of God's Spirit in our lives.

One of the things that impressed me with this group was the true intergenerational nature. There were young women there and older women (the oldest was in her eighties) and everything in between. And it was a true mixture, not just a token "fun older person."

Part of the fun was for them to spend time with each other. Part of the grace was for them to learn from each other. I had no illusions that as the leader, I was the fountain of wisdom for the group. We all had wisdom to share.

In Kitchen Table Wisdom, Rachel Remen laments the fact that we don't spend as much time sitting around the kitchen table, sharing our stories. We're all too rushed and too scheduled.

Because of this, I think having group retreat times is even more important. Not just a time for us to get away from the clutter of our lives to reflect and to listen for God's voice, but a time for us to get away with one another, open to the fact that God may speak through the person sitting next to us.

Let it snow?

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Wed, 13 Feb 2008 13:30:00 +0000

While walking my dog one evening, I happened upon a group of kids and their parents sledding down their hilly front yard. That's not such a big deal, except we haven't had a decent snow here in several years. I wondered how in the world they were able to fill their yard with snow.

A couple of weeks later I had my answer. Now their backyard was filled with snow, and out front was a sign for "backyard snow making" - your own personal snow making machine.

Here's my fundamental problem with this. We are in the midst of s severe drought in this region. Where I live is one of the few cities in the state not under mandatory water restrictions, but they have asked us to conserve on a voluntary basis. Do you have any idea how much water it takes to fill a yard with snow? What struck me most was the absolute disregard for the rest of the community. If their kids could go sledding, why should they care?

In an earlier post I'd written about the trend of children being less connected with nature. Recently saw a newspaper article about the same trend, noting that the number of visitors to national parks were declining. With less connection comes less sense of stewardship and responsibility for care. Why not waste untold gallons of water if my kid can use his sled?

The Judeo-Christian tradition declares that "the earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof," and that we, God's human creatures are to care for that earth. One of the ways that churches can help nurture that sense of caring is by giving children and youth opportunities to experience the grace and glory of creation.

Shall We Dance?

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Sun, 20 Jan 2008 14:00:00 +0000

Lately I've been reading Julia Cameron's memoir, Floor Sample. Some of you may know Cameron from her bestselling book, The Artist's Way. As a young adult, Cameron believed that writing and drinking went hand in hand (just look at Hemingway.) As her life spiraled out of control, she had to face the fact that she was an alcoholic.

As her journey unfolds (if you're looking for the master of the five year business plan, you might want to turn elsewhere), Cameron writes frequently of walking or biking while praying, "God, guide me."

Anne Lamott has said that we really only have two prayers, "Help me, help me, help me" and "thank you, thank you, thank you." If I'm honest, I think I'm much better at the "thank you" prayer than the "help me."

I don't know why. Maybe it's because I think God has enough to worry about. More likely, I think I should be able to do it on my own. I come from a long line of independent stock, and the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I should be able to figure it out. I should be able to make it happen. On my own.

Too often I think I view my journey as something like the TV show, "The Amazing Race." I only have the smallest clues, and I must race to the next spot as quickly as possible. I have to figure it out and get their using my own wits.

Silly me. The reality is that my journey, like all of our journeys, is more of a dance. God wants to dance with us. We still have to take the steps, but God is willing to take the lead, showing us new steps, guiding to unexpected places.

The great outdoors?

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Tue, 13 Nov 2007 19:51:00 +0000

The kids seem to be a little bored with our small outdoor play area. I think next week we should either take them to one of the larger areas or create some activities outside rather than assuming they'll be able to figure out what to do with themselves. I don't recall another class having this same boredom outside difficulty, but each class is different and kids get less and less outside time at home each year, so they may just not know what to do with it. We have lots of outside toys, climbers, sand toys, riding toys, slides, and building toys to keep them busy.

Preschool Patti - http://preschoolpatti.blogspot.com/

We belong to nature but have forgotten how to participate; we observe and judge rather than becoming involved.
April Frost
Beyond Obedience

Stumbling onto Preschool Patti's blog, I was saddened to read about kids who don't know what to do with themselves outside. I was the kind of kid who spent untold hours outside - riding my bike, building a fort in the patch of pine trees behind our house (I can still feel the softness of the earth beneath my bare feet, naturally mulched by years of pine needles that drifted down.) My favorite spot in the whole world was in the branches of a cedar tree. I could breathe in the sharp and rich and honeyed smell of the cedar. Leaning back against the smooth trunk, I could draw from its strength.

As a teenager, we often held retreats at a site that was well wooded. By the time Sunday morning came and we were sent out into those woods to have alone time with God, I'd already roamed through them enough to have a favorite place. I had many conversations with God in those woods, many of them very important for the shape of my adult life and work.

What does it mean to raise up a generation of kids who don't know what to do with themselves outside? What does it mean for ourselves when we are disconnected from the world of creation?

We'll explore that more next time.

Yvonne

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Tue, 13 Nov 2007 16:27:00 +0000

She was sitting on the front porch of our office, out of the broiling summer sun, landscaping giving some privacy from the street. Head thrown back, she was sleeping the sleep of the exhausted. I left her undisturbed and went up the steps to the the office.

I'd seen her around various parts of the city, a black woman of indeterminate age. No matter the season, she was always clad in a dirty tan sweater buttoned up to the top with a faded brown knit cap on her head. She walked slowly, pushing a kid's bike that reminded me of the stingray with a banana seat I'd once owned. The difference was that her bike was loaded down with plastic grocery bags, filled to the brim with what I can only imagine are her earthly possessions.

When I came back downstairs, she was awake. We chatted. I told her it was fine for her to catch her breath here. I begged her to let me get her some water (the temperature was in the high nineties), but she wouldn't hear of it. She was on her way somewhere where she could get something to drink. I told her we had water in the office - it was no problem. "No, no," she said. "I don't want you to have to go up those steps again." (Me, who goes to the gym to run up and down steps.)

She asked me my name, in case anyone challenged her right to sit a spell there. I told her, and started to leave. Then I caught myself and turned around. "What's your name?" I asked. "Yvonne," she said, a little surprised at my asking.

It was said of the bar in Cheers that it was the place where everyone knows your name. There's something in all of us that hungers for such a place. a place where we are not stranger or a number or just another face in line. now when I see this woman, I no longer think, "there's that homeless woman." I think, "There's Yvonne."

It sometimes scares us to think about being truly known as we are and for who we are. What if it's not okay? What if we're not good enough? What if no one likes us? But deeper than our fear is a yearning to be known - and accepted - by our very true name.

In the arms of God, we are accepted and called by our own true name, which is always beloved.

Veterans

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Sat, 10 Nov 2007 18:30:00 +0000

Tomorrow is 11/11, Veteran's Day.

He's one of the "brave band of brothers" who fought in world War II. Growing up a kid in the Great Depression he'd never traveled much, but Uncle Sam sent him to Europe. Not exactly the European Grand Tour, he slept in foxholes and ate cold rations and slogged through the rain.

He lay flat on the ground while Nazi bullets ripped through the backpack on his back. He lay wounded in a field, his leg gouged out by shrapnel. To this day his leg bears the scars of that wound. He's lost the better part of his hearing, the effect of all of that artillery going off around him. He bears the burdens of the stories he shares and the ones he'll never tell.

He was a sniper in General Patton's Third Army. He's proud to have been a part of that remarkable group led by a remarkable general, although he admits that Patton was a much better general than person. He also prayed that neither one of his sons would ever have to follow in his soldier's footsteps.

I'm thinking of another vet. He signed up for the Marines while in high school and left for boot camp right after his graduation. He wasn't sure yet of what direction he wanted his life to take but knew he needed the experience of becoming a Marine to be strong enough and clear headed enough to make those choices.

He showed up for church in his dress blues the first Sunday that he was home after boot camp, and all the women just had to stare. But it was more than the fact that he was good looking and in great shape. It was the way he carried himself. It was as if he'd found something within himself, a strength and a discipline and a focus.

He served a tour in Iraq and came home to a hero's welcome. He still had his great sense of humor, he was still a great buddy to his friends. But other things had changed. He didn't want to watch war movies anymore. He'd seen too much action himself.

He returned for his second tour on his twenty-first birthday. He was killed when his vehicle hit an IED. This time he was brought home to a different kind of hero's welcome.

Whether you are for a war or passionately against it, there is no denying the huge sacrifice vets have made. We who have not lived their lives cannot fully comprehend how much it costs.

So, tomorrow on the actual day and Monday when we celebrate, say a prayer of thanks for these men and women. Pray for those who are suffering and for the families who suffer as well. Then pray for the day when we may all gather down by the riverside to study war no more.

And to my dad and to Andrew... thank you.

Rituals

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Fri, 09 Nov 2007 13:24:00 +0000

I'm going to a basketball game tonight, the opening game of the season. Before the game, they're having a special service.

As you may know, the Wake Forest men's basketball coach, Skip Prosser, died last July. Those Wake Forest folk who were close enough to campus to return came together to grieve in various ways when he died, but this will be the first chance for the basketball community to come together to honor a remarkable man.

Someone made the comment yesterday, in talking about the plans, "It's not about us - it's about honoring Skip." Really, it's about both. We want to honor his legacy in a way that would be pleasing to him. But we also come together because we ourselves need the experience of it.

We humans need ritual. Ritual provides a structure, a container for the nebulous things of spirit and soul and heart and emotion. Ritual helps us live it out in our bodies.

One of the many contributions of family therapy pioneer Virginia Satir was that she recognized how important it was to physically experience something. I sometimes talk with clients who are healing from divorce about having a ritual to mark the end of the marriage.

Ritual often gets a bad rap in circles of folks talking about spiritual things, often proceeded by the words "empty" or "boring." But if we pay attention to it, are intentional about it and do not neglect it, ritual need be neither empty nor boring. Ritual is the way we make manifest the workings of spirit in our own souls. If gives us a channels for expressing what often seems inexpressible.

Ritual that works well is ritual that has been considered thoughtfully and entered into wholeheartedly.

Practice

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Thu, 08 Nov 2007 12:35:00 +0000

We had a visitor in choir practice last night. A couple of our choir members are students at a nearby university, and one of their moms was sitting in on rehearsal.

We were working on learning a Finnish song, singing in Finnish instead of the English translation. So, first we went through the word pronunciations, trying to make our southern voices sound a little more Scandinavian. Then we began learning the notes, singing a nonsense syllable to get us started. Then we put it all together. "I have a whole new respect for this choir," the women said as we put that music up and prepared to move on to the next anthem. "I can sit out there on Sunday mornings and enjoy the beautiful music. I just had no idea that so much work went into it"

Maybe it's a good lesson for the life of spirit as well. We see someone who seems to radiate peace, and we envy them. We see someone whose faith carried them through tough times and we admire them. We see someone whose connection to God seems to be so much a natural part of who they are and how they live and we yearn for that kind of closeness and intimacy.

What we don't see is all of the little actions that they took along the way. We don't see the regular conversations with God. We don't see the time they take to read a book that challenges their mind and spirit. We don't see the spaces they open in their lives for mediation, whether it's sitting in a chair or taking a walk or pulling weeds. We don't see the times they've struggled with open-hearted honesty with the shadow places in their lives and the dark places in their days.

Living a life of spirit isn't just about those times when the heavens open. In fact, a lot of times it's not. It's more about having to learn new languages and getting comfortable with the unfamiliar, one syllable at the time. It's about singing nonsense syllables over and over again because that's as much as we can take on until we get the tune right. It is about a thousand small and unseen things that take us ever close to unleashing our own great music.

Holy Ground, Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Wed, 07 Nov 2007 11:27:00 +0000

Her official title at the time of her retirement was Vice President for Student Services. Her unofficial titles included friend, adviser, supporter of students, encourager of students, nurturer of students. Marguerite Chiles had died in the year since the last Senior Order luncheon, and so the suggestion was made that as we shared our own stories, we share any that had to do with Miss Chiles (as she was universally known.).

The floodgates opened. She'd arrived at Greenville Women's College with one suitcase and $200. Somehow or another way was made for her to stay until she finished her degree. Then she returned the favor of staying at Women's College -and then after the merger, Furman University - until her retirement forty years later. She remained a part of Furman until her death. Actually, she still does.

Women told of her admonition that no self respecting Furman girl would ever learn the twist. But she could change as the times demanded it, and led the campaign to allow women to wear slacks on campus. Story after story was told of her sharing her love of nature and camping to students who often had never hiked or camped before. The stories were told with respect, laughter and great love. Miss Chiles used to say, "There is no piece of paper on my desk that's as important as the student in my doorway."

As I listened to the stories, I thought about the impact of a single life. How could one person have touched so many lives? It wasn't because of her position. It was because of her person - who she was.

When we look at the issues of the day, it's easy to feel discouraged. I'm only one person. If you're like me, your to-do list is longer than your getting done list. But when we live person-centered lives of integrity, something magical happens. The impact of those lives ripples out in ways we can neither anticipate nor plan. It just happens.

As a counselor, I've heard more than a few stories of people who were so wrapped up in despair that they could see no way out and were planning to kill themselves. "Then the cashier at the store smiled and spoke to me so kindly that I thought that maybe I could keep going a little longer." And that little longer was enough to reconnect them to light and to life.

What if today you set the intention to connect, really connect to the people you came into contact today? What if you looked them in the eye and actually listened to what they were saying, or not saying? You don't have to fix their lives. Some times it's enough to have someone be present, be really present with you.

Holy Ground, part 1

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Tue, 06 Nov 2007 12:19:00 +0000

Last weekend I returned "home" for my college reunion. It was one of those "big reunion years." so I enjoyed getting to see many friends. Then again, I always enjoy Homecoming, whether it's my reunion year or not. One reason for that is the Senior Order brunch. Senior Order is a honorary society that recognizes a small group of senior women for leadership. character, scholarship and service to the university. When I was inducted, a Furman staff member told me that this honor would mean more to me the older I got. And she was right.

Every year Senior Order hosts a brunch for its alumni members. Women gather, ranging this year in age from the class of 1947 to the class of 2008. The class of '63 (aka the troublemakers) always seems to be well represented. The program is simple. We go around the tables and tell what we've been doing. A classmate of mine is now living in Greece, teaching English. Another woman at our table, much more recently graduated, had just spent a year teaching English in China.

There are stories of life transitions, like marriages and grad schools and babies and deaths and Social Security and moves joyous and hard. There's always someone who is making such a contribution to this world that you just want to say, "wow." I look forward to this brunch every year because of the stories. Sometimes they are stories of accomplishment. Sometimes they are stories of struggle. But in sharing our stories, we weave a cloth of connection, one with another. I feel a bond with those women from the class of '47, just as much as I feel a bond with my classmate sitting next to me.

Faith is about story as well. The Jewish faith is a faith based on stories... "When we were slaves in Egypt, God led us out..." (A Jewish friend tells me that the basis of all Jewish holidays is, "They wanted to kill us. They didn't. Let's eat.") The Christian faith is based on the story of a man who was quite a storyteller himself.

Among other things.

For most of us, we live our faith through story. We tell the stories of finding unexpected light in the dark places of our lives. We tell the stories of hearts strangely warmed, of being led beyond our knowing to places and people and work that is more than just right for us. We share the stories of being sustained even when we feel that we are beyond empty. We tell the stories of the miracles, both major and minor, that have shaped our lives and changed our worlds.

Far too many of us have far too few places to share such stories. We don't feel comfortable talking about such personal and vulnerable things as faith can sometimes be. We don't have the time to stop and take the time that it takes to tell - and to hear - some stories. It's worth searching for those places - even if it's a local coffee shop. It's worth carving out the time, even if it's breakfast with a friend. For in telling our stories we weave the cloth of connection between us. And we strengthen the threads of connection with our own souls.

For all the saints

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Wed, 31 Oct 2007 11:55:00 +0000

Tomorrow is All Saints Day, a day when the church remembers those who have gone before. In my church on Sunday, we'll read the names of the members who have died in the last year and have the chance to offer up any other names we wish to remember.

I had the chance to remember one of the saints in my life last weekend. I returned to my alma mater, Furman, for a special event. As they talked about the heritage of the school, one of the people they mentioned was the longtime chaplain, L.D. Johnson.

L.D. was a giant figure for a lot of people, Tough and yet tender hearted, he embodied loving God with heart, soul and mind. He could speak forcefully and prophetically, and yet he never lost his great compassion.

I got to know L.D. through working with the worship services on campus. He began to encourage my writing. One day I showed him a story I'd written, really hoping for lots of praise. Instead, he gave it back to me with lots of red ink on the first two pages. He later sat down with me, and took two hours out of his incredibly busy schedule to go over those marks and explain why they made for better writing. (L.D. never knew that I actually skipped a class the second hour of that meeting. I knew the education I was getting from him was far more valuable to me than that one Finite Math class.) He encouraged me in submitting my writing for publication and gave me the blessing of believing in me.

Fall semester of my senior year he was my adviser for my senior paper . I'd read five novels that dealt with the problem of a good and powerful God in a world where suffering and evil is present. L.D. knew those questions first hand - he'd buried two children and had already had one battle with cancer. I loved going to his office to discuss the books and God and life. I was auditing his 8 am Old Testament survey class (yes, he was good enough to justify auditing an 8 am class), and he started giving me a lift back to the student center after class, where his office and my mailbox was located. We talked about everything and nothing on those short trips.

I went by the Chaplains' offices before I left for Thanksgiving that semester. L.D. was free, and we chatted for a bit. I don't know if he had an intuition or not, but as I stood with my hand on the doorknob, preparing to leave, he thanked me for being such a good friend.

It was the last time I saw him. That weekend, he went into the hospital. His cancer had returned, and L.D. died shortly before Christmas.

Just last weekend I told someone that I never sit down to write something that I don't hear L.D.'s voice in my head, helping me to sharpen my words and improve my writing. I will forever be grateful that I stopped by his office that day and we had that conversation. I will forever carry his words of appreciation and forever be glad that I shared with him my own.

Who have been your saints? If they are still on this earth, write them a note or give them a call to thank them for their part in your life. If they have died, give thanks to God for them and tell someone else the story of what they meant to you.

And then be bold enough to ask yourself - and God - who needs you to be a saint for them?

Scraps?

noreply@blogger.com (Peggy Haymes) — Tue, 30 Oct 2007 23:29:00 +0000

I thought I had a perfect name for this blog... until I learned it was already taken. (Maybe that's why it was perfect!) So, what do I do now?

After a few minutes the name came to me: Spirit Scraps. Why scraps? Isn't that what we're told to avoid? After all aren't we to focus on living abundantly, receiving grace in good measure pushed down and overflowing? Don't people get moving in their lives when they're tired of living on the scraps?

All of those things are true. But it is also true that scraps can be beautiful. I've always loved quilts. The designs and colors are wonderful, some of them incredibly artistic.

But my favorites are patchwork quilts. With a patchwork quilt, nothing is lost. The old, faded dress finds new life in a square. The security blanket finds a new home. Some runners have patchwork quilts made out of the t-shirts they received in races. Long after the t-shirt has outlived its usefulness as a garment, it finds new life as a different kind of covering.

I love the image of a patchwork quilt for our lives as well. In the life of faith and spirit, nothing is wasted. The detour, the u-turn... even the flat tire. Nothing is beyond the ability of God to use for the good of our lives. It's not to say that God plans disasters as handy teaching tools. It does mean that there is nothing in our lives beyond the power of transformation. So, this blog will be a collection of scraps, bits and pieces and reflections on the life of faith, on what it means to live fully with heart and soul and mind.

I look forward to having a conversation together.