Anam Cara

Sacred Threshold...

2009-12-06T21:32:20-06:00

sacred the power, being, or realm understood by religious persons to be at the core of existence and to have a transformative effect on their lives and destinies.

threshold any place or point of entering or beginning...

I probably should not write this at all. I know I will not say it well. For every breath I help you breathe with me, there will be a thousand others unbreathed. And yet, words brought me here. I wonder how many of those who shared their words with me thought they did not say it well? For every fragrance, every whisper of wonder, of holiness, on a page or across a table...how many others were left locked up in their hearts? So I write. I treat of that which defies explanation. I invite you to peer with me inside a mystery...

Sometimes life takes the most unexpected turns. A couple of years ago I came to a place of crisis with God. I felt I had pursued Him all my life, and that He had eluded me. And I was angry. Perhaps I had approached Him badly, in error, but it was not for lack of trying. Funny how sometimes the very road we try to take to God is the one that perpetually leads us away from Him. I felt compelled to prove myself to God, as though I must earn His love. I would have told you I did not believe this was true. But I lived my life every day as though it were.

I came to a place of devastation when it became clear to me that I was incapable of being good enough...when I could truly see the blackness inside me. I was in deep despair. I felt that if I were to surrender my endless, futile attempts to find worth in myself that I would simply cease to exist. It felt like death!

It was the best thing that ever happened to me.

"When we are nothing, we are in a fine position to receive everything from God." ~Richard Rohr God began to woo me. I know He has done it all my life, but much of the time I was too busy doing things 'for Him' to take notice. He met me on runs and in early, quiet hours when everyone was still asleep. He met me in novels, in poetry, and in His Word. I saw Him in His creation and in great works of art. He spoke His healing words to me through friends. You know who you are. There will never be enough words to say to you how important you have been to me. I love you more than I can say.

Then came the most unexpected gift of all. Up until about three years ago, I had never known anyone personally who was Orthodox. My only encounter with Orthodoxy was purely historical. But all of a sudden, I was ambushed. Blessed Ambush! A friend, then several aquaintances, then a circle of beautiful, wise women, and finally a family. Books, podcasts, music...I couldn't get enough. And worship! That was the most compelling of all. Orthodox believe that in the Divine Liturgy we literally enter the Kingdom of God. I believe it. I believed it the very first time. There is a blessed otherness...such a profound sense of holiness. Sometimes I can hardly breathe for the weight of it.

Today, on Saint Nicholas Day, I crossed a threshold. Today I became part of the Orthodox Church. Mike and I have walked most of this last year with the congregation at St. Ignatius. We have fasted together, celebrated together, struggled and learned together, and entered the Presence together. My soul has been nourished in ways I could never have imagined. And I am learning to live in God...to revel in His Presence...to come to Him honestly with all the best AND worst things about me, and to experience His joy in me.

God knew my heart so much better than I did. He knew how to help me find Him. My friend, Monte, tells me that when a lifeguard goes to help someone in distress, he will not engage the swimmer until he stops struggling, otherwise the distressed swimmer can drown them both. But once the swimmer has exhausted himself, then he can be saved. Once I was thoroughly exhausted, God helped me find the means whereby I could finally know Him.

Yesterday, I made my first confession in preparation for today. I began with a written prayer, then shared those things with the priest that weighed most heavily on my heart and those that present persistent challenge. It was a solemn and weighty experience. He spoke words to me that Christ would have spoken had he been there. After this, I knelt and Father Stephen placed his stole over my head. He told me that just as the stole covered my head, Christ's blood had covered my sins. Hot tears flowed down my face as his words planted themselves deeply within me and forgiveness became a palpable reality.

This morning, after affirming that we accept and submit to the essential tenets of the Orthodox faith, we were anointed with Holy Chrism (oil). As Father Stephen made crosses with the oil on our foreheads, eyes, nose, ears, chest, hands and feet, he said "the seal of the Holy Spirit" and the whole congregation cried out "SEAL!!" I felt like my chest was a great ball of fire. I could not stop the tears. That God would be so kind to bring me to this place where I could breathe Him and wear Him when I had been so ready to walk away from Him is too much for me. Receiving the Body and Blood for the first time with my dear sisters and brothers was a completely transcendent experience. Heart pounding, knees trembling, filled with wonder. May it ever be so.

At lunch today my dear friend and "godmother" (though she is way too young to be my mother!), Gail, said to my fellow celebrants, Giorgio and Mike, and me that today we only lifted the lid to the treasure box. She assured us that there are enough treasures inside to last us a lifetime. I believe her.

"You do not resolve the God question in your head...it is resolved in you when you agree to bear the mystery of God." ~Rohr

Photographs in the post courtesy of our friend Joel Smith. At the top of the post, Mike and I with Father Stephen. Above, with Mike and Gail Hyatt, dear friends who have been such an important part of our journey and today stood with us as our sponsors/godparents. Also, Keith Coley and Giorgio Kemp. Beautiful irony: Giorgio was in my third grade choir. His mother Rhonda was my homeschooling mentor. We have danced in and out of one another's lives for years. What a blessed gift to be Chrismated on the same day. Many years, dear friend!

The Butterfly Circus...

2009-12-05T06:00:00-06:00

Herein, an artist tells a story...simply, elegantly, beautifully. Glory given wings.

Thank you, dear Iz, for sharing it with me.

Confessions of a Virgin Faster...

2009-12-04T10:10:06-06:00

It's not like I've never fasted, you understand. I have, for a day or so, when I had to have a diabetes screening during pregnancy, or when I was a teenager and just forgot to eat. Sometimes I even fasted to pray. Although, quite frankly, those times have been few and far between.

Orthodoxy has messed with my non-fasting tendencies. You see, whereas Protestants approach faith with a "once I understand something and can commit my mind and heart to it, then I will commit my body to it as well" mantra, Orthodox tend to live a practice in their bodies first and allow the mind and heart to catch up. Hence, if you would not be a slave to your appetites (and I'm not only talking food here), practice saying no to them.

The Church is good to provide opportunity for this. Every Wednesday and Friday are "strict fast" days, meaning no meat, dairy, wine or oil. These days are set aside to help us remember the trial and crucifixion of Christ. Additionally there are two minor (read short-a couple of weeks) and two major (40 days'ish) fasts in the liturgical year. The specifics of each of these vary, with the Lenten fast being the most rigorous. The Advent fast, which began November 15th and will continue until Christmas Day, is a "kinder, gentler" fast with only Monday, Wednesday, and Friday being strict. Most other days wine, oil and fish are permitted, but no meat or dairy.

There is no fast police. No one will interrogate you about your fasting practices. In fact, part of what we learn in the process is how to show grace to one another. But, as with all other practices of the faith, fasting has been provided us for our salvation. So I choose to submit. And, I should say, there is something marvelous about walking this practice out with my sisters and brothers.

So, what has it meant to me to "keep the fast"?

I have seen how slavishly I provide for my stomach. I find myself obsessing about certain foods in particular. I even dreamed about it two nights ago. In my dream I saw table after table laden with rich, decadent desserts. My mouth was watering. Alas, I woke up just before we were to eat. I was tormented! "I can't even have butter in my dreams!!" That is what I was thinking, if you want to know the truth.

Most of the time, I feel "not quite full". Because I am at the peak of my training for a marathon (1 month away), I have been careful to get plenty of protein. But, even with that, my largely vegan diet tends to break down more quickly. This has actually been one of the more beautiful parts of the experience. Both Nativity and Lent are times of expectation, times of longing. To have a constant reminder in my body that something is missing, that something is not quite right, makes this more intense and more real.

Fasting frees my mind to think of other things. This might seem ironic given my earlier confession about dreaming about food. Let me see if I can explain. Last night we decorated our Christmas tree. We have been purposeful over the years about collecting ornaments from places we travel, and about buying ornaments for the kids each year that say something about who they are at that moment. Because of this, decorating the tree is always meaningful. But last night, in the absence of the usual Christmas cookies and other culinary indulgences, I seemed to enter into this process far more deeply. Almost as if I am learning to satisfy my physical hunger with spiritual things. Hmmm...

This weekend, the fasting moves to another level. On Sunday, Mike and I are being Chrismated (more about this in another post). We will receive the Eucharist for the first time. I can not even tell you what this means to me. But, Orthodox fast COMPLETELY before receiving the Body and Blood of Christ. It is a very beautiful and reverent practice. But I am a little nervous.

I have never done a cleansing fast, but I am told that your bodily fluids become rank and you have an awful taste in your mouth as your body disposes of toxins that have accumulated. I would have to say that my experience with fasting has been similar on a spiritual level. I can't say that I am pleased with everything I have seen about myself. Some of it is rank and foul. But, until it is revealed, it can't be expelled. Until it dies, it can not live.

"We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body." ~II Corinthians 4:10

If Words Were Ornaments...

2009-12-02T23:58:00-06:00

Yesterday, I shared with you old friends of the family who bring delight to our family during the Christmas season. Today I would like to introduce you to two resources that are helping me prepare my heart for the coming of Messiah and are imparting a great deal of beauty and significance to this Advent season.

Incarnation. It is a central component of all Christian theology. But, never have I encountered a people who revel in the Incarnation, who embrace it in all its wonder and mystery, as do my Orthodox brothers and sisters. Father Thomas Hopko is proving a winsome and able guide to my first Orthodox celebration of Advent with his lovely book, The Winter Pascha. There are 40 meditations about life and image, about vision and worship, about Mary and saints, about God With Us. He quotes Church Fathers as well as modern authors, and he shares Beautiful words from the Advent and Christmas Liturgies. It gives me a great deal to wrestle with as well as sweet places of reverie.

If words were ornaments, they might be hung inside a book very like Watch For the Light. This is a delicious lyric celebration of all things mystic and magical. Forty-five selections by brilliant and diverse authors like Sylvia Plath, St. John Chrysostom, Henri Nouwen, Madeleine L'Engle, Bernard of Clairvaux, C.S. Lewis, Soren Kierkegard, T.S. Elliot, and Annie Dillard bring little pieces of radiance to each day. They explore fear, danger, and revolution. They probe the topics of light, miracle, and grace. They invite us to know the Mother of God, the magi, and the Blessed Bethlehem Babe. And they give us unexpected glimpses inside ourselves. If words were ornaments, hand-painted, delicate, compelling, they would look like this.

We Wish You a Literary Christmas!

2009-12-01T22:24:55-06:00

Christmas stories. I put them away every January. Carefully. Tenderly. And I eagerly await Thanksgiving weekend when we will liberate them to once again weave their magic spell. As we pull them out, a flurry of memories fills my mind. I see tiny faces and hear gasps and giggles...remnants of Christmas past. I fondly trace decorations added to the covers of a couple of the books by creative little hands so very many years ago. And as I read the words, I know that, in their own way, my children are reliving pieces of their childhood. I know also that these words are a part of what makes us who we are as a family. Here are a few books that the kids are always as happy to see as I am:

"...He was dress in muskrat from his head to his foot an his clothes is all dirty wit' ashes an' soot. A sack full o' playt'ing he t'row on his back he look like a burglar an' dass fo' a fack. His eyes how dey shine his dimple how merry! Maybe he been drink de wine from blackberry.....An' I hear him shout loud as a splashin' he go Merry Christmas to all 'til I saw you some mo'."

The Cajun Night Before Christmas is a lyrical delight. My aunt introduced this one to us a number of years ago when she and her family lived in New Orleans. We laugh at the clever colloquialisms and try to out-do one another with our accents. Incidentally, we also have The Hillbilly Night Afore Christmas and The Redneck Night Before Christmas, both of which come a little to close to my raising for my comfort. but are hysterical.

"Every Who down in Whoville loved Christmas a lot, but the Grinch who lived just North of Whoville did NOT. The Grinch hated Christmas...the whole Christmas season. Now, please don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason..."

How the Grinch Stole Christmas is one of those deceptively simple stories. I say deceptive, because it is, at the same time, quite profound. It is about bitterness and loneliness, misunderstanding and revenge, discovery, understanding, forgiveness, and transcendence. Which of us does not find ourselves somewhere in the Grinch? Something amazingly restorative happens...something more than resolution or resolve.....healing. He encounters something beyond his ability to comprehend, and in the process his desire is changed. "And what happened then? Well, in Whoville they say that the Grinch's small heart grew two sizes that day."

The Best Christmas Pageant Ever is a riotous adventure, alternating between hilarity and disarming truth. The characters are believable, if somewhat fantastic. We find ourselves viewing the Herdmans with a mixture of revoltion and sympathy. Then, just when we least expect it, we find that the very people who seemed farthest from the essence of the Christmas story may, in fact, have experienced it at its deepest level. I defy you to read it without tears.

"It was late on a bitterly cold New Year's Eve. The snow was falling. A poor little girl was wandering in the dark cold streets, she was bareheaded and barefoot..."

Hans Christian Anderson's compelling story of The Little Match Girl helps me remember that there are people who will walk through the holidays with heavy hearts and empty stomachs. It helps me remember that if I will open my eyes to see them, they are all around me. And...I might be the very one who is meant to help.

"External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty."

I read it for the beautiful language. I read it for Dickens' remarkable insight into the human spirit. I read it because it asks me questions I am afraid to ask myself. I read it because it is a story of hope. A Christmas Carol. A Christmas classic.

Not an exhaustive list, obviously. But a few favorites. Merry Literary Christmas!

Gently...He Comes....

2009-11-28T17:14:15-06:00

"Was there a moment, known only to God, when all the stars held their breath, when the galaxies paused in their dance for a fraction of a second, and the Word, who had called it all into being, went with all his love into the womb of a young girl, and the universe started to breathe again, and the ancient harmonies resumed their song, and the angels clapped their hands for joy?

"Power. Greater power than we can imagine, abandoned, as the Word knew the powerlessness of the unborn child, still unformed, taking up almost no space in the great ocean of amniotic fluid, unseeing, unhearing, unknowing. Slowly growing, as any human embryo grows, arms and legs and a head, eyes, mouth, nose, slowly swimming into life until the ocean in the womb is no longer large enough, and it is time for birth.

"Christ, the Second Person of the Trinity, Christ, the Maker of the universe or perhaps many universes, willingly and lovingly leaving all that power and coming to this poor, sin-filled planet to live with us for a a few years to show us what we ought to be and could be. Christ came to us as Jesus of Nazareth, wholly human and wholly divine, to show us what it means to be made in God's image."

~Madeleine L'Engle

Glory To God For All Things

2009-11-26T12:17:01-06:00

Last night at vespers we gave thanks using these remarkable words written by a remarkable man in remarkable circumstances. At times I could hardly contain the feelings of deep gratitude swelling within my breast as stanza after stanza washed over me. When I discovered the circumstances of its composition I was humbled beyond words. I pray that it speaks to you as it has to me.

This Akathist, also called the "Akathist of Thanksgiving," was composed by Protopresbyter Gregory Petrov shortly before his death in a prison camp in 1940. The title is from the words of Saint John Chrysostom as he was dying in exile. It is a song of praise from amidst the most terrible sufferings.

Kontakion 1

Everlasting King, Thy will for our salvation is full of power. Thy right arm controls the whole course of human life. We give Thee thanks for all Thy mercies, seen and unseen. For eternal life, for the heavenly joys of the Kingdom which is to be. Grant mercy to us who sing Thy praise, both now and in the time to come. Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age.

Ikos 1

I was born a weak, defenseless child, but Thine angel spread his wings over my cradle to defend me. From birth until now Thy love has illumined my path, and has wondrously guided me towards the light of eternity; from birth until now the generous gifts of Thy providence have been marvelously showered upon me. I give Thee thanks, with all who have come to know Thee, who call upon Thy name.

Glory to Thee for calling me into being
Glory to Thee, showing me the beauty of the universe
Glory to Thee, spreading out before me heaven and earth
Like the pages in a book of eternal wisdom
Glory to Thee for Thine eternity in this fleeting world
Glory to Thee for Thy mercies, seen and unseen
Glory to Thee through every sigh of my sorrow
Glory to Thee for every step of my life's journey
For every moment of glory
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 2

O Lord, how lovely it is to be Thy guest. Breeze full of scents; mountains reaching to the skies; waters like boundless mirrors, reflecting the sun's golden rays and the scudding clouds. All nature murmurs mysteriously, breathing the depth of tenderness. Birds and beasts of the forest bear the imprint of Thy love. Blessed art thou, mother earth, in thy fleeting loveliness, which wakens our yearning for happiness that will last for ever, in the land where, amid beauty that grows not old, the cry rings out: Alleluia!

Ikos 2

Thou hast brought me into life as into an enchanted paradise. We have seen the sky like a chalice of deepest blue, where in the azure heights the birds are singing. We have listened to the soothing murmur of the forest and the melodious music of the streams. We have tasted fruit of fine flavour and the sweet-scented honey. We can live very well on Thine earth. It is a pleasure to be Thy guest.

Glory to Thee for the Feast Day of life
Glory to Thee for the perfume of lilies and roses
Glory to Thee for each different taste of berry and fruit
Glory to Thee for the sparkling silver of early morning dew
Glory to Thee for the joy of dawn's awakening
Glory to Thee for the new life each day brings
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Kontakion 3

It is the Holy Spirit who makes us find joy in each flower, the exquisite scent, the delicate colour, the beauty of the Most High in the tiniest of things. Glory and honour to the Spirit, the Giver of Life, who covers the fields with their carpet of flowers, crowns the harvest with gold, and gives to us the joy of gazing at it with our eyes. O be joyful and sing to Him: Alleluia!

Ikos 3

How glorious art Thou in the springtime, when every creature awakes to new life and joyfully sings Thy praises with a thousand tongues. Thou art the Source of Life, the Destroyer of Death. By the light of the moon, nightingales sing, and the valleys and hills lie like wedding garments, white as snow. All the earth is Thy promised bride awaiting her spotless husband. If the grass of the field is like this, how gloriously shall we be transfigured in the Second Coming after the Resurrection! How splendid our bodies, how spotless our souls!

Glory to Thee, bringing from the depth of the earth an endless variety of colours, tastes and scents
Glory to Thee for the warmth and tenderness of the world of nature
Glory to Thee for the numberless creatures around us
Glory to Thee for the depths of Thy wisdom, the whole world a living sign of it
Glory to Thee; on my knees, I kiss the traces of Thine unseen hand
Glory to Thee, enlightening us with the clearness of eternal life
Glory to Thee for the hope of the unutterable, imperishable beauty of immortality
Glory to Thee, O God, from age to age

Keep reading HERE.

Here's to The Crazy Ones...

2009-11-24T20:01:27-06:00

Today my son Jake is 16. Living with Jake has been, and continues to be, a wild and exciting ride, full of discovery, curiosity, creativity, provocation, and ideas...lots and lots of ideas. For his birthday, we compiled a scrapbook filled with memories and blessings from friends, mentors, and family. One of Jake's mentors, Tim, included this poem from Apple with his letter. It could not be more appropriate. So today, on his 16th birthday, I celebrate Jake and his glorious audacity. Never stop dreaming my dear, dear son!!

Here's to the crazy ones.

   The misfits.
    The rebels.
     The troublemakers.
      The round pegs in the square holes.

The ones who see things differently. They're not fond of rules.
And they have no respect for the status quo.

You can praise them, disagree with them, quote them,
disbelieve them, glorify or vilify them.

About the only thing you can't do is ignore them.
    Because they change things.

They invent.    They imagine.     They heal.
They explore.     They create.    They inspire.
They push the human race forward.

Maybe they have to be crazy.

How else can you stare at an empty canvas and see a work of art?
Or sit in silence and hear a song that's never been written?
Or gaze at a red planet and see a laboratory on wheels?

We make tools for these kinds of people.
While some see them as the crazy ones,
    we see genius.

Because the people who are crazy enough to think
    they can change the world, are the ones who do.

For My Daughter on the Occasion of Her Eighteenth Birthday...

2009-11-22T03:06:07-06:00

Before I looked into her eyes,
Before I heard her voice,
Before I breathed her,
I loved her.
As she grew in my womb
She sent out tendrils
That wound their way
Around my heart...
Inexorably.
Flutters,
Flirtations
Made me increasingly aware
Of her presence.
Most perfect secret!

When I held her
I knew something in me had changed...
Forever.
The softness of her,
The fragility.
Her dependence...
On me.
The trust,
The gentle confidence that
Whatever she needed,
I would supply.
The Terror
Of failing her
Of not being enough.

The growing
The perceiving
The gradual unfolding...
Of Her.
The storyteller.
The singer.
The producer.
The one who sees...
the unseen
the forgotten.
Photographer, artist...
Telling new stories
Without words.

The struggle
The wrestling
The gradual unfolding...
Of Her.
From ashes...
Great Beauty.
From anguish
Great Joy.
Intimate,
Vulnerable,
True.
The one who sees...
    the broken
    the hurting.
Writer, poet...
Telling her story
    and theirs.

Before I Looked into her eyes,
Before I heard her voice,
Before I breathed her,
I loved her.
I could not know
What it would mean...
What it would cost.
I could not know
How often I would fail her,
How much she would teach me,
How many times she would forgive.

Because of her
Something in me has changed
Forever.
The struggle
The wrestling
The gradual unfolding...
Of Me.

Before I looked into her eyes,
Before I heard her voice,
Before I breathed her,
I loved her.
I could not know
How often we would laugh
How many secrets we would share
How I would treasure our friendship.
The sweetness
The ripening
The gradual unfolding...
Of Us....

Waiting...in Ashes

2009-11-15T00:07:00-06:00

Today begins the season of Advent in the Orthodox Church. Today I allow myself to descend into longing. I remember Creation as it was meant to be. I stand in the ashes of what we have made it, and I mourn. And I imagine a world...whole and clean...redeemed and restored. I imagine myself...whole and clean...redeemed and restored.

Today I try to wrap my head around Incarnation...around the extraordinary mystery of God...cloaking Himself in ashes. It exceeds my grasp.....

Ashes of paper, ashes of a world
Wandering, when fire is done:
We argue with the drops of rain!

Until One comes Who walks unseen
Even in elements we have destroyed.
Deeper than any nerve
He enters flesh and bone.
Planting His truth, He puts our substance on.
Air, earth, and rain
Rework the frame that fire has ruined.
What was dead is waiting for His Flame.
Sparks of His Spirit spend their seeds, and hide
To grow like irises, born before summertime.
These blue things bud in Israel.

The girl prays by the bare wall
Between the lamp and the chair.
(Framed with an angel in our galleries
She has a richer painted room, sometimes a crown.
Yet seven pillars of obscurity
Build her to Wisdom's house, and Ark, and Tower.
She is the Secret of another Testament
She owns their manna in her jar.)

Fifteen years old -
The flowers printed on her dress
Cease moving in the middle of her prayer
When God, Who sends the messenger,
Meets His messenger in her Heart.
Her answer, between breath and breath,
Wrings from her innocence our Sacrament!
In her white body God becomes our Bread.

~Thomas Merton

Painting by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

"The Free, the Flow, the Frothy Freshener"

2009-11-14T13:34:07-06:00

If he can say as you can
Guinness is good for you,
How grand to be a Toucan
Just think what Toucan do.

~Dorothy Sayers

I have experienced cold, frothy Guinness in a Cambridge pub, at a tale-gate party for a Keith Urban/Kenny Chesney concert, and at most all points between. But, my favorite place is on the side-walk at McCreary's across the table from a friend...or several friends. I love the dark, bitter stout, and I love the convivial atmosphere it helps establish among friends. When I first heard about Stephen Mansfield's book, The Search for God and Guinness, I was immediately intrigued. I hoped the story would prove equal to the brew. I was not to be disappointed.

Opening the book is like boarding a magic carpet that whisks you across oceans and across time to visit brewers in Mesopotamia and Monasteries, to chase bottles to the Azores and the Arctic. And all along the way, there are stories...surprising, heartbreaking, inspiring, remarkable stories.

I am just nerdy curious enough to have found Mansfield's crash course in the art of brewing immensely interesting. And I loved imagining with him how this art might first have been discovered among ancient cultures, all of whom practiced it. As a product of tee-totaling Baptist stock, I was surprised to learn how ardently Church Reformers had extolled the benefits and blessings of beer and wine, and had defended their consumption.

"Do not suppose abuses are eliminated by destroying the object which is abused. Men can go wrong with wine and women. Shall we then prohibit and abolish women?" ~Martin Luther
"We are nowhere forbidden to laugh, or to be satisfied with food...or to be delighted with music, or to drink wine...It is permissible to use wine not only for necessity, but also to make us merry." ~John Calvin

But, of course, the richest and deepest stories are those about the Guinness family, beginning with the colorful patriarch, Arthur. This is the man who stands up to the sheriff with a pickax and "very much improper language" to defend a newly dug watercourse supplying his factory. He is also the man who cultivates the art of brewing porter to such a level that he outsells English producers in England. Finally, this same man begins the Sunday School movement in Ireland, heads up the Meath Hospital board, and treats all his employees, Protestant and Catholic alike, with respect and great care. He establishes a model for generations to come: a model of fierce commitment to excellence and tireless service to others.

Each generation will serve this legacy in its own voice, but something of Arthur will remain. Just like the yeast. The author explains to us that yeast used for brewing beer grows in the process and can be skimmed off to use again. The very strain of yeast used by Arthur himself has been carried to every Guinness brewery around the world and is still "festering away" and vivifying the brew you might be drinking right now.

There are far too many fascinating stories and heroic characters for me to relate even a representative sampling. I will only say that: I adore Dr. Lumsden and his audacious, dauntless, and erudite efforts to improve the lot of the poor, and applaud the Guinness board for supporting him. Also, that I am humbled and challenged by Rupert and Gwendolyn Guinness who, after receiving 5 million pounds as a wedding gift, moved into the slums and "launched a crusade to ease the plight of the poor." That I owe many hours of middle school amusement to managing director, Sir Hugh Beaver, whose hunting quarrel with a friend over which game bird was fastest ultimately resulted in a publication called The Guinness Book of World Records. Finally, that I find John Gilroy's advertising illustrations whimsically fabulous.

The author closes the book with 5 principles distilled from the stories that he terms "The Guinness Way". These are very helpful guides for business and for life.

I choose to close this post with a condensation of one of my favorite stories in the book. It appeals to me on sentimental grounds as a Tennessee girl who almost always orders Jack Daniels and Coke on the flight home from any trip abroad...

During World War II the British army asked Guinness to set aside 5 percent of its production for the troops. It was "provided free of charge to hospitals and shipped to men at the front". And in December 1939, just before the invasion of France, "each man at the front was given a bottle of Guinness with his Christmas dinner." Why? A bottle of Guinness was a bit of home. But that's not the whole of the story. Short staffed because of the war, the Guinness plant needed help to meet production. "Volunteers lined up outside the brewery gates, some of them retired Guinness employees and some veterans of World War I. The Red Cross sent workers, and competing breweries even sent skilled men to assure that the all-important order was filled." Wow!

Compelling book. An absolute must read.

*All artwork in the post designed by the inimitable John Gilroy. The title was a slogan proffered by the brilliant, if verbose, Irish novelist James Joyce, who loved his Guinness.

Like Apples of Gold...

2009-11-12T10:16:56-06:00

"A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver." ~Proverbs 25:11

I have an obsession with words that borders on idolatry. The gift of beautiful, precise language is something I admire and covet. Sometimes, God has graciously given me words like these. I am always astonished. It is difficult to be prideful about your writing when you are just as surprised as anyone by what ends up on the page. It is one of those moments when I am most aware of God's Presence in my life.

I am equally grateful when I encounter a writing by someone else that captures, with infinite precision and depth, the cry of my soul. Sometimes I am not even aware it is the cry of my soul until I read the words. Then, something inside me is awakened and called forth. I have, of late, begun to incorporate some of these writings in my daily prayers. They keep before me...in my eyes and in my mouth...the true desire of my heart. And, they help me convey that to my Father.

These are they. The first and second I pray for myself. The third I pray for my immediate family and my very close friends (by name). I pray they will speak to (and perhaps for) you as they are speaking to (and for) me.

Lord give me the strength to greet the coming day in peace. Help me in all things to rely on Your Holy will. Reveal Your will to me every hour of the day. Bless my dealings with all people. Teach me to treat all people who come to me throughout the day with peace of soul and with firm conviction that Your will governs all. In all my deeds and words guide my thoughts and feelings. In unexpected events, let me not forget that all are sent by You. Teach me to act firmly and wisely, without embittering and embarrassing others. Give me the physical strength to bear the labors of the day. Direct my will. Teach me to pray. Pray in me. Amen (Metropolitan Philaret)

Lord, I have not lived like a contemplative. The first essential is missing. I only say I trust You. My actions prove that the one I trust is myself--and that I am still afraid of You.

Take my life into Your hands, at last, and do whatever You want with it. I give myself to Your love and mean to keep on giving myself to Your love--rejecting neither the hard things nor the pleasant things you have arranged for me. It is enough for me that You have glory. Everything You have planned is good. It is all love.

The way You have laid open before me is an easy way, compared with the hard way of my own will which leads back to Egypt, and to bricks without straw. If you allow people to praise me, I will worry even less, but be glad. If You send me work I shall embrace it with joy and it will be rest to me because it is Your will. And if You send me rest, I will rest in You.
Only save me from myself. Save me from my own, private, poisonous urge to change everything, to act without reason, to move for movement's sake, to unsettle everything You have ordained. Let me rest in Your will and be silent. Then the light of Your joy will warm my life. Its fire will burn in my heart and shine for Your glory. This is what I live for.
Amen, amen. (Thomas Merton)

O God, our heavenly Father, who loves mankind and are a most merciful and compassionate God, have mercy upon Your servants (Name those whom you wish to remember) for whom I humbly pray to You to care for and protect. O God, be their guide and guardian in all their endeavors, lead them in the path of Your truth, and draw them nearer to You, so that they may lead a godly and righteous life in Your love as they do Your will in all things. Give them Your grace, and mercy so that they may be patient, hard working, tireless, devout and charitable. Defend them against the assaults of the enemy, and grant them wisdom and strength to resist all temptation and corruption, and direct them in the way of Salvation, through the goodness of Your Son, our Savior Jesus Christ, and the prayers of His Holy Mother and the blessed saints. Amen.

Blessed...

2009-11-10T10:02:59-06:00

Many of you met my gorgeous little nephew Tucker in these pages over the past few years and prayed with us, rejoiced with us, and wept with us as he faced challenge after challenge before receiving his ultimate healing in the presence of his Father. Since Tucker's home-going in February, mom and dad, big sister and brother, have had to discover what life looks like now for "party of 4". I am in awe of them.

Yesterday, Candy shared a beautiful story on their blog about a surprise she received this week. She talked about the choice to continue to love deeply, and to walk over "broken glass" to get to those priceless memories that are deep in her heart. I reprint the story here with her kind permission:

For the most part, I have mastered the skill of emotional distraction. I hold tight to the things that remind me of Tucker. I cherish every opportunity to celebrate his life. However, these days, I admit, I don't often allow myself idle time.
I got an unexpected gift on my drive home today. I popped in a CD of a recorded church service from early 2008 with the intent of listening to the music, and my heart skipped a beat by precious interference, the excited squeals and happy chatter from a certain 2 year old who was busily playing with his Cars nearby the recorder. For a moment, I could hear him again and my heart was full. I played the recording over and over and over and over again, because that's what I have.
We have pictures meticulously placed in a photo book. They are in order, and they tell a story. We have videos of first words, and milestones, but the random, otherwise insignificant moments caught on tape of a pizza covered face that just wants to look at himself in the camera...those are the ones I treasure.
It's almost unfathomable that it's been almost 2 years since I heard that sound. How is it even possible that one day it's here and the next day it's not?
And in moments like these, I am blessed to remember. I am blessed to feel. Unfortunately, remembering the presence requires acknowledging the absence. I read recently in a book, "When A Child Dies" (thank you Wanda), the story of a mother who refuses to give up the good memories of her child's life. She said sometimes you have to walk over broken glass to get there, but it's worth it. Her words could not be more accurate.
Sometimes I find myself consoling people when they ask me how I am. Just today, someone I recently met, sweetly told me that they had visited the website for the first time. I smiled and said, "He was an awesome little boy."...just as if we were talking about someone from a story I'd read.
Though Tucker is ever present on my lips and in my mind, this afternoon I allow myself to walk over the broken glass and visit Tucker in my heart. Not just the awesome Tucker that the world knew of and loved, but Tucker my child, Tucker flesh of my flesh and heart of my heart, Tucker whom my soul aches for.
I am blessed to have known the joy, and I am blessed to feel. The Lord giveth, He taketh away, blessed be His name.

Spring is Coming...

2009-11-08T06:49:05-06:00

Butterflies flitted in cages, fountains splashed, and the room was filled with the scent of spring...and of possibility...

Last night Mike and I had the honor of hearing from some true heroes of the faith at the annual Show Hope dinner. Show Hope (formerly Shaohannah's Hope) is an organization started by Steven and Mary Beth Chapman several years ago to help meet the needs of orphans, both by providing assistance to adoptive families, and by resourcing those who care for children who have not yet found their "forever family".

The evening began with the beautiful faces and voices of The Children of the World Choir. "Children of the World is a special group of orphaned and disadvantaged children from several different countries around the world. They travel the U.S. for 10 months putting a voice and face to the desperate needs of children whose lives have been devastated by civil war, famine, poverty, unclean water, and preventable diseases." These ebullient, radiant little ones wiggled their way right into my heart.

Mary Beth talked with Michael Shook, director of Maria's Big House of Hope in Luoyang, China, about the outstanding level of care being provided to children with special needs. She also shared the good news that this year Show Hope gave their 2000th adoption grant...2000 little ones growing up in forever families!! Wow! She reminded us that their own journey toward adoption began when she and Emily were part of a Compassion International trip several years ago, and we celebrated Compassion's own milestone this summer: one MILLION children sponsored! It was appropriate, then, that the guest speaker was Compassion International's President, Wes Stafford.

He told us that, from the beginning, Satan had understood that the best way to break God's heart was to attack His children. And, the sooner the better. He asserted that even the womb can be a dangerous place as poverty or convenience provoke mothers to end a life almost before it begins. And yet, God assures us that he has plans for us even in the womb (Psalm 139), plans to give us a hope and a future (Jeremiah 29). He then shared this powerful verse from Psalm 8: "From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise because of your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger."

Whose responsibility is the orphan? "You can't say, 'This is just not my thing.' If you are a follower of Jesus, this IS your thing!" If children are dear to the Father's heart, and if they have the power to silence the avenger, then it is our responsibility and our privilege to care for them. And to care FOR them, as Stafford pointed out, is different than just caring ABOUT them. He encouraged those who have brought children into their families, and those who are working tirelessly to care FOR the fatherless to not grow weary. And he ended with this compelling thought:

"When Jesus comes for us and He wipes every tear from our eye, I hope He also has to wipe the sweat from our brow. Because I hope we were working with all our might to care for those who are so dear to Him right up until we were wonderfully and gloriously interrupted by Heaven!"

The theme for the evening, "Spring is Coming", was drawn from Steven's new album, Beauty Will Rise. All the songs were written out of the family's walk through the devastating loss of little Maria. It is the story of beauty from ashes...the story of hope. Just before Steven closed the evening with the song, Scott Hasenbalg, executive director, shared this lovely quote that was so appropriate to the moment, "Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings."

Today is Orphan Sunday. Today is the perfect time for each of us to ask how God might have us be part of caring FOR the fatherless. Perhaps it is bringing resources, encouragement and hope to a little one where he or she is by sponsoring a child through Compassion or World Vision. Perhaps it is by supporting Show Hope and helping children find their forever families. Or, just maybe, there is a little one waiting to be part of your family. Each of us owe it to ourselves, and to God, to ask the question...

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life."
~Proverbs 13:12

The Silence...

2009-11-07T06:52:51-06:00

Though the air is full of singing
my head is loud
with the labor of words.

Though the season is rich
with fruit, my tongue
hungers for the sweet of speech.

Though the beech is golden
I cannot stand beside it
mute, but must say

"It is golden," while the leaves
stir and fall with a sound
that is not a name.

It is in the silence
that my hope is, and my aim.
A song whose lines

I cannot make or sing
sounds men's silence
like a root. Let me say

and not mourn: the world
lives in the death of speech
and sings there.

~Wendell Berry