My July 4th Cherry Pie

 

Early on July 4th I was driving home from a friend's house. NPR had a story on about the town of George, Washington and how they celebrate the 4th by baking the world's largest cherry pie. This year's pie was said to measure 8 feet by 8 feet! 

The story caught my attention because I had not been feeling particularly excited about celebrating freedom or democracy in the current climate. Every day there are multiple reports about how the freedoms of average Americans are being eroded. How the freedoms of anybody who does not fit the white christian nationalist stereotype of a US citizen are being snatched away. Literally. People are being kidnapped off the streets by masked weapon-bearing men, and taken to undisclosed locations, often shipped out of the country, sometimes to a holding center in a country with which they have no relationship. These techniques are all about creating fear in the "land of the free and the home of the brave". It is hard to be brave under these conditions, and this is clearly not an ideal time to celebrate independence - national or personal.

The story about George, Washington caught hold of my imagination because this strikes me as a good time to get creative in our responses to the atrocities being waged. Protests are good. I understand that we need at least 3.5% of the population to show up regularly in order to turn the tide of politics, and we are edging close to that. Conversations with people are also good. We need to keep talking about what is happening, trying to put it into some kind of historical context, and wrestle it away from those who purport to be following God's will. (No Way is this what is going on! The complete opposite, actually.)  Showing up is vital also, to ensure that those who are being targeted by ICE and others are not left standing alone.

But sometimes the overwhelming tension of living under these conditions gets the better of me, and I simply cannot find it within myself to do anything. Baking a cherry pie was my small act of protest. I did not go to a parade. I did not attend a fireworks display. I did not host a barbeque for all of my friends and neighbors. (Although, that could have been nice.) What I did was go to the nearest orchard with my husband and spend an hour picking tart cherries. We brought our 18 pound haul back home where I washed, pitted and packaged up 16 pounds of them. Then, with the remaining 2 pounds I made a pie. 

It was delicious. It was just what I needed. That pie reminded me of what is best about this country that I live in, this country that I love. It reminded me of the story about George Washington, (the one for whom that little town in Washington state is named), wherein the father of our country admits that he cannot lie. What a concept! I long for leaders who are honest, for leaders who have enough integrity to admit when they are wrong. I long for leaders who actually lead rather than using and abusing their authority to create chaos and fear, undermining the values that this country was built on.

"Bad Faith" - Acting on Good Faith

 On a friend’s recommendation, I watched the documentary, “Bad Faith” now streaming on Prime. It outlines the history of white christian nationalism, showing how this racist power movement has systematically undermined authentic faith, replacing it with an autocratic organization that stands in opposition to Jesus’s teachings.

When I was a new pastor, someone told a joke about a teenager going out and doing what the pastor had preached about in his sermon. The teen’s parents came in to speak with the pastor, asking him to recant what he had said. “Tell Joey that you were just preaching,” they said. “Tell him you didn’t really mean it.” I thought the joke was funny, but it was funny because the parents did not understand the power of preaching. They did not get the fact that one’s faith is meant to be lived out in very real ways.

Now, the joke does not seem as funny to me. Too many of us, especially those of us who count ourselves as liberal or progressive, do not seem to take our faith seriously enough to act on it. This needs to change. We need to change our ways, and stand up for the values we believe in as people of faith. We need to call out bad faith for what it is, and find our way back to the revolutionary faith of Jesus who called out false leaders for what they were.

Unfortunately, the folks who fell into the white christian nationalist trap did take their faith seriously. They did act, but they didn’t realize they were being duped by a racist agenda and by leaders who turned a blind eye to Jesus’s actual teachings in order to gain political power.

Maybe the religious leaders thought they could return to Jesus once their president and his cronies had control of the White House, but at this point there are no efforts by those in leadership to uphold the values of justice, compassion and mercy that are at the heart of faith for Christians and all authentic religions. If anything, we are seeing the opposite. The vulnerable are being exploited. Honesty and integrity are being run over roughshod. Truth is being submersed in a quagmire of lies.

When encouraged to show mercy, rather than seeing this as an invitation to become a true leader in keeping with Christ’s teachings, the president lashed out, calling the preacher’s comments “nasty in tone” and saying she should not have brought politics into the church. But faith needs to speak up about politics, especially when those in leadership are causing harm.

From the beginning, Jesus spoke truth to power and encouraged his followers to do the same. Good faith depends on our speaking up and taking action. What will you do?

"How Do We Stand Each Other?"

Peggy Ann Brainerd Way (courtesy of Vanderbilt University Special Collections and University Archives)

In 1981, on my first day of Seminary, my professor, Rev. Dr. Peggy Ann Way asked a question that has continued to trouble and inspire me all of these years; "Jesus said we need to love one another," she began, "but my question is 'How can we stand each other? Love is easy, compared to this, but actually liking one another, getting along with one another? Now that is another story!'"

I found Dr. Way's comment jarring. For most of my life I had attempted to push down any thoughts of not liking someone. I was uncomfortable admitting that there were times when I disagreed with other people. In truth, I did not know what to do in those situations, and usually just retreated into silence. It was rare that I would actually argue with someone or even stand up for something I believed in, if I found myself to be alone in those ideas.

Dr. Way encouraged us to reflect on the fact that most churches and religious organizations tend to be homogeneous. They are made up of people who are similar to one another, because people gravitate toward others who are like themselves. It is not difficult to work together when we all see the world from the same perspective, when our experiences in life are similar. The tricky part comes when people are different from one another. 

The challenge for us, as people of faith, is to figure out how to work together in a heterogeneous group. Jesus's followers are not all the same. We are very, very different. Dr. Way broke into my musings saying, "We, as religious leaders, need to honor and include diverse voices and opinions. This is what it means to be the Church. How will you do this?"

Even now, retired from active ministry, I continue to ask myself Dr. Way's question. How will I honor diverse voices today? This is especially difficult when I vehemently disagree with what those voices are saying. The best I can manage is to listen to what is being said underneath the words. What fears and insecurities are being addressed? What is the true cause of that anger or frustration? 

I believe listening to diverse voices gives us insights that can defuse the anger and fear we encounter. As people of faith, we can locate ourselves in the "in-between places". We can stand with the vulnerable folks in our midst, while doing what we can to disarm the hate and violence that are prevalent. In the spirit of Dr. Way's message, this is what it means to be the Church.

*Quotes attributed to Dr. Way are rendered as remembered, to the best of my ability. Any misinterpretations of her intentions are my responsibility.

Untangling the Web of White Christian Nationalism

A Defense Intelligence Agency memo, dated Jan. 28, 2025, directs the DIA workforce to suspend observance of the following: Martin Luther King, Jr. Birthday, Black History Month, Women's History Month, Holocaust Day and Days of Remembrance, Asian American Pacific Islander Heritage Month, Pride, Juneteenth, Women's Equality Day, National Hispanic Heritage Month, National Disability Employment Awareness Month and National American Indian Heritage Month.

These days and months commemorate events and people who have been overlooked and outright abused by those in power. By "suspending" the observance of them, our government is trying to return to the days in which they could pretend ignorance of these abuses. But this is like that old children's sermon that uses a tube of toothpaste to show that once the paste has been squeezed out, it is almost impossible to get it back into the tube. 

We have seen the videos and heard the stories, so we can no longer pretend that we do not know about the injustices sustained by our black and brown friends. We cannot wipe from our minds the reality that is the Holocaust, and the continuing discrimination faced by our Jewish sisters and brothers. We cannot make believe that misogyny is in our past when women's sovereignty over their own bodies is denied. 

As a person of faith, I stand in a long line of those who have stood up against racism, sexism, agism, ableist mindsets. For a while there, we thought we had made some progress. Things were looking better. There was still plenty of room for improvement, but we had hope that justice for all was within reach.

But now, the people who want to go back to the "good old days" of white supremacy have elected a president who is using his power to upend all of the good we have accomplished. he has gathered people around him who whisper platitudes in his ear, hoping they will be rewarded with more money, more power, more rolling back of the progressive laws that get in the way of increasing their wealth and power.

One of the frustrating aspects of this power grab, is that white christian nationalism is an insidious part of the mix. But we need to make it clear that this is not Christianity. It is not even close. Christianity stands in absolute opposition to the agenda of white christian nationalism. The trouble is, that savvy leaders in that movement have used christian language in an attempt to draw people into their web of deceit. 

As people of faith, we need to untangle that web. We need to denounce white christian nationalism and its agenda of greed and power. We need to make clear the teachings of Jesus who was himself a brown man, who aligned himself with the poor and the powerless. Christianity is not a prosperity gospel. It does not honor the rich or powerful. In fact, Jesus told a wealthy young man that it was easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a wealthy person to get into heaven. 

I believe Jesus. I also understand that heaven is a long way off for most of us, and that we want this world to be a kinder, more peaceful, and more just place for all of God's children. In order for this to happen, we need to stand up and speak up - scary as that may be.

Picking Up the Pieces

I have been experiencing a dry period with regard to my blog posts. My faith in humanity is shaken and I find myself needing time to recalibrate. It is simply beyond my comprehension that we have elected the current administration. There were so many signs that this was a bad idea, that I thought it was impossible for Trump to succeed in getting elected. How could so many people actually vote for someone who attempted to circumvent the democratic process once and clearly stated he would dismantle it if he got into office? How could people vote for a sexist, racist bully who wields wealth and power as if they give him the right to do whatever he wants? Did the people who voted for him think he was just kidding when he said all of those awful things? That he was using hyperbole? 

However it happened, after the election, I needed to take some time to deal with my disappointment, get over the shock, and regroup. But now, the negative effects are accumulating and I know it is time to pick up the pieces and speak up. I cannot even begin to enumerate all of the ways in which the safety rails many of us counted on are falling apart. Some dictates are coming down from Trump and the billionaires and other pandering folks who have gathered around him seeking their own piece of the power pie. But the effects that cause me the most alarm are the more localized ones. The more personal attacks enacted by everyday people.

Ugly text messages are being sent to children, attacking them on the basis of color, gender identity, or nationality. Hate mail and death threats are being sent to good people who are simply working toward justice in their communities. Confederate flags fly over homes, silently threatening the serenity and security of black and brown neighbors. School children mutter epithets under their breath to kids who are different from themselves, and the adults in their lives either encourage this behavior or throw up their hands in resignation, assuming they have no control over them.

I can't help but wonder if we have not necessarily lost control, but rather that we have chosen to abdicate control. It seems to me that many of us have given up our autonomy. We have abdicated our rights. Instead of discerning for ourselves what to think and how to respond in any given situation, we have given away the power of personal choice to the highest bidder. 

There is a lot of uncertainty right now, and along with uncertainty comes fear. When you don't know what is going to happen next, it can seem sensible to lay low for a while until we see what unfolds. The problem with this, is that our friends and neighbors, and a whole lot of people we may not know, are being affected negatively right now. If we hold back, if we withhold our comments until we are more certain, then it will already be too late to protect the most vulnerable in our midst. 

The time to speak up is now. Pay attention, and "if you see something, say something!" The time to act on behalf of justice for all, is now.

We Hold These Truths to be Self-Evident

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness."

The Declaration of Independence does not mince words. It was crafted to state what our Founders were hoping to create in this brave new world as they freed themselves from Britain's rule. 

Our society's long standing agreement about what constitutes "the Truth" is under attack. Some news outlets blatantly promote a skewed version of events, meanwhile doing all they can to convince their followers that no other news sources can be trusted. Many social media outlets have stopped monitoring their feeds to ensure that false and misleading stories are labeled as such, and so it can be difficult to tell truth from fiction when searching for information. Truth is being undermined, eaten away by those who strive to manipulate how we see the world and how we perceive events.

It is a well-known principle that if something is repeated often enough, eventually it starts to carry the ring of truth. This happens even with things that begin their lives as blatant lies! When we are bombarded day after day with false statements, it becomes almost impossible to sift through them to recover the truth lying squashed under the weight of it all. I wonder if we can agree to any truths being self-evident anymore? 

Are all people created equal, or are some a little more "equal" - more important than others? Is someone more equal because of the color of their skin, the education they received, their gender identity or the size of their bank account? And while we are talking about this particular point, the Declaration was obviously written long before inclusive language took hold, stating "all men are created equal". For way too long women did not count as full citizens. Our foremothers had to fight for the right of women to even be seen as a person. We thought this was "settled law" but with everything else that is being called into question, how long will it be before women are no longer considered of equal status? Roe v Wade has already been struck down; what is next? What does this undermining of rights mean for people who don't conform to binary gender concepts? Are we going to allow ourselves or our country to go back? 

Are the Rights afforded to us really unalienable, meaning nonnegotiable? Do we each get to live our lives as we wish? Are we all operating under the same Liberties as other folks, or do some people get more leeway in their liberties than others? 

And what about the Pursuit of Happiness? It is difficult to experience happiness when my rights as a woman are being wrested from my hands. It is difficult to experience happiness when the president-elect and his team refuse to submit themselves to the ethics that govern everyone else. It is difficult, almost impossible to experience happiness when honesty, mutual respect, kindness, care for the vulnerable, and so many other values I thought we all agreed on, are under attack.

Abraham Lincoln called the Declaration “a rebuke and a stumbling-block to tyranny and oppression.” 

I sure hope Abe was right. I hope something blocks the tyranny and oppression that have started to infiltrate our country. I hope something trips up those who are intent on undermining the rights for which our Founders and many others fought so hard. Maybe that something is us. We the people can and must do the hard work of deciphering truth from falsehood. We can and must insist on maintaining and holding fast to the rights the Declaration of Independence promised us.

Bluebird on a Blue Day

 

Artwork by Meredith Pratt

The news today was not good for those who believe in truth, justice or mutual respect, and so I knew I needed to tread gently. The details that make up my mornings are designed to keep me on an even keel. Sit quietly with my tea and cats, meditate, read, do some puzzles. The weather was unexpectedly warm for November so I was able to sit in my rocking chair on the porch. The breezes felt so good. The sun steadily climbing in the sky shone warmly, enticing me to venture out on an early walk.

I filled my water bottle and made my way to the small stream in the woods behind my home, stopping there to pay my respects. As I offered prayers of gratitude to each direction and to a stream that was underground for the season, I knew myself to be a part of something larger than myself. The broad expanse of sky reminded me that there are certainly perspectives larger than my own. I felt myself starting to lean into that truth. I can only see the small part of truth and reality that are revealed to my own eyes and understanding.

I offered one last prayer and then stood up to start walking up the familiar dirt road. Just up the road a bit, a flicker of blue flew from one tree to another. There have been quite a few bluejays around lately, so I assumed it was one of them at first. But almost as soon as I came to that conclusion, the bird flew across the road in front of me, and then flitted from one branch to another, until I saw enough to realize this was a bluebird. At that, it landed on a branch well within my sight and turned to look at me, showing me its rusty rose-colored breast in the process, which clinched it's identification.

"Thank you," I said, holding eye contact for a while. "Thank you."

As I continued on my walk, a smile came to me, despite my gloomy thoughts. "I think I have just witnessed a bluebird of happiness trying to get my attention. I think that's a pretty good sign."

Hope Is a Dangerously Good Thing

 

I have been thinking about hope, particularly about the difference it makes when we have it versus when we don't. Several years ago I heard someone say that they thought hope was not a good thing, because it creates a false sense of relief from the pressures we may be facing. Illustrative of this viewpoint, Morgan Freeman's character, Otis "Red" Redding, in the 1994 movie, The Shawshank Redemption, says, "Hope is a dangerous thing, my friend, it can kill a man". Red believes that hope of escape or release can drive a man insane because it's unlikely to come true. Tim Robbins' character Andy Dufresne disagrees, saying, "Hope is a good thing, maybe even the best of things. And good things never die".

Andy has it right, I think, having experienced this for myself in the past few days. 

As has been true for many of us, the divisions that exist in our country, and even in the world at large, have been wearing me down. It seems that every day the news, no matter what outlet you choose, focuses on the most negative stories and perspectives they can find. I didn't realize that all of this negativity had such a profound affect on me until a little bit of hope broke through the rubble of negativity and I felt my spirits lift.

The sliver of hope was represented by President Biden choosing to stand aside rather than continuing to pursue another term as president. Leading up to this moment, I was discouraged by so many lawmakers, journalists and others publicly calling for him to do just this. These conversations should have happened in private, where honest discussion, weighing of ideas and sharing opinions could take place in a respectful way, without the entire world watching. 

Listening in on conversations I would rather not have been privy to, left me feeling exhausted and incredibly stressed. Add to this the violence of an assassination attempt on Trump, followed by white christian nationalists comparing him to Jesus, and claiming God had saved him so that he could in turn save America; I was traumatized and terrified. 

And I knew I had to speak up to defend the faith I hold and the God I served as pastor for more than 30 years.

The God I know, has higher standards than any small-minded human with their self-serving agenda. The God I know does not save one person's life at the cost of another's. The God I know does not place power in the hands of those who want that power for selfish reasons. The God I know has a long-standing preference for the poor. All of the things I know and love about the God I serve stand in stark contrast to the values espoused by white christian nationalists, their terrifying Project 2025, and the corrupt criminal candidate to whom they have sold their souls.

Back to that glimmer of hope I mentioned. By stepping aside for the good of the nation, for the good of democracy, President Biden has shown what it takes to be a true leader. He may have wanted to continue in the presidency for another four years, but he has placed the needs of the whole above his own personal agenda. This humble act of service is incredibly rare in this day and age. Simply stated, it gives me hope that we may actually rise out of the current maelstrom and continue this experiment in democracy. It gives me hope that every person might still be seen and heard, their rights respected and their votes counted.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

Emily Dickinson, "'Hope' is the Thing with Feathers" from The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, edited by Thomas H. Johnson, ed., Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University press, Copyright © 1951, 1955, 1979, 1983

The Injustice of Immunity

 

The path ahead is a challenging one - no matter what "path" I contemplate these days. My everyday walks are challenging because of the extreme heat that is afflicting most of the country, including Vermont, and the fact that rain either inundates us or skips over our garden means I am often walking in dust or mud.

The path ahead for our country holds far too much of my attention. I subscribe to a national newspaper, hoping for a wide breadth of information about what is going on in the world, but most days my heart takes a dive just skimming the so-called "top stories" which are steadily normalizing a reality I do not want to acknowledge. 

Presidential immunity is just the latest scandal to rise to the top of my newsfeed. And, yes, I do consider it a scandal. I am astonished that we are just stumbling along as if this must be accepted without any pushback. Those of us who believe in this country and the system of checks and balances our founders established, want desperately to rely on them taking care of this problem. But at this point in time, the checks and balances have been dismantled. The Judicial branch of our government, meant to balance the Executive branch, is no longer free of bias, and the Legislative branch is unable to function at all thanks to the deeply entrenched desire on the part of some to oppose anything their colleagues on the other side of the aisle propose.

The dismantling of justice and, honestly, of reality itself, is insidious work. In this country it began quite some time ago. When I comment to equally-frustrated friends that Barack Obama should have appointed a Supreme Court justice in March of 2016, but was blocked by an obstructionist Republican Senate, others with a deeper understanding of history tell me the unravelling started long before that happened in 2016.

I am not equipped to go into the long and painful history of our country's unravelling, and of the root causes of the dissociative state we find ourselves in with regard to reality. But what I will say is that we cannot stand by and just watch this play out. We need to speak up wherever and whenever we can, adding our voices to those who are willing to say we have lost our way as a country and as a people. 

We need to teach our children and our politicians that there IS such a thing as "truth", and that truth is universal. Truth cannot be tamed or manipulated. We as a country need to find our way back to the honest truth - of what is just and fair, as well as the truth of what simply IS. 

Jesus said "the truth will set you free". Personally, I would like to be free again, and this is my wish for all of us. The irony is, that while you and I feel less and less free, a convicted criminal is not only running free, but he is running for president. Until this great injustice is corrected, until everyone stands back on equal footing in this "land of the free and home of the brave", none of us is truly free.

Make Way for Ducklings

 

I counted the ducklings again this morning. Despite the possibility of heart-plummeting disappointment, I can't help myself. Every time the Muscovy mother duck wanders into view I stop whatever I am doing and count the ducklings as they scurry to catch up to their mama. Although their mama is not what I could call conventionally attractive, the ducklings sure are, with their brown and yellow markings and fluff ball looks. 

When they hatched a few weeks ago there were thirteen adorable little ones. This morning there are ten. Their numbers have been holding strong at ten for several days now, which I count as a good omen. Last year, their numbers went from a solid dozen down to two remaining ducklings by the time they were ready to go off on their own. They do live in the wilds of this suburban environment where birds of prey and unwitting humans also roam. This morning I saw them in the lawn near the lagoon, but other days I have seen them basking in a puddle in the middle of our parking lot - a far less safe place for them to wash up.

My friend and I saw them searching for tasty morsels amidst the foliage surrounding the pool a few weeks ago, and while we thought they were pretty darn cute, I have overheard other folks comment on their presence in far less complimentary ways. One evening a duckling fell into the pool and had to be rescued by a by-passer with the pool's skimming net. Suffice it to say that it makes me nervous when the ducklings so blatantly avail themselves of the condo features meant for human enjoyment.

A few years ago a wildlife specialist was hired to capture the whole bunch, mama and ducklings, in order to relocate them further from human habitation, but that ploy obviously did not have a lasting effect. And this year, no one seems to be making noises to do the same, or perhaps I am just not privy to those conversations.

These ducklings are such a sign of the season, a sign of Spring and a sign of hope. Easter cards and decorations celebrate their hopeful cuteness. It breaks my heart a little, when my headcount shows that another duckling is missing, but I can't seem to stop myself. I feel like I am one of their protectors, somehow. When I count them, I send blessings to them, along with prayers that they make their way safely through another round of the sun. It is the least I can do, in gratitude for their presence, for their perseverance in the face of the enormous odds stacked against them in this environment that is becoming increasingly inhospitable to all forms of life. Their perseverance, their presence, is just the sign of hope I was looking for today.

Seeds of Community & Hope

As the daylight started to fade, Gary and I stoked up our wood stove and bundled up to go out into the wintry night. A friend had invited us to come over and help create a seed mandala using the beautiful multi-colored corn he had grown. 

We had participated in creating mandalas before, and had seen Tibetan monks as well as Navajo artists working with colored sand to do the same. We were eager to put our minds and hands to good use, breathing our prayers for community, for healing, for hope, and for peace into the pattern we would choose to create.

The colorful ears of corn were hanging along the ceiling, having spent the past month or so drying out. Our friend brought some ears down and we got to work stripping the kernels from the cobs, and then carefully sorting them into bowls of yellow, pink, orange, red, blue, purple, and some of surprising yellow and red stripe. 

Sharing a potluck dinner, we took a break and talked about possible designs. The three young children, still dressed as fairies in their fanciful outfits complete with iridescent wings, chimed in, eager to help. Deciding on a Tree of Life, each of us took hands full of kernels, carefully arranging them into a strong trunk, then deep and intricate roots. Once the Tree was established, each child chose a color and helped design a rainbow effect of pillowy leaves across the tops of the branches.

Mandalas are often created as an active prayer, a sign of hope. Their intricate patterns and designs are imbued with sacred meaning. Ours was no different. When we had finished, we all sat back around the edges of the Tree and spoke in hushed tones about what we saw in the beauty and intent of the design. 

As we prepared to leave, we knew that the mandala would last for the night, perhaps, and then the corn would be gathered into bowls to be stored for food this winter. Even though the mandala itself was ephemeral, as most mandalas are, the prayers and intentions it brought forth will, we hope, spill out into our lives and into the world around us. 

The cozy evening spent with a few other creators of beauty and hope, kept my heart warm as we made our way home. I imagine it will continue to keep my spirit hopeful whenever I reflect on it. My earnest desire is that it does the same for others who were a part of the experience, as well as for you, who are hearing about it now.

 

NaNoWriMo

NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month, which takes place in November each year. The challenge is to write 50,000 words in the course of one month. This works out to 1,667 words per day for each of November's 30 days. 

At first I didn't really think NaNoWriMo had anything to do with me. I am not a novelist, for starters, but the folks who organize the event are great at making everyone who likes to write in any form feel welcome. They even held a virtual memoir writing camp this summer, which I did not attend, but the idea of it brought home the thought that I could participate this November and write whatever my heart drew me toward. So I did.

I have been wanting to write my memoir for at least 25 years, and I have managed to jot down ideas and even entire essays over the course of that time. However, this all felt disjointed. There was no clear flow to the writing, no underlying theme. I was not sure how to organize my memories and the stories that accompany them into some kind of coherent whole. 

When this year's NaNoWriMo approached, I decided that I would use the month as a springboard for the project. My intention was to focus on a different memory each day, beginning with my earliest ones and going as far as the thirty days would take me. I knew I needed a theme, and after trying and discarding several possible concepts, I settled on "Connections". I figured that this could reflect my connections with Spirit, with the natural world, with family, with friends, with myself, even. It seemed broad enough as well as specific enough to work as a framework on which to build.

November is over, and with it the challenge that I accepted of writing 50,000 words, a day at a time. I am happy to report that I did it! Some days in particular were difficult for me to take time out for writing. Thanksgiving, with its attendant activities of cooking, celebrating with friends and family, travel, etcetera, features in there. And it comes close to the home stretch, so that puts a bit of pressure on, to keep up your word count so you don't have a word mountain to climb during the last few days.

As a way of celebrating the fact that I successfully rose to the challenge, I decided to print out my month's worth of words. They totaled 50,212 words, and filled up 204 pages. Carefully wrapping the pages to protect them from the rain and from being jostled into chaos, I brought them to Staples and had them bound. Mostly I did this to see what it looked like, and how it felt to have something physical to
show for my efforts. Even though I know it is a draft, and a rough one at that, it surprised me how good it feels to hold that book in my hands. 

All of this reminded me of how important it is to just get started on whatever it is that your heart is calling you to do. I am hopeful that this message will continue to draw me forward into the life I imagine.

A Centering Place

Whenever I am at home in Vermont, I like to make a daily trek to this little stream that runs behind our house. Sometimes I carry a stick of incense, but I always bring a little bit of well water from our tap as I make my way along the wooded path my feet have created over the years. When I arrive at the stream, I offer a prayer of gratitude for the beauty of the day - whether sunny or rainy, warm or cold, and for the gifts that life brings to me. Sometimes this is a highlight of my day - recognizing the simple gift of being alive and able to take in the beauty and sources of wonder evident all around me.

Once my prayers are done and observations of all there is to be grateful for feel complete, I settle in at the edge of the stream and watch the water flow for a while. If I am feeling off, unsettled in any way, spending time with the stream helps. As the water flows, my frayed nerves calm down. The waters refresh and soothe me, clearing my mind of chatter and worries. I like to imagine the water washing my cares away, carrying them down stream and out to the sea where they are diluted into the vastness of the ocean.

This ritual grounds me in the place that I call home. It helps me to feel more centered, especially when facing challenges or dealing with worries. The picture above shows the spot where the water pools and some incense burns over it. You may be able to sense the peace and calm of this place through my words, but it is even more likely that you are calling to mind a place that offers this sense of centeredness for you. I encourage you to go there whether in person or through your memories, and let your heart be at home for a while today.

We Are All Connected

As we left my Aunt Gene and Uncle George's home on the West coast of Florida we asked them where we might enjoy stopping as we made our way North along that unfamiliar part of the state. They suggested a little town named Micanopy, which retains much of its old Florida sensibilities in architecture and attitudes. 

As we drove into the town, there was a sense of leaving the busy pace of highways, cities and modern suburbia behind. Gary and I gladly got out of our car and stretched. We wandered the streets, enjoying the quaint architecture of the houses and shops, permeated by a sense of a town that had held onto its sense of self in the midst of modernity. We were especially drawn to the enormous Live Oak Trees that could be seen in most of the yards. 

Gary had me stand in front of a particularly large tree as a way of showing the scale of it, and while I was standing there waiting for him to snap a picture, a young man called out to me from the porch of the house where he had been sitting talking with a young woman I took to be his partner. I returned their greeting, and the two of them made their way over to me as Gary arrived from across the street as well.

"All the trees you see around here are actually just one tree," he said. "They are all connected underground. The roots run all through this land, under the ground in this whole town and out beyond it as well."

Gary and I expressed our awe and amazement about the sheer magnificence of the tree we stood beneath and looked around at other trees that we could also see nearby. We stood there with our companions, just quietly taking it in for a while. Standing in that sweetly iconoclastic old town under those spreading moss-hung branches eased something inside of me. It felt like we were participating in some form of holy communion, soaking in the sacred presence of the Oak that literally surrounded us on all sides, towering over us and running beneath our feet. 

After a while I felt moved to try and express what I was feeling. "Everything we see is one ancient, beautiful old tree. Wow. I don't even know how to think about that."

I have read about how trees are connected underground, how their roots help them communicate with one another. I had even reflected on the fact that a small stand of Aspen that grow at the pond near my home are genetically the same organism. But there, in that moment, the concept took on a deeper meaning, a sharper reality for me. This is how the world is meant to be, I thought. We are all supposed to live in relationship with one another at the deepest level possible. We are, each and every one of us, a part of one another. 

I dare to hope that if we take to heart this basic truth of our existence, it could change the world. At the very least, it will change us.

The Wisdom of Bluebirds

                                                                ~Photo by June Schulte

My friend June took this photo of a Bluebird who was doing his best to deal with below-zero temperatures. When you live in Vermont and it is winter time, your options for keeping warm are limited. Recently, when the temperatures dipped well below freezing, this little guy perched on a branch above a heated bird bath for the duration. Puffing his feathers out, he created as much insulation from the cold as he could muster. 

I have been spending a lot of time with Florida's birds, none of whom seem to have any trouble accepting the warm and sometimes hot weather down here. Being so close to water most of the time, they can easily dip in and cool off if that is their desire. The ocean breezes help to keep things comfortable as well, for birds and for us.

This got me to thinking about how we protect ourselves from the extremes that challenge us - extremely hot or cold weather, emotional ups and downs, and more painfully, the tragedies that sometimes touch our lives. How do we insulate ourselves so that we have the protection we need? How do we ensure that we are not thrown too far off balance by the challenges that come our way?

Sometimes I wish I was like this little Bluebird and could puff up my feathers to create a soft cushion around me. Seeing him got me to thinking about what we humans can do for ourselves when the "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune" whiz around our ears. What stands in the place of fluffy feathers for us?

Companionship is possibly the strongest protection we have. Family, friends, companion animals, co-workers, other folks who know something about what we are facing. Each of these offers support to us when we need it, and each offers different kinds of accompaniment, depending on their particular gifts and on our relationship with them. Some are good listeners, others offer deep wisdom, some are active and get us moving when we need that, while others are good cozy company when we need to curl up for awhile. 

For me, companionship also comes in the mysterious form of the Holy. Call this God, Spirit, All-That-Is - whatever strikes a chord with your own inner knowing. Even after years of ministering, and of praying my way through a humbling array of crises, the Holy shows up in my life, my mind and my heart in a wide variety of ways. Even now, a simple name does not manage to wrap this Presence up for me in any kind of authentic way. But I know I am held in this Holy Presence, always.

Quite some time ago when I was going through a rough patch, a dear friend guided me to imagine myself surrounded by rose colored light, she described it as an egg-shaped rose quartz. This was meant to provide protection from any outside elements that challenged me and also to be a source of strength so that I could face those challenges with courage. It helped, so I return to this practice whenever I feel the need for a little extra protection, a little extra courage. 

When I surround myself with this light, I feel the presence of all of my companions in life - the mysterious presence of God, Spirit, All-That-Is and the earthier presence of dear family and friends. In this way, I feel held in Love. As I get ready to take whatever step seems the next right thing to do, I am held in Love. If I need to curl up and sit tight for a while as the sweet Bluebird in this picture is doing, I can do that with a sense of peace. Knowing that no matter what, the love of family, friends and the Holy surrounds me now and always, gently guiding me, never judging, always holding me close.

...And Every One, Unique

Gary and I arrived at one of our favorite beaches at low tide the other day. The sheer quantity of shells caught my breath. Searching for shells under normal conditions, when they are scattered sparsely across the wide sandy landscape, is one thing. It becomes something very different when you are confronted with such an abundance of riches. 

You may have noticed that when you are looking for shells on a beach, it is the rare ones that capture your attention. Shells seem to lose their cache' when surrounded by seemingly thousands of lookalikes. Ironically, and sadly to my mind, this is true even of colorful and intriguingly shaped ones. 

To counteract this, I find that I want to appreciate each shell for itself, for the beauty it offers in the pattern of color that sweeps across it, or the unique design of the material from which it is formed. This became more of a possibility for me today when we again arrived at the beach at low tide. Instead of setting up my fitness device to start measuring steps as I usually do, I made the conscious decision not to think of this as a form of exercise. 

I simply started walking. Actually, I started wandering down the shoreline where the waves were receding. As one does in meditation, I cultivated a soft gaze. I was not actively looking for anything, I was simply opening myself up to the time and place, availing myself of the opportunity to take in whatever caught my attention. 

As I walked, I felt peaceful. I didn't feel the need to rush or to arrive at some particular destination. The shells shone up at me from the sand, and I felt like I really saw each one. I noticed colors and shapes. I stopped often to pick up a shell that seemed especially interesting so that I could feel its texture. Some were brittle and paper thin, which others had what seemed to be years worth of accumulation built up on the original shell. Some were intact while others were mere fragments of their former selves, having been pounded by the relentless waves tossing them up on the shore and drawing them back into the water over and over again.

The uniqueness of each shell reminded me of the value of seeing myself and others as I was learning to see and appreciate the shells, as unique and beautiful. This is true even if we are a bit brittle or broken at times. That soft gaze I spoke of at the beginning of my walk, the one I learned in meditation, helps me look at myself and others with the eyes of the heart rather than just in physical terms. This is probably the best gift we can give each other. It is also a pretty amazing gift we can give to ourselves, to see and recognize the unique beauty we bring to the world around us.

The Christmas Tree That Almost Wasn't

Well, we got a tree... actually we got the top of a tree.

Gary and I were walking along the road that passes the Christmas tree farm near our home and we noticed a large tree that had been cut down. It lay there for at least a week, maybe two, so I called the owner and asked if the tree was intended to go somewhere, but he said he cut it down because it was too big. I explained that we didn't want to cut down a tree because we would be gone by the time Christmas rolled around and it felt wasteful. "If that big tree is not going to be used, could we cut the top for our Christmas tree?" "Sure" he replied. "Merry Christmas!"

As soon as I hung up the phone, we drove down with a saw and a handful of cornmeal to offer a blessing of gratitude to the tree for the gift of its life. Gary found a good place to cut, noticing that the tree branched off several times and so had multiple "tops" making it less than perfect as a Christmas tree, but it still felt just right for us.

Several of our friends have chosen to switch over to artificial trees, citing various reasons: It is easier, and far less messy. You can leave it up as long as you want without any concern about fire dangers or messy needles from drying out branches. Environmentally speaking, you don't have to cut down a living tree. We considered all of this for a little while, but came back pretty quickly to wanting to stay with the tradition of securing a live Christmas tree for our home. 

The tradition is actually an ancient one, with roots in Pagan as well as Christian times. While I appreciate the history, I have to acknowledge that my appreciation is mostly personal. In the cold months when deciduous trees have lost their leaves, the sight and smell of pine trees lifts my spirits. This is true when I walk through the woods, and it is true when we bring a Christmas tree into our home. Some evenings I sit in the living room just drinking in the sight of our lit up and decorated tree, breathing deeply in an effort to take in as much of the piney scent as I possibly can. 

Gary and I almost didn't get a tree this year, but I am so glad that we did. The fact that we were able to give new life to a tree that would otherwise have spent its days lying in a field with no particular purpose, makes me feel even better. It kind of feels like this Christmas tree has something to teach me. Perhaps it has to do with the fact that it has two top branches between which our angel stands, or maybe it has to do with its having been rescued, redeemed from obscurity, in a sense? (Although that sounds pretty grandiose when I actually write it down.) Maybe it has to do with the need we felt to have a Christmas tree in our home for these darkening days approaching the Winter Solstice, despite the fact that we will be gone by Christmas itself? 

As I sort out the many emotions associated with this retirement year of "firsts" there seem to be a host of meanings that undergird every decision I make and every experience I have. Meanings that I cannot decipher in the moment, but which I hope might reveal themselves to me at some point in time moving forward. For the time being, I am just enjoying the peaceful beauty of this tree that almost wasn't, enjoying it's imperfect perfection, while trying to accept my own.

 

Diverting Conversation

Today my husband, Gary, and I drove to the end of Spruce Knob Road so we could take a walk on different section of it than we usually do. We parked in a small pull-off across from a field that had recently been hayed. Round bales lay in a haphazard fashion, and an old tractor was parked on the edge of the field near the road. Over the expanse, clouds, puffy and white piled up on top of one another and seemed to be constructed with an eye to setting off the deep blue of the sky. It was a beautiful August afternoon.

When we walk we are often torn between having a deep discussion about something that is on our minds or being quiet so that we can better take in our surroundings. Today felt like a day for silence to me. The beauty of the sky and the fields, the trees in their full summer greenery and the occasional bird flitting by demanded all of my attention.

After we had walked for a while, we came to a stream which had hardly any water. It was unusual to see it so dry, and Gary commented on the news he had read. "Some of the major rivers in Europe are drying up, and out in the Western US they are talking about diverting the Mississippi river to supply water to the drought-stricken Southwest."

I didn't really want to talk about it. Honestly, I didn't want to think about it either. I couldn't help remembering Mary Evelyn Tucker's comment nearly 20 years ago now at a Yale symposium I attended on climate change and the church. She said something to the effect that, if we didn't preach about climate change and encourage our churches to do something make a difference now, then we would be forced to talk about it soon enough because the results of it would become evident and catastrophic.

Well, things do feel pretty catastrophic, and despite the beauty of my surroundings, anxiety zips through my mind. I know there are many small things I can do to help ease the situation, and I do as many of them as I can manage. But I also know that real change will only happen when good, environmentally responsible decisions are made at the national and international levels. 

This means we need leaders who understand the issues and are willing to do what is right, despite the political fallout. This means helping our leaders find their way back to values like honesty, integrity and working for the good of all people and all inhabitants of the earth. It can be discouraging, to see how wealthy businesses and individuals continue to pursue financial gain rather than looking to do what is right for the whole. 

People ask me, "How can we deal with the frustration? How are we supposed to handle the anxiety and the stress all of this brings to our lives?" For me the answer lies in spending time in the natural world every day, even if I am just sitting on my porch for a little while. It means breathing in the air and paying attention to whatever is there - birds flying across my line of vision or a bee buzzing around my lunch, a lush garden of flowers or weeds poking up out of the sidewalk, clouds rolling up from the distant hills or a a trickling stream, my cat pushing at my hand for attention. 

Breathing in, I take in the freshness, the reality of this moment in time. Breathing out, I release the things that trouble me. I do this as long as it takes, until I feel a bit calmer, a little more prepared for my day. And then I stand up and put my hands and my heart toward whatever is next, whatever is needed of me.

Butterfly Peace & Power

This beautiful creature landed at my feet as I drank my early morning mate' on the porch. She sat in front of me for a long time, allowing me to take pictures and enjoy a companionable silence. After a while I went back to my reading, checking the New York Times, actually. As I took in the news, my unexpected guest provided a helpful counter-balance to the headlines, reminding me that the world is not just one thing. It is not just a place where 10 year old girls are raped but unable to terminate the pregnancy in peace and privacy in order to lessen the inevitable trauma of the situation. It is not just a world in which children and persons of color are gunned down at the whim of a fanatic with a ridiculously aggressive gun. And not a world in which the climate is changing but we are unwilling to challenge the oil and coal industries.

No, the butterfly reminded me. This is also a world in which beauty exists, and sometimes we don't even have to look very hard to see it. This is a world of serendipitous visitations by fragile-winged emissaries. This is a world where peace is possible. I know, because I felt peace when that butterfly landed at my feet this morning. I felt peace when the summer breeze blew the wind chimes and when I listened to the birds singing.

Small moments of peace and beauty might not seem like much when measured against the challenges "out there" in the world, and often the challenges in our own lives as well. But these small moments of peace provide the foundation upon which greater things are possible. Scientist Edward Lorenz made the discovery that even a tiny, almost immeasurable change in conditions could alter the weather in the long term. Surprised, he commented that if a butterfly flaps its wings it could ultimately cause a tornado. This led to the popular theory known as "The Butterfly Effect", and to the dream that even the small things we are capable of doing as individuals and small groups can make a big difference.

Even if we believe that our actions or words might make a difference for good, it still takes effort to keep on showing up for peace and for justice. Working against the formidable forces at work in the world is difficult. Greed, white supremacy, power and the fear which I believe is at the heart of these ills, are not easy to face down. But maybe this is where we need to consider my morning guest. Rather than feeling as if we are starting from scratch, how can we emphasize and build on the peace that is already present in our lives? How can we spread it out a little further each time it shows up?