I am sitting at my kitchen table and I am doing the work I have given myself over the next few days. I am keeping watch. Not over flocks of sheep by night, but of irises by day. You see there is what seems like a miracle happening in our garden. More than two years ago, our friend gave us iris bulbs and we planted them. These bulbs were not new to the world. The bulbs dug from her garden had been dug up before from her Grandma Frisbie’s garden. How long had they birthed beauty? Two summers passed and nothing…no color, no blooms.

But this year…this year…they are beginning to emerge, one by one, opening a purple into the world that seems beyond reason, beyond belief. Their bearded blossoms, deep and rich evolve into a lighter lavender, speckled with black. A sunburst of yellow and white springs from the center sending rays of finely follicled tendrils jutting out from the center of the flower.  They give off…I know it seems impossible….a scent of grape. It could be the power of imagination but I don’t care. I smell it. You cannot convince me otherwise.

All around these large blooms. smaller versions, dwarf irises are also ready to gently make an understated appearance. They already know they are only the chorus that stands behind the main attraction this year. Last year they waved in the spring wind bringing sweetness and simplicity to the garden. But this year, after laying at rest in the ground, their flashier siblings are taking the stage, ready for their big production number.

A week ago I read of the professor and students at Gustavus Adolphus College who had been waiting for 14 years for a rare flower to bloom. On the day it bloomed, smelling like ‘rotting flesh’, it was all I could do to not clear my calendar and head down for the viewing hours of 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. It seemed like something one should do given the plant’s great effort. But I didn’t. I continued on my regular schedule, doing my daily work.

So now, with the miracle of the irises happening within my very gaze,I have chosen to keep watch. And today, I give thanks for the patience of all that takes time and effort, hardwork and perseverance to bloom in the world…..giant purple blossoms, the 17 year song of the cicada, the life of the quiet, thoughtful child, the deeply held creative idea, the prayer of parents whose children are at war, the Way of Peace.

I believe someplace, at all times, someone is faithfully keeping watch. I feel privileged to join them.

Perhaps it is because I live with someone who has just completed his freshman year in college and is sorting out the "what I want to be when I grow up question". Or perhaps it is because I am a woman of a certain age, surrounded by others of a certain age who are asking "what is it I want to do with the ‘rest’ of my life question. Perhaps it is both….but I find myself being drawn again today to Parker Palmer’s book
Let Your Life Speak.

I spent yesterday with a friend who has made significant changes in her life and had created a very diligent and thoughtful plan for her life’s next chapter. But there has been a glitch…isn’t it always the case? We plan, pray,research, discuss, take-on, get-rid-of, bargain, pray again and then one movement can bring us to a screeching halt. As I tried to listen deeply to her story, I thought of the Quaker concept of "way" that Palmer describes in his book. Way is that door or path that leads us to what we are meant to be doing,being in the world, our vocation, what people of faith describe as "God’s will for my life."

As I have listened to my son talk of his freshman year in college, I am again reminded that the experiences he has just had are so much more than just learning about academic subjects. He is learning to ‘listen to his life.’ He is learning who he is, what he can do, what he is meant to become. He is hopefully learning to know himself well enough that he will shed what he thinks people think he ‘should do’ and instead make himself open to what his soul urges him toward.

Age doesn’t hold hostage this desire to find our voice in the world. We come at it at so many different times of our life. The Quakers say "have faith and way will open". But one of the most difficult lessons is described by Palmer in these words: There is as much guidance in what does not and cannot happen in my life as there is in what can and does – maybe more.

If someone had asked me at eighteen what I wanted to do with my life, I was clear: be a singer-actress. Many doors opened for me in that pursuit. But more doors closed and that has made all the difference. If those doors had not closed, I would not be in the position to hear my friend’s story. More importantly, I would not have had the privilege to be present to the unfolding life of this amazing young man.

Have faith……way will open

I have a friend who is the great writer of what I call "love notes". Periodically she will write a card or letter…with real ink and real paper…and tell me how much she cares about me, and that she will never stop. This is, I believe, a rare act these days. She will also leave phone messages at odd times of the day telling me to have a good day, to keep the faith, to smile.

She must be traveling this past week because she sent my birthday card….early. On the back of the card she wrote: Do Not Open….Not Until May 22nd….Stop!…Wait! Normally, if it were anyone else, I would have just opened it anyway. What is the difference of one or two days after so many birthdays?

But in the case of this friend, I knew it would make a difference to her. She would like to know that I received her greetings on my actual birthday…not before, not after. So I waited. I was not disappointed. The card, written in purple ink, told me how much I meant to her, how great birthdays are…especially after a certain age, and that…here it came again…she would care about me forever and ever.

Her words always bring me up short. What did I ever do to deserve this? Also, why, when this brings me so much joy, am I not returning the favor to all the people I feel this way about? She is such a mentor of kindness and goodness….such a messenger of love.

What she gives to me…and to so many others(they’ve told me I’m not special!)takes almost no money, very little time, minimal effort. And yet it has the power to lift an ordinary day to new heights, to bring holiness into the mundane.

May God bless all those who spread love and goodness in the world through their words, their actions, their effort, their time.And may God especially bless Holli.

"Mine is the church where everybody’s welcome, I know it’s true ’cause I got through the door….."
                        from A Dazzling Bouquet by Bret Hesla

Saturday morning was glorious….not only was the weather beautiful but I was privileged to watch an employee of Minneapolis Floral do a presentation on creating floral bouquets. He was the speaker for the United Methodist Women’s spring gathering. Peter brought a variety of different sizes and shapes of vases and an array of flowers and greens. He held his audience captive as he created bouquet after bouquet, each unique and interesting. We all "oohed" and "ahhed" as this ‘magician’ threw out tips for creating the same kinds of beauty in our own homes.

I was particularly interested because as Peter was explaining how these arrangements were made, he confirmed what I’ve believed for a long time: Creating a bouquet of flowers is a wonderful metaphor for what it means to be community.

Tip number one: Find a ‘center point’ in the vase. Begin putting the flowers in from opposite directions….left and then right, bringing them together at the ‘center point’. This action provides balance. Tip number two Variety….begin with greens and then add flowers of varying sizes, shapes, colors, textures, to bring about the fullness of the bouquet. The interplay of the diversity brings about a beauty that each individual flower cannot achieve on its own. Tip number three: There is no right or wrong. You take the flowers available to you and you begin to build the bouquet, piece by piece until it works. Tip four: Floral work is messy……the floor around Peter’s feet was littered with stems, leaves, thorns, the ‘stuff’ cut away.Tip five: Have fun…….what more do I need to say? The act of creating a floral bouquet has to, in the end, be about enjoyment, fun,love.

Isn’t this what it means to be community, to be church? We find our ‘Center Point’. We bring together people of all shapes, sizes, textures, theologies, worldviews,social,racial, ecomonic backgrounds and we try to create some balance as we intersect that "Center Point". In choosing to do this, we must experiment, negotiate, compromise, give up control sometimes, putting together the pieces until it works.

Messy? You bet! Choosing to live together, to be church together, is messy work. The gift comes from knowing that if we listen deeply, pray generously, trust graciously, we each come to know the Holy in a fuller way because we’ve decided to ‘jump in the vase’ with many others who bring their own worldview,their own life experiences, their own expressions of the Divine. Added to ours, the expression of the kindom becomes more than our own, more than we could have imagined.

Fun? I pray so. The church that laughs together is a holy place. Laughter shows compassion, spirit, love for all the ways in which we are human. Laughter allows us to remember who we are……fallible beings who make mistakes, do reallysilly ,sometimes hurtful things, find forgiveness, and yet, hopefully, bring delight to our Creator.

What kind of flower are you today? Are you feeling like a tall, straight purple iris? Or do you feel more like a floppy, hot pink orchid? How about a twisting,turning curly willow or a simple sunflower? Every bouquet needs a single, majestic rose and the sweetness of baby’s breath.

Care to join us in the vase? Meet you at the ‘Center Point’.

"Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in his holy place? There is no one but us. There is no one to send, nor a clean hand, nor a pure heart on the face of the earth, nor in the earth, but only us, a generation comforting ourselves with the notion that we have come at an awkward time, that our innocent fathers are all dead-as if innocence had ever been-and our children busy and troubled, and we ourselves unfit, not yet ready, having each of us chosen wrongly, made a false start, failed, yielded to impulse and the tangled comfort of pleasures, and grown exhausted, unable to seek the thread, weak, and involved. But there is no one but us. There never has been."        Annie Dillard

This Sunday, May 20th we celebrate Ascension Sunday. The scriptures tell the story of Jesus being taken up to heaven,"after giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen." My favorite line in this story comes toward to end of the account in Acts: "While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. They said,"People of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?"

As people of faith, I believe we have spent a lot of time "looking up toward heaven." We have spent a lot of time trying to find a way for someone else to take charge, be responsible and responsive to the Holy in our midst. But what if, as Annie Dillard writes, "there is no one but us."

It seems to me, as I read the scriptures, that Jesus was always trying to prepare his friends and followers for the time when he would not be with them. Through his example, through his stories, through the parables in particular in which he asked important questions, trying to get them to think and act from the Spirit’s movement through them, he was always preparing them-and us-for seeing God’s movement in our own lives and world. Each generation gets another opportunity to help birth the kin-dom of God. It is  always a partially realized experience and yet we have glimpses. Even in our inadequacies, our ineptitude, in our doubt, in our fear, we still are called each day to be a conduit, a midwife for God’s in-breaking.

Have you glimpsed the movement of the Holy this week? Have you had an experience of the kin-dom of God in your work place, your family,in your faith community?

Who shall ascend to the hill of the Lord? Who will stand in the holy place of God? The gift is our to receive and to pass on to a world in need of gentleness, kindness, hope and wholeness. We have been chosen and empowered by the Spirit.

There is no one but us.

Blessings on your weekend……………………………….

"It is when things go wrong, when the good things do not happen, when our prayers seem to have been lost, that God is most present. We do not need the sheltering winds when things go smoothly. We are closest to God in the darkness, stumbling along blindly."
                                                            Madeline L’Engle

I was thumbing through some books yesterday preparing for a worship service for our United Methodist Women’s gathering on Saturday. This quote from Madeline L’Engle jumped out at me. It had nothing to do with the theme of the worship I was preparing. It simply spoke to me.

I suppose the words became important because I seem to know several people who are going through really difficult life situations right now. Terrible illness, job struggles, accidents that maim and change lives forever, children in dangerous and precarious life circumstances, the list goes on in somewhat "Job-like" fashion. I have found myself at a loss for words, instead simply listening to the compounded darkness of it all. Of course, I pray. But even that sometimes seems futile…or at least lost in the swirling storm.

So L’Engle’s words came as a reminder…….God’s presence is resting with us even in the deep pain and confusion of those times when life seems to be spinning out of control. I was reminded of how often I am quick to be filled with awe and wonder of that Presence in the beauty of Creation, the wonder of new life. Yet when things are the most difficult, I will try to rely on my own resources and tend to forget the One who breathed the fullness of all Life into being.

And so today, for all those who are walking the halls waiting for a sliver of good news….for all those who feel alone and without hope….for all those who feel unappreciated and undervalued in their work…..for all those who believe they have been abandoned….I offer a prayer.

May the One who has walked with you from your first breath hold you and those you love in a tender and loving embrace. You are not alone……..

In this morning’s paper there is an article about Studs Terkel. Today is his 95th birthday. I first ran into the writing of Studs Terkel in his book Working which is a collection of interviews he did with people about their work. I read it during my college years and was even more delighted when his book was turned into a musical. The book featured people from every walk of life….the teacher, the construction worker,the cook,even the young paperboy who loved how the paper sounded when it hit the porch or the bush nearby.

One of the stories that impressed me most was the jackhammer operator. The man spoke eloquently of  the force the jackhammer had on his body daily…of how even as he sat in his lounge chair after supper, watching television, his body never stopped moving internally, he was still being  jarred by the power of the tool he used to put food on his family’s table. That image…that experience…has stayed with me over all these years. I never pass by a worker using a jackhammer when I don’t think of Studs Terkel, his desire to know the life of this worker and his witness to this person’s seemingly ordinary life. Through his curiosity to learn about the work of this man, I have an appreciation for work I will never do, a feeling of awe for the life of this laborer.

Terkel speaks of always being curious, always being interested in people, their lives, what they do and what they care about. He satisfied his curiosity by being a great listener and then an accomplished storyteller. He seems to have done this by satisfying what I believe is perhaps one of the greatest needs of our time…..to be heard, to be able to tell another person who we are, what makes us tick, to have someone’s undivided attention if only for a few minutes. It is one of the greatest gifts we can give another person….to sit with them, to listen, to be present to their lives.

Unfortunately, our lives are lived at such a pace that we are often doing several things at the same time we have conversations. We are writing, watching TV, emailing, text messaging, eating, even answering our phone. Sometimes those actions are necessary given the situation. But I’ve come to believe that most often they are not….they are simply a way of avoiding the simple act of truly listening and the intimacy listening fosters.

Terkel has spent a long life being witness to the lives of others. Through his curiosity and his presence he has said to countless individuals that their lives are important, their work is important, they are important. His 95 years are a model for each of us……stay curious, ask questions, be present, listen, really listen, be a witness to the ordinary. What an extraordinary life and honorable practice!

"I have found a friend in Jesus, he’s everything to me, he’s the fairest of ten thousand to my soul. He’s the Lily of the Valley, he’s the bright and Morning Star, he’s the fairest of ten thousand to my soul."

I could only remember a snippet of this old hymn so I had to go searching for it  today. I remember singing it as a child, mostly at hymn sing gatherings on hot, humid, summer Sunday nights. The ceiling fans of St. Paul’s United Methodist Church turned lazily in the summer heat and we all fanned ourselves as we sang. We could work up quite a sweat singing those old hymns!

I’m not sure I understood the reference to Jesus as "lily of the valley" at the time but the song had a great tune and I liked singing it. I later learned that a legend says that, while standing at the cross, Mary, Jesus’ mother wept. As she did her tears fell and lilies of the valley sprang from the ground. That story must have been an inspiration for the hymn writer. I did like thinking of Jesus as this sweet, fragrant flower. After all, wasn’t lily of the valley May’s flower, my birthday flower?

Those dainty, bell-like flowers,surrounded by such out of proportion leaves, are showing themselves these days. Our side yard, which is shaded by large evergreens, produces more and more of them each year. A walk in our yard yields their very particular scent, simple and pure, a sure sign that summer is just around the corner.

The white flowers don’t last long, their season is short. If you get distracted or are busy doing other "May things" of which there are many,  you can miss them all together.  Perhaps their sweetness is intensified by their short life, their simplicity, their lack of ‘showiness’. After all, they are a hardy flower with deep roots that form extensive colonies by spreading underground.  They like to reach out and grow in places that other flowers don’t, can’t, won’t. They fight their way into the world through cold and ice,reaching toward the Sun. They could go unnoticed if a person’s eyes were looking the other way, if their heart was not open to them.

Jesus…….Lily of the Valley…….It has taken some years but maybe I get it now.

I have just spent several days driving across Ohio,Indiana,Illinois, Wisconsin and Minnesota. Nearly everyone I have spoken to says:"I just hate that drive! It is so boring." But I didn’t have that experience. Mile after mile, I was filled with awe, wonder…… hope. You see, I got to watch the fields be planted, got to glimpse the two inch tall corn working its way to ‘knee high by the 4th of July’.  Signature green and yellow John Deere tractors and large equipment I can’t even name moved in fields, kicking up dust, preparing the soil for planting. It seemed that at the center of each field stood a house, waiting with patience to be surrounded by the crop that will feed families, animals, provide a living for those who have placed their faith in this land.

I  wholeheartedly admit that I have and always have had a romantic notion of farm life. I know it is hard work, long hours, most of the time a very big gamble, often filled with disappointment and failure. I know that so many farmers live on the edge financially, always hanging on to "this year". I have read and seen enough reports about the decline and difficulty of the family farm to know my imagination is much rosier than the reality.

It is that understanding that made driving through those beautiful fields, watching the work, witnessing to the hope, such a rare gift.  You see, I have staked my life on words, relationships, hope, and the belief in a Presence and power larger than myself. These people have staked their lives on seed and soil, rain and sun,their relationship to all that…..and perhaps a Presence and power larger than themselves.

All along the miles I kept thinking of Wendell Berry, another favorite author of mine, who in addition to being a poet, a prophet and a novelist, is also a Kentucky farmer. He has staked his life on those same elements of the natural world and the Divine. He also writes beautifully about it all…..

The Man Born to Farming

The Grower of Trees, the gardener, the man born to farming,

whose hands reach into the ground and sprout

to him the soil is a divine drug. He enters into death

yearly, and comes back rejoicing. He has seen the light lie down

in the dung heap, and rise again in the corn.

His thought passes along the row ends like a mole.

What miraculous seed has he swallowed

That the unending sentence of his love flows out of his
mouth

Like a vine clinging in the sunlight, and like water

Descending in the dark?

I am sending this post from the newly renovated library of my hometown in southern Ohio.  It is a beautiful place, one this small town should be very proud of, one partially funded by a grant to provide libraries to communities that are less economically prosperous. I have wonderful childhood memories of the library. It is where I "hung out" as an adolescent. It is where I systematically read through all of the preteen biographies one summer and all the Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden mystery series during other summers. Note: I still know that because of Trixie Belden I am prepared to react to anyone who is bitten by a snake. So, if you are ever in such a situation and I am around, call out!

The library was a place where I was at home, where I was known, where someone knew my reading preferences and held books for me. It was a place that allowed me to travel to far flung places, learn of the ways of the larger world, dream of what could be, of what I could become.

The librarian at the time,Miss Davis, was a guard…these were her books, her home, her domain, her universe. She was kind to those who treated her sanctuary with respect; she was stern and frightening to those who wanted to touch clean pages with dirty hands, turn down corners to mark a place. She was the first vegetarian I had ever met! In a world of chicken-fried-steak and sausage gravy over biscuits, this was not only odd, but exotic to me..

Of course, libraries have changed alot since those days. And so have librarians-their domain now includes tasks such asking me to sign a waiver that I will not do anything on this computer that violates their policy…and good taste.

But when I walked into this beautiful, well-cared for space, it is clear that it is still a place that has the potential to open the world to young minds, young hearts, longing to know a wider world. It is still the place that allows impressionable adolescents to learn how to treat a snake bite, to solve a mystery, to be inspired by the lives of wise and courageous people, travel to amazing places, planting seeds for their future.

Do you know a librarian? If so, thank them today….they do powerful and important work.

This weekend might be a good time to curl up with a good book…enjoy…and don’t forget to wash your hands and use a bookmark!