Louisa

I had worked my last moment at the library *and* at the clubhouse, packed the last box, tucked the suitcases into the trunk of the car, cleaned the last cobweb from the apartment, thrown the last bit of trash in the dumpster and turned in my keys. All that remained to be done was to return a few library books, fill the tank with gas, and head for Lake George. Except for one little item I just hadn't figured out how to squeeze into the schedule. I needed to get my hair cut. I wanted to start my new job looking as neat and trim as possible, and even though my hair was OK, I suspected it might take awhile to find a good hairdresser in the new place, so I wanted to get one final haircut.

I had struggled to find a hair stylist in Connecticut, and never really found the right one. I had gone to upscale, downscale, mainstream and out of whack places. Some were unbelievably expensive, some reasonable, some huge, some small, but I had never found someone who did anything exceptional with the little bit I had to offer them to work with. I came close, and one of the places was nearby, so I headed there. Only two people ahead of me, so the wait would be fairly short, and I decided to go ahead and take care of this last thing before leaving the state. I looked at my reflection in the mirror and cringed. I still wasn't used to seeing myself so gray and with such short hair. Most of my life I had enjoyed long brown hair - not bouncy and springy like you see on the TV models, but nice nevertheless. Now I look so old.

As I sat and waited, I noticed two women sitting across the aisle from me, also waiting I assumed. The one woman was reading a magazine, flipping quickly through the pages and cocking her head to one side and the other with each new picture or ad. She pursed her lips, sometimes furrowing her brow, or clicking her tongue, but not saying anything. She had thick light brown curls pushed back with a purple plastic headband in the style of a young girl. Those beautiful curls cascaded down her shoulders and halfway to the middle of her back. Every once in a while she would shake her head, and her curls would bounce and dance and shine. I sighed with envy.

I remembered having long hair (I have a college picture to prove it) and though it was always very fine, I wore it loose for as long as I could. My kids loved to hang on to lengths of it when they were babies carried in arms. Sometimes I wore it in an updo for special occasions like weddings or braided it for fun. Once I had it cornrowed and my head ached for days. Now, post chemo, I have thin (read bald) places and brittleness, and no color left at all. How wonderful it would be to have such thick luxurious hair again! I hoped she was not there to have it cut short. What a waste that would be. The woman with her had much shorter hair. Perhaps it was she who was there for a haircut and not the woman with the gorgeous curls.

"Louisa," the stylist called, and the woman with the curls stood up. My heart fell. She walked past me to the chair in front of the stylist. "Climb up here honey," the stylist said taking her arm. I suddenly realized that despite her aging body and wrinkled face, Lousia was in truth just a kid. "Get comfortable," the stylist gently encouraged, holding the chair still for her and waiting patiently while Louisa clambered into the chair and squirmed around.

"I compabull, I compabull, I compabull," Louisa said repeatedly though she didn't look one bit comfortable. The woman with her came over and removed Louisa's headband, pushing the thick curls from her eyes. "We are going on a vacation next week, and have to have some of this thickness thinned out again. Her hair is so hard to comb and gets full of tangles and knots."

The stylist ran her hand through Lousia's curls and nodded. "It has really grown in since last week. I'll thin it out real good so you won't have to worry while you are away." It seemed as if the whole shop had quieted, watching the drama unfold. Everyone held their breath while the thinning shears scissored and swished. Lousia obediently bent her head down, put her hands over her face and sat very still. The stylist worked quickly, filling the floor beneath the chair with soft brown curls. No one moved. It was as if we were all mesmerized, held in an unbreakable spell. The phone had ceased its incessant ringing, the shop door remained closed, no one going in or out. No one got shampooed or used a hair dryer. We all stared at the aging child in the second green chair who was being shorn.

"OK honey, you're done," the stylist said minutes later. The mound of brown curls on the floor was incredibly high, though Louisa looked pretty much the same as she had looked before the haircut. Her gorgeous brown curls still curved over her shoulders and caressed her back. Louisa bounded out of the chair and danced excitedly, yelling, "Lollipop, lollipop, lollipop!"

Before Louisa got her lollipop and headed out the door, the stylist called my name. I was in the chair before I realized, my hair being tugged and clipped, fluttering to the floor in spurts. I glanced down. There were no piles of curls under my chair. In fact, unless you looked carefully, you couldn't see any hair on the floor at all. Tears stung my eyes and I blinked, angry with myself for caring about hair. Lousia wanted less and I needed more. How was that fair? I wiped the recalcitrant tears from the corners of my eyes, mourning the loss of my youth, my health.

"How silly," I thought. "You are getting a new lease on life, the chance to start fresh. Get over yourself, girlie. You have much to be thankful for. You have no need to feel sorry for yourself." It was true. Hair or no hair, I am still me. And I am still lucky. I would not trade with Louisa, who could not care for herself, who looked at pictures in magazines and could not read the words, who heard what people told her and did not understand, who could not go where she wanted.

No, I was the fortunate one in the shop that day. Let Louisa have her lollipop. I had so much more. I took a deep breath, shook out the cape, and walked into my new adventure with head held high.

FINAL FINAL

I stared at the email subject. FINAL FINAL. What was I thinking when I wrote that!?! I was thinking that in the midst of packing and wrapping up work and entertaining Drew's and Kiel's friends as they say farewell, I must have been crazy to have added in completing the final for my Sacred Choral Literature class!

I had planned to complete it last weekend, but somehow I just could not get myself to work on it. It's not that it would have been hard or that my brain couldn't have come up with some answers. It was just that I had no motivation to look at it.

I have left Concordia, I stepped out of that ethereal world, I am up to my eyeballs in the reality of now. I long to be re-immersed in music, but I can't afford time to do that. So rather than pack or be useful in any way, I rented movies and sat on the couch dozing and pretending to watch some mindless drivel as if I were engaged in some productive activity.

I have no excuse. I could say I am tired, but I am no more tired than I have been before. I could say I don't feel well, but I only have the same few symptoms as I have been having. I knew there was some reason for my procrastination, but rather than figure it out and pick myself up by the bootstraps, give myself a good talking to and moving on, I decided to just go with the flow and not beat myself up over a few moments of lazing around.

So I watched movies, I pretended to pack, I drove Drew to youth group campouts, I did laundry, I cooked stuff - everything but work on my final. Somehow, late Sunday, I made a start on the thing. It was a slow start. I reviewed what I had already done, made it look prettier, added some small amount, looked at the questions, and doodled around.

By Monday, whatever had been holding me back passed and I began in earnest to work on the thing. In order to make sure I didn't lose my work (since I was working from different locations), I kept emailing it to myself with exam, Exam, EXam, EXAm to differentiate one version from another. Gradually, as I neared completion and was just proofing and fine tuning, I began using the word Final in the subject line. And I ended up with the finished project being labeled FINAL FINAL.

I mailed it off with a sigh of relief and was surprised to feel as if a huge weight had been lifted. It wasn't hard. It didn't take all that much time. I liked the analyses. I'm still not sure what the hang up was. All I know is that now I am free to tackle the dwindling list of stuff to take care of. 2 more days at the library, one more night at the clubhouse, final packers come this afternoon, movers tomorrow morning, clean, turn in the keys, jump in the car, et voila! And I was still able to loll around on the weekend, thanks to a little help from the boys to finish getting things packed.

Perhaps I am discovering my gentler, less driven side (my non-American side as my friends from Europe like to tell me). Or maybe I am learning from Mark Twain who says,

"Never put off until tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow."

So until tomorrow, I bid you adieu.

Kidnapped

Other than a vague instruction to keep my calendar open on Tuesday afternoon, I had no inkling that my team had planned an amazing farewell luncheon. Around 1pm, my supervisor appeared in my door and said, "You're with me." and off we went, out of the library into her car and off campus to a quaint B&B called Altnaveigh Inn ( http://www.altnaveighinn.com/ ). We had our Winter Solstice (aka Christmas) celebration there last December and it was such a pleasant time together that we lingered awhile to enjoy it. I was delighted to be breaking bread there again - looking forward to a time of fellowship and camaraderie.

We were seated in the air conditioned Main dining room around a long table, peering at the menu and drooling over the likes of Confit Duck salad, Monte Cristo sandwiches and Seared Tuna. Conversation was light hearted and filled with mention of good memories springing from the various escapades we have shared. On my plate I found a tasty carrot salad filled unexpected ingredients like golden raisins, cranberries, and an unusual dressing. Its bright colors, various shapes and textures, and special ingredients looked appealing nestled in the center of the china plate surrounded by sections of a turkey club and home fries. The sensation for my mouth was unique as each salad ingredient gave forth its particular flavor, and the textures added to the culinary experience. I have not encountered the likes of this salad in other places I have dined. As I savored each bite, it occurred to me that the team sharing the table with me was much the same.

Each person brought their particular skills and strengths to bear on the projects and workflow, bringing with them a unique perspective, a style and approach all their own. In such a short year and a half, I have come to value each one for what they have brought into the daily demands of a busy iDesk. Each person has taught me something valuable, each one watching out for me, bringing me along in their own way, making sure I had a clear understanding, pointing me in helpful directions, keeping me on track. Without them, the year would have been bland, dull, boring and tedious. Just another day at work. Just another load of tasks to complete.

Instead, every morning, I would be greeted by smiling faces, hearts full of concern for their duties and for the customers we encountered, angst about how to get it all done, timid whisperings of fears and concerns, joyful celebrations of births and rewards, tales of cats and dogs, children and grandchildren, friends and lovers. Oh, we have had our share of ups and downs, dealing with overwhelming demands and unreasonableness from all directions. We have had to say the hard things, learn to be openly honest with each other, hold everyone responsible for behaving nicely. But all in all, we walked forward fairly smoothly despite a few bumps in the road. What a fabulous world I have been privileged to participate in!

I shall miss it dearly (can we ever figure out how to move on to new eras without leaving behind people who have become such a part of our lives?). I shall miss the silly things written on the whiteboard; the camaraderie that comes from dealing with a difficult patron successfully, the heads bent together over the Admin Conference table putting together the pieces of some puzzle, the quiet, unheralded sacrifices people made in order to cover the desk and free me up to handle other things - gestures that have been such a daily part of my world. I shall miss the hugs, the little messages left on my chair about places to go and things to see, the flowers that show up in my office (I am gazing with delight on a garden bouquet of bright yellow daisies, tall purple loosestrife and delicate pink allysum as I write), the tears when things fall apart, the continual stream of excellent baked goods on the back table, the hair tearing when a system goes down. I shall miss it all.

But most of all, I shall miss the wonderful women who have taken me in and let me be part of their place, part of their work, part of their lives. I have been unalterably changed by them to my gain. In the quiet of the night, I will remember them and smile. I will remember not because of the huge overflowing baskets of gifts they presented me with - thoughtful presents of engaging books, funny DVDs, tasteful CDs, luscious fragrances, gorgeous scarves, soft blankets, pillows, robes, a beautiful purple glass oil lamp - too many things to even mention (I was completely overwhelmed and deeply touched at how well they know my tastes!). I will remember them not because of all the projects and workshops and scrambling we have done. I will remember them not because of the documents we have created, the evaluations we have endured, the goal setting we have been exhausted by.

I will remember them for being who they are, each one a unique and precious woman with much to offer and a heart willing to share. Thank you for a great year and a half. I shall not forget.

Countdown

Seven days! 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. 604,800 seconds. 604,799. . . 604,798 . . . 604,797. . . Yikes! I am not at all sure I will be ready to leave Connecticut, my apartment, my job in a mere seven days! My tick lists of stuff to take care of are long and complicated. Sometimes you have to delay doing one thing until another is finished. Sometimes you don't get through on the first try. Sometimes you think you have taken care of things only to discover that something went awry and you have to get back to square one and begin again. Wow!

It makes me give a lot of thought to how I want to set things up once we get to Rochester. Organization, communication, tracking, developing better ways to manage things seems very advisable at the moment. But I am sure in the rush of setting up, I will lose that perspective and end up letting things slide by willy-nilly in an attempt to get up to speed quickly.

I often think life used to be so much simpler. I clearly remember sitting in my Grandmother's side yard after dinner of a summer's evening, watching the iris nod in the breeze, hearing the occasional car go by on Route 50, climbing a tree and hanging from the lower limb, listening to the adults make small talk - or not - while the crickets sang the pitch of heat for the day and the birds twittered about.

But then I remember that indoor plumbing is fairly recent, that old fashioned ice boxes required a lot of attention, that people died from diseases that don't exist anymore. Trips to town were all day affairs and shopping happened only once or twice a month. You made your own clothes, you cooked everything "from scratch" and no body went to the doctor unless you were pretty much dying.

The pace of life is what you make it I suppose. Yes, there are more choices these days, more activities, more stuff to be had. But no one is holding a gun to my head and telling me to do it all. I have downsized for this move, and I believe I will stay downsized. Choose simpler, choose less. Another library employee is leaving here to be closer to family, and she and I were comparing notes about moving. She has lived here much longer than I, and has a larger living space. She is leaving a lot of things with her son who is staying in the area. We agreed that you can live with much less than one accumulates.

Cancer patients have a saying, "Better life through chemicals." I believe I am going to adopt a new saying. "Better life with less." Makes a lot of sense. Now if I can just figure out which box has the scissors in it. . .

Singing (to) the Blues

I was driving to work this morning and Webber's Pie Jesu came on the CD, so I started singing along. Something seemed to click from past voice lessons andI thought I sounded much better than I remember doing before. I hit repeat and was singing at the top of my lungs on 84, cars were whizzing past, and I got honked at. Then I realized I was driving in the tempo of the song (slow) and way below the speed limit.

But it felt so good to be able to sing that I just pulled over and sang away. I was amazed at the operatic depth and the smoothness of tone even of the high B flats! Maybe my voice has matured at last. Shortly after I pulled over, a police car pulled up behind me, the officer in dress blues came to the car window. "Is there a problem?"

"No, sir. Its just that I got to singing to a song on my CD, and I wanted to be able to sing without causing an accident." It was an open invitation to a clever retort. I recognized that as soon as I said it. I wondered what his comment would be.

He thought for a few minutes (no expression on his face at all - I was beginning to fidget uncomfortably) then said, "Well, don't let it happen again," and walked off.

I laughed most of the rest of the way to work. I wonder if he was trying to figure out what sort of ticket he could write -

"Driving in the wrong tempo?"

"Illegal parking to sing?"

"Insane diva gone awry?"

I wonder if I am now one of those stories about crazy people that police share when they are one-upping each other.

It was a great start to a Friday, I must say. I have sung lots of styles, but never so well as to attract the blues

Getting Out

I have spent a lot of time contacting companies and telling them to close accounts, providing information about where I am going and how to reach me with final bills, refunds (yes, there are a couple of those), and housekeeping documents. I started with a checklist of about twenty places, and that has grown to at least twice that number. Add to that the change of address that needs to go to subscriptions for journals, professional organizations, memberships, retirement funds - it adds up.

Once I have completed the process of pulling out of Connecticut, I will be ready to begin the process of setting up new accounts in New York, contacting the various services I will need and getting through the doors of doctors, banks, libraries, schools, stores, etc. It takes an incredible amount of energy and time to rip up roots and move, be transplanted.

It crosses my mind that the good Lord made the process of moving from earth to heaven *much* simpler for us - thank goodness! When I die, I will not need to send ahead for an apartment or give a forwarding address to anyone. I will have no need to transfer funds from one bank to another, change my insurance, establish relationships with services elsewhere, pack, haul needed klediments, or any of the myriad things one must do to move these days.

Well, I don't plan to make that final transition for some time. I'll just keep plugging away at the changes needed for this move, and be grateful for email which allows me to stay in touch with family and friends without fussing about how to take them with me!

Bumpy Morning

I was jerked dead bang awake at 4am with sharp pain in both sides - rats. What a bumpy way to start a Wednesday. Fortunately, a bit of well applied heat did the trick and I was able to get back to sleep for a bit before rising at 6am.

On the drive to work I listened to the CD Chris sent, especially the song "Jesus' blood never failed me yet; this one thing I know, that He loves me so." What a comfort. Especially right now with the house a disaster from Kiel being home and "repacking" and things in a state of temporariness.

The day proved to be productive, thank God. I was able to transition successfully a number of projects to my satisfaction, clear and organize the rest of my files, and attend several meetings, troubleshoot exceptions at the iDesk, attend to personnel issues and set a team meeting agenda.

And the pain has not come back so far. Good sign. Sometimes a bump is just a bump. Nothing major. I got a lot of bumps when I was a kid. One time at my Grandmother's house, when I was about seven, I slipped on the frame of an old truck parked in the circular drive and gashed my forehead open. It was a holiday, and my parents managed to convince an old country doctor to take a look. He stitched me up in his office without a lick of anesthesia. I was fussing and crying, and he looked over the top of his glasses and told me to quit being such a big baby and hush up.

It worked. I stopped crying and sat still. He stitched my cut. I went back to Grammas. He didn't even put a bandaid on it! My brothers, sisters and cousins admired my stitches for a minute, then we all went back to playing. No big deal. That old doctor did a pretty good job, too, because I have never been self conscious of the scar which is clearly visible, yet people tend not to notice it.

So hopefully this 'bump' is just a bump. No big deal. But let's not have a repeat of last night! I'm in no mood for a trip to the doctors.

Balance?

Driving to work this morning, I saw a student walking across the grass between two sidewalks, not really headed toward any particular building. It was early in the morning, so maybe she was just getting some exercise. She was listening to ear buds that snaked via a white cord towards her jeans pocket and presumably to an iPod device. She was completely oblivious of her surroundings, bopping to the music with her eyes closed, flipping her arms about and banging her head against nothing in particular. She looked happy in an odd sort of way.

What attracted my attention was her attire. She wore heavy, dark brown, thick-tread soled hiking boots that laced half way up her ankle. Her bluejean shorts dangled off her hips and hung big and loose to just shy of her boot tops. Her midriff was bare with her little rounded tummy punctuated by a diamond stud. Her light pink blouse (and I use the term loosely) had holes ripped in it everywhere, so many that I began to think perhaps it was a Salvation Army reject though I suppose she paid a lot of money for that look.

Her hair was dyed blonde with a lot of black root showing and hadn't been combed in a good while by the looks of it, and was not protected by any sort of headgear, though her sunglasses were big, thick, dark and expensive looking.

It just struck me as odd that her lower body was so carefully protected and covered up while her upper body was completely at risk and uncovered for the most part. It made me think about how people approach life. About how we ignore some things that seem important and overconcentrate in other areas and whether we have the right balance, and how we are distracted sometimes and not paying too much attention. Meanwhile, she skipped out of sight and I drove to the parking garage to face another day of sorting and tying up loose ends. And pondering about whether I have any sort of sensible balance in my life. I shall have to give that more thought.

Uh-Oh

Sometimes you don't realize what a precarious line you are walking. For both weeks in Wisconsin, I felt pretty good. But Sunday night, after returning from NY, I ended up in pain and feeling sick. I warned Kiel that I might have to go to the ER, took some pain meds, and curled up with a hot water bottle, hoping I didn't throw up.

My mind wanted to go down the "what if" paths - what if you need surgery? This pain is on the right side exactly where the tests showed a problem. What if you are too sick to finish working at UConn? What if you can't start at Roberts in July? What if you end up with no income, no insurance, no place to live?

Time to put an end to that! So I began quoting Bible verses. Focus on how great God is. Remember the anointing service. God is in control, He will not leave you abandoned, nor without resources. When you are afraid, trust God. I have a friend who told me "Jesus said, 'Don't be afraid.'" He was right. Whatever comes, God will get me through it well.

So I tossed and turned half the night, running to the bathroom when necessary, and took each minute as it came. Monday was my first day back at UConn after being in Wisconsin, and I was afraid I would be too weak and feeling too yucky to pick up the reins and give my all, not to mention realizing that it's a lot further to drive to the ER from Storrs than from Manchester in case things got ugly. I suspect most people would have taken a sick day. But I figure if I can stand up, I can manage by the grace of God. Beleive me, I know about days when you can't get up.

Turned out to be an easy day from a demanding schedule point of view. I was able to mostly sit and weed through piled up emails (all 687 of them) and adjust my calendar to reflect meetings and exit interviews and the like. I still felt yucky heading home to my other job, but managed to just do the basics and left the extras for another day when I am feeling better.

And the pain was beginning to subside. I figured after a good night's rest I would be feeling better. How like the Lord to send me some encouragement! A CD arrived from my friend Chris. He had taken the time to put together a recording of Comfort Songs that were especially significant to him. As I listened, it touched my heart over and over, reminding me that God is good, that He is in charge, that He will not leave me, that when life is out of *my* control, it is still under God's control.

The words were exactly what I needed. Two of the songs he performed himself, one of which he wrote. His artistry is gentle and relaxed, yet poignant. That's why I have asked Chris to be on the Board for Jairus House - he understands and has a heart of service which he honors with solid and dependable actions.

Well, I have ten days before I leave here, and if some unavoidable health issue crops up, it will be dealt with. I will do my part in eating the best I can and being careful not to overextend. The rest I will leave in God's capable hands. Just as with getting on those flights under adverse conditions, I will be where God intends for me to be when I need to be there, not point getting twisted in a knot about it.

Meanwhile, Chris' CD adds another piece about how to help cancer survivors. Maybe it's not just about giving them music generally defined as being comforting, encouraging, healing. Maybe it's also about people sharing what is meaningful to them and letting it speak to others. Interesting.

Happy Father's Day

Hi Dad;

Happy Father's Day!

Do you remember over a quarter century ago when I was attending Houghton College (back in the dark ages) and the rest of the family had moved to Texas? You had been trying to adopt a child from Korea, and had a hard time making all the paperwork settle. At long last, the plans fell into place, and you were to fly to Chicago and pick up your new daughter. It made such sense to combine finishing closing down the New York place with the trip to Chicago (as I remember it, a piano was involved somehow).



This was before the convenience of email, and as a poor college student, I only had access to a phone in the hallway. I mostly read the details in letters from Mom. That week was a bit bumpy weather wise. There was an unexpected snowstorm that was delaying travel and grounding planes.



That meant nothing to those of us ensconsced in our little ivory tower. Our whole world was going to class in the next building over, running for meals in the basement of the dorm, and sitting in the library reading until your eyes watered, scribbling little notes to yourself since there were no copiers. I was totally immersed in classes, oblivious to the outside world, aware only vague that the snow sifting past my classroom window was in fact pretty heavy. The professor was lines deep into the poetry of John Donne, engaging us as best he could in lengthy philosophical discussions, asking us to think beyond ourselves, to grasp experiences far beyond our daily worlds.



I was startled by a knock at the door - an unheard of thing! It could only be something horrible. I remember going sheet white when Dr. Basney called my name, pointing his chin towards the door. Visions of telegrams bearing tidings of someone's death flashed through my mind as I gathered up my notebooks and bookbag and threaded my way past the clunky wooden chairs with the little desktops, and exited the dormered room. Everyone was as uncomfortable as I.



There you stood in the hall, dripping wet from the snow in a bulky overcoat and galoshes. I blinked. "Dad?"



"Sorry, I didn't mean to get you out of class. I was passing through and thought I would stop and say hello."



It didn't register. You were in Texas as far as I knew. What in the time of need did you mean, you were passing through?? No body passes through Houghton. It's in the middle of nowhere. You have to walk five miles just to find a bus. How on earth did you GET there?



Quickly, I suggested we go to my dorm where we sat in the lounge. Conversation wasn't forthcoming. I had to work to pull the pieces from you. You were flying from NY to Chicago to pick up a baby. Your flight was grounded in Buffalo. You rented a car - whoa! RENTED a car?? You never spent money on luxuries like that. There was enough for basic needs, but nothing fancy. And in the middle of such a trip with a new baby and everything, I couldn't imagine what made you do it! Not only that, but once you got on campus, you had to figure out where I was. You tracked me down through the registrar who told you my schedule and where the class was being held. Unbelievable.



You spent less than a hour there. I offered you lunch, which you refused. You were worried about the weather and getting back to Buffalo. Before I barely had time to realize you had come to see me, you were gone, leaving me in a whirl of confusion and wonderment.



It was probably the first time I came to know how important I might be to you. Oh, I know you worked hard to provide for us, disciplined us when we went astray (more often for some of us than others), and took us on interesting vacations exploring the entire country via campgrounds and scenic routes. But that was general for the whole family. I had always felt I was just one of eight to you, another kid hanging around the place.



Your actions that day spoke volumes to me. I thought about it for a long time. Inspite of the fact that we hadn't had anything like meaningful conversation, you had sought me out for no other reason than to see me. And you had gone to great lengths to do so. A thousand hugs and kisses would not have convinced me of your love in such a meaningful a way.



From time to time, you do that sort of thing and it always catches me off guard, always makes me reflect for a long time. There was my visit to Texas when you took a day off work to take me to see the Alamo, the time when, after speaking at Michael's funeral, you gave me a hug - I collect these precious moments. You once told me that there are many ways to show love, and that it doesn't have to follow some prescribed or showy pattern.



It has taken me awhile to learn your language, but I have indeed heard you. Now if I could just figure out how to say it back in your lingo, I would be most pleased. Someday I may just figure that out. Until I do, you will have to settle for my way of saying I love you, which is to simply say, "I love you."

So, I love you, and have a great Father's Day.

Thanks.
One of many,
Appreciated for who I am,
Happy to be called your daughter.

Esther.

One Spare Minute

What a crazy day of travel! I just heard on the evening news that air travel this summer is more crowded than usual, with more complications, more regulations, more difficulties with security, and more trouble with unexpected storms than ever. I think they might have something there.

This morning I got to the airport right behind a bus filled with teenage girls on their dream mega trip to somewhere. And they were right behind a group of Asian visitors who could not speak English. What should have been a ten minute wait at the self check machines turned easily to a thirty minute exercise in frustration and humor, watching the airline staff trying to communicate directions via gesture and charades to smiling uncomprehending groups, herding unfocused teenagers, trying to prevent non terrorists from smuggling aboard everyday necessities whilst everyone's patience wore thin and tempers were barely held in restraint.

I kept watching the minutes tick away - getting a boarding pass, leaving my luggage at the x-ray machine, standing in a way too long line at the security check point. I have to admit, when I had a mere ten minutes before my flight departed, and the gaggle of girls in front of me started shreaking about taking their cosmetics out of their carry ons, strewing their luggage across the cordoned off aisle and rummaging through stuff willy-nilly, I got a bit huffy.

Eight of my ten minutes had expired, the front of the line had moved on, but the girls were still sprawled across the aisle waffling about with their possessions, seeking those elusive zip lock bags stuffed with shampoo, face cream, nail polish and the like.

I summoned my politest, sternest grown up voice and announced loudly, "Ladies, my flight leaves in two minutes. Either pack it up or let me by!"

They looked about shocked to discover that there were other people in the place, and a huge line behind me tapping their toes as well. "Oh, we're sorry!" several of them apologized. They kicked their suitcases out of the way, and we poured past while they chattered amongst themselves.

Fortunately, I was not held up going through, sliding out of and back into my sandals quickly, then racing down the hall to gate 66 exactly one minute before they closed the gate. One minute to spare. Whew!

You would think that would be the end of this story, but alas! Not so. We sat on the runway for a full half hour while baggage handlers rummaged through the aircraft's guts mangling stowed luggage while seeking bags for someone on an international flight who's paperwork had not passed muster. Again, I realized that my mere 45 minutes to transfer flights in Detroit were dwindling away due to someone else's issues.

I don't know if you have been to Detroit recently, but they finally finished their construction. Now you have to take a little tram from one part of the airport to the other. They do come every few minutes. But by the time I got off the now late plane, identified the correct gate, and ran up the escalator to wait for the little train, I had exactly four minutes.

Once again, things flowed smoothly, and I reached my new gate with exactly one minute to spare. Again, I thought everything would be smooth sailing just because I was in my seat. What was I thinking! Once again we sat on the runway for a good 40 minutes. I never did find out what the delay was. Someone must have left their gum in the lavatory I suppose, because one of the rest rooms had been cordoned off with yellow police Caution tape and could not be used.

I gazed about at my fellow travelers. Every conceivable age, race, educational level and financial background must have sent someone on that plane. We had a crying week old baby and a wobbling nonegenarian. We had tall, short, bald, braided, blonde, fat, slim, rude, pleasant, well dressed, barely dressed, sick, tan, quiet, and noisy! Quelle cross section!

Eventually, we drove the fifteen minutes to the actual runway (Detroit makes a lasting impression) and managed to get airborn. Somehow they made up the time, and we arrived very nearly on time. And I was GLAD to be home. I am sure that the good Lord kept things moving forward so that even when it looked impossible, I made the necessary connections and got home in one piece, including my luggage. And the nicest part was that on each leg of the flight, I was seated next to an unoccupied seat and had a bit of space.

One minute to spare. That's all that was needed. Now if my blood pressure will just return to normal, I can turn my attention to packing!

Last Day

I can hardly believe two weeks is up and today was the last day of class. We flew through some of the twentieth century sacred music at a breath taking pace, but each piece still held me in awe, moved me to tears in many instances, reminded me of when I had either sung or conducted many of them, introduced me to new pieces I long to perform, wish to introduce to others.

Tomorrow I will be on a plane headed back to chaos. Already my kids have been calling, asking about details, trying to figure out how to put the pieces together. I don't dread jumping in again. I know good things are coming. I'm a bit impatient to get going. Class is over, let's just leave! But tonight I will have dinner with my colleagues, most of whom will stay on for the last two week session (lucky them). I know the fellowship will be excellent.

Meanwhile, having been immersed in music from the past, I couldn't resist writing a bit of doggerel based on the idea of the Divine Office - the one for monasteries - where at certain times of the day, the monks would gather to sing a psalm, a hymn, say a prayer - invoke God's blessings, seek His mercy and grace - basically intertwine the activities of their lives with God. These 'services' followed a typical year, changing with the seasons and the events encountered.


Hours celebrated were:

Matins, beginning after midnight (often about 3 a.m.)
Lauds, at daybreak

Prime, at 6 a.m.
Terce, at 9 a.m.
Sext, at noon
None, at 3 p.m.

Vespers, at twilight
Compline, before retiring

I threw together a few thoughts about time at Concordia. I enclose it for your amusement - perhaps it may give you some small sense of life in Mequon concentrating on church music.

Concordia Hours

Matins (before daybreak)
In middle of night
If I awake in fright.
You, O Lord, are there.
You are Who I need.

For my pain, Your healing touch.
For my guilt, Your inexplicable mercy.
For my distress, Your incomprehensible peace.
For my sorrows, Your abundant joy.
For my loneliness, Your abiding presence.

Be ever near.

Lauds (at sunrise)
Sun peeks over mountains
Tickling birds awake.
Stars are playing hide and seek
With moon, for goodness sake.

Before my eyes fly open,
Before I think a thought,
Your world is calling to me,
"See the wonders He has wrought!"

Prime (6 am)
Crows cawing
Lawn mowers humming
Construction trucks beeping
Traffic whizzing
A siren wailing.

Day has begun.

In manus Tuas, Domine.
Into Your hands, O Lord,
I commit this day.

Terce (9 am)
Sing!
~black dots on a page
Sing!
~foreign words I do not understand.
Sing!
~I listen.
Sing!
~I mumble something.

BREAK

Sing!
~I almost remember the tune.
Sing!
~I repeat the words slowly.
Sing!
~I begin to hear the harmonies.

Class Over.

I walk down the hall to lunch.
I am humming.
It is the song.

Suddenly I understand.
I get it!
I stop mid stride.
I sing!

My colleagues laugh.
They join in.
Concert in the hall.
Glorious praise to God.

Wow!

Sext (noon)
God is great,
God is good,
And we thank Him
For this food.

Give us this day our daily bread.
By His hand we ALL are fed.

Lord, let me not eat
-unappreciatively
-greedily
-unnecessarily
-unhealthily
-in anger
-alone

May I be
-thankful for the bounty before me
-aware of the hungry and how I should help
-willing to share my blessings
-moderate in intake
-content
-purposeful
-with family and friends

Amen.

Nones (3 pm)
Students in classes,
Or in practice rooms,
Some taking lessons,
Assignments that loom.

Everyone's tired,
We all want a break.
Why can't they finish
Constructing that lake?

It soon will be over,
The weeks just fly by.
Once we leave campus,
We'll all heave a sigh!

Vespers (at twilight)
Will You meet me in the meadow
Where the fireflies flit,
As I wander toward the water,
Find a cozy place to sit;

Let the cool of evening soothe me
As the birds call overhead;
Feel the daily tensions drain out
Ere I head off for my bed?

I will listen as You tell me
All the things I need to know -
As You show me what You wanted,
Where I missed it, or was slow.

I will tell You I am sorry,
You will see my heart is true,
And I know You still will love me
For that's simply what You do.

Compline (before retiring)
Now I lay me down to sleep,
The dorm is quiet, not a peep.
Out in the chapel the organ is quiet
(Quite a change from its earlier riot!)

Lord, watch over this campus tonight.
Keep it safe until morning's light.
Bless all the students and faculty too.
Keep us all safe as You always do.

Worship on the bluff

I had seen signs posted for a Thursday evening "Worship at the Bluff" service since my arrival. They cancelled last week's due to bad weather, so I was hoping for a more cooperative nature this week. Sure enough, it was pleasant and sunny.

There were about 40 odds and ends of people who wandered over to the bluff for this short time of thinking about God. Some from the sponsoring church, some from the college, some from the community. Nothing fancy, though they did have a PA system and an electric piano which seemed a bit jarring for 'au naturel.' They sang a bit, read some Scripture, the pastor presented a short meditation, they ended.

It was a big buggy, but the lake was unruffled, a ribbony mix of light blue and silver curtained by a bit of haze. It was relaxing to hear the word of God and look out over the vast expanse of water unencumbered by unforgiving bare white walls and solid furniture. The pastor spoke of laying a solid foundation in life, using the reconstruction of the cliff as an example. I hadn't realized that they had scooped out the dirt that was near the shoreline because it was so fractured and fragile, and replaced it with 'better dirt' in order to make sure they had a solid foundation to set their big stones on to halt the erosion.

As I gazed out across the lake while the pastor spoke, it felt good to have such a vast vista. There was nothing 'set' about the scenery. The shapes and colors, while still being trees or lakes or whatever they were, remained in constant motion, leaves moving in the light breeze, birds flying across the sky, wisps of clouds slowly reinventing themselves, changing and yet not changing. Unending variety. How could one not believe in God when everywhere you look there is ample evidence that Someone with creativity and a good sense of humor put things in place for our enjoyment?

I don't know that the service was one of those internally-significant-to-my-faith kind of things. There was nothing said that struck me between the eyes, so to speak. The bigger sermon lay behind the pastor, eloquently speaking volumes about the Creator and His care for mankind.

It was over before I was ready to move on. Less than a half hour. I got up and walked over to a study fest for a class I have already taken, wanting to be there to support my colleagues, to stir up my memory, to contribute in some small way not by what I could say, but by just being there. And perhaps bringing with me some small part of the wonder of God of which I had just partaken.

Healing Service

What an amazing day the Lord planned!

I have received so many encouraging emails from many friends. One of my good friends composed a song which she shared - the text touched my heart at just the right moment. I have felt like the woman who, needing healing, reached out through the crowd to touch the hem of His garment. Here are my friend's words:


JUST A GLIMPSE
Oh for crumbs from the table of the one who is able
To satisfy the longing in my soul
For the chance to adorn with rich perfume poured upon you
To smell the fragrance of your robe and lose myself in awe

CHORUS:
Just a glimpse of you
Just a glimpse would do
A ray of hope into this weary soul
Like a candlelight
Shines its fire in the night
Simple, yet profoundly burning
The smallest flame to light this journey
Jesus, just a glimpse of you

[hear it at http://www.geocities.com/leahvanmaaren/music/justaglimpse.html ]

In class we heard and thought about and analyzed Bach's B Minor Mass, his St Matthew Passion,a few of Handel's anthems, a Haydn mass, the Lotti Crucifixus (there it is again!) - all sorts of tremendous, uplifting and Scripturally significant music.


Then at chapel, there was a baptism of a student from Taiwan, who is a business major here. The Parish nurses are here and the chapel was fuller than last week. It was a good service.

More class, then the healing service. Here is the order of service, though words do not do it justice.

A Service of Healing

June 13, 2007; Rogate Chapel
Concordia University Milwaukee

Prelude

O God, Our Help in Ages Past ( free improvisation)

James Marriott, organ

[O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come; our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home. Under the shadow of Thy throne Thy saints have dwelt secure; sufficient is Thine arm alone, and our defense is sure.]

Confession of sins
If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us.
But if we confess our sins, God, who is faithful and just, will forgive our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
I John 1: 8 and 9 (read responsively)

Silent reflection on God's Word/self examination

Let us then confess our sins to God our Father.
(read together)
Most merciful God, we confess that we are by nature sinful and unclean. We have sinned against You in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done and by what we have left undone. We have not loved You with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We justly deserve Your present and eternal punishment For the sake of Your Son, Jesus Christ, have mercy on us. Forgive us, renew us, and lead us, so that we may delight in Your will and walk in Your ways to the glory of Your holy name. Amen.

John 1:12; Philippians 1:6
In the mercy of almighty God, Jesus Christ was given to die for us, and for His sake God forgives us all our sins. To those who believe in Jesus Christ He gives the power to become the children of God and bestows on them the Holy Spirit. May the Lord, who has begun this good work in us, bring it to completion in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Amen.

O God be merciful to me ( J S Bach)

Dr. James Freese, organ

[Have mercy, my God, for the sake of my tears! See here, before you heart and eyes weep bitterly. Have mercy, my God. (taken from the St Matthew Passion)]


Word

James 5:13-16 (King James Version)
13 Is any among you afflicted? let him pray. Is any merry? let him sing psalms.
14 Is any sick among you? let him call for the elders of the church; and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord:
15 And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up; and if he have committed sins, they shall be forgiven him.
16 Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much.

Prayer

Touch us, tender God, with the holiness of Your Spirit. Let Your awesome power flow from one person to another and be felt as inward peace. Bring forth in us the confidence to speak Your work, the awareness to recognize Your healing work in our lives, and the courage to build Your kingdom of peace and wellness. Lay Your hands gently upon us and strengthen us to do Your will and sing Your praises. Amen.

Anointing

May you desire to be healed.

May what is wounded in your life be restored to good health.

May you be receptive to the ways in which healing needs to happen.

May you take good care of yourself.

May you extend compassion to all that hurts within your body, mind, spirit.

May you be patient with the time it takes to heal.

May the skills of all those who are caring for you be used to the best of their ability in returning you to good health.

May you be open to receive from those who extend kindness, care and compassion to you.

May you rest peacefully under the sheltering wings of Divine Love, trusting in God's gracious presence.

May you find little moments of beauty and joy to sustain you.

May you keep hope in your heart. Amen.

[forehead and palms of the hands are anointed with oil in the sign of a cross]

Prayer of Thanksgiving/Benediction

Pastor Steve Smith, ministering

Postlude
My Faith Looks Up to Thee/There is a Balm in Gilead (free improvisation)

James Marriott, organ

[My faith looks up to Thee, Thou Lamb of Calvary, Savior divine! Now hear me while I pray, take all my guilt away, O let me from this day be wholly Thine!/There is a balm in Gilead, to make the wounded whole; There is a balm in Gilead, to heal the sin sick soul.]

How gently Jim wove those two hymns together - God's healing, our reaching out. It was tremendously symbolic and moving. Everyone came to encourage me with a hug, a blessing, good wishes, and caring. How much that meant to me! I have been given a "small flame to light this journey" and a glimpse of Jesus, as my friend's song says. I am uplifted and filled with the love of God, encouraged and knowing that in the days ahead, whatever may come, I can look back to this moment in time and remember that God is at work in my life.

Tomorrow I will think about this day more. I want to be able to hold services for others who are dealing with cancer. Today has been an important step in that process. Thank you for your prayers and your caring.

And let me know if I can share this amazing love of Christ with you.

Kindness

Kindness comes in many different sizes, shapes, and colors. Last night it came in a tube of green goo. I am constantly amazed when people put themselves out to help, even over simple little things. It may seem nothing to them, but to the person they are helping, it may be everything.

I had gotten a bit too much sun. I forget that I am more susceptible to the sun after chemo, and even with spf 35, after only a short hour sitting under a hazy sky, I ended up with a sunburn on my shoulders and neck. Not that it hurt so much, but boy was I red! I had just briefly wondered if it would interfere with Wedneday's service.

Almost immediately, I connected with a colleague who volunteered to play for my healing service, and his wife noticed my sunburn and suggested I try some aloe vera - great suggestion! Quickly, her husband volunteered to run to the drugstore and get some for me.

Before I could barely protest, he was back with a glorious tube of green goo - what an amazing act of kindness! I am sure it was inconveninet for him to set aside precious practice time (especially when I am adding to his workload!) to make a special trip to town for one tube of aloe vera. Yet he seemed glad to do it, and it meant so much to me. Not that my burn was hurting terribly, but the aloe vera was so soothing and I know my night went much easier because of it. It was such an immediate response to a prayer I had not yet had time to pray!

Simple things. Significant things. Kindness. It comes in a variety of offerings. I am happy when God sends kindness my way. I am happy when He allows me to show kindness to someone else. I will remember green goo, sunburns, and a night time trip to town next time I am tempted to not go the extra mile for someone in need of a small touch of kindness.

Can't believe its Monday!

The week has flown past - we have moved from the Renaissance music of Palestrina, Josquin and deLasso (whose musics I have enjoyed afresh - so beautiful, conjunct, peace-filled) smack into the middle of the Baroque era - onward and backward to Schutz, Bach, Handel. I am amazed anew at their grasp of the spiritual, at how they put their faith and their feelings into their music in ways that still seem poignant and relevant. (Listen to Erbarme dich from Bach's b minor mass. . .)

How often do you get to live through 3 or 4 centuries in a week?! To see the growth, the development of not only the music, but the thoughts, the philosophies, the culture, the wisdoms? And somehow we have to get clear into the twentieth century, much less the twenty-first! In four short days.

Shoot, I have a hard time getting a week into a week. Especially right now. I want time here to hold still so I can wring every ounce of practice time, music study, immersion in spirituality out of the short few weeks I have. Yet I have to keep taking time out to rest. Afternoon snoozes, going to bed before 11pm. Its quite frustrating - I so prefer burning the candle at both ends. After all, when I am in the grave, I will have run out of time. This is the reality. Therewith shall I be content. Abraham sitting at the door of his tent awaiting a visit from God. Not occupied, not frenetic. Not caught up in the hectic daily struggles. Waiting. Just waiting.

I know that as soon as I return, there will be more packing, transition, travel, adjusting, getting settled into someplace new. Time will come soon enough for all that. Right now I have the time to prepare my heart for Wednesday's anointing service, looking to touch the hem of His garment in a meaningful way. Turn aside. Turn aside and be quiet or you will miss that still small voice, that burning bush, that star. Turn aside with me. Find a quiet place, be still before God. See what wonders He offers. You will not be disappointed.

Sunday

Sunday morning - time to worship God.

For a sanctuary, the bluffs, the creamy light blue of Lake Michigan, so smooth you could hardly tell where water ended and sky began.

For a prelude, the cheerful song of birds, crickets, treefrogs.

As I pray, cool breezes waft my heart towards heaven.

For God's Word, Scriptures memorized in my youth come to mind. Hymns run through my head.

For a sermon, the very majesty of the world God created passing in front of my face.

For fellowship, various community members come to see the progress on the cliff, some stopping to chat, others standing alone, looking out over the water in awe.

For communion, a bottle of clear life-giving water.

For meditation, all the time in this world and beyond.

The very presence of God lingered, interwoven with moments of peace, tranquility, timelessness, prayer, being.

For a postlude, 2 orioles chirruping their way up the side of the cliff to their nest in a tree near the statue of the two disciples in their tiny boat, adrift on a fragrant sea of lavender petunias high above the lake, looking towards heaven, expecting.

Expecting, as I am, great things from God. Surely He is here, within and without, at work to do His will in my life and others.

A good day of worship.

Music History Exam

Today was the day of the big exam. I had studied last night with a few friends, read the glossary terms a gabillion times, and thoroughly devoured Grout. I went to bed at 10 and slept without the dreams that have been traipsing through my night hours since arrival.

Bright and early, my eyes fly open. Good thing this test is in the morning, even if it isn't until 10. I do two loads of laundry. I am slow about my breakfast of cantaloupe and strawberries, no tea. I have acquired two roommates last night, and they are early risers too. We share shower times.
I look at my notes. No point in doing more studying. It is still only 9am, but I decide to wander over early and perhaps do a bit of practicing while I wait. Outside the dorm, I notice the little bonfire ampitheater, its three wooden crosses and little benches surrounding a blackened pit. I decide to sit on a bench for a bit and pray. The area is tucked beside the chapel of Christ Triumphant and Augsburg and Wittenberg dorms (can you tell this is a Lutheran campus?). I wonder how many lives have made important decisions circled about a crackling fire. I remember summer camp and evening devotions around campfires.

But there are wasps circling about, so I move on. I enter Siebert Hall, and hear singing. But wait, its Saturday! Who is singing on Saturday - and with guitars no less! I wander closer to the dining area, and to my surprise, suddenly encounter hundreds of nuns, seated at tables, singing. It is devotional. It is wonderful. A treat. I stand in the doorway, listening, watching. They are mostly older women, intent on the service. One woman notices me, and tiptoes over.

"Are you part of this?" she asks.

"No," I respond. "I am here for the Master of Church Music program. I have a test this morning."

"Oh. What is your test about?" she asks.

"Music history."

"I see - and the music here drew you in?" I nod. She touches my shoulder gently. "God's blessing on you my dear. God help you with your test."

I am blessed! The singing ends. I head down the hall towards the choral room, slide into an empty practice room, and sing hymns for half an hour, setting aside worries about the test.

Before I realize, I have completed the test (piece of cake) and am headed back to my room for the take home Choral Literature test. I hope the nun's blessing extends to a second test. . .

Storms

I didn't end up spending any time in the tunnels last night, even though the storm did come. The winds were high, it rained, but it seemed to me, in my isolated dorm room, it was no more than a normal though heavy rainstorm with a bit of lightning.

Afterwards, I heard that people had gone to great lengths to prepare for the possibility of the predicted hailstones the size of baseballs - car dealers had moved thier lot inventory to warehouses, etc. Better safe than sorry. Ounce of prevention worth a pound of cure.

So at this point, I would like to urge those of you who either have a family history of cancer or are that magic age of 50 to GO immediately - don't wait - and have a colonoscopy done. Or check whatever area necessary.

Just in talking with a classmate today I heard once again the story of a friend in stage 4 cancer for whom there is little hope, and she has a teenage daughter. She is trying experimental stuff in hopes of buying some time.

Sometimes the predicted storms blow buy without much effect. Sometimes you wish you had moved the car into the garage (-: Denial is not the same as wisdom. Just go make sure and be glad you live in a country where you can. Stage 1 is a whole lot easier than stage 4.

Happy Friday!

The Bluffs

Lake Michigan butts up against Concordia's campus, and I am drawn to the edge of the lake like deer to water. Most of this side of the lake is inaccessible because of the huge dropoff between land and water. Slowly the cliff at Concordia has eroded resulting in a loss of nearly 5 acres of land, hence the 12 million dollar project to stop the creep and save the territory, now worth much money.

(See here for more details:

http://www.cuw.edu/News_Events/site_improvements.html )

My first year here, it was no small feat to get close enough to the edge to see the lake. You had to battle unmown underbrush, hungry mosquitoes, fear of falling over the cliff - it took courage and perseverance to see the lake. Most of the students didn't bother. They had so much to do. But I could not help myself. It was useless to try and stay away. So I battled through for the precious glimpses of the vast body of water below. I went as often as I could.

Then they began construction, and erected an orange mesh fence to mark the out of bounds area. They mowed grass fairly close to the fence, so other than the gnats, bees, and mosquitoes, you could not only get closer, but after they mowed down the brush, you could see much more of the lake. A few other students ventured to take a look once or twice. My wont was to wander out by the bluff early in the morning every day while the dew was still on the grass.

I had hoped they would be done with the project this year, but alas! It is not quite complete. You can migrate half way down the cliff in slowly looping new white sidewalks past the ampitheater of pure white stone risers and sod steps, but the orange fence prevents you from reaching the bottom and the water. No dangling your toes in the icy brink this year!

What is it that draws us to water? Some innate primal urge? Some need to confront something so much bigger than ourselves? I couldn't say. This year I wait until classes are over and I have practiced and read and studied. Somewhere before or just after dinner, I wander out and gaze at the great depths, drinking in its beauty.

Today, I went early because they are predicting a tremendous storm complete with violent winds, hail, the whole bit. I expect this evening I may have to spend quality time in the tunnels. So I left around 4 from the entrance to Regents Hall, the dorm I stay in. They are working on installing city water and sewer pipes, so the road is all torn up, but at least it wasn't muddy. I wandered to the right towards the bluffs, realizing how pleasant the day still is in spite of the hot wind blowing against my face like some vapid dragon intent of roasting my skin and distracting me from realizing how much sun I am getting. There are a dozen kinds of grass strewn capelike across the shoulder of the bluff - clovers in three varities, quag grass, fauxwheat, piggrass, tall grass, short grass, dark grass, cropped grass where the deer have nibbled - all interwoven carelessly, dancing around the bald spots with no concern. I watch hummingbirds, monarch butterflies, dragonflies, and a zillion species of birds flit past me as I wend my way slowly down the sidewalks towards the water.

The lake is a rainbow of hues. Tan and muddy near the shoreline, whitish blending into the most gorgeous light turquoise, darkening to match the decor on the vintage sixties buildings, turn gradually into a cobalt blue, edging away into infinity. Down below, a steamroller is roaring back and forth on the dirt, disturbing the sea gulls and misting the air with dust.

I sit with my face to the sky, kissed by the sun, wishing I could get to the water and knowing I cannot. I am struck by how alike this is with my situation in life. When I was so close to dying last time with the cancer, I could see how wonderful it would be to be in heaven, away from the pain, the exhaustion, the treatments. Yet I could not just go. I could only sit on the shore and see the joy to come and wish I were there. Yet in the end, just as I did this afternoon, I tore myself away and walked back to the practice rooms, the library, my dorm to take up the work so in need of doing.

Perhaps next year I will be able to reach the lake. Perhaps next year the construction will be done. And perhaps it will be many years before I sit on the shore of eternity again, looking over. For now, there is work needful to be done, and I must get to it!

Chapel and beyond

I look forward to Wednesdays - we get to attend a simple yet significant chapel service in the morning. It was everything I remembered it to be. The organ prelude is such a treat since I don't often get to hear such excellent organ playing. These are often played by master's students as part of their program. The repertoire is always excellent. There is a welcome, a blessing, a reading of scripture, the singing of a hymn with all the decorum of a Lutheran service, a short meditation (always thought provoking), a prayer, a benediction.

The space is pretty amazing. How can you not know that this a a place dedicated to sacredness? Between the stained glass windows, the icons, the massive cross complete with sculpted body of Christ, the huge circle light crown of thorns, the mosaics, the candles, the altar with its acoutrements, the organ, the kneelers - you would have to be an alien to miss the fact that this space is dedicated to meeting with and worshiping God. Not totally Lutheran either since there are everywhere vestiges of the Catholic nuns and Mary graces still the places where she could not be conveniently converted.

It was a short step from entering to being in the presence of God. I found tears sliding down my cheeks - both relief to be there again, and touched by the grace and love of Christ. I knew then that the offhand idea of somehow asking for a prayer service for healing needed to be solidified. I sought Pastor Smith afterwards and made my hesitant request. Would he anoint me for healing in some sort of little service of healing?

Not just for myself do I ask, though of course, I want that. But I want to know the impact of such a time so that I can share it with others who are battling cancer and need the same thing. I want to know how it hits me, what has meaning, what irritates, how to organize it, who to include, who not to. The healing service I had with Pastor Faircloth before my initial surgery was so significant for me and has stayed with me for a very long time - carrying me through the hard parts for sure with a sense of God. This is a piece the church needs to put in place better. We are missing a chance to serve where it is desperately needed.

So we tentatively agreed on next Wednesday at noon in Rogate Chapel (pronounced ro - gat- tey), an intimate holy space that will be just right. He invited me to see if any of the students here would like to participate and I agreed that was a good idea, so I will ask. Its hard to describe how important it is to me to prepare for this special time. Not only my heart and my mind, but how can I say this? It is sort of like a bride preparing for her wedding or a communicant for her first communion. There is a specialness about this. It is a life event, no doubt about that. But not the usual birth/dedication of a baby joy or the finality of facing death. It is an inbetween state; serious, death on one side of you, life on the other, reaching out your hand to God to lift you and set you on a better path.

I look forward to this service of anointing and healing. I know I will carry it with me into the future. The doctors may not know what and how to help me, but God does. So I mark my turning to Him with this prayer service, knowing He will meet me there. If you are so inclined, I invite you to join me then from where ever you are. There is no distance in prayer. Thanks.