My first day as a godmother

As you may have read in my last post, I had the distinct privilege this weekend to become the godmother to my best friend Noelle’s beautiful daughter, Temperance. This is my first time being a godmother, and I am taking the responsibility very seriously. I have baptized several children in my two and a half years in ministry, and I generally meet beforehand with the parents and sponsors. When I do, I always ask the sponsors what that role means to them, and how they plan to carry it out. So it seemed only right to ask myself the same question.

I did a few things to prepare for my new role (see below if you are interested). As many baptisms as I have done, none of those experiences could really compare to participating in this new role. There were two other godparents, but both got snowed in in Indiana, so I was it. This left me with the job of holding sweet girl throughout the baptism, with all the various rituals that lead up to and follow it, and most importantly, of holding her over the font while the deacon poured water on her head three times, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Though Tem’s beautiful, satin, voluminous gown made this a bit tricky, especially for someone with very little experience holding babies (almost all of my baby-holding experience, in fact, has taken place at baptisms), I held her and didn’t drop her or make her cry once.

All throughout the baptism, as the deacon spoke and performed each step of the Sacrament, I whispered in Temperance’s ear what was happening. “That’s the cross of Christ… He’s talking about you now… Are you ready? We’re going to the font now… Welcome, child of God! God loves you so, so much!... That smelly oil is so you will remember!... That’s the light of Christ your daddy is holding – it’s in you, too!” It was the infant, real time version of what I usually do with parents in my pre-baptism visits.

This was my first experience with a Catholic baptism, and while I rather liked some of the steps that Lutherans have, over the years, either done away with or combined, the most striking moment of all was still that moment I held her over the font. As I leaned her back, her face scrunched up, and her chubby little arms flung out to the sides. There, in her long, white gown, arms outstretched, Temperance made the shape of a cross.

All my study of baptismal theology came flooding back.* “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?” (Romans 6:3) This beautiful child, cross-shaped, with her brow furrowed was being baptized into Christ’s very death, but just as the water touched her head the first time, the scowl went away, and was replaced with a face full of wonder. “Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a into a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.” (Rom. 6:4-5)

Is Temperance's reaction not a perfect metaphor of our faith? Our faces and lives become contorted, worried, concerned as we try to come to grips with the brokenness that surrounds us. We live in a fallen and sinful world, a world that may feel at times like the cross. But just as we experience so much death, we also encounter so much resurrection – and as we are touched with the cleansing, healing waters of baptism, and hear of God's grace, our faces are transformed into faces full of wonder. And we come up out of that water looking a bit baffled, relieved, and knowing that we have encountered grace and love beyond our comprehension. That's the power of the gospel!

I think I’m going to like being a godmother. J

Steps toward being a godmother:

Mostly basically, the role of the godparents or sponsors is to help to raise this child in the faith. How would I do this from a state away? One of the ways my parents helped me remember my baptism was on each anniversary of my baptism (Aug. 28) they lit my baptismal candle, which had my name on it and the date of my baptism. This was the candle that was first lit from the Paschal candle on the day of my baptism, symbolizing Christ’s resurrection. I still pull it out every year and light it and if possible, have a nice dinner to celebrate. So, step one of Operation: Godmother was to acquire such a candle for Temperance, a good one, more substantial than what the church provides, and it had to have her name on it. As a kid, the coolest part of that candle was that my name was on it. A trip to etsy.com, and my mission for a custom candle was accomplished.

A trip to the websites of various church publishers was my next step, to find some books to help Temperance remember what it means to be baptized. I found a couple good ones – one is a board book, where the text of the book ends up being a song you sing to her to the tune of “Go, My Children, With My Blessing.” The other is 101 ways to live baptismal promises in the home, with children infant to teenager. Both would do nicely to bridge the gap of that four-hour drive between us.

* Water pun intended!

Swim suit debut

Michael and I are in Cleveland this weekend so that I can serve as godmother to my best friend's daughter in her baptism tomorrow. I have been anticipating this day for about four years, since Noelle told me that they were going to start a family soon and they wanted me to be the godmother when they had a child. Tomorrow is the day, and I'm honored to be a part of it. Tomorrow will be a wet and wonderful day for Miss Temperance Holly Huddleston.

Tonight, I had my own important experience with water, in a very different way (and, I should add, not nearly as important as Temperance's will be!). I had looked on the website of the hotel we are staying in to see if they had a hot tub, and didn't see anything, but it turns out, they do! So tonight, when we checked in early after spending the afternoon with Noelle and her family, Michael and I went to a nearby Walmart to get cheap swimming suits that we could wear in that blessed pool of hot, bubbly water.

It didn't occur to me until we walked out of the store that this should have been a much more emotionally wrought occasion than it was. It was not only my first time wearing a swimming suit with my new rack, but also my first time buying a swimming suit with a totally new upper body. Perhaps the would-be anxiety about that was trumped by the anxiety that always surrounds buying a swim suit, especially in winter when Northeast bodies are not, shall we say, properly prepared for such exposure (*ahem*). So all I was thinking about was getting something with good coverage on the bottom (they had little shorts - yay!), and the fact that I didn't need something that would offer any support on top (since I now have self-supporting boobies - yay again!).

Of course, the cheapest suits were the little teeny-bopper type, and though support was not an issue, the first little top I tried on had some coverage issues - that little triangle of fabric was not nearly enough to cover the scars on my "sizeable" new breasts, and no amount of sparkles made it so. (Yes, it's true - although I would never consider getting a suit because it had sparkles on it, I did look at this option this time because I figured I'm probably only going to wear it once anyway, and the only person I know at the hotel is Michael so I didn't care who might judge me!) But then I found a top that was more of a band across the front and a little halter-top style tie, and it had enough fabric on the sides to cover my assortment of scars. Done!

So we went back to the hotel (and got stuck in a mess of snow in the parking lot - I pushed us out while Michael rocked back and forth, since the car is a manual and while I can manage in a manual in the best of conditions, this was not one of those times). Having thus earned our hot tub time, I put on my new suit, and realized I had not been at all traumatized by the experience of buying it. Michael was gracious enough to tell me I looked gorgeous (repeatedly), and to watch out for any scar slippage. I guess while nip-slip is no longer a concern, scar-slip now is. And we had a perfectly lovely time in the hot tub... and newbie boobies even looked good.

I know many women who get mastectomies need to get special swimming suits, so I'm grateful I'm not in that boat. I'm also grateful that, while I do still have a fair amount of self-consciousness about myself in a swimming suit (unfortunately, what woman doesn't?), I felt okay about it today. I guess I was just thinking about what my body went through to get to where it is today, and was so immensely grateful that not only am I here to tell the tale, but also that all things considered, I look pretty darn good. Suddenly my soccer thighs aren't quite as big a deal as they once were, and "a little extra" where I don't think there should be is just a sign of health and having enough, and lily white skin is because I take care of my skin and don't expose it to even more possibility cancer (that, and the fact that Rochesterians scarcely see the sun from October to April). The only person I really care what he thinks about how I look is the man who repeatedly tells me I look gorgeous when I feel the least gorgeous, and he really, truly means it. So what do I care beyond that? I certainly don't feel any need to defend this body - it has worked hard for its life, after all! So there, body image issues!


Oh, and just in case anyone was wondering... no, the implants don't float. :)

So, we went to the ER...

This past Wednesday, I was coming out of a visit with some parishioners, who had graciously fed me a delicious lunch (have I mentioned I love what I do?), and saw that I had four missed texts and two missed phone calls from Michael, not to mention a Facebook post asking me to call him. This doesn't seem good, I thought.

"I'm heading to the ER."

What? Come on...

Michael had awakened that morning with a stitch in his side. 20 years ago, he had a spontaneous collapsed lung, something that apparently tall, skinny, white guys are susceptible to. Furthermore, once you've had it once, you're very susceptible to it happening again. He was having some familiar symptoms on Wednesday, and then said the pain was starting to appear in his lung. I suggested he call the doctor, and he said, "Ah, it's probably nothing." But then he called anyway, and the doctor urged him to go to the ER.

And so there we were. I was in pastor mode when he called, and usually when people call to tell me they are in the hospital, I ask if they want me to be there, and so I asked Michael, very matter-of-factly, "Do you want me to come?" He sounded confused and said, "I mean, if you're busy..." I thought, "What am I thinking? Of course he wants me to come - I'm his wife! This isn't like a, 'Just thought you should know' sort of thing. Come on, Johanna." 

And so off I went to the hospital. I found I was remarkably calm about the whole thing - ignorance or familiarity, I don't know, but going to the hospital is no big deal to me anymore! Though I admit when I walked in and found Michael in a gurney in the hall, it was strange. He is supposed to be the strong, well one, the rock. I'm the one in the gurney. It was a role reversal I wasn't quite prepared for.

As I approached him I said, "Thought I was getting too much hospital attention, huh? Wanted some for yourself?" He said yes, that was exactly it, then added, "Aren't you the one who is supposed to be in the hospital bed?" Even though the ER was not my first choice for how to spend a Wednesday afternoon, it was nice to get to see Michael in the middle of a weekday! We chatted about our days, like we usually do, as we waited for the doctor. Poor Michael was in a lot of pain, feeling light headed and very anxious, and having trouble breathing (especially deeply). They eventually put him on oxygen to help all of the above, and gave him some heavy pain meds. We continued to wait for the verdict from the doctor.

Finally he came over and said the X-Ray looked great, and it wasn't a collapsed lung. Thank goodness! He suspected it was pleurisy, an inflammation of the lung lining or something like that, and did some blood work just to be sure. Nothing came up in that either, so they sent us home. Turns out pleurisy and a collapsed lung have similar symptoms, but the former would have required probably a week in the hospital, and the latter allowed us to go home right away. Yay!

Michael was a little embarrassed about such a to-do about something that ended up being pretty small, but I'm fine not to have any major medical event in our lives for a while!

Sermon: "Who wants to be an evangelist?" (Jan. 19, 2014)

Epiphany 2A

John 1:29-42

             Let me begin by asking you all a question. How many of you want to be an evangelist? Hmm, not many, huh?… Well I have a hunch why. My guess is that that the word “evangelist” does not have a positive connotation for most of us. Many of us have had negative experiences with evangelists. Maybe it’s because we don’t like someone trying to convert us. Or maybe you were downright hurt or offended by someone forcing their religion on you, because it was done in a hateful or judgmental way. Friends of ours have a 7-year-old who recently had such an experience. Five of his classmates told him at lunch that he needed to buy Bibles for his parents for their birthdays, and then added that he was going to hell because he didn’t believe in God. Second graders! That probably wasn’t the most effective way to share the good news of Jesus Christ with a classmate.

I’m sure you have your own stories that make you want to run the other way from that word, “evangelist” – and having some negative experiences myself, I don’t blame you! But our Gospel lesson today gives us a different look at what it means to be an evangelist.

First of all, let’s understand what that word even means. “Evangelism” comes from the Greek word for “good news.” Hence an evangelist is one who tells good news to someone else, and specifically the good news about Jesus Christ. So in that sense, the children at our young friend’s lunch table weren’t evangelists at all, because even though they may have thought their intentions were good, they packaged Jesus as bad, hateful news.

Okay, now with that understanding in mind, let’s look at our Gospel text and see what we can learn from it about how to be evangelists.

The first example we see is John the Baptist. What is he doing there in the first half of this passage? … First he points out Jesus, calling him “the Lamb of God,” and adds, “This is the guy I was telling you about.” Then he talks about him in relation to his own story and experience. “All this baptizing I’m doing – that was so you could know this guy.” And then he tells a story about him: “I didn’t know him before, but I’ll tell you what, what he was baptized the Holy Spirit came on him like a dove and stayed there. I saw it with my own eyes! God said that would happen to the Anointed one, and it happened to this guy, so that’s how I know he is legit.”

Well that formula isn’t so hard, is it? First he points to him, then makes a connection with the people he’s talking to. Then he connects further with the listener by telling a personal story. This whole little speech he gives – it isn’t fire and brimstone, it isn’t judgmental. It is simply telling stories, and hence, building a relationship. And so evangelism, too, is telling stories – sharing with someone about when you were maybe having a hard time, and what got you through was an experience you had with Jesus, or with the church.

So that’s one model of evangelism. The next example of how to be an evangelist comes from Jesus himself. This is the day after John’s little speech, and he’s talking to some guys and there walks Jesus. “Psst,” says John, “There he is again – the Lamb of God!” Well, the two men had been mulling over the story John had told the day before, and now they saw their chance to learn more and see for themselves. They follow Jesus for a while. Finally, Jesus turns around, sees them, and asks them, “What are you looking for?”

This response from Jesus has intrigued me all week. First of all, that John the Gospel-writer specifies that Jesus first saw them. That is really the first step in evangelism, isn’t it? To see the person or people you are talking to. Not to assume you know something about them and foist what you presume their need is upon them. But to see them, to behold, to take in who they are… and then, to ask: “What are you looking for?” If it were me being followed, I’d have asked, “Why are you following me?” or, “What do you want?” But these questions are more accusatory, aren’t they? Jesus’ question strikes me as a much more inviting question, asking them to share a piece of themselves. “What are you looking for?” Really, who is not searching for something? We’re looking for peace, for love, for resolution, for focus, for companionship, for guidance, for forgiveness… There is always something we are looking for.

And Jesus knows this. So instead of launching into a sermon or a lesson he thinks they should know, the first thing he does is see these two men, and invite them into a conversation. In fact, he doesn’t preach to them at all that day – instead he invites them to “come and see.” Come hang out at my house for the afternoon, he says, and we’ll get to know each other. Let’s build a relationship.

And then this next part is remarkable. These two men are so taken with their encounter with Jesus that they want to tell other people about it. So Andrew goes to tell his brother Simon about Jesus, and brings him to see. And this is perhaps the most effective type of evangelism of all: inviting! Think about this: when was the last time you went to something new all by yourself, without having seen it before or having heard anything about it? I can think of a handful of times I have done this, but even as a well-adjusted extrovert, I don’t like doing it. For example, I have been meaning to go play pick-up volleyball at Hot Shots ever since I moved here, but I never have. I think, “What if I don’t know anyone, or I’m dressed wrong, or I don’t know where to park, or it’s terrible and I have no way out, or I don’t know how I’m supposed to act and everyone will know I don’t know what I’m doing, that I don’t belong there?” If I knew there would be even one other person there that I knew, especially one person who had been before and whose lead I could follow, I would go. But I’m too scared and uncomfortable to go alone.

If I feel this way about volleyball, just think how someone who hadn’t been to church in years, or maybe had never been, might feel about just walking through the door one day by their own volition? And what a difference it would make to be invited, and to know even just one other person there?

            Did you notice that we know the name of one of the two men, Andrew, but the guy with him doesn’t seem to have a name? Perhaps that is so that we can put ourselves in that place. Having had an encounter with Jesus, we are in a position to invite, to be that one person someone knows, that one person that makes it safe to try going to church. So how do we go about inviting? We can follow the examples of John, Jesus, and Andrew: think about why it is meaningful to you to be a part of this church, and then engage in a conversation with someone, building a relationship. Have you ever thought about why you come to church here? Take a moment right now to think about it, and then tell your neighbor: what is something you love about your church, something you think is worth sharing with someone else. …

            You see, it isn’t hard! If you can do it here, you can do it out there. If you can think of one reason your church is good news to you, you can think of two. If you have one experience with Jesus that leaves you feeling better than you would have without him, you can tell someone else about it. Just as Jesus invites people to “come and see” what he is about, we are called to do the same.    

            Let us pray… God of grace, you saw us and invited us into life with you. Give us the courage to do the same, so that more people might come to know your love. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: You are loved. You are enough. (Baptism of our Lord, January 12, 2014)

1^st Sunday after Epiphany – Baptism of our Lord

January 12, 2013

Matthew 3:13-17

            There was a first grade teacher who was frustrated in her job, and seriously thinking about quitting. She changed her mind one night while attending a night class at the local university. This is her story in her own words:

A friendly woman who sat next to me leaned over and said, "Say, I met an admirer of yours the other day. I was at the bus station waiting for my son, and was noticing a Hispanic woman and her little daughter waiting for a bus. The mother didn't speak much English, but I began chatting with the little girl. She told me they were on their way to Colorado to join her father. She was now in the second grade, and she mentioned the name of her teacher. Then she opened her little purse and took a worn picture from it and said, 'But this is my very favorite teacher. I really love her!'"

My friend went on, "I looked at that picture and was astonished that I knew the person she showed me. It was you!" "Do you remember her name?" I asked. "Yes, it was Adelina." Suddenly Adelina's little brown face began to emerge in my mind. Adelina. Just another little first grader. But she said, "This is the teacher I really love." She had shown my picture to a stranger and said, "This is the teacher I really love." All the way home that night that phrase boomed and throbbed in my mind: This is the teacher I really love. With that kind of approval, I resolved to change, not my profession, but my attitude.

            How powerful such simple words can be: “This is the one whom I really love!” They are words that really can change our attitude – so much of our attitude, after all, is shaped by how people treat us. That’s why the trend now in teaching, parenting, and leading is to offer praise and approval, in hopes that this will encourage people to do good work.

Unfortunately, critical words have the same power, maybe even more. How often our whole day might take a turn for the worse if just one person criticizes us or says something mean. I’m so susceptible to this that if even a stranger honks at me while I’m driving, even if I didn’t do anything wrong, I start doubting myself and wishing I had done something differently so as not to have upset that person. We can do our best to let problems and criticisms slide down our backs like rain off a duck, but somehow, they can still find a way to bother us.

            Why is that? Brené Brown is a researcher at the University of Houston, and the focus of her research is vulnerability and shame. She argues that we are a culture deeply affected by shame, at every age. She defines shame as something different from guilt. Guilt, she says, is, “I did something bad.” Shame, however, is, “I am bad.” It is a belief that there is something about us that is unlovable, wrong, and worthless. So any time someone says something to us that affirms this deep-seated and destructive fear, we readily believe it. “You see?” we think. “I am bad. I was right. I’m worthless. I don’t deserve love.”

            So how do we combat these feelings of inadequacy, this sense that who and what we are is somehow lacking? How do we move from scarcity – the belief that we are not enough, not smart enough, skinny enough, organized enough, tough enough, you fill in the blank – to the knowledge that we are enough, that we are worthy of love?

Today’s Gospel lesson about Jesus’ baptism gives us a start. There are many images we use when talking about baptism: forgiveness, cleansing, incorporation into the church, dying and rising with Christ. But I have always been particularly drawn to that last part of Jesus’ baptism, the part where the voice comes from heaven and says, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” In a world so affected by shame and unworthiness, who doesn’t long to hear those words: “You are my child. You are loved. I am pleased with you.” They are words of assurance. They are words of promise. They are words of love.

And most powerfully, they are words we hear not only in Jesus’ baptism, but in our own baptism as well. They speak to hearts that often ache with the pain of inadequacy, with the fear of not being enough. “You are my child, my beloved,” God says to our aching hearts. We don’t always feel much like God’s children, do we? When we’re in despair, when we are having doubts, when we mess up big time and hurt ourselves or people we love, it is hard to feel like God’s children, much less like God’s beloved children! Yet even so, God says in baptism, to us and to everyone who can hear, “This is my beloved child, with whom I am well pleased.”

You see, in God’s eyes, we are enough. We are loved. Yes, we mess up; yes, we fall short. We are guilty of these things. But God’s love never fails us.

            Today at St. Martin we have the joy of witnessing the baptism of Aerianna. Before a baptism, I usually meet with the parents of the child to be baptized and we talk about what it means, what happens in this sacrament. At age six, Aerianna was able to be a part of this conversation as well. Among other things that we talked about, I told her that her baptism is God’s way of saying, “I love you so, so much and will never let you go! You are my beloved child!” Aerianna was quick to point out that she already is a beloved child of God, and has been all along. Tuché! She is absolutely right, and I told her so: she has been loved by God even since she was still in her mom’s belly.

So what changes in baptism? Why do we bother to baptize, and why should we bother to remember and talk about it? One reason is that in baptism, God makes that truth public – just like when Jesus was baptized and a voice came from heaven saying for all to hear, “This is my Son, my beloved, in whom I am well pleased.” Today, God will say very publicly for all to hear, “Aerianna is my daughter, my beloved, in whom I am well pleased.” And God said that to us in each of our baptisms, calling us by name, and telling us, “I love you, you are mine, and you are enough.”

I started this sermon with a story about a 7-year-old who pointed to a picture of her teacher and said, “This is the one I really love.” This heartfelt declaration changed the teacher’s whole perspective on life. If those words are so powerful out of the mouth of a child, how much more so out of the mouth of God? If we took time every day to really hear these words, how might we change?

Maybe some of you made New Years resolutions this year. By now, halfway through January, maybe you have already given up on them! If that’s the case, or even if it’s not, I have a new one for you. Tell yourself at least once every day, “I am God’s beloved child. I am enough.” Let’s practice right now… Say it to yourself first thing when you wake up. Say it right before you fall asleep. Say it whenever you start to doubt yourself.

Say it again and again, brothers and sisters in Christ, beloved children of God, because it is true. God made you. God became like you in order to better know you. God promised to be with you in all things. God took on our humanity and even died and rose again for your sake so that you need not fear death. You are God’s beloved children. God is pleased with you. You are enough.

Let us pray… God of love, help us to remember the promises you make at baptism, to live into those promises, and to remember every day that you created us good, and you love us no matter what. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

PALS

I have been thinking that I want to get involved volunteering somewhere locally. I've been mulling this over, thinking about where I'd like to dedicate this time, but nothing has struck me as it.

Until I get an email some time ago saying that the Breast Cancer Coalition of Rochester (BCCR) was having a PALS training. PALS stands for Peer Advocate Lending Support. It's a program where BCCR tries to match up a person newly diagnosed with breast cancer with someone who has been through breast cancer before, striving to match up the particular diagnosis and treatment options as well as life situation and particular personal needs. I was assigned a pal, for example, who had had a baby and breastfed her after breast cancer (shout out to Amy!), because I mentioned that one of my concerns was being able to breast feed. (Now that this is no longer an option for me, Amy said I could get a new pal if I wanted, but she has been so helpful to me, I said I was happy just keeping her as my pal!) Having a young woman with similar life goals to mine that I could talk to completely confidentially and without judgment was so important to my mental and emotional health, and on top of that she is a wealth of knowledge about resources. We've had a couple long talks, but in addition she came to both of my Bye-bye Boobie parties and also our wedding. I consider her a friend, and she is even Facebook friends with several of my friends now!

So my experience with PALS was very positive. I also really appreciated BCCR's occasional Young Survivor Soirees - four-times yearly events for women with breast cancer who identify as "young" (generally under 50). Although I am still usually the youngest by several years at these events, talking to other pre-menopausal women with breast cancer was so helpful. There aren't nearly as many resources out there for young women with breast cancer, and we have a unique set of concerns to deal with.

All of this came together with the decision that I should become a PALS mentor. Today I attended the training, and I'm very much looking forward to it. It uses a skill set I already have from chaplain and pastoral training and experience, I'm a good listener, but obviously also very comfortable sharing stories and personal information as needed, and best of all, it allows me to use my unique experience to help others going through something similar. I hope I will be able to be helpful to someone as the program has been so helpful to me!

And now, for one of my favorite poems, by Emily Dickinson:

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain. 

Having time

I decided that as a part of my effort not to be "busy" all the time, I would, whenever I felt tempted to say I am busy, instead say to myself, "I have enough time." Yesterday was my first "day off" that I have tried to put this in practice. I had some chores I wanted to get done, so normally I would want to hop up and start doing them, but instead, I stayed in bed to read. I got up and made myself a nice breakfast. Since it was much warmer yesterday than previous days, I put Klaus in his little hoodie and took him for a short walk, which I loved and he hated ("Mom, there's half an inch of water on the ground - this is gonna make my paws wet!"). He was too happy to get back home.

So I dropped him back home, and then went on a longer walk: to the grocery store. One of the reasons Michael and I loved this house was that it is walking distance to a lot of good stuff, including our beloved Wegmans. And yet, we have never walked to Wegmans or much of the other nearby stores (oh, once to House of Guitars, and I walked to a nearby deli once), because we are always too rushed or too tired. So now was the time: I grabbed my list and an empty grocery bag, and off I went the three or so blocks to the store.

I must say, walking was so much more glorious than driving. I saw the reflections of trees in puddles. I smelled so many smells, some really unexpected. I saw people. When I walked home, it was noon, and the bells from a nearby church were peeling. I actually had an experience of my neighborhood. None of those encounters would have happened from the car. I saw a lady in the store with a little cart for walking her groceries home, the sort you might see at the Public Market. I considered acquiring one myself, so that I could grocery shop this way even when I have more than one bag worth of stuff to buy.

When I got home, I cooked. This is the first significant cooking that has been done in our kitchen since we bought the house, amazingly enough. We've done a little bit here and there, mostly either breakfast or fast dinners, but this was the first full meal, where I actually used several dishes, and both the stove and the oven and even the toaster oven all at once. Two new recipes! There was this wonderful sense of feeling settled. Here I was, cooking in my kitchen, in my house, preparing a meal for my husband to come home from work to. I made the table look nice, lit candles, the whole bit. It was unusual for us (so far), but at the same time it felt so normal. It was the sort of things normal people do, not what rushed people enduring major life events do. And I felt so accomplished for making what turned out to be a pretty darn good dinner! (Here's what I made, if you're interested. Lentil mushroom "meatballs" on pasta with red sauce.)

All of this was made possible because I decided to start the day not with, "I have so much to do and not enough time," but instead with, "I have enough time. I can enjoy what I'm doing today." A gift indeed!

***

While I walked and cooked, I listened to an "on being" podcast, an interview with Eve Ensler. If you are not familiar with her, she is the author of The Vagina Monologues, and has spent a lifetime gathering women's stories from around the world. While she was in the Congo, hearing those women's stories, she was discovered to have uterine cancer, and for the first time she had to inhabit her own body, and the world, and not just hear about how everyone else had done so. Her story is told in her memoir, which I haven't read but may now, but her reflections on her experience with cancer were quite interesting. I may go back and listen to the podcast again before I comment further, but as a teaser, one thing she talked about was the use of the word "fighting" when talking about cancer treatment, as in, "I'm fighting cancer." She found that language to be unhelpful, because she experienced cancer not as a time to go head-to-head with an enemy, but as an opportunity to become more fully herself. I totally get that, and feel my experience is similar. I may comment more later...

I also listened to interviews with Walter Brueggemann on the prophetic imagination, and one with Phyllis Tickle and Vincent Harding, on racial identity in the emerging church. Both were fascinating, and I encourage you to listen!