Count Down to Honduras

Just thrilled for the opportunity to share this year's Honduras experience with Jennifer!  When we returned last September, she expressed a desire to go with us in 2011.  To be quite honest, I figured this was just a passing fancy and that at some point along the way, she'd come up with a legitimate reason not to go.  Just goes to show what I know!  In fact, Jennifer has had a few hurdles to overcome in making preparations for our departure on Saturday. Malaria meds and  Maddox's Tuesday surgery to remove a corn cob from his intestines have taken her on an emotional roller coaster ride.  Thanks to Thais, she has now the best malaria meds for her system and  I pray as Wednesday unfolds, her beloved four-legged child will begin perking up.

It seems that the gods are conspiring to challenge Jennifer's desire to make this trip...I'm just saying, bless her heart!

Poverty: Face to Face

Just 25 miles north of the affluent city of Madison is this home in rural Camden, the site of our home visit on Tuesday.  This ramshackle house is home to Annie Lee, her mentally handicapped son, at least one daughter and her 3 children and any other family member who might need a place to stay.  Despite broken windows, walls & floors with gaping holes, only one air-conditioned room, no shower, tub or sink in the bathroom and very little food in the pantry, this home was clean, neat and flowing with love and pride.  As I took photos and Karen chatted with Annie Lee and Keith, her 10 year old grandson we heard no complaints or special requests for assistance despite the triple digit heat and very little food in their pantry.  Well, that's not totally true--she did fuss a little about the snake that was eating her chickens' eggs the previous day.  Even then, Annie Lee's sweet spirit and beauty shone through her exasperation and the sweat dripping from her brow.    As we began to walk away from Annie Lee's dilapidated front porch, something red protruding from a gap in the corner wall caught my eye.  It was the remnants of a small  Bible whose crumpled pages helped to fill some of the empty space in the house's wall.  That image grabbed my attention, but as I read the words on the bottom left hand page, I heard a sermon, a calling, a command.  Jesus' words from that page said, Love God with your all your heart, soul, mind and strength.  Love your neighbor as yourself."  I am serious, that exact scripture was printed on the page in black and white! This home visit not only, provided a first hand reminder of the extreme poverty in our community, but  on this hot Tuesday morning, it also allowed me the opportunity to look poverty in the face and call her by name:  Annie Lee, my neighbor.  An experience that continues to weigh heavy on my heart.

Love your neighbor as yourself.  Annie Lee  does not live next door to me or even in my neighborhood, but I'm certain that she and countless other "Annie Lee's" are the neighbors that I am called to love, not just in words and theory, but through my actions.   "I'm just saying"...my love must move me beyond these feelings of concern and a heavy heart.   Loving my neighbor must move me into action as I seek to find ways of making a difference in the lives of  those neighbors I am called to LOVE.

MadCAAP provides me with that opportunity to serve and to share with others those same possibilities.   It's remarkable how I have stumbled upon my passion in living.  Thanks to Josh for his finger-pointing words of wisdom; to Johnny for steering me in the right direction and to Karen who continues to open my eyes to the neighbors I'm called to love.

Heart Changes

Change Your Heart

Since the beginning of this year, I have spent many hours working on plans for my newest MadCAAP project, our Helping Hands Garden.  Meeting with Master Gardeners to discuss soil testing, soil amendments, crops to plant and how many yards of this or that to order has certainly broadened my base of knowledge and pushed me to step outside my comfort zone.  I’ve talked with dump truck drivers, fencing experts and even learned about gin trash. So what does this have to do with Joel’s directive that spoke so eloquently to me on Ash Wednesday? Rend your heart not your clothes, kept bringing images of tearing the heart or clothes to shreds or tiny pieces.  I’ve always had difficulty feeling myself to be this horrible, no good, very bad person…I do not view myself as perfect or without shortcomings, but shredding my heart to change it, just did not resonate with me.  As I puzzled over what it meant for me to engage in this heart changing exercise, an image from the garden project popped right into my thoughts…the image was of the dump truck emptying its contents into a pile and driving away.  Next my thoughts lit on my kitchen garbage can whose bag of overflowing trash must be removed and put outside so that a spotless new bag can be placed in the receptacle to start the process over again.  My heart and spirit have become stuffed with anxiety, frustration, sadness, disappointment, anger, expectations and maybe a smidgen of despair over the past month and I found myself wanting to run away or hide.  There was the continuous feeling of sadness…that I could not escape but the dump truck/garbage bag images have provided me with an idea that totally makes sense as a pattern to follow in rending my heavy-laden heart.  I have two images to pave the way for this change:  the bed of my dump truck shaped heart, slowly being raised to the point where all of its contents come sliding out into a landfill of sorts or the image of drawing the strings of the bulging garbage bag, tugging it from the can's clutches and removing it to a more appropriate receptacle.   Either way, my heart is changed and cleared of clutter for a time.

Rend and Amend

While attending the Ash Wednesday worship experience at Northminster Baptist Church, two words, one from scripture and another from prayer, captured my attention.  From the book of Joel: “rend your hearts, not your clothes” and from a prayer:  “…amend your lives”.  “Rend and Amend”, two rhyming words that I scribbled on my bulletin to insure that their thought-provoking combination of letters would not have vanished from my memory by the time I got home.

And so today, I begin that pondering:

Vaguely I remember from Bible teachings that rend is often used in reference to ripping or tearing of clothing as a sign of great repentance and sorrow.  Joel’s words command the ripping and tearing of one’s heart, which is a deeper and more life-altering action than a command to rip apart one’s clothes.  One demands painful introspection while the other requires actions that might possibly result in a mental evaluation or at least some strange looks.  The more modern translation, The Message says, “change your heart, not just your clothes”.  Again, a call to a more dramatic action to alter, transform or amend one’s being from the inside rather than from the outside.  Major difference between changing or rending one’s heart and changing or rending one’s clothes! 

These words are significant to me because I went, searching for god’s voice, in a setting that was intentionally unfamiliar, to which I brought no expectations, prejudices or emotional baggage. 

…and I was able to hear these two words for my journey.  “REND & AMEND”

Thanks, Steve & Zina for your open invitation!  and thanks, Johnny for humoring me, yet again.

What if...

Enjoying an early morning labyrinth walk, I found myself accompanied by a meandering Pete, frolicking Annie and meowing Orange. Once I found my seat in its center, only Pete remained to join me in quiet contemplation. Annie’s mischievous ways had long-since caused Orange to head for higher ground and so Pete and I communed with nature’s beauty and God’s creative spirit. Eventually the following question appeared in my consciousness: “What if God is a big black dog?” Go ahead and chuckle and think I’m a bit sacrilegious, if you must…but really! Pete was there with me in the beauty and quiet of my labyrinth…not licking or breathing on me…just perfectly content to share that time and space. A companion, who quietly hangs out and unconditionally loves.

Enjoy the Sunshine

I can hear my mama's voice saying, "get outside and enjoy this beautiful sunsine...and don't slam the door on your way out!" It's been decades since my pony-tailed,freckled-face self followed my mama's urging to head outdoors to play with Thais, Becky, Susan and Steve; but sunny days like we've experience lately always bring my mother's admonition to mind. It's okay to work at the computer or watch television or read on cold or rainy days, but remaining inside on days of bright sunshine and warming temps is just unacceptable. So outside for me, it has been...spiffing up my potager, pruning my roses and wandering around Miller Hill to discover another new daffodil brightening the earth's brownness with its vivid yellow self. My daddy loved to pick the first daffodils for Mama and put them on the kitchen table. Mama always commented that Munny, my maternal grandmother, called daffodils the harbinger of spring. My mother said that when she saw the first daffodils, she knew there was hope for another year of living. so get outside and soak up the sunshine, pick a handful of daffodils and focus on the beauty and promise of another spring...another season of living.

February's Sad Drizzling Gray Skies...

Sometimes I feel as if it is raining in my heart & soul...a slow, silent drizzle that is imperceptible to those around me but seeks to draw my spirit into its damp lonely sadness. For far too many years this sadness overshadowed my living and I struggled to survive its suffocating power; but gradually my spirit began the process of healing and the the showers of sadness began to appear less frequently. At first I was fearful of celebrating its absense, lest the sadness return with redoubled fury...which I must confess, happened for more seasons than I care to remember. These days, "life is good" and so much more fulfilling and happy than I could ever have imagined; The silent sadness creeps into my heart very rarely now; but today brings one of those moments when I find myself recognizing the emotions of that slow silent drizzle. Taking another deep breath, I know that it will not remain with me or me within its grasp forever; That is reason for rejoicing amid the drizzling sadness.

"gardening is an instrument of grace"

Entering my Potager*, you'll notice a sign that I created using the words of the above quote. Its wisdom has resonated in my living for well over a decade. I've spent countless sweaty hours on my hands and knees in various gardens, digging, planting and weeding, while at the same time, my thoughts were swirling in search of understanding and answers to life's perplexities. I gardened, not because I was following some therapist's prescription for healing but because I experienced such joy in observing seeds sprout and grow. Direct or immediate answers did not come as a result of this garden therapy, but slowly almost imperceptibly, a sense of peace began to permeate my spirit. I guess, I'm saying, that grace may come through many different experiences, but in my life, I have experienced grace as a result of time spent on my hands and knees, digging in the dirt.

*(a French word for vegetable/flower garden)