Blessed are the Peacemakers

Today at church I was asked to do a reading during the song "Let There Be Peace on Earth."  Here's what I wrote.

 He came into the world as Prince of Peace

And called us to be peacemakers,

Said we would be blessed.

And so,

Out beyond the right-doing and wrong-doing

Of all the types of people we are–

Liberals and conservatives,

Rich and poor,

Strong and weak,

Wise and foolish—

Out beyond all our differences

There is a field.

“I’ll meet you there,” the peacemaker says,*

“And there we will walk and talk

And find a way forward.

There we will do the hard work of making peace.

And once we make that peace between us,

Once we build our bridge,

We will BE the peace we seek,

And we will be called Sons and Daughters of God.”

*This quote is based on thoughts from a poet named Rumi.

A Happy Anniversary

On the Friday after Thanksgiving thirty-nine years ago, before there was such a thing as Black Friday, Phil and I got married.  

At church last week, after everyone sang “Happy Anniversary” to us, someone asked Phil how long we had been married.  He answered quickly, “Thirty-nine.  Twenty-five of them happily.”  

“Sounds about right,” I chimed in, and we all had a good laugh.

When I’ve told others about this exchange, a few friends seem a little appalled. Most often people have asked if I know which years were the happy ones and if they were consecutive.  The answers to these questions are we are pretty aware of the years that were the hard ones and which ones were happy, and no, they weren't consecutive.

The truth is Phil and I feel very fortunate to be as happy as we are at this point in our marriage. When we think about being happy for two-thirds of our marriage, we figure we’re ahead of the game, and much more fortunate than a lot of people, whether they stayed together or gave up on it altogether.  

When we took our wedding vows we said, “For better or worse,” and for sure, there’s been a lot of both.  So today begins our fortieth year together, and we spent it with Madeline, laughing and playing.   I expect to add it to the happy side of the marriage ledger.  

Seeds

Just a weed,

            But even a weed can tell a story.

Dried leaves and stalk

Stand alone

As autumn consumes them.

And yet

Tufts of white spring from branches,

Seeds

Ready to fall like snow

When cast on the wind.

Our fallen ones

Left seeds behind;

Our fallen ones

Left seeds,

And already

Life is springing from those seeds.

But in truth,

Those we have lost

Are seeds themselves,

Planted in death,

Ready to put on immortality,

To be clothed in incorruption,

Awaiting the resurrection

That is sure as the spring.

Hallelujah Story

I've told this story before, but I wrote this piece for my creative writing class and thought I'd share it here.

Praise the Lord.

Praise the Lord from the heavens;

    praise him in the heights above.

² Praise him, all his angels;

    praise him, all his heavenly hosts.

³ Praise him, sun and moon;

    praise him, all you shining stars.

⁴ Praise him, you highest heavens

    and you waters above the skies.

Over the past week my daily readings had brought me to these words and others in the last few chapters of Psalms that all call for praise. They seemed to jump off the page at me. How could they not!  I sat every day in my cabin on the shore of a pristine lake in a remote part of northwest Ontario and watched the most amazing things: an eagle swooping to the surface of the water to catch a fish, a beaver slapping its tail to warn others, and loons floating along, diving and surfacing from time to time.  The stillness and beauty of the lake was working on me.

As I returned to the words of the Psalmist, the song, “Shout to the Lord” came to mind. 

“When have I ever shouted to the Lord?’ I thought, and immediately I knew what I had to do. 

It was early in the morning, the dawn of a bright and sunny day.  Fog lay in a thin layer on the surface of the water.  The air felt cool and crisp as I walked out the dock and climbed the ladder to the top of the high dive.  It was so still that I felt very nervous about breaking the silence with my shout. But I was determined.  I raised both my arms to the heavens, lifted my face to the sky and yelled, “Hallelujah!”  The echo reverberated from the island in the middle of the lake and returned to my ears.

Later I decided to share this story with my friend in the next cabin.  She was surprised and said, “You know, I told John I heard someone yelling outside this morning.  I looked out and saw you on the high dive.  But I didn’t think it could possibly be you shouting.”

And just like that, my identity changed.  I went from being someone who wouldn’t even be suspected of having shouted to the Lord, to being famous for this in our little camp community.

Over the past few years I’ve shared this story many times. Often I am leading a group in an outdoor chapel at one of the awe-inspiring settings around the camp. We might be at Bear Track, on a high peak looking out over the lake below and watching the pinks and reds of the sunset play against the sky.  We sometimes travel down a short trail to Sunset Point where we climb on large rocks that jut out into the lake and give us an amazing perspective.  But wherever we are, we lift our hands together and raise our voices in unison.

“Hallelujah!  Praise the Lord!” 

Going Back to School

I did something these past couple of months that I hadn't done in a long time.  I took a class.  It was an online class in creative writing.  This has been a year of growth and discovery in my writing, and when this class became available I thought I'd give it a try.  The teacher is Dr. Jonathan Rogers, and the class is called "Writing Close to the Earth."  I found out about this class through the connections I made at the Hutchmoot conference I attended last fall. (I'm going to Hutchmoot again next week, and I can hardly wait!)

Here are a few of the things I learned from Dr. Rogers:

1.  The class was called "Writing Close to the Earth" because Dr. Rogers wanted us to really explain with all our senses what we were experiencing.   He wanted us to take our readers into the moment and let them see what we see, hear what we hear, feel what we feel.  It has really helped me be more aware of being in the moment and think about how to describe what I am experiencing.

2.  On each assignment I got pretty much the same feedback (I know, I'm a slow learner).  I always explained too much, told too much of the backstory to what was going on.  I am learning to let the actions of the moment speak for themselves.

3.  Although some people might be challenged to create a 500 word story, I often found it difficult to confine myself to that number.  Dr. Rogers told me that was the point-- to make me have to really think about what to include and what to leave out.

4.  Every week there were reading assignments related to the prompt we were to write about for that week.  For the most part, they were wonderful things to read.  I especially liked the pieces of Dr. Rogers' own writing that he shared with us.  They were very well done.

5.  It's hard to recover from making a bad response to a prompt.  I feel like I wasted one whole assignment making a terrible choice about what to write about.

6.  The feedback I got from Dr. Rogers on every assignment was so helpful.  I guess this is what it must be like to have an editor.  Phil said this must be what it feels like to go to a great school and have top-notch teachers.  Most of the time when I have someone read a piece I wrote the response is "That's really good," or "I like this."  It was very helpful to have real criticism designed to bring out the best in the story I'm trying to tell.

I enjoyed this class very much, and I will post a couple of the stories I wrote here in the next few days.

My Friend Cathy

I lost another friend to cancer today.  This has been a hard season, four friends in less than six months.  Phil and I had gotten word that Cathy was in the hospital over the weekend so we knew the end of her life was imminent.  On Saturday I wrote this poem.

I am in the kitchen chopping carrots,

            And Cathy lies in a bed dying.

I picture her in her own kitchen flitting

            From oven

            To sink

            To refrigerator

Like a butterfly flitting among flowers in her garden.

She moves with such ease,

Cutting up apples and cheese,

Artfully arranging them on a clean white plate.

From the oven she pulls a peach pie,

One that she had baked when the peaches were fresh,

Put in the freezer until the right occasion arose,

And we are the felicitous recipients of her hospitality.

I am in the kitchen cutting up celery,

            And Cathy lies in a bed dying.

I see her smile as she lounges with us on her patio.

She is the consummate hostess—

            Always welcoming

            Always comfortable

            Always making time

She pets her beloved dog Coco and laughs at the stories we share

Of friendships past and present

Of times gone by but still held dear.

I am in the kitchen chopping onions,

            

            And Cathy lies in a bed dying.

The onions work on me, and stinging tears come.

But they are mixed with tears of sorrow for my sweet friend

Who I will miss so much.

Cathy was a friend of Phil's from high school days.  As members of the Calvary Baptist youth group, Phil and Cathy had both made the trip to Camp of the Woods, and so she was very interested and supportive when we started spending our summers there.  Cathy and John's house became a way station for us on our trips back and forth to Canada.  We enjoyed many delicious meals, comfortable nights' rest and great conversations at their house. 

I have been thinking a lot about my friends who have passed away and those they have left behind.  I can only imagine that it feels like you have had a hole blown in your life.  My prayers are with John today and with my others friends who must learn to live on the other side of their loss.

Fall in Canada

We have arrived in Canada at the beginning of the fall season here.  It is my favorite time of year, and the great thing about coming to Camp of the Woods is that we get to have fall twice, once here and then again back home.  Double the pleasure!  So the doldrums have been replaced by Canadian adventure.

The pace of our days is very slow and relaxing.  Phil works in the shop part of the day.  I have been spending my time writing birthday cards to campers, a task I thoroughly enjoy, and teaching science to some of the staff kids here at camp. I get the fun of doing experiments with the kids and the added bonus of testing out some lessons for Will and his students.  These have been some good lessons about matter and chemistry.  Here are some pictures from one of the experiments about how things dissolve in water.  We were really fascinated by the results we got.

Our evenings are spent taking turns having dinner with our friends here at camp, each evening with a different family.  We've had some great conversations, which is something we love to do.  There is an intimate bonding that takes place when we sit down to meals and conversations, and our connections here are strengthened with each bite.

But our favorite times are outside, walking a trail or walking the camp road.  The colors are just getting started yet already beautiful.  Although I've not seen any wildlife to speak of except a stray pigeon, which was really weird, Phil has had some spectacular encounters with three bull moose.  But that's his story to tell, not mine.

Here are some pictures of the fall foliage.  Enjoy!

Some colors on a stretch of the camp road

The mushroom outside our cabin.  There are all kinds of mushrooms everywhere.
This one is about as big around as a paper plate.

One morning we got up and the mushroom looked like this.
Something must be eating it, but I don't know what.

Ferns are plentiful here too and before the shrivel up and die they turn
the most beautiful shade of golden brown.

Ferns in the sunlight

One of the most colorful tress in the forest here is striped maple or moose maple.
They are small, shrubby trees that turn all shades of red and orange,
including this brilliant red.

All along the edge of the camp road this is what you see.