Trek Day Four

i've seen the pygmies dance...
"the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song ..." - from Isaiah 55:6-13



Today's reflection card from Trek includes a poem by global ministry partner, Pam Ferguson. Reflecting on the unexpected joys and challenges brought by living attentively day by day, she finds that even the struggles come with gifts to celebrate.

Life is surprising that way.




I have been surprised by life.
What an amazing amount of experiences I've had in the past 40 years.
     Some good... and some bad...
I've seen the pygmies dance.
I swam in the Indian Ocean.
I gathered sea shells on Zanzibar Island.
I've seen the whirling dervishes in Khartoum.
     And a riot in the middle of Kampala.
I've smelled incense from sandalwood, frankincense and myrrh.
     And open sewers, burning trash, rotting flesh, drying fish and camel dung.
I've awakened to the Muslim call to prayer.
I heard the explosion of a landmine.
     And gunshots fired in celebration, in fear, in anger and in rebellion.
An AK 47 was aimed at me as thieves stole our car.

I know there is much in life that I have not experienced,
     nor have I lived as fully as I was capable.
I am surprised that those regrets aren't the focus of my life.
Now I am catching glimpses of my life at 50 years, at 60 years and at 80 years.
What a joy to discover that I may have half of my life to live.
Forty more years of choices, of experiences and of people.
Forty more years with a man I love.
And forty more years of walking, loving and living with my God.

I am surprised.  -- Pam Ferguson

The theme for this whole first week of Trek is "enough joy." All the questions for reflection today ask us to think about what enough joy looks like.

Questions for Today

What experiences give me my deepest joy?

Are there ways I could earn a living while serving others in ways that bring me a deep sense of joy?

Have I personally had experiences like the writer's, of knowing joy even in times of danger, toil and stress?

What have been the high points of my life so far?

Trek Day Three

taxing wildflowers
"the pastures of the wilderness overflow, the hills gird themselves with joy..." - from Psalm 65

In today's reflection, Ellen L. Davis-Zehr contemplates our definitions of poverty and abundance. She notes that she and her husband are both capable of earning more income than they presently do, but because of choices they have made, they are defined by the government as poor. Filling out their tax forms confirmed this. But the choices they made over the years provided them with an abundance that cannot be defined on an income tax form. A lifestyle as market gardeners on a small acreage has given them an abundance of wildflowers blooming, the antics of goats, and plenty of time working, playing and learning together with their children. It has also meant a deepening of their spiritual lives, enough quiet time, enough friendships, enough joy. She says

My husband and I could earn more money... but would we have time for wildflower projects that delight our son? Could we and our neighbors help each other? Would I make space in my life for prayer if we got rid of the goats that are not "economically viable?" I will continue to measure my wealth by standards other than adjusted gross income. I am happy to be so richly poor.

Questions for Today

Are my core values reflected in my lifestyle?

Do my closest friends support my values or push me away from being true to what I believe?

On what basis do I make my choices about how to spend my life?

Do I know someone whose lifestyle is aligned with values I commend?

Might I reach out to such a person to talk about the journey of pursuing a life in harmony with core values?

Trek: Day Two

missing almost everything

"...I have suffered the loss of all things ... that I may gain Christ ..." - from Philippians 3:7-16

Today's reflection card beings with a quote,  "The secret of the spiritual life is the willingness to miss almost everything" (author unknown).

In our culture, we are accustomed to having almost unlimited choices. I have noticed personally, and heard many of you remark, that it just feels strange to go to the grocery store and find limited choices of meat available. To not be able to purchase flour or yeast. Or to find all the produce gone except fennel bulbs and kohlrabi (grab those treasures, they are pure gold!) We are used to having dozens of choices any night of the week of where we can go and what we can do. "Do you feel like a movie? Walking around at the mall? Going out to dinner? Which restaurant?"  People ask frequently, "When will we be able to get back to normal?" And often, the "normal" envisioned is this kind of abundance of choices.

Early childhood educators know that having too many choices actually produces stress and creates an underlying feeling of dissatisfaction in our pliable human brains. Children play much more contentedly when choices are limited and expectations are clear. Susan Classen writes in today's reflection:

Following Jesus means accepting that the way is narrow. Walking faithfully doesn't offer the lure of endless options. But the boundaries provided by committing myself to the narrow way provide the frame-work I need so my energy can flow with purpose and direction. Being willing to "miss almost everything" enables me to live my uique, spiritual calling fully and deeply.

Questions for Today

What life choices have I made that reflect my relationship with God?

If fulfillment comes when our fundamental choices reflect our fundamental values, 

what are my fundamental values?

How am I affected by the options that surround me? 

Trek Day One

 the meaning of life
"I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly" - from John 10:7-18

As I mentioned in the sermon this Sunday, there are times when I know I need to be told, "enough is enough!" Despite an advertising industry which tries to convinces us that we are never rich enough or thin enough, a true experience of living an abundant life is not determined by our bank accounts, the glamour of our bodies, or how much stuff we accumulate. In todays reflection card, Dave Schrock-Shenk reminds us

"Jesus said he came to bring us a full, abundant life. During this week we will reflect on what we think a fulfilled or abundant life is. Our undertsandings of what life is about grow out of our deepest beliefs. They reflect who we understand God to be, and how we think the world works."

I remember long ago a friend who taped magazine pages to her refrigerator depicting the life she wanted to achieve. It included a mini-mansion kind of house and a speed boat and an expensive car. There were also photos of super thin models with perfect hair and skin. She told me she needed to look at those photos every time she went to the fridge because they reminded her that she needed to work more hours, work out at the gym, and stay focused on advancing her career so she could earn a higher income. Sadly, I have known many friends who got the successful career, the boat, the car, and even the perfect hair, skin and body -- but remained intensely unhappy and dissatisfied with their lives.

I have heard countless times someone say with confidence, "that's what life's all about!" More often than not, I find myself internally cocking my head and saying, "really?" I remember fondly the scenes of Cubs fans spilling out into Chicago streets celebrating and singing together. A rush of good feelings, to be sure. But I don't think "that's what life's all about." I swelled with pride at each of my children's graduation ceremonies and enjoyed the celebration. But I don't think "that's what life's all about." Nor the wonderful evening with a wine glass in my hand relaxing at a friend's lake house, nor any of the many delicious feasts I've enjoyed with family.

Todays Questions

So what is life all about? 

What makes life abundant? 

What images come to mind as you think of Jesus' statement that he came to bring us an "abundant life"?

Starting Trek: Prelude

trek: venture into a world of enough
"Give me neither poverty nor riches …" - from Proverbs 30:7-9

A long time ago I bought a cardboard folio filled with recycled paper cards, one for each day. It was a spiritual enrichment resource produced by the Mennonite Central Committee. The pretty card set is no longer available and the paperback book version of the resource is out of print (but available on Amazon). It turns out my husband Ed was also using the resource about the same time and we both, in our separate ministries back then, found it so helpful that we used it with groups and promoted it.

With perfect timing, I came across our stash of the card sets in my office as I was tidying up in the last few weeks. I decided it was time to take the journey again, as we are all on a journey right now to find contentment as we experience limits placed on our usual way of life. We may be wondering if there is enough for us in this strange time.

I invite you to join me on the journey as we venture together into a world of enough. I will post each of the 28 days from May 3-31.

To Grandmother's House We Go

Sir - N- Oma's Illinois "Farm"

In the morning, by the pond with its blue gills and peepers, we picked wild strawberries, made clover chains and plucked at morning glories rambling across a cattle fence. Looking at my thumbs now, holding my book, I can see the stains under my fingernails -- brown, green and red -- that Grandma commented on before supper, sending me to wash again before I came to table.

Mom ducks under the doorway and says, “I need you girls to help me. A glass is missing.” As we slide off our beds I ask, “whose glasses?” noticing that Mom’s are on her face.

“Not glasses, a glass. A drinking glass.”

“What?”

(sigh) “Grandma and I just put away the dinner dishes, and she says, there’s a glass missing.”

Imagining our cupboards at home, I ask (puzzled), “How can she tell something’s missing?”

“Let’s just find it, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.”

(My mother a Texan and my father an Air Force officer, Ma’am and Sir float across our child-sized lips as naturally as our own breath.) 

Descending the narrow staircase connecting our sleeping quarters with the rest of the rooms, we begin the search. The original house was built centuries before and generations of additions have yielded a home filled with surprises: in some parts of the house, soaring ceilings and massive doors; in others, tiny doors and low ceilings.  Windows open or don’t, staircases appear where you least expect them; it seems there’s a door in every wall.

Light Farm in Gettysburg

Grandpa Light purchased the farm after he retired from the Air Force in the 1960’s, just outside Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, one county over from where he attended grade school. Every day since they came here, he rises early, bounding off to his tractor or to tend his steers. Grandma wakes just as early, diligently keeping all the household accounted for. This morning as we put away the crab apple jelly, she shelved each elegantly labeled jar, chirping, “soldiers in a row, soldiers in a row.”

We need to find that glass.

The Light Grandparents visit us in Omaha - dressed for Thanksgiving Dinner

Maybe it was walking across battlefields, the stairs to monuments, and the long tours of dead presidents’ houses that tired Mom out. In addition to this house, my grandparents have an apartment in D.C. close to the Capitol Hill Club, where Grandpa was treasurer. On the wall are pictures of Grandpa with Mrs. Nixon, Vice President Ford and his wife, Betty. Dad takes the photos down to show us and says, “This was taken where we’re going for dinner tonight. Grandpa and his friends have helped our President, and in this picture, they’re thanking him.” Mom says, “Behave.  There will be Senators and Congressmen at the club.” We are good, and Grandpa gives us each a tiny box after dessert. In it is a gold animal pin. I’m disappointed we’ve all gotten the same one – elephant, elephant, elephant, elephant. “Thank you, sir.” (4x)

Back at the farm, the weight of the glass … gone AWOL … is heavy. We finally find it in the small bathroom off Grandpa’s study, under an elegantly framed print of dogs playing poker. We blame our brother, wash, dry and return the glass to its barracks. 

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The next family vacation is to Texas. Once more the station wagon is piled with suitcases and a cooler filled with Tab soda, Ritz crackers, squeeze cheese in a can, and apples. When we reach Aransas Pass, relatives spill out of Mammaw’s house like clowns from a clown car. Mammaw puts us to work on the back porch, snapping beans and peeling potatoes while she tends the frying pan. Later, Uncle Frank gives up his bedroom to Mom and Dad, heading to the bed of his pickup, under its camper top. Aunt Lucille and Uncle Johnny, who drove over from Sour Lake, sleep in Grandma’s little pull-behind travel trailer. A gaggle of cousins spread blankets across the floor, filling the house with sticky breathing, and finally Mammaw’s snoring lulls us all to sleep.  

Mammaw as a Young Teen Eula Gladys Garner (later: Stewart, Farley)

Mammaw’s dish cupboards can’t be inventoried, their contents are in constant circulation. “My daddy built these cupboards,” Mom says as she pulls down more glasses and chipped plates. “He built everything we needed, including this house.” I know he died before Mom graduated from high school and that the bathroom we are all sharing only got indoor plumbing a few years before that. Floorboards creak under the weight of family stories untold.

From stories Mom has shared of my fourth grandparent, I picture him like a ghostly St. Francis statue out in the yard by the ancient live oak, his hammer tipped half limb lifted, a wild bird perched upon the anvil of it. Life was hard for a one-armed boat builder on the Texas coast, but she remembers him feeding squirrels from his one fleshy hand while his self-fashioned leather carpenter’s sleeve was off, giving his sawed off right forearm a chance to breathe. He made for himself everything they ever needed.

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Grandparents. Now I am one, though none of my five grandchildren carry either my Texas or Pennsylvania-Deutsch blood. And what do kids really know about their grandparents, anyway? I only ever saw my paternal grandparents as reflected in the eyes of my ever-attentive mother. The wealthy, powerful General and his elegant wife, both forged in formality that felt to her less than familial. Not the hungry children of German immigrants, certainly not the small boy sent away from his parents at age 8 to work on a relative’s farm, because a farm always has food.

Grandpa Light enlisted in the infantry in 1927 with only a grade school education and an American dream. The Great Depression, a second World War, and technology which put our military in the sky made him the man I barely knew. Grandmother soldiered on at the home front, ordering a family that fashioned my father who passed on those Light characteristics to me.

Mom in the arms of her favorite Live Oak

Mammaw’s people can trace their history back to the colonies. English, Scottish, French, this-and-that-and-the-other Texans by way of Louisiana and everywhere else. My never-known maternal grandfather read poetry to Mammaw and their many children at night, let them dream lazily on the wide stretched limbs of the live oak tree, and gazed up with them at the big Texas sky on clear country nights. My mother’s eyes come alive each time she remembers him back into being for the grandchildren of his seed which he never saw.

Mammaw stitched together an expansive tapestry of family through seasons of marriage, divorce, single-parenthood, remarriage, step-parenting, widowhood, and single parenting again. With tiny stitches she sewed toddler clothes for my sisters and me; with gentle arms she cradled my baby brother. With stalwart courage she flew alone to the AFB in Okinawa where my mother was raising us, and even after breaking her leg once she got there, she flew on to Hong Kong before returning to Aransas Pass, saying “when will I ever have a chance like this again?”

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My Grandma name is “Oma”, an aspiring Tex-Deutsch Großmutter, drawing upon the strengths of all four of my grandparents.  Gazing at my grubby cuticles, as fingers dance across the keyboard, I see they are once again stained from pulling morning glories from fence rows by the cow-barn which Grandpa-"Sir" and I are trying to save. 

Grandsons gathering eggs at Sir and Oma's farmstead

I don’t know what our grandchildren will remember of this farm, or us, in the end. But when the table has been cleared, and our house breathes with the sleepy chatter of our grandchildren (until we’ve snored them all to sleep), I am rising early the next morning, reenlisting all the AWOL glasses for circulation in a new day.

Admitting as Much

Yesterday my friends Jack Sullivan and Sekinah Hamlin were among the thousands who crossed the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, AL. They did so remembering those who crossed it 50 years ago, shining a spotlight on the brutal nature of institutionalized racism in America. Over the years of my ministry, many (well-intentioned?) church people have suggested to me that recalling the dark days of Jim Crow, or the horrors of slavery upon which much of white America's wealth was built, is dangerous and counterproductive. It has been suggested that we are better served to "leave the past in the past and move on." One person said, "I don't see what good it does to keep bringing this up."

Here at UniPlace we have been praying our way through Exodus as our Lenten discipline for this year. God's call to liberation is undeniable, and if you've seen one Pharaoh, you've seen them all. It's not an accident that the Civil Rights movement in this country was championed by a preacher who knew his Bible. 

What good does it do for people of faith to remember Moses leading a band of slaves out of bondage? Of what use was it for the people of Israel to erect a monument at Massah and Meribah to recall a nearly violent rebellion against Moses' leadership over the issue of water? To what purpose do we Christians partake of bread and cup reciting the words, "Do this in remembrance of me?" There is something about the spiritual journey which requires remembering -- remembering the dark days of slavery, remembering the heady joy of freedom's early days, remembering the quarrels in the wilderness, remembering how hard it is to unlearn the legacy lessons of oppression, remembering that love and liberation are both tethered to a tree.

I don't know what it means that in 2015 a bridge still stands lauding the name of a Grand Dragon of the KuKluxKlan. To think that in 1965, one hundred years after the thirteenth amendment outlawed the institution of slavery, a city could look up at the name of that bridge and be proud to recall, "that was our senator," causes my head to spin. But I think it is important to remember. Elected to the US Senate in 1897 and 1903, Edmund Pettus' senate campaign relied on his success in organizing and popularizing the Alabama Klan following Reconstruction. The brave men and women who crossed that bridge in 1965 did so as a statement that they were ready to unlearn the rote lessons of a people too long oppressed. This is American history, this is our Christian faith history, and we need to tell the truth about it.

I agree with our President who said yesterday that  we have made some progress in this country since 1965 in the realm of racial inequality. Citing the Justice Department's report excoriating the police department of Ferguson, MO, President Obama said in Selma, "What happened in Ferguson may not be unique, but it's no longer endemic. It's no longer sanctioned by law or custom, and before the civil rights movement, it most surely was." But while some progress has been made in some areas, we cannot just leave the past in the past as if racism has been defeated now. As our President said, "We don’t need the Ferguson report to know that’s not true. We just need to open our eyes and our ears and our hearts to know that this nation’s racial history still casts its long shadow upon us. We know the march is not yet over; we know the race is not yet won. We know reaching that blessed destination where we are judged by the content of our character requires admitting as much.”

Sekinah Hamlin and Jack Sullivan (thanks for the photos!)

Stand by Me

"Choose some men for us and go out, fight with Amalek." (Exodus 17:9)

Have you ever had to make a choice about who you would take with you to do something troublesome and hard? What guided your decision about who you wanted at your side?

In this week's scripture from Exodus we find God's people being sniped at from the rear as they wander, lost in the wilderness. A band of nomads known as the Amalekites are preying on the former slaves, only recently liberated from Egypt. Strangers and sojourners in a hostile desert, the Israelites don't know what to do. At the back of their caravan are the heavily burdened, the tired, the weak, children, pregnant mothers, the injured, disabled, and elderly. Rather than confronting the strong ones leading the refugees from the front, the Amalekites intentionally go after the easy pickins' straggling behind.

Moses singles out a young man named Joshua (this is the first time he is mentioned in scripture) and assigns him the role of army recruiter. Someone needs to stop the Amalekites. Joshua chooses those who will fight back against the marauders and Moses chooses two close relatives, Aaron and Hur, to accompany him where he will stand overseeing the battle ground. It seems both Joshua and Moses choose well. When Moses' arms grow weary, Aaron and Hur support him so Moses can support the "boots on the ground" with signs of God's strengthening presence while they fight for their lives. Joshua's newly formed army defeats the Amalekites and the journey of God's people continues.

What a difference it makes --- choosing the right people to have at your side.

Slip Sliding Away

Driving to church on Sunday morning I was singing aloud Paul Simon's Slip Slidin' Away when my 16 year old son, obviously annoyed, said, "WHAT are you singing? Is that even really a song?" I know the fault was entirely in my singing, not Simon's song-writing.

We drove slowly and made it to UniPlace without incident. This was due primarily to the lesson learned on Thursday when we slip-slid right through a stop sign only a few feet after starting out from home. That scary moment ended with the Prius nose-first in a snowbank. Thankfully, a charming neighbor in a big blue pickup came along about 90 seconds later and showed Luke how to push me back up on the road. We were grateful both for the helping hand and the wise counsel.

It's good to have friends in high places, low places, and on the plain in between.