Meditative Meanderings

My Brother...and Quotation of the Week

2012-01-29T09:28:00.000-08:00

My apologies for my neglect of posting regularly to this blog. I have been so very busy, caught up in teaching the Groovy Grammar Workshop at Brave Writer, plus the Medieval History and Intermediate High School Writing courses at Class Day, homeschooling the boys, writing my little stories, and expanding my online grading/editing business at SusanneBarrett.com. In fact, I've been so consumed with the former activities that I've had to turn away larger projects (book-length editing) for my grading/editing business.

As I prepare for teaching two retreat workshops at the Pine Valley Christian Conference Center for their annual Women's Retreats, I find myself returning to the wisdom of an old friend, Brother Lawrence. I'll be presenting workshops on journaling and on blogging on two consecutive weekends in early March.

I was first introduced to Brother Lawrence through the online community I took part in for many years; his little book, The Practice of the Presence of God, enthralled me from the first page. His devotion to contemplative prayer is inspiring, and I hope to be very much like this simple brother, a dishwasher and gardener of the 17th century, as I "grow up" in our faith.

So for this week's Quotation of the Week, I've chosen a short selection from The Practice of the Presence of God (which is available as a free classic for Kindle e-readers; I just downloaded it for my own Kindle Library at Practice of the Presence of God on Kindle).

So here's my selection...although I have to admit that it's extremely difficult to choose only one quotation from such a wonderfully quotable little book:

"There is no manner of life in the world more sweet or more delicious than continual conversation with God."

--Brother Lawrence (1611-1691), The Practice of the Presence of God

So as I begin to prepare my workshop on journaling for Women's Retreat, I plan to make several points regarding Brother Lawrence, especially how his example of "praying without ceasing" as Saint Paul commands us to do, can be lived out practically through the discipline and joy of journaling.

Practicing God's Presence with you,

Poetry in Honor of MLK Jr. Day

2012-01-16T12:13:00.000-08:00

As we celebrate Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, the poem slipped into my inbox by Poets.org bubbled forth memories of my favorite Harlem Renaissance artists and poets.

When I studied 20th Century American History at Point Loma Nazarene University, I selected the Harlem Renaissance as my research paper topic. The Harlem Renaissance helped to birth jazz and "the blues" as well as visual and written arts. The prolific African-American musicians, artists, and especially the poets at the heart of this movement in the 1920s piqued my interest, especially the poet Langston Hughes, one of my Top Five Favorite Poets.

So, starting with the poem that arrived in my inbox, here are some "poems for thought" on this Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. I shall allow the poets to speak for themselves--since they are and always will be far more eloquent than I could ever aspire....

Sympathy
by Paul Laurence Dunbar
I know what the caged bird feels, alas!
When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;
When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,
And the river flows like a stream of glass;
When the first bird sings and the first bud opes,
And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—
I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats its wing
Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;
For he must fly back to his perch and cling
When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;
And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars
And they pulse again with a keener sting—
I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,
When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—
When he beats his bars and he would be free;
It is not a carol of joy or glee,
But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,
But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—
I know why the caged bird sings!

Harlem
by Langston Hughes
What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

We Real Cool
by Gwendolyn Brooks
THE POOL PLAYERS.
SEVEN AT THE GOLDEN SHOVEL.

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

The Negro Speaks of Rivers
by Langston Hughes
I've known rivers:
I've known rivers ancient as the world and older than the
flow of human blood in human veins.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

I bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln
went down to New Orleans, and I've seen its muddy
bosom turn all golden in the sunset.

I've known rivers:
Ancient, dusky rivers.

My soul has grown deep like the rivers.

May all our souls grow "deep like the rivers" as we remember and celebrate the men and women of talent who have brought Depth and Truth and Vibrancy to our national soul. Whatever our color, creed, or politics, we can unite in the Truth-Telling revealed through the arts, and especially through the medium of the written word...which can unmask worlds in a mere phrase....

If only we but see...hear...touch...feel...ponder...love.

Wishing you all a blessed remembrance this day,

The Dearth of Poetry

2012-01-15T23:09:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time since I've composed poetry.

You see, I've been bitten by the fiction bug. Until late 2008 when I first challenged myself to the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), I hadn't written fiction since my creative writing professor, Dean Nelson, forced us to write short stories as a class assignment...more about Dean and his amazing writing conference here in Pine Valley later this week.

So my first experience with fiction since Dean's class in 1987 occurred when I "won" NaNoWriMo in November of 2008 with the first half of a very autobiographical novel...which I then completed during NaNoWriMo 2009. It's very, very rough and would need a great deal of work to get into proper shape for sharing...much less publication.

Then I discovered another mode of fiction writing in November 2010 and I've been writing weekly chapters ever since. It's become a lovely mode of escape for me. When stacks of essays to be graded loom over me, jotting a fantastical chapter of 3000 words relaxes me and keeps me from requesting a permanent placement in the nearest insane asylum.

Okay, it's not that bad.

It only feels like it at times.

But a rather sad side effect of the blossoming of fiction writing has been the dearth of poetry writing. Twice I've joined daily poetry challenges for a month, in April 2009 and in November 2010, and while much of the poetry written was utter crap, a couple gems-in-the-rough sidled in, looking for a home...or at least a good polishing.

But since starting the weekly fiction chapters in late 2010, I've written three poems, two of them crap.

I rather miss the ebb and flow of poetry, the thought processes required, the depth of insight and actual seeing.

Fiction writing is easier. Freer. It's like running--almost thoughtless at times, and one can get really far, really fast.

Poetry writing is more like a waltz, or even a minuet. One has to know what one is doing; one has to know the rules. It's complex, and encircling truth. Footwork is required, and technique, and grace; one must hold the head at just such an angle, etc. Much is depth is required; it must be worked and reworked and re-reworked much differently than writing fiction.

Not that fiction is easy to write. It's not. But it's a marathon versus a minuet. You have to be in it for the long haul. And as we run, the important thing is to...keep running. It's long but not as intense; it's deep, but not as deep. There's a technique, but nothing compared to a ballroom dance.

What I've found is that, for me at this particular point in my life, I can't run an marathon and dance a minuet at the same time. No, it's one or the other, but not both simultaneously.

Part of the reason for such single-mindedness is the lack of time I have for recreational writing of any sort. Perhaps when the teetering essays are graded and the poetry and Shakespeare classes are taught and the kids are homeschooled...perhaps then I'll be able to train for both the marathon and the minuet.

But not now.

No, not right now.

Perhaps later.

After all, this thought by one of my favorite poets gives me hope...hope in writing fiction as well as poetry:

"Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood."
--T.S. Eliot

I've found Eliot's maxim to be quite true. Especially in Eliot's own poetry, for example, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock." I still am not sure I understand more than half of one of my favorite poems. But I enjoy it thoroughly every time I peruse it.

Wishing you a poetic week,

Death Comes to Pemberley...

2012-01-11T13:03:00.000-08:00

Early in December I was excited to discover a new book was being published by my favorite British mystery author, PD James. Approaching her 92nd birthday this year, PD James is the Queen of the modern British murder mystery. Her main character, Adam Dagliesh, is both brilliant detective and deep poet; he is ever fascinating, as is every mystery she writes.

She writes to no formula; with great psychological insight and the usual British distance between characters, each story in the series is intriguing and revelatory.

But with PD James' advancing age, I live in fear that each mystery she writes will be her final book. So it was with great joy that I saw the listing on Amazon for her new title, Death Comes to Pemberley.

Then my Austen radar beeped to full-alert status. Pemberley, as Austen fans (or at least fans of Colin Firth's amazing Mr. Darcy) know well, is the name of Mr. Darcy's estate in Pride and Prejudice. Could this title be an inside joke of some sort? How was Dagliesh going to be involved with the world of Austen?

As soon as I learned of the new title by PD James, I rushed to our county library website and reserved a copy for myself. I've been slowly building my PD James library with 50-cent copies from library sales, but I knew that purchasing a copy of this new title was well out of my price range. I was thrilled to discover that I was ranked #3 with seven copies available; thus I would get a copy as soon as the library received it.

Death Comes to Pemberley arrived four days before Christmas, and Tawny, one of our librarian, laughed at my joy of receiving such an early Christmas gift. I practically danced home from the library, rather startling my kids when I waltzed through the front door. They didn't understand my excitement, but then, they rarely do.

And then I discovered the actual subject matter of the book; this was no Adam Dagliesh mystery; much as I adore my poet-detective, I was thrilled to read from the inside cover that Death Comes to Pemberley was set six years after Elizabeth Bennet's marriage to Fitzwilliam Darcy.

Yes, it's quite true: the famous PD James wrote a Pride and Prejudice fan fiction mystery.

Now I don't feel so shy about my own writings in the fan fiction genre. (But not enough to reveal my fan fiction pen name, thankyouverymuch!)

So the irrepressible Wickham is accused of murder in the woods surrounding Pemberley, and it's up to Elizabeth, Darcy, and Colonel Fitzwilliam to clear his iffy name and save his life from the gallows.

I finished it last night, and I thoroughly enjoyed the trip back to the Regency Age and Pemberley. Even if one is not a fan of murder mysteries, the Austen-ishness of the book makes reading Death Comes to Pemberley well-worth one's time.

Next to read (as I await being able to check out a Kindle version of Stephen King's Under the Dome from our library system) is Julie and Julia which I also picked up from the library sale for 50 cents....

Happily reading,

Quotation of the Week...and Epiphany

2012-01-08T11:42:00.000-08:00

On Friday, the Anglican Church, along with other liturgical churches, celebrated Epiphany.

The Epiphany, January 6th, marks the close of the Christmas Season with Twelfth Night (the Twelfth Day of Christmas) on January 5th. Epiphany, then, is a kind of extension of the Christmas season as we remember the events of Matthew 2 in which "wise men from the east" come to Judea, looking for the "infant King of the Jews." Herod asks his advisers about the Messiah, and they tell him that the Messiah was to be born in Bethlehem:

Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, wise men from the east came to Jerusalem, saying, “Where is he who has been born king of the Jews? For we saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.” When Herod the king heard this, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him; and assembling all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Christ was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea, for so it is written by the prophet:

“‘And you, O Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
who will shepherd my people Israel.’”

Then Herod summoned the wise men secretly and ascertained from them what time the star had appeared. And he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child, and when you have found him, bring me word, that I too may come and worship him.” After listening to the king, they went on their way. And behold, the star that they had seen when it rose went before them until it came to rest over the place where the child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy. And going into the house they saw the child with Mary his mother, and they fell down and worshiped him. Then, opening their treasures, they offered him gifts, gold and frankincense and myrrh. And being warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed to their own country by another way.
--Matthew 2:1-12, ESV

The Baptism of Jesus is celebrated a week later, on the Octave (8th day) of Epiphanytide, the day in which Christ was manifested as the Son of God, as related in Matthew 3:

Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to John, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying "I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?" But Jesus answered him, "Let it be so now, for thus it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness. Then he consented. And when Jesus was baptized, immediately he went up from the water, and behold, the heavens were opened to him, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming to rest upon him; and behold, a voice from heaven said, "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased."
--Matthew 3:13-17, ESV

Our Collect for Epiphanytide from the Book of Common Prayer 2011, to be prayed throughout the Octave of the Epiphany:

O GOD, by the leading of a star you revealed your only eternal Son to the peoples of the earth; In your mercy grant that we, who know you now by faith, may after this life behold your glory and power face to face; Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

And the Collect for the First Sunday After the Epiphany, also from the Book of Common Prayer 2011:

LORD God, in your mercy we ask you to receive the prayers of your people who call upon you; Grant that we may perceive and know what things we ought to do, and give us the grace and the power to faithfully perform them; Through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and rules with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever. Amen.

Over two years ago, I jotted a quotation into my Quotation Journal, a quote by a fellow blogger and pilgrim on the pathway to God, that I've always wanted to share on Epiphany, but it kept slipping my mind (an easy thing to do these days). So here it is for you and for me to ponder:

"Keeping the pace while finding wise silences, discernment is knowing where the bright star leads--and then maintaining the trail. But like the Magi, the idea is not to dare to encamp under the compass point, but to be lit further by the Source."
--from "The Speculator" on his blog La Vie Graphite, 9 December 2009

So as we enter Epiphanytide, the time in which Jesus was made manifest not only to the Jews but also to the Gentiles--basically, the fact that He came to save everyone, no matter what sex, race, religion, creed--we welcome Him into our hearts with joy and gratitude, "for this is the day which the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it."

Rejoicing with you this day,

Ring in the New Year!

2012-01-02T01:24:00.000-08:00

As we ring in the New Year of 2012, I thought this lovely poem which floated quietly in my e-mail inbox, courtesy of Poets.org, just after we popped champagne following a long and brutal game of Scrabble: Booklovers Edition (thank you, Godmommy Vera!), was perfect for expressing the New Year's cliche of "out with the old, in with the new." After all, Tennyson wasn't one for cliches, thank goodness!

So as we return soon from the rush and exhaustion and joy and pain that make up the Holy Days, I thought we could especially pray the final stanza which will be posted in the sidebar as the Quotation of the Week:

From In Memoriam by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

So as we ring out all that was evil, injurious, sad, wrong, unjust, grievous, and sinful in 2011, may we welcome all that is brave, true, right, courageous, beautiful, holy, lovely, sacred, and godly in 2012!!

From the Book of Common Prayer 2011, page 61:

For Guidance
O GOD, by you the humble are guided in doing right; Your light illumines the darkness for those who trust in you; In our doubts and uncertainties, give us grace to ask what you would have us do, so that the Spirit of Wisdom may save us from all false choices; In your light may we see light, and in your straight path may we not stumble; Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (Sources: Psalm 26.9; 36.9; John 1.5; Jeremiah 17.7)

May God grant us all a healthy and blessed New Year of 2012 as we strive to follow the example of Christ our Lord as we live, serve, and love in His ways.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!! And a Happy Ninth Day of Christmastide as well!!

Praying to follow the Light, this year and always,

Books and Movies of 2011

2012-01-01T17:38:00.000-08:00

2011 was quite a year for books and movies. Each year far down in my sidebar I keep a list of books read and movies watched. So as I rewatch Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 with our kids on this New Years Day, I'm also copying my lists of books read and movies watched.

I read 88 books in 2011, most of them fan fiction; I've bolded the non-fan fiction titles. Here's the list, in reverse order:

88. Letters to You (fan fic) (2011)
87. Do Over (fan fic) (2011)
86. Carlie's Eyes (fan fic) (2010)
85. Pressed for Time (fan fic) (2011)
84. The Private Patient -- PD James (2008)
83. The Woman in Black -- Hill (1983)
82. That Girl (fan fic) (2010)
81. Death at Devil's Bridge -- Paige (1998)
80. Sacrificial Lamb (fan fic) (2010)
79. The Decoy (fan fic) (2011)
78. Puddle Jumping (fan fic) (2011)
77. Crimson and Clover (fan fic) (2011)
76. Pros and Cons (fan fic) (2011)
75. I Thee Wed (fan fic) (2011)
74. I'll Tell You What's Up (fan fic) (2011)
73. Solace (fan fic) (2011)
72. Songbird (fan fic) (2010)
71. Turn the Page (fan fic) (2010)
70. Such Great Heights (fan fic) (2010)
69. I'll Follow You into the Dark (fan fic) (2009)
68. Everlong (fan fic) (2009)
67. Glitch (fan fic) (2010)
66. Jane and the Unpleasantness at Scargrave Manor -- Barron (1996)
65. The Tutor (fan fic) (2010)
64. Blood Lines (fan fic) (2009)
63. Distractions (fan fic) (2010)
62. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies -- Austen and Grahame-Smith (2009)
61. Stranger Than Fiction (fan fic) (2011)
60. Falling Beyond Redemption (fan fic) (2011)
59. Treason at Lisson Grove -- Perry (2011)
58. Under the Full Moon (fan fic) (2009)
57. Murder on Sisters' Row -- Thompson (2011)
56. One Thousand Gifts -- Voskamp (2010)
55. The Nightingale Journals (fan fic) (2011)
54. Desiderata (fan fic) (2009)
53. Buckingham Palace Gardens -- Perry (2008)
52. Murder on Lexington Avenue -- Thompson (2010)
51. It's a Sign (fan fic) (2011)
50. Southampton Row -- Perry (2002)
49. Duty and Desire: A Pride & Prejudice fan fic (2010)
48. Continuity (fan fic) (2011)
47. Art After 5 (fan fic) (2010)
46. We Come to Life Beneath the Stars (fan fic) (2011)
45. Legendary (fan fic) (2010)
44. And With Thee Fade Away (fan fic) (2010)
43. Forever Was Never 'Til Now (fan fic) (2010)
42. Rhapsody in B (fan fic) (2010)
41. In Transit (fan fic) (2010)
40. Intersection (fan fic) (2011)
39. The Best I Ever Had (fan fic) (2011)
38. Moonless Night (fan fic) (2009)
37. Coming to Terms (fan fic) (2008)
36. Eternal Equinox (fan fic) (2011)
35. Long Spoon Lane -- Perry (2005)
34. Seven Dials -- Perry (2003)
33. Ithaca Is Gorges (fan fic) (2010)
32. Beyond Time (fan fic) (2011)
31. The Screamers (fan fic) (2010)
30. The Wisdom Seeker (fan fic) (2011)
29. The Secret Keeper (fan fic) (2008)
28. Whitechapel Conspiracy -- Perry (2001)
27. Alphabet Weekends (fan fic) (2010)
26. In Another Life (fan fic) (2009)
25. The Courtyard (fan fic) (2010)
24. Don't Take the Girl (fan fic) (2011)
23. Macbeth -- Shakespeare (1604)
22. A Cold White Christmas (fan fic) (2008)
21. High Anxiety (fan fic) (2011)
20. Blind (fan fic) (2008)
19. The Ex Factor (fan fic) (2011)
18. World Without Sound (fan fic) (2009)
17. Edward's Eclipse (fan fic) (2011)
16. The Discovery of Bella Swan (fan fic) (2008)
15. Midnight Sun -- Meyer (2008) and Midnight Sun Continued (fan fic) (2009)
14. The Trip Home (fan fic) (2009)
13. While You Were Gone (fan fic) (2009)
12. The Healing Codes --Loyd (2011)
11. Dark Side of the Moon (fan fic) (2009)
10. Half Moon Street -- Perry (2000)
9. The Search for Myself (fan fic) (2009)
8. Worth Existing (fan fic) (2009)
7. Miss My Lion (fan fic) (2010)
6. Bedford Square -- Perry (1999)
5. Wide Awake (fan fic) (2009)
4. Only Human -- Jackson (fan fic) (2010)
3. Brunswick Gardens -- Perry (1998)
2. Blue Moon over Manka's (fan fic) (2010)
1. The Ties That Bind (fan fic) (2010)

And here are the movies watched in 2011; ones watched in the theatre are noted:

Holiday (1938)
Twister (1996)
Breaking Dawn Part 1 (2011) -- in theatre
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 (2011)
The Bishop's Wife (1947)
Remember Me (2010)
Mr. Blanchard Builds His Dream House (1948)
The Philadelphia Story (1940)
Rebecca (1940)
To Catch a Thief (1954)
Twilight Saga: New Moon (2009)
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 (2011) -- in theatre
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 (2010)
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (2009)
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (2007)
Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005)
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (2004)
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002)
Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone (2001)
I Was a Male War Bride (1949)
Chronicles of Narnia: Voyage of the Dawn Treader (2010)
Shall We Dance (1937)
Super 8 (2011) -- in theatre
War of the Worlds (2005)
Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)
Breakfast at Tiffany's (1961)
Water for Elephants (2011) -- in theatre
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Pt 1 (2010)
Toy Story 3 (2010)
Jane Eyre (2011) -- in theatre
Twilight (2008)
The Haunted Airman (2006)
The Bishop's Wife (1947)
Twilight Saga: New Moon (2009)
Suspicion (1941)
The King's Speech (2010) -- in theatre
Gone with the Wind (1939)
The Wizard of Oz (1939)
Twilight Saga: Eclipse (2010)
Mamma Mia! (2008)
Pretty Woman (1990)
The Holiday (2006)
The Ghost Writer (2010)

So there they are: my book and film lists for 2011. Now I'll start keeping track anew for 2012, starting with Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2.

Happy New Year!!!

With love,

The Glory of Christmastide

2011-12-27T14:38:00.000-08:00

Christmas Carols through the ages....

Christmastide is an amazing time of year. While the vast majority of Americans begin the Christmas "season" the day after Thanksgiving and pack away decorations promptly on December 26th, those of us who follow the tradition of the Christian Year have quite a different tradition, one that centers more fully around Christ and His Love for the world.

Advent begins on the 4th Sunday before Christmas and finishes at sunset on Christmas Eve. While many secular Advent calendars, covered with images of Santa Claus and filled with chocolate goodies behind each window, act more as a "countdown to Christmas," the Christian practice of Advent is so, so much more.

"Advent" means "coming" or "arrival." Thus, Advent is partially our waiting to celebrate the arrival of Christ in human form two thousand years ago on that "silent night" in Bethlehem, born of a poor virgin girl in a cave because there was no room in the inn.

But waiting to celebrate Christ's first coming is not the main focus of Advent. No, indeed! Advent is even more about our awaiting the second coming of Christ our Lord, when he "shall come in majesty to judge the living and the dead" in His "kingdom which has no end."

Advent, with its liturgical color of purple, is a kind of a "miniature Lent," a time to evaluate and re-evaluate how we are waiting for Christ's imminent return. Are we living as we should? Are we as kind and as generous as we can be? Are we focused on God in prayer and in reading, studying, and applying His Word? Have we allowed slothful or sinful habits to take a foothold in our lives? These, and many others, are the questions that Advent forces us to face as we await His coming.

My favorite Collect (a collective prayer, prayed daily for a week by the whole of the Anglican Church) for Advent comes from the Second Sunday in Advent:

BLESSED Lord, you caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning; Help us to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that by patience and comfort of your Holy Word, we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life; Which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Then Christmas Eve arrives at last, and as the sun sets and the Holy Day begins, we gather for Lessons and Carols, God's Word read aloud between the beautiful carols of the faith. By far, my favorite Christmas carol is "O Holy Night." The words are so beautiful and true--I "fall to [my] knees" in my heart each time I hear about "the night when Christ was born." Here are the lyrics:

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
O'er the world a star is sweetly gleaming,
Now come the wise men from out of the Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friends.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!

Then comes Christmas morning with our reading of Saint Luke's Gospel, and this Collect which is prayed daily through the Twelve Days of Christmastide:

ALMIGHTY God, you gave your only and eternal son to take our nature upon him and to be born [this day] of a pure virgin; Grant us, who have been reborn and made your children by adoption and grace, daily renewal by your Holy Spirit; Through Jesus Christ, who lives and rules with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever. Amen.

But the joys of Christmas cannot be contained to only one day; we celebrate Christmas for all Twelve Days, starting with Christmas Eve and concluding on the Eve of the Epiphany, or Twelfth Night, which arrives with sunset on January 5th.

Today as I was going through my e-mail inbox, I came across my weekly dose of Anglotopia which included the Queen of England's Christmas Address. It's a bit long at 7 1/2 minutes, but I really appreciate her message of love and hope during these troubled times as well as her quotations from Scripture and Christian witness and prayer:

Yet between Christmas Day and Epiphany are additional Holy Days. December 26th marks Saint Stephen's Day, memorialized by the carol "Good King Wenceslas":

Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about
Deep and crisp and even

Saint Stephen, the first martyr of the Christian faith, reminds us to be bold in our sharing of the Good News and to live lives that glorify Christ, no matter the cost.

December 27th is Saint John's Day--Saint John, the evangelist and writer of several book of the Bible: The Gospel According to Saint John, the Epistles St. John I, II, and III, and the Revelation According to Saint John. So today we remember Saint John, one of the three disciples who witnessed the Transfiguration of Christ as well as the man to which Jesus entrusted the care of His mother, Mary while Jesus suffered on the cross: "When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, 'Woman, behold, your son!' Then he said to the disciple, 'Behold, your mother!' And from that hour the disciple took her to his own home" (John 19:26-27). John refers to himself throughout his Gospel as "the disciple whom Jesus loved." The Collect for today follows:

MERCIFUL Lord, let the bright beams of your light shine upon your Church; By the teaching of blessed John, the apostle and evangelist, may we be enlightened and walk in the light of your truth, so that we may finally come to everlasting life; Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

December 28th marks the remembrance of the Holy Innocents, the male children under two years of age whom King Herod ordered killed in order to destroy the prophesied king who had been born in Bethlehem: "Then Herod...sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had ascertained from the wise men." But the Lord had protected Jesus by sending a message to Joseph in a dream to flee with the child and his family to Egypt where they remained until Herod's death.

Entrance to the Mission San Luis Rey Cemetery

Since the decision of Roe v. Wade in the early 1970's, the Catholic Church also recognizes the Remembrance of the Holy Innocents to be a day to also remember the millions of unborn children whose lives have been lost through abortion. When our family visits the Mission San Luis Rey in Oceanside where our dear friends' daughter is resting in peace, I always stop to pause at the marker inside one of the entrances to the old portion of the mission cemetery which remembers the Holy Innocents who have died via abortion and their mothers who have suffered as a result, for whether one supports or opposes the practice, most women who have undergone the process, for whatever reason, suffer as a result. So we pray peace for them and for a happy reunion with their children in heaven.

January 1 marks the Circumcision of Christ as it occurs on the eighth day, according to Jewish Law, after Christmas Day:

ALMIGHTY God, for our sake your blessed Son was circumcised and bound to the keeping of the whole Law; Grant us the true circumcision of the Spirit, so that in heart and body, we may put away earthly desires and in all things be bound to the keeping of your blessed will; Through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and rules with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

Another Sunday (and sometimes two) occur during Christmastide, and thus another Collect is prayed, but the Collect for Christmas Day is prayed daily throughout all Twelve Days, until the Eve of the Epiphany, or Twelfth Night. This last night of Christmas is a night for celebration and revelry as shown in Shakespeare's play Twelfth Night which was performed for Queen Elizabeth at Twelfth Night festivities. Twelfth Night is always a wonderful celebration, and we join the members of Alpine Anglican Church of the Blessed Trinity in praying in the season of Epiphany (more on Epiphanytide later) and then celebrating with sherry and trifle in the Ackers' living room.

In my e-mail signature during Christmastide, I have included a quotation from Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol, spoken by Scrooge at the end of the book:

"I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all year."

--Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

So I wish you all a blessed Christmastide!!! May the glory of our Lord and Saviour shine brightly through our lives as we live and love like Jesus, during this season and always!

A blessed Christmastide to you and yours,

A Snowy Christmas Day in Photos

2011-12-26T22:54:00.000-08:00

4th Week of Advent...our family Advent wreath

After spending Christmas Eve with Keith's family and Christmas Morning with just the kids, Keith, and I, we drove fifteen minutes (and 2000 feet in elevation) from our little town to an even smaller one: Mount Laguna, elevation 6000 feet.

There at my parents' 600 sq ft cabin, we squeezed nineteen people for Christmas dinner. The saving grace was the foot of snow that kept almost everyone outside: sledding down the hill behind the cabin, snapping photos of sledding, creating a snow-squirrel (don't ask), or, with my extended family, smoking and drinking. ;)

Enjoy the photos!!!

My parents' cabin atop Mount Laguna

Timothy runs down the snowman in the sledding path

My brother Tom, Brooke, Grant, and Elizabeth at the back

Jonathan hurtling down the track

Benjamin trekking back up the hill....

Christmas snow

Merry Second Day of Christmas!!!

Published in Victoria's Reader to Reader

2011-12-23T17:39:00.000-08:00

Victoria has long been my favorite magazine, and my dear college roommate and godmother of our kids keeps me supplied with annual subscriptions for my birthday each spring.

Where else can we read about travel, cooking (with recipes), gardening, home decor, fashion, antiques and collecting, and essays from the Writer-in-Residence, all in one magazine?? The photography is incredible, the writing style elegant, and the values of the handwritten word and leather-bound journals are close to my heart.

So to be published in my favorite magazine??

Priceless.

Yes, the January/February 2012 issue of Victoria published a little piece of my writing--something I sent in response to an e-mail call for pieces on "Winter Comfort Food." So over lunch one day, I jotted a little essay on Keith's amazing Tortilla Soup, describing his techniques and the value of warmth and family around the kitchen table he built.

Then I received an e-mail informing me that they were publishing my little letter/essay. Months past the composition, I had little memory of what I had written, so I was thrilled to receive the issue in the mail yesterday.

So I took a few (ha!) photos to show you the spread on which my writing appears....

The January/February 2012 issue of Victoria which also contains touring information on San Diego, including the historic Hotel del Coronado, beautiful Balboa Park, and scenic La Jolla, all of which are favorite stomping grounds and landmarks in our own family history as the Quayle Brothers Architectural Firm designed buildings in Balboa Park and parts of the Hotel Del, including the famous Crown Room.

Victoria's Reader-to-Reader spread on Cold-Weather Comfort Foods

I love Victoria's beautiful photography and layouts

My little essay sketch on Keith's tortilla soup appears on page 11 of this issue of Victoria

Here's the first column of my little piece

Here's the second column of my little piece

Here's the quotation in the inset

I'm sooo excited about the first publication of my prose in a major magazine!! It's just a little thing in a readers' column, but I'm still thrilled to see my name in print in my favorite magazine!!

Wishing you a blessed Christmas!!!

Family Christmas Letter 2011

2011-12-23T00:24:00.000-08:00

December 2011
Dearest Family and Friends,

The Barrett Family wishes you a holy Advent, a joyous Christmas, and a blessed New Year in our Lord Jesus Christ! May His Spirit, comfort, and abounding love fill your hearts and homes this season and always!

2011 has been another challenging year for our family. We have definitely experienced highs and lows, but throughout it all, God's goodness has been very evident, and we are very thankful for His many blessings. 2011 has been a year of prayer, and although not easy, deep in prayer is always a good place to be.

We celebrated Benjamin's 12th birthday this month with an evening of ice skating at the nearby outlet center...which was quite an adventure (and I have the pictures to prove it!). Benjamin is in 6th grade this year as we continue to educate the three boys at home. He is taking classes in Chess, PE, and Art at our co-op Class Days with Heritage Christian School and is in his third year of studying German. Benjamin is extremely artistic, and we always find him working on some project or another. And if there's laughter in the house, Benjamin is usually instigating the hijinks.

Starting high school in 9th grade this year, Jonathan, who turned 14 in June, continues to study music, mostly guitar. He is in his fourth year of guitar lessons with the Free Teen Guitar Class, a ministry of Alpine Anglican Church, but his and his teacher's busy schedules meant dropping piano for this year. Jonathan plays guitar on the last Friday of each month at the FTGC's Guitar Jams in the Starbucks parking lot in Alpine (while I hole up in the coffee mecca to write). This year he is taking a double-period Geography class called “Mapping the World by Heart” plus PE at Class Day, and he and Timothy continue learning higher math from “Auntie Jo,” my dear friend from college, Johanna (if he doesn't drive her absolutely insane!). He's also more involved in the high school youth group at Lake Murray. Quite popular at church, Jonathan is definitely our “cool kid.”

In 11th grade this year, Timothy will be 17 in March. He continues to enjoy learning art techniques, and we usually find him with a pencil or pens in hand, sketching something from Lord of the Rings or working on another drawing of some sort. He is taking a double-period Chemistry Lab and PE (with Jonathan) at Class Day; he's been asked numerous times to join the high school basketball team, but he prefers playing for fun over competition. Biking over several times a week to the garden site, Timothy remains very much involved in our town's community garden project where he has taken on a lot of responsibility. He's very involved in the Pine Valley community.

Now 19 and taking a year off from college at Point Loma Nazarene University because of financial aid difficulties, Elizabeth took one class at Grossmont Community College this fall but is mostly working in housekeeping at the Pine Valley Bible Conference Center. Elizabeth truly misses being a literature major in my former department at PLNU and living in the dorms during the week and hopes to return next year. She's considering a change in her major, but has much prayer and research ahead before deciding. The down-time at home has allowed Elizabeth to continue with her jewelry business; her products may be seen on her Facebook page. She has also been housecleaning for my parents since my mom has been plagued with chronic back pain all year.

And, as always, I'm crazy-busy. In addition to schooling the three boys at home, I'm teaching Intermediate Writing to high school students and Medieval History to 4th-6th graders (with an excellent team) at Class Day. I'm also teaching online courses during my 10th year at BraveWriter.com in literary analysis, MLA research, grammar, poetry, and Shakespeare, and I've started my own essay grading/editing business at http://www.susannebarrett.com/ Published at Easter this year, I also assisted in editing a new edition of the Book of Common Prayer revised by Father Acker of Alpine Anglican Church of the Blessed Trinity where the kids and I worship on Fridays. I also celebrated my 5th anniversary of blogging at Meditative Meanderings.

In his determination to make ends meet, Keith continues to work very hard, mostly doing handyman work for various clients. He continues to work in the office with his dad on occasion, designing one custom home this year with a second in the works. Keith also created a beautiful art deco-style stained glass window for clients who saw his two windows in the Ademas' home, and he's also working on a mosaic floor for my parents' elevator. Keith and I continue with the Scripture Reading Team at Lake Murray Community Church in La Mesa which we have attended for over 18 years. Although he's had a couple of health challenges this year, one of which resulted in his losing a good deal of weight, Keith continues as Head Chef in our household, creating new and exciting dishes that the kids are always happy to make disappear...far too quickly.

Our family wishes you a joyous and healthy 2012 as we all go forth in the love and grace of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior! Come let us adore Him!

With love and prayers,

The Barrett Family
Keith, Susanne, Elizabeth, Timothy, Jonathan, Benjamin, and Dash, too!

And the annual Christmas family photo on the hearth:

And the silly version of the annual family photo:

Wishing you all a holy and joyous Christmastide (all twelve days!!) and a blessed New Year in the grace of Christ our Lord,

"Anglican Fever" Among Youth

2011-12-20T14:21:00.000-08:00

Father Keith Acker of Alpine Anglican Church of the Blessed Trinity, the first of nine Anglican churches to leave the Episcopal Church's San Diego Diocese six years ago, sent me a news page today, and one of the articles was simply wonderful, so I have to share it.

The conservative Christian Broadcasting Network (CBN) did a story dated December 16 on "Anglican Fever," a movement among the youth, mostly college students, who are involved in many start-up church plants within the Bible-centered Anglican Church of North America (ACNA), of which Alpine Anglican, as a Reformed Episcopal Church, is a member.

The accompanying video which contains more information than the print article, was fascinating:

And here's the link for the article, "Anglican Fever: Youth Flock to New Denomination"

I know that for myself, I am drawn to the Anglican Church because of its focus on Scripture, including the new Book of Common Prayer 2011 which uses the evangelical English Standard Version (ESV) Bible as its source for all Scripture passages. To pray through all 150 Psalms each month, to use the Lectionary as a Bible reading plan for morning and evening, to pray the ancient prayers, creeds, and hymns, some dating back to the first century of the Christian Church--all of these Scripture-centered modes of worship have deepened my faith and caused me to fall more in love with my Savior than ever.

So I am not surprised to learn of youth from Moody Bible Institute and Wheaton College being on the forefront of "Anglican Fever." The emphasis on weekly Communion, on reverence and congregational participation in worship, and on the extensive reading aloud of God's Word all draw me into the Anglican tradition. I also appreciate the more global emphasis on prayer and the concerns over world-wide poverty. The Anglican Church is extremely strong in Africa and South America, to the point that their churches are sending missionaries here to the US. That's rather humbling, isn't it?

And thus I became involved with Alpine Anglican Church of the Blessed Trinity over seven years ago, first as Christ the King Anglican, and after leaving the San Diego Diocese of the Episcopal Church, in its present form, both pastored by Father Acker. I found a depth and breadth to God's Word, a depth in prayer and practice, and the value of worshiping God with body, mind, and spirit, rather than merely the mind. I am more aware of God's Presence with me throughout my days and nights, and I find myself turning to prayer more than ever. I feel as if I have truly discovered "the heart of worship" in a tiny church meeting in an elementary school auditorium on Sundays and in the pastor's dining room and garage-chapel on weekdays and Holy Days...all thanks be to God.

So in this Fourth Week of Advent, I pray along with the millions of Anglicans worldwide the Collect (collective prayer) for this week:

O LORD, raise up your power, we pray, and with great might come among us; And, as our sins and wicked ways greatly hinder us in running the race that is set before us, let your abundant grace and mercy come quickly to help and deliver us; Through Jesus Christ our Lord, who with you and the Holy Spirit, belongs all honor and glory, now and always. Amen.

Wishing you a holy and blessed Advent as we await the Coming of Our Lord,

Advent Quotations

2011-12-17T20:09:00.000-08:00

Our Advent Candle Wreath at Lake Murray, as built by Keith

Advent has long been one of my favorite seasons of the year. I love gathering the kids around the Advent wreath Keith made us a decade ago, lighting the candles and reading God's Word together. It's a precious time of seeing His light shine through the darkness as His Words ring out, bright and true.

Over the years, I have collected quite a few Advent quotations. Usually I share one quotation per week, but with my Advent being so incredibly busy with classes and essays to grade, I haven't been able to post here often. But after staying up grading final essays for my last online class until 3:00 AM this morning, I am finally free to write and post.
One of my favorite Advent quotations is by a now famous man, written well before he became world-renowned:

"It is the beautiful task of Advent to awaken in all of us memories of goodness and thus open the doors of hope."

--Joseph Cardinal Ratzinger, now Pope Benedict XVI

And another, written by one who died a martyr's death:

"A prison cell in which one waits, hopes,...and is completely dependent on the fact that the door of freedom has to be opened from the outside, is not a bad picture of Advent."

--Dietrich Bonhoeffer

And, finally, a wonderfully thoughtful view of the season of Advent:

"Advent is the perfect time to clear and prepare the Way. Advent is winter training camp for those who desire peace. By reflection and prayer, by reading and meditation, we can make our hearts a place where a blessing of peace would desire to abide and where the birth of the Prince of Peace might take place."

--Edward Hays, A Pilgrim's Almanac

So as we enjoy this Advent season in which we anticipate the celebration of our Lord's First Coming while we wait patiently for His Second Coming, may our hearts and minds be fully devoted to Him Who loves all of us perfectly and everlastingly.

Wishing you and yours a holy and blessed Advent,

YES!!!!! NaNoWriMo Winner!!!!

2011-12-01T19:48:00.000-08:00

YES!!!!!!!! I buckled down like crazy yesterday with 36,500 words written out of the 50,000 words required to "win" National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) and wrote ALL DAY LONG.

And I finished. I verified my 50,000-word "novel" with exactly 14 minutes to spare before the midnight November 30 deadline.

I didn't write a novel, though. I completed one novel already started and worked on additional chapters for a second one.

They're not publishable, but they've been wonderful stress-relievers when stacks of essays are teetering precariously and editing jobs are piling up.

It's just been plain FUN.

But finishing NaNoWriMo was also important as for the first time, I offered extra credit to my co-op high school expository writing class: one extra credit point for every 1,000 words written, for a maximum of 50 extra credit points.

Therefore, I couldn't very well not finish when I have half my class as Writing Buddies.

So with a throbbing neck, aching and swollen fingers, and a drained brain, I am simply grateful that, by the grace of God, I pulled out the proverbial "Hail Mary" and wrote my heart out.

Did any of you try NaNoWriMo? How far did you get? Did you finish/win? What did you write? Please leave comments so we can chat about our NaNoWriMo experiences.

Happily spent from writing,

Another NaNoWriMo Update

2011-11-29T21:54:00.000-08:00

Well, here it is. November 29th. In previous NaNoWriMo years, I've been done by now. Finished. Waving my "winner" banner in everyone's faces. Savouring the triumph and all that jazz.

Yep. Here it is. November 29th. And I'm at 36,500 words. That's 13,500 words shy of "winning" by writing 50,000 words by midnight on November 30th...yeah, in a mere 26 hours.

So, the question is: Is it possible to write 13,500 words in 26 hours, get a few hours of sleep, homeschool three boybarians, and complete the remainder of my extensive "To Do" list, all by midnight tomorrow night?

Sigh.

Why am I lagging, you ask?

Let me count the ways...

1. I was sick with a nasty cold and sinus infection for a complete week...

2. We did a lot of entertaining at the beginning of the month, which included a lot of cleaning of a very dirty house...

3. My Brave Writer class (Literary Analysis: Anne of Green Gables) has sucked a great deal more time from my writing than I had planned. It's a hoot to teach, but it gives me little time left over for writing...

4. Almost everything that I have written has also been edited at least once and posted online, so in a way, I've done double the work...

5. I've had a huge upswing in my own essay grading business, so that's taken a good deal of time, too...not that I'm complaining...

6. My chiropractor was out of town for two weeks, thus my neck and upper back are in constant pain, making typing difficult....

So, yeah. I'm not done. Nowhere near. Either I can take all day tomorrow and type my little heart out (and drive both my chiropractor and my family up the wall), or I can resign myself to abject failure.

Which one would YOU choose?

Okay, okay already--I'm getting offline to go write more of my novel. Sheesh. Who knew you were so pushy?

Blogging when I should be NaNoWriMo-ing,

NaNoWriMo Update

2011-11-22T21:27:00.000-08:00

Well, it's been a slow NaNoWriMo month thus far. Yep, eight days left and I'm barely halfway at 28,000 words.

But I've been editing my work at least once before publishing online, so it's rather like writing over 50,000 words so far.

The good news is that tonight I completed one of my stories; it ended up at just over 140,000 words written over 360 days, just five days short of the one-year anniversary of starting it and publishing it online.

Now I can concentrate on my second story...which only needs to be updated weekly which hopefully means that I can actually write now, edit later for the most part. Once I write, edit, and post tomorrow's chapter, that is.

I had hoped to get farther on the second story and have a nice bank of rough drafts to draw on for a few months, but the first story required many more words to complete than I had planned. Yep, those final four chapters ended up requiring almost 24,000 words.

So, yeah, I've only invested about 4K words into the story I wanted to be writing. But it feels GREAT to have one finished. Now my attention goes to the second one and its shorter chapters, so I should make some decent progress.

It helps that we're off school all week, plus I'm "officially" off Brave Writer this week, too. I will check in on my Literary Analysis class here and there, but not regularly as usual. It's kind of a make-up week for them anyway.

So...keep on writing, NaNoWriMo'ers!! I do have to catch up because I have half a writing class at our homeschool co-op who have joined NaNoWriMo for extra credit, and as they've all "buddied" me, I need to keep up my writing rep with them. Especially as one of them is already finished. ;)

Writing onward,

Christ the King Sunday

2011-11-20T08:00:00.000-08:00

Today is the final Sunday of the Christian Year, the celebration of Christ the King.

And today's daily devotional at The High Calling was superb in explaining this observance. I have copied the devotional in its entirety:

Nov 20, 2011
Make a Joyful Symphony to Christ the King
by Mark D. Roberts
Psalm 98:1-9

Sing your praise to the LORD with the harp,
with the harp and melodious song,
with trumpets and the sound of the ram’s horn.
Make a joyful symphony before the LORD, the King!
(Psalm 98:5-6)

Today is a special holiday in the Christian year (sometimes called the liturgical year or the church year). It is Christ the King Sunday. This holiday is not as well-known as other celebrations such as Christmas or Easter. But it holds a unique place in the Christian year as the last Sunday of the year. On Christ the King Sunday, we celebrate the coming reign of Christ as King of kings and Lord of lords. We delight in the fact that when Christ reigns, the world will be restored, peace shall reign, justice shall be established, and all people will live in the fullness of the kingdom of God.

In the providence of God, our chapter from the Psalms for today perfectly fits the themes of Christ the King Sunday. If you’re new to the Daily Reflections, I should mention that on the weekends I focus on the Psalms, working psalm by psalm through the entire collection of 150. Today “just happens” to be the day for Psalm 98. This whole psalm resonates with the victory celebration. God has won. It’s time to rejoice. Verses 5 and 6 focus our praise: “Sing your praise to the LORD with the harp, with the harp and melodious song, with trumpets and the sound of the ram’s horn. Make a joyful symphony before the LORD, the King!”

Every Sunday, Christians gather to celebrate the victory of God through Jesus Christ. The one who was crucified was raised on Easter Sunday, thus defeating sin and death. On Christ the King Sunday, we shout to Christ the Lord with gratitude for his sacrifice. We announce his victory to the world, inviting them to join us in our celebration: “Shout to the LORD, all the earth; break out in praise and sing for joy!” (98:4).

On Christ the King Sunday, we complete the cycle of the Christian year. It began almost one year ago with Advent. In that season prior to Christmas, we set our hope upon God, yearning for our Savior, as did the Jews so many centuries earlier. Today, we celebrate the fact that the Savior came, born in a manger. That he lived among us, proclaiming the kingdom of God. That he died, taking upon himself the sin of the world. And that he was raised from the dead, breaking the power of sin and death itself. Christ rules today as King of kings. This we celebrate, even as we look forward to the time when we will fully enjoy the life of his kingdom.

QUESTIONS FOR FURTHER REFLECTION: Do you live as if Christ is the King of kings? What would it mean for you to acknowledge his kingdom each day? How can you celebrate Christ the King in your life today? How can you celebrate Christ the Kind in your daily work this week?

PRAYER:
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
For the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

For the Lord God omnipotent reigneth.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

The kingdom of this world
Is become the kingdom of our Lord,
And of His Christ, and of His Christ;
And He shall reign for ever and ever,
For ever and ever, forever and ever,

King of kings, and Lord of lords,
King of kings, and Lord of lords,
And Lord of lords,
And He shall reign,
And He shall reign forever and ever,
King of kings, forever and ever,
And Lord of lords,
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

And He shall reign forever and ever,
King of kings! and Lord of lords!
And He shall reign forever and ever,
King of kings! and Lord of lords!
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Hallelujah!Amen.

And from the Book of Common Prayer 2011:

Propers for the Sunday Before Advent: Christ the King:

THE COLLECT:
ALMIGHTY and eternal God, who restores all things in your Son, the King of kings and Lord of lords; Stir up, O Lord, the wills of your faithful people, so that we may abundantly produce the fruit of good works and be abundantly rewarded in your eternal kingdom; Through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and rules with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

THE READINGS:
Jer23.5-8; John6.5-14; Ps85.1-13; Hebrews7.1-7

So we pray the old Christian Year out in thanksgiving and praise as we welcome in the new Christian Year beginning next Sunday with the First Sunday in Advent!!

Wishing you a blessed day of victory in Christ Jesus our Lord,

Publication News!

2011-11-12T21:10:00.000-08:00

About a month ago, I received the monthly e-mail I usually receive from Victoria Magazine. One of the things listed there mentioned the writing of a short piece about our favorite winter comfort food.

Right then and there, I drafted a short essay on Keith's amazing tortilla soup...how the Southwest cooking warms us on snowy nights, etc. I quickly proofread the piece and sent it off to Victoria.

And promptly forgot all about it.

Until yesterday.

I received a short e-mail from one of the editors at Victoria, informing me that my piece was chosen to be published in the January/February 2012 edition of Victoria Magazine.

Here's my first written acceptance for publication:

Hi Susanne,

I just wanted to let you know that we have selected your letter about your favorite comfort food to appear in our upcoming Jan/Feb12 issue of Victoria. Thank you so much for sharing your story with us. If you would e-mail me your mailing address, I will be happy to send you a couple of comp copies once the issue comes out. Take care, and have a wonderful holiday season!

Anne Garry

Anne Garry
Managing Editor, Victoria
Hoffman Media, LLC

So...YAY!!!

It's just a short little piece that should appear in the "Reader to Reader" section at the beginning of Victoria, one of only two magazines I receive (along with Ruminate, a Christian arts and literature magazine, both gifts from lovely friends. But it's my first acceptance for publication.

And combined with Thursday's feature of my post about the Nov PAD Chapbook Challenge of last year, which included one of my poems, on the homepage of the She Writes website, this week has become quite an outstanding one for publication.

Well, I'm quite behind in NaNoWriMo now at only 12,000 words, so I'll have to write 2000 words every single day for the rest of the month, plus an extra 2000 this weekend. It's doable, but it's going to take some real concentration.

Which may be a bit difficult, given that three of the kids and myself are coming down with colds.

Aah well--that's the writing life.

Writing with you,

Last Year at This Time: Nov PAD Challenge

2011-11-08T23:25:00.000-08:00

So this year I've returned to the adventure of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) after taking last year off. After all, fiction writing isn't my thing. My participation in NaNoWriMo in 2008 marked my first foray into fiction writing since college, and somehow, nonfiction writer though I am, I was hooked.

I think it was the freedom of NaNoWriMo that drew me in, hypnotizing me into writing until the wee small hours most nights when the rest of the household slept. I wrote with only a single sheet of notes in front of me: just a class schedule, a few background notes, a few street names. And I just let my fingers roam, typing whatever came to mind as I followed my main character around, describing what she did, what she said, how she felt.

I finished the challenge in 2008, and in 2009 I attempted and succeeded in completing the second half of the 2008 novel. It was a heady feeling for a nonfiction writer usually bound by facts, writing stories straight from my brain with such abandon.

But when 2010 rolled around, too many obligations filled my proverbial plate to consider participating in NaNoWriMo, so I tackled a different challenge that I thought would take less time and less energy.

I was wrong about that last part. My choice for last November's writing challenge was anything but quick and easy. In fact, I'm pretty darn sure that I spent more time on it per day than I did with NaNoWriMo.

Robert Lee Brewer, the editor of Poets Market offered his annual Nov (November) PAD (Poem a Day) Chapbook Challenge on his Poetic Asides blog on the Writers Digest website. In past years I had pounced on the opportunity of NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month) in April, but with the main website that hosted it now defunct, Brewer's poem-a-day challenge truly appealed to me.

While I enjoyed the different daily prompts which evoked some very different poems from me than I had composed previously, the major advantage to the Nov PAD Chapbook Challenge was the contest itself: a chapbook of poems composed during the Nov PAD Challenge would be chosen by Brewer (and perhaps be published?).

Plus, with some fairly impressive names in poetry participating, some of my poems received some excellent feedback from contemporary poets. The movers-and-shakers of the American poetry scene were coming to my blog and leaving very helpful comments to help me improve some of my more promising efforts.

Brewer's daily prompts seemed fairly simple on the surface, but when explored more deeply, the possibilities (and thus my imagination) abounded. Over the course of the month, my writing deepened and broadened wonderfully, maturing me both as a writer and a poet. And isn't that what we desire more than anything?

If poets decide to participate in NaNoWriMo, Brewer also hosts a Poem a Day challenge in April as well, his own version of NaPoWriMo. So all is not lost if November is too busy to join the Nov PAD Chapbook Challenge.

Link for the rules for Nov PAD Chapbook Challenge:
http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides/2011-november-pad-chapbook-challenge-rules

Link for Brewer's Poetic Asides Blog (the site of the challenge):
http://www.writersdigest.com/editor-blogs/poetic-asides

Writing with you this month,

Quotation for the Week

2011-11-06T15:56:00.000-08:00

I'm a teensy bit behind in my NaNoWriMo word count. Just a teensy bit. Our household has been very busy, readying the house for company--friends over for dinner last night and a blogging friend and her husband spending a few nights with us this coming week.

I also have a bunch of work to do for my classes this week: lesson planning for the week for our three home-educated boybarians, new discussion questions to post at Brave Writer for my Anne of Green Gables Literary Analysis class (and responses to their replies), lesson preparation and essay grading for my medieval history and high school writing courses at Heritage Christian School's Class Days, plus NaNoWriMo and posting edited chapters on Wattpad in a timely manner.

So a little inspiration is definitely needed to help me push through this busy month.

And it comes from an unlikely source: the "curmudgeonous" George Bernard Shaw. (Yes, I made up the word curmudgeonous--I think it describes Shaw perfectly.)

"Only in books has mankind known perfect truth, love, and beauty."

--George Bernard Shaw

Yeah, I know. The idea of "perfect truth, love, and beauty" is a bit of a reach to apply to NaNoWriMo, and especially to my teen stories.

But one can dream, right?

I'm just so excited that the main story I'm writing for NaNoWriMo hit a high on Wattpad of #1 in the Thriller category and #3 in its main category, nearly reaching into the Top 100 works on the entire website (#103) this week. That's amazing!! :)

So on I tap, tap, tap, writing furiously while attempting to juggle all else that I need to do in addition to writing a 50,000 word novel, especially this week.

With a never-ending tap, tap, tap,

Update from NaNo Land

2011-11-04T15:03:00.000-07:00

Well, it's Day Four of National Novel Writing Month, known affectionately as NaNoWriMo, and it's going well. My goal for the end of today is 8,000 words, and I'm slightly over 7,000 right now without having written today.

And today, with one of the first rainstorms of the wintry season, is a perfect day for writing. I even have a cup of hot chocolate at my elbow to assist me.

This is a strange year for doing NaNoWriMo as I'm juggling two partially-written stories, one nearly done and one only a few chapters in. And as I'm posting finished chapters on a writing website, I have to take breaks from writing freely and creatively to revise, edit, and proof before posting new chapters on schedule: weekends for the nearly-finished story, and mid-week for the newer story. If I don't post on time, I start receiving whining complaints from readers. And that's not good. Some even claim withdrawals, but I wouldn't go that far. ;)

So I'm popping back and forth between the two stories, wanting to finish the first (I have 2 1/2 chapters left to write) then devote myself to the second story for the remainder of NaNoWriMo.

It's also fun having so many Writing Buddies this year. Several former writing students, now graduated, have joined and rejoined, plus a few online friends and at least two students from my current writing class. (Yes, I offered extra credit.) We keep track of one another and give each other a swift kick if the writing totals start stagnating. It's really wonderful.

So I thought I'd post the Prologue of my second story; I've published this prologue and eight short chapters so far online. Let me know what you think, okay?

Prologue to Pinned but Fluttering

How had it gone on this long? I wondered, my eyes listlessly wandering over the nearly-bare room lit by a single light bulb hanging from the water-stained ceiling.

It had all seemed so simple at first. So normal.

Now I was locked in this room nearly 24/7, only allowed out while being escorted to the bathroom three times a day.

Like an animal.

I missed the sun. So much.

But I missed my parents even more. Even after all these years, I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that they're gone. Both of them. It had happened so fast, one right after the other.

Tears rose unbidden to my eyes, blurring the dirty white walls, the plywood nailed securely over the one small, boarded window.

If it weren't for the battery-operated alarm clock on the floor next to the mattress I slept on, I would have never have any idea of the time.

I could tell day from night by the frequency of bathroom breaks, not from the usual rhythms of sunlight and darkness.

Not that either of them would ever let me even pee in peace, anyway.

But I had a strange feeling that things were going to change. And soon.

I could sense the tension between the two of them—the way they bellowed and screamed at one another hour after hour, the animosity building between them each day.

Part of me was scared silly. Change, in my book, was never a good thing. Change had always meant a definite worsening of my lot. Yep, every stinking time. Always. Change was bad.

But part of me was restless, perhaps even excited. Through the thick, bolted door, I had managed to catch just enough of their incessant arguing to figure out what the fighting was all about.

It was all about me.

But this time, I could be granted a chance—the chance I've been praying for every night...for years.

It only took one slip on their part, and I could be free. Free of this tiny room. Free of their anger...which they always took out on me. Free of them.

All love I'd had for them when I was a child was gone...long gone. I wasn't sure that I had the mental energy to hate them, even after all this time. But I did know that I didn't love them. That I would leave them the very first chance that came my way.

Because I knew that one chance was all I would ever, ever get.

So if any of you are participating in NaNoWriMo this year, please comment and leave me your user name so that we can become Writing Buddies.

Writing furiously,

Muslims and Christians

2011-11-01T22:17:00.000-07:00

Image Attribution

On this All Saints' Day, a day in which Christians remember those saints, both those recognized by the Church as well as those living quiet lives for Christ's Kingdom, I received a thought-provoking (and prayer-provoking) e-mail from K, a friend of mine serving as a missionary in Asia. She's also a superb writer and this morning she sent out a thought-provoking article on her observations of Muslim-Christian relations. With her kind written permission, I am reprinting her article in its entirety:

As part of my research for the week, I was reading up on the history of missions to Muslims since the founding of Islam.

Mostly, what I read made me profoundly sad. Sad, and frustrated. Because it seems like Christians and Muslims have been talking past each other for several hundred years, and fighting the same battles over and over again, without ever really understanding each other.

What makes it worse is that among Christians, Muslims often have the reputation for “hardheartedness” or “stubbornness” when they don’t immediately accept the gospel offered by foreigners. Reaching Muslims is seen as hopeless, impossible. But often, the problem is not that Muslims are refusing to accept what God has done, but simply not understanding what is being offered to them, because of religious vocabulary differences, cultural differences, or just plain old language differences.

Likewise, among Muslims, Christians have the reputation of being colonialist, overbearing, and stubborn in their insistence on trying to bring a foreign way of life (complete with dirty foreign meats and several foreign gods) into a very, very different culture.

The most heartbreaking passage of this particular paper pointed out that many Christians simply want the demise of Islam – if Muslims don’t become Christian, at least they can become secular. So Muslims who encounter foreigners often feel that the very foundations of their society are under attack – better that they learn to watch “Sex and the City” and wear revealing clothes than continue to worship the Creator God in the traditional way. As attractive as freedom in Christ is, it comes bundled with western promiscuity, western traditions, and a western worldview. And yet, we continue to call them the “stubborn” ones for refusing to change.

Seriously, I wanted to cry when I read that. Call me crazy, but I think God has a deep, abiding love for Muslims. I think their culture (like every culture) still carries strong reflections of God’s image. And I think that followers of Jesus must learn to change from within – first, from within themselves, and then from within their culture. I cannot preach a secular gospel; I cannot say that religious and cultural heritage don’t matter. Nor can I deny the power of Jesus to help people re-invent culture in new, God honoring ways. Because of the cross, everything is redeemable.

We need to stop looking for outward change, without caring about the heart reasons for the change. A woman who takes off her headscarf might be experiencing freedom in Christ, or she might be lusting after western culture. A man who stops praying five times a day could be liberated, or he could be lazy.

And we need to care enough about the people we’re supposedly trying to reach to try to understand their culture from the inside, and not just dismiss it as completely worthless or ungodly. After all, didn’t we all start from a place of unknowing, a place of groping after some form of truth in one way or another? No matter where we come from, God is able to redeem and transform us into a new creation; how can we say that anyone is truly beyond hope?

Thanks for listening to the sadness of my heart on this issue. Would you take a minute to stop and pray for the interaction between the Christian and Muslim worlds – to pray that there would be a brighter future springing from the knowledge of Jesus?

Thought-provoking? What do you think? Especially on All Saints' Day?

Thinking (and praying) tonight,

Quotation for the Week: On Writing

2011-10-30T16:21:00.000-07:00

With NaNoWriMo starting on Tuesday, an inspirational quotation on writing seems to be in order for this week. Of course, the daily encouragement e-mails from the wonderful people at NaNoWriMo are helpful, but sometimes a quotation from our own journals, one that snatched our attention and inspired us enough to jot it down months or even years ago, may be just the ticket to start strong and avoid the unsightly procrastination monster.

For some of my consistent readers, a warning: these quotations are reprints of ones I have posted before on this blog. But they're sooooo good that they're worth another perusal, I think. :)

"I love writing. I love the swirl and swing of words as they tangle with human emotion."
--James Michener

"Easy reading is damn hard writing."
--Nathaniel Hawthorne

"Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass."
--Anton Checkov

So as we gather our creative forces in preparation for NaNoWriMo, we can find inspiration in the most obscure corners where no one dares to explore, or in the brightest hallways where many have tread and continue to do so.

As long as we keep writing, writing, writing. For it is only in writing that our writing will improve, and thus we seek the heart and soul of our craft: the beauty and truth inherent in the written word.

Writing with you,

Yep--Another Banner NaNoWriMo Year!!!

2011-10-29T14:16:00.000-07:00

Yep. I'm gonna do it again. I'm participating in NaNoWriMo: National Novel Writing Month.

The goal of NaNoWriMo: Write a 50,000-word novel in a month, in this case, November. Thirty days. 50,000 words. Fun.

I participated in 2008 for the first time. Yes, me. The NON-fiction writer. The I-barely-survived-creative-writing-in-college writer. The writer who had not penned a work of fiction since that same creative writing class...which I think culminated in a story about a flea named Spike.

I wrote a story about a single woman on the journey from the evangelical church to the liturgical, historical Anglican church. Of course, the story was quite autobiographical, but I took my creative writing professor's words to heart: Write what you know. And I completed the challenge: 50,000 words by November 29th, 2008.

In 2009 I tackled the second half of the novel which I had titled The Pilgrim Pathway. Have I touched it since November 28, 2009? Nope. It's very rough (actually, "extremely rough" would be more accurate), but mostly complete.

Last year I was teaching an intensive Brave Writer class over the month of November, so I elected to take up a Poem-a-Day challenge through Robert Brewer's Poets Market blog on the Writers Market website. I wrote thirty poems, a few of them decent, and received some wonderfully helpful critiques from some fairly major poets. Cool. But I think I sunk as much time into the poems as I would have in NaNoWriMo.

But the joyous freedom of allowing a story to unfold in one's brain and flow through tapping fingers onto a computer screen was too addicting. I started writing a fiction story on another website in the middle of the month; I've been posting a chapter a week and am down to the final three chapters. The story contains 50 chapters (very short, 25000-word chapters which is what the website handles best), and 200 pages on my computer, 150 pages on the website. And this story has followers: it has garnered over 110,000 "reads" (or hits), over 1100 votes/likes, nearly 1000 individual comments, and last week the 50th chapter reached a high ranking of #9 in its category. So I guess I couldn't stop writing fiction after all.

So I'm back with NaNoWriMo in 2011, and I'm planning to work on a second story I started on the same writing website in August. It's called Pinned but Fluttering. So far I have a prologue and seven chapters written, and it's even more popular than my first story. I posted Chapter Seven early Wednesday, and this morning it's ranked #4 in its category and #2 in the Thriller category--it reached #1 in the Thriller category for a few days last week. Out of over a million stories and poems posted on the site, these rankings are very encouraging!

And the exciting thing about NaNoWriMo this year is that I'm doing it with friends! In 2009, I "friended" a writing student and a member of our local writers workshop, and we worked together, encouraging each other. My local friend and I even met at our library and wrote next to each other, our fingers typing as we composed companionably.

But this year I will be participating with several former writing students, all having graduated high school, plus my workshop friend. And on a whim I offered extra credit to my current writing class in our home school co-op--one extra credit point for every 1000 words written, with a maximum of 50 extra credit points. And almost half the class raised hands when I asked who was considering participating in NaNoWriMo this fall.

And NaNoWriMo is more than a bunch of people writing: over a quarter of a million adults participate, along with school programs for kids. But NaNoWriMo is a non-profit, so in the spirit of sharing the love of writing (and the money), I'm posting a two-minute video on all they do, with the hopes that many of us will send in a few bucks to keep the ball[point pens] rolling..

So...who's in??? Post your NaNoWriMo user name in my comments, and we can journey together!!

Writing with you,

Quotation for the Week

2011-10-24T11:24:00.000-07:00

I've now been sick for over a week. I started feeling ill last Saturday night, then stayed home Sunday from church. I tried to have a normal school day on Monday, but went to bed very early--totally unlike myself. Then I just couldn't function for the rest of the week and spent most of Tuesday through Sunday in bed. I managed to finish grading essays for my Brave Writer course, but that was about it all week.

Last night I did the boys' school planning, and I was lightheaded the entire time.

This morning I woke, planning to return to my normal schedule, and I just can't. I'll try to stay on the sofa so that I can help the boys with their schoolwork, but I'm definitely going to have to take it easy.

So as I peruse the quotations in my journal this week, I came across an odd truth from an unusual source. See what you think about it....

"Man can't do without God. Just like you're thirsty, you have to drink water. You just can't go without God."
--Bob Marley

We "can't go without God." Isn't that the Truth? Marley seems to be paraphrasing John 15:5: "...for apart from me you can do nothing."

So as we walk with God this week, depending on Him for everything, may we ponder the simple yet profound words from an unusual source...dreads and all.

Wishing you all a blessed week,

Thankful for Autumn

2011-10-10T23:10:00.000-07:00

This week autumn made itself felt. Our first winter storm came through, bringing rain and high winds, and the boys carried in wood and built the first fire of the season. Each morning I have to scrape frost from my windshield. I've put away the capris of summer, pulling out jeans and sweats and wool socks.

Autumn is my favorite season. The heat of summer wanes into crisp, clean days, a few cirrus clouds spreading across the skies, filmy mare's tails. The days grow shorter, and the apples ripen, blushing on the branches of our Pippin tree. The days are warm and pleasant; the night cool, often downright cold. We add another quilt to the bed at night. The boys stop watering the garden and start hauling firewood, our main source of heat in the house. I open the windows in the mornings to warm the house with temperate breezes, closing them when the sun dips, bringing coolness of evening, the opposite of summertime in which we open windows at night to cool the house and seal it up tight in the mornings to keep the rooms as comfortable as possible.

So with the arrival of autumn, I continue on the journey to One Thousand Gifts with the Gratitude Community at A Holy Experience as I thank God this day...

671. for the nearly full moon shimmering through evergreen branches in deep dusk

672. for midnight-blue skies illuminating silhouettes of pines in dusky twilight

673. for the neighbor strumming guitar, practicing Christmas music in early October evenings

674. for the first frost of the season icing morning windshields

675. for harvest of pumpkins from community garden

676. for persistent toad who keeps returning to visit my spa

677. for new milestones for my stories

678. for first winter storm, bringing oh-so-welcome rain

679. for warmth of wool socks and UGG-style boots

680. for late lazy sunrises and early sunsets as autumn days wane

So as pumpkins are harvested and harvest moons wink in chill evenings, I count the days of autumn, treasuring each one. We make popcorn, apple cider, and hot chocolate in afternoons, and soup reappears on our dinner menus. And we look forward to Thanksgiving, the day set aside here in the States for gratitude for the good gifts of God.

Journeying in gratitude, now and always,

Quotation(s) of the Week: On Literature

2011-10-09T17:48:00.000-07:00

This past week has been all about writing.

I've been grading the first drafts of my Brave Writer MLA Research Essay class. I've been writing and publishing parts/chapters of my two stories, and I've been helping my boys write their essay assignments, one writing a "keen observation" essay and the other rewriting a scene from The Hobbit from another character's point-of-view.

And as I write what I consider to be "fluff" writing, I keep thinking about the difference between fiction and literature.

Fiction (what I'm writing right now and the focus of my writing for the past eleven months) is writing stories not based in actual events (like biography and history); they may be loosely based in real life happenings, but they're disguised by the writer so as to be fairly unrecognizable.

Literature is fiction with longevity. It's not just "fluff"; it contains universal themes, quality writing styles, deep character development, and wide appeal. Literature often morphs into a "classic" with the passage of time.

I very much doubt that my current writing projects will become literature, but I hope that some of my future work will aspire to the literary category.

I have jotted down a few quotations about literature that seem memorable to me; I hope you'll find them worthy as well:

"Good literature is simply language charged with meaning to the utmost possible degree."
--Ezra Pound

"It is in literature that the concrete outlook of humanity receives its expression."
--Alfred North Whitehead

"Oh, literature, oh the glorious Art, how it preys upon the marrow of our bones. It scoops the stuffing out of us, and chucks us aside. Alas!"
--D.H. Lawrence

So as we devour fiction and literature and books of all sorts, and as we write what we hope will become literature (or at least hope to be published!), may we express our very hearts in the guise of deeply-resonant characters, exciting plots, lovely writing styles, and memorable prose.

Writing furiously, as always,

Buried....and Quotation for the Week

2011-10-04T22:28:00.000-07:00

On Friday the students in my online MLA Research Essay class at Brave Writer submitted their rough drafts. And I've been buried ever since.

Using Open Office's editing function and margin text notes, I marked everything in all the essays regarding content, MLA formatting, and language usage. Each essay took between four and six hours to comment upon.

Yep. Four to six hours. Each.

So, I spent all day Saturday, all day Sunday (missing church), all day Monday when I wasn't homeschooling, and until five in the morning this morning, commenting on rough drafts.

So no blogging, Tweeting, or Facebooking this week, along with no writing of my stories. I didn't even have time to do more than text "Happy Birthday" wishes to two dear friends. It's been a stressful few days to be sure.

At least when the final essays are submitted on Friday, grading them will not be nearly as much work since I've already commented on the major issues in the essays. (Thank goodness!) Plus, I have ten days to turn around the essays, rather than three days. (Thank goodness, again!)

So as my students write and I dream of writing, I thought that a writing quotation might be appropriate for this week:

"Above all, let who you are, what you are, what you believe, shine through every sentence you write, every piece you finish."
--John Jakes

Even though I'm not much of a John Jakes fan, this wise advice is a guiding force behind our teaching at Brave Writer:

--write what you know
--write from the heart
--write with passion

And as I continue to experiment with fiction writing, I'm learning the same lessons. I'm not much of a creative writer--never have been, except for poetry. So I'm pushing myself in new directions as I work on a couple of stories that are becoming quite popular on a publication website. The comments are very encouraging, but I know that I have a long way to go before I am writing truly good fiction. But this site is a good place to experiment, to "cut my teeth" before attempting greater things.

As my students will continue writing, I'll continue grading, and when I finish the grading, I will continue writing my own little stories, learning as I go....

Always, always with pen in hand,

Hope's Feathers

2011-09-28T13:50:00.000-07:00

Emily Dickinson

When I hear the word "hope," my mind flits immediately to the wee poem by Emily Dickinson. When I first became ill with my now chronic conditions, my daughter copied the poem and illustrated it as a birthday gift, and it hangs on the wall in my prayer corner where I reread it often while I meditate and pray.

The poem is the frame in the upper right....

The poem defines the concept of hope with simple but profound imagery--the hallmark of Dickinson's genius:

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

This image of hope, a shy bird perching in my soul, is encouraging. As the last stanza remarks, hope asks nothing of us, but, as the center stanza illustrates, it sings its sweetest in the midst of powerful storms that can rock us to our very hearts' cores, soul-deep, but still is heard despite circumstance, distance, loneliness, and unfamiliar surroundings.

And, as the first stanza asserts, hope "never stops at all." Hope "never stops at all." How emphatic Dickinson phrases this last line of the first stanza! Hope stops never, at all? One of these emphatic words would have been sufficient to express hope's persistence, but both? How reassuring!

As Saint Paul wrote in his epistle to the Church in Rome:

"For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience" (Romans 8:24-25, ESV).

So we wait, being watchful and thankful, for our hope to be realized. And where is our hope placed? In Him who walked this earth incarnate, wafting hope in His midst wherever He spoke, taught, healed, advised, prayed, praised, transfigured...suffered, died, and rose again.

Our hope can only be in the One who lived hope for us, and in whose hope we walk, each and every day, whether we recognize him as Christ our Lord or not.

So let us hope together, for faith, hope, and love are braided together, intertwined with knots of grace. And, of course, "the greatest of these is Love."

With love for the One who first loved us, who brings us His hope,

With Gratitude

2011-09-27T12:29:00.000-07:00

Autumn in the meadow, just outside our back gate

Autumn has arrived, according to the calendar, at least.

Summer is my least favorite season. But the other three seasons are simply magical. And autumn, I think, is my favorite.

I love the days becoming shorter, daylight dusking a few minutes earlier each evening. The nights cool, demanding the cozy warmth of flannel. Even the mornings are crisp, and I pile my wool cardigan atop my cotton cardigan while still wearing summer khaki capris and leather flip-flops.

The sun warms without burning, and Santa Ana winds pick up, whipping branches bare. Autumn winds can fuel fires, and living in the mountains, as we do, we're on the front lines of the battle as dry lightning ignites, or a car accident sparks, or an insane person alights dry tinder. Santa Ana winds can reach 100 miles per hour, barreling through the twisting canyons between hills and mountains on its path to the coast.

But autumn also brings spicy scents of cinnamon and nutmeg as we bake acorn squash from the community garden, sweetened with dollops of honey. Zucchini is transformed into fragrant muffins, and the first potatoes sit on the sideboard, ready to wash. T brings us the garden's bounty as his reward for working in the community garden three mornings per week.

So autumn comes, bringing cozy days and chill nights, and I find myself humming as summer heat fades, stars brighten in evening skies, and soups return to our weekly menu options.

So with autumn on its way, I join the Gratitude Community at A Holy Experience as I trudge my way toward One Thousand Gifts, thanking God this day for...

661. ...fresh organic produce from our community garden

662. ...skies whitewashed with cirrus clouds, their "mare's tails" swooping across the miles overhead

663. ...flannel pajamas on crisp nights

664. ...peach-flavored herbal teas, orchard-scented

665. ...pedaling stationary bike while reading from Kindle in the dim light of dusk

666. ...milestones reached by my little stories this week

667. ...Pippins bowing the branches, nearly ready for the picking

668. ...the gray tree squirrel cavorting on the bench beneath vanilla-fragranced Jeffrey pine

669. ...joys of teaching writing, both online and face-to-face

670. ...solace of late night peace, reading and writing when pain disallows sleep

I hope that autumn is wending its way toward winter wherever you may be, with the promises of cooler days and crisper nights. Unfortunately for us Southern Californians, September and October can contain the hottest days of the year as Santa Ana winds waft heated desert air toward the cooling waters of the Pacific....

Looking forward to cooler days,

Quotation of the Week

2011-09-25T23:44:00.000-07:00

I am truly excited tonight. Last November I started writing a story and posting it on a publication website, all under a nom de plume. I've since started a second story, and both stories have gained followers on two separate websites.

But tonight my first story, currently at 47 chapters (very short 2500-3000 word chapters), has passed the 100,000 reads mark on the first website. In addition, the story has amassed 1,000 votes, and my pen name has acquired over 200 fans. These are some impressive milestones, especially considering that I don't really regard myself as much of a fiction writer.

The first story has been a definite success. However, my second story, started last month and only encompassing a short 500-word prologue and three short (2000 word) chapters, has already accumulated over 3,300 reads, 100 votes, and almost 150 comments from readers. Considering that I've only posted nine pages, those numbers are impressive.

I've always considered myself a writer of nonfiction. More of an expository writer and blogger than a creative one. Before I started these two stories, I had only attempted one other work of fiction since graduating from college (where I wrote only one or two fiction stories for a creative writing class). I have worked on the previous book during National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) 2008 and 2009, but it still remains unfinished and extremely autobiographical. Probably too much so.

So to receive such amazing support from a particular audience (mostly teen girls, actually--a few are in their twenties) is extremely encouraging. I'm planning to take my second story--the one that's only nine pages long right now--and explore it during NaNoWriMo 2011 this November, using the month to draft the majority of the story. I'll then revise each chapter before publishing online.

In honor of the surprise success of fiction writing, I chose this quotation as the theme for this new week, written by an author who balanced the writing of fiction and nonfiction flawlessly:

"Literature is a luxury; fiction is a necessity."
--G.K. Chesterton

On that note, I bid Sunday adieu and prepare to write Chapter 48 of my first story as the fans are becoming restless, one claiming that she "has nothing to read."

I'll get on that.

Still in shock,

"Acquainted with the Night"

2011-09-24T12:51:00.000-07:00

Robert Frost

Each day I receive a "Poem of the Day" e-mail from the Academy of American Poets at poets.org. Weekday poems are usually contemporary verse, quite often poems published this very year. But weekends are for classic poems, as today's most certainly was.

I enjoy Frost. He's not an absolute favorite, although "Birches" will always have a special place in my heart as it's among my sophomore English teacher's favorite poems. It's strange how the poems we studied in that class twenty-eight years ago remain among my favorites: "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by Eliot, "Birches" by Frost, "anyone lived in a pretty how town" and "in Just--" by cummings, and "Annabel Lee" by Poe.

But with long, dark nights colored purple-red by insomnia, I found myself entranced this morning by Frost's "Acquainted with the Night," which arrived in my inbox early this morning:

"Acquainted with the Night"
by Robert Frost

I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.

I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.

I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,

But not to call me back or say good-bye;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky

Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right
I have been one acquainted with the night.

I haven't written much terza rima myself, but I felt especially drawn to this one. Frost varies in his poetic forms--writing free verse in "Birches," sonnets in some places, playing with rhymes in others. The imagery in this poem drew me in--the "One luminary clock against the sky" is especially nice.

So enjoy this snippet of poetry this day--and always keep ears and eyes alert for the tip-toe tread of poetry in our daily lives.

Also "acquainted with the night,"

Living with the Pain...

2011-09-23T21:51:00.000-07:00

It has been one of those weeks. The ones when pain treads with heavy steps, the uninvited guest, trespassing upon my hospitality. So, in an effort to recover sleep and banish the pain (hey, why not?), I thought I would do a freewrite on pain and how it affects me:

UNSEEMLY LANGUAGE WORKED ITS WAY INTO THIS FREEWRITE. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

This freewrite has not been edited/revised/proofread. Please excuse any errors.

It comes, entering the door softly. No invitation, formally or informally. It burns, lava flowing silently and red, tumbling over itself as it rolls, unimpeded, seeking the relief of the sea. Nothing remains in its wake but raw destruction, all annihilated. It has a pulse, this pain. It has my rhythm as it hides under the skin, in deepest marrow, in synovial fluid between joints, in layers of muscle cell-deep. It's deep--in nucleus of cell, DNA sent spinningm double helixes melting one into the other, twisting and tangling until all is knotted, all is fucked up. It creeps, quiet and strong, pulsating and annihilating all in its path. Neural pathways collapse, bending in on themselves, clasping pale hands over bursting vessels. It carries that scent, undetectable by the healthy but so familiar a bedfellow to the victims.

But are we victims of this vague ghost, ephemeral yet piercing to the very marrow, the heart stuttering, the lungs gasping? Being a victim sucks. It's not Who I want to be. It's not ME.

Is it who I have become?

I want to fight it. To fold my fist into power and strike with every iota of strength I possess, aiming for sweet spot and knocking it unconscious, even as blood drip-drops from knuckles bursting through fragile skin. But I got my hit in, with bottle rattling with oblong white pills, powdery and bitter. Eight of them, four in morning, four at night, taken with food. My first line of defense, my only offsense. It weakens me, drowning me, holding me beneath surface until lungs burn and burst, ears filling with fluid, muffling silent screams. Eyes fill, overflow, wetness trickling, trickling, trickling, one after the other, taking same path burrowed into drawn skin.

The moments tick by, kept by clocks, phones, silent passing of seconds and minutes, hours and days. It is always there, ever present, never taking a break, a long weekend, a short vacation. It is relentless, a hunter stalking its prey, bow drawn taut, arrow sighted perfectly. The hunter releases, arrow streaming through thin air, separating molecules with pointed insistence until it meets its mark. The heart is pierced, blood flowing black and thick as eyes glaze over. One last shudder of life before eternity descends, no escape possible.

That is what living with pain is like.

Thanks for experiencing this journey with me.

Living, surviving, (flourishing?) with the pain,

Still Journeying to 1000....

2011-09-20T20:00:00.000-07:00

I finished Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts last month. I want to devote an entire post to the book because it's one of those books that can truly affect the way we live our daily lives, not just our attitudes but our actual pace in which we go from one thing to the next in the course of our day.

Ann's book focuses on slowing down to truly SEE our surroundings. She does so with the aid of her camera lens as well as her pen, and her blog is stuffed full of incredible photographs detailing how she stops to truly SEE her world, her life. And her pen also helps her to see as she stops to jot down what she SEES with gratitude during her daily life.

I do keep a 365 photo blog, very spottily, I may add. But it's the keeping of a gratitude journal that has affected me more as I read Ann's blog and perused her book. I keep my notes on my Kindle's "Sticky Notes" program, well worth the 99 cents it cost. I always have my Kindle with me, and I need not waste paper or real Post-It notes as I jot what I thank God for throughout my week.

So, without further ado, I continue my journey to One Thousand Gifts with the Gratitude Community at A Holy Experience, even though I'm posting a day late as I thank God....

651. ...for family togetherness in dark of power outage

652. ...for eating dinner by candlelight after cooking over open flames of grill

653. ...for music of crickets in otherwise silent, cool evening

654. ...for the three-quarter moon brightening our way across the front yard in dark of late evening

655. ...for leisurely talks of life and future by candlelight, whole family grouped into daughter's bedroom, lit by white tapers during outage

656. ...for the terrific noise made by 4 AM hail the size of jumbo marbles, highly unusual in Southern California

657. ...for grey mists creeping across the meadow during a clouded daybreak

658. ...for being safe inside during the violence of thunder and hail storms

659. ...for the oldest son who helps homeschool the youngest when chronic illness and pain rear ugly heads

660. ...for support of prayerful friends when life becomes difficult and pain-filled, hands swollen and sleep rare

So thanks be to God for His good gifts, the ones given in darkness of the county-wide power outage, with power out to 1.7 million homes/business for 8-12 hours due to an employee glitch in Arizona; the ones given in surprise storm of thunder, hail, wind, and rain; the ones given when over-exhaustion becomes chronic, flaring rheumatoid arthritis, fibromyalgia, and chronic fatigue. Sometimes it's against the dark, the storm, the pain that God's gifts shine brightest, words graft most poetic, and gratitude comes easiest.

Thanking God this day for gifts in the darkness,

Quotation of the Week: On Writing

2011-09-18T15:22:00.000-07:00

Yep, it's been a week since I blogged. My apologies.

It was a busy week with the start of our home school group's co-op Class Days, especially as I'm teaching a new class, Medieval History, to grades 4-6 in addition to my standard Intermediate Writing, a college-prep expository writing course for grades 10-12. So I had a good amount of prep to do.

But the biggest problem has been lack of sleep due to a bad flare-up of my chronic illness(es). The pain has been especially difficult, focusing in my hands due to so much typing.

Which 'splains the lack of blogging.

I managed to post a new chapter, a rather short one, to my new story, which I think I will pursue during NaNoWriMo in November. I have about five chapters or so left to complete my first story; I hope to perhaps work on it tonight as I have part of Chapter 47 written.

As writing has been a focal point of my week, I thought that a quotation or two on writing would be extremely appropriate. And perhaps inspirational, too.

I selected two rather pithy quotations from two stellar contemporary women writers, both still living and still producing excellent work. I jotted these quotes from Twitter last October. I've read far more by Tyler than I have by Atwood, but I admire both fiercely.

"If I waited for perfection, I would never write a word."
--Margaret Atwood (b. 1939)

"If I waited until I felt like writing, I'd never write at all."
--Anne Tyler (b. 1941)

So as I tackle the blank page and the blinking cursor yet again this week, I must keep both of these truths in mind. Writing is not about perfection (as much as we wish it could be!), nor is it about inspiration. As I tell my students, writing is hard work. I never knew that the brain could perspire until I started writing regularly.

Okay, okay, so the brain doesn't actually perspire (although it may feel as if it melts from time to time), but studies do show that writing actually burns calories from the stress it affords the brain.

I believe it.

Writing and burning calories with you,

Reposts: 9/11 a Decade Later

2011-09-11T23:26:00.000-07:00

Today we remember back ten years, to that day that indeed lives in infamy...that day that we were glued to images that will never fade from our nation's memory, seared into America's psyche. Today we thank our service men and women who have fought valiantly to keep us free and safe. Today we mourn with those who still mourn, remembering innocent loved ones who lost their lives this day, a decade ago.

This afternoon after attending the community church in our small town due to transmission issues with our van, Elizabeth and I followed her September 11th tradition of watching the film Remember Me (2010), starring Pierce Brosnan and Robert Pattinson.

So here are some reposts that tell our experiences of 9/11 and recalls prayers we can pray again and again for unity in our country.

God be with us all as we reject hate and embrace love, this day and forevermore....

A REPOST FROM 9/11/08
Every American over twelve years old remembers what he or she was doing on the beautiful Indian-summer morning of September 11, 2001. For our family, it was a time of transition, a time of anxiety and hard physical work. We were moving that week out of our home of ten years located near Balboa Park in one of the older neighborhoods of San Diego. Keith had lovingly restored our 1914 Craftsman home, tearing off the back third of the house and rebuilding a gorgeous, sun-filled kitchen with a breakfast nook, a laundry area, and a master bedroom and bath. besides tearing down the old plaster of the other two bedrooms and refinishing with drywall and fresh paint, he also refinished the 50-year-old oak floors which he matches perfectly with new oak in the addition area. After a completely new roof and work on the block foundation, the house was painted a lovely grey with burgundy and white trim, and I re-landscaped the flower beds with lavender and roses, hollyhocks and wildflowers.

We were leaving a labor of love behind but looking forward to our new home, a mountain cabin at the edge of pristine meadowlands, surrounded on all sides by mountains, with half an acre for our boys to run and play. After living for years in the city, Keith and I were both glad to return with our family to rural roots, how we ourselves had grown up in San Diego County.

Past midnight on September 10, Keith and I were finishing the packing and the cleaning before picking up our four sleepy kids (ages 9, 6, 4, and 18 months) from my parents' place and driving to Mount Laguna. My parents had a small 600 sq. ft. cabin on top of the mountain where we were planning to live for a week or so until we could move into our new mountain home in Pine Valley, at the base of the mountain. By 2 AM we were settling sleeping children into beds and sleeping bags and tumbled into bed ourselves around 3 AM.

At 6 AM, my dad called us, in tears as he related the news of the 9-11 attacks. We were out of bed in an instant, trying frantically to tune in a news station on the unreliable "rabbit ears" that was our only way of gaining a TV signal. We could tune in fuzzy images only, but through the static, we could see what was happening -- just as the second plane hit the World Trade Center. The kids slept on, exhausted by their interrupted sleep, while Keith and I watched what we could through the fuzz, listening more than watching most of the time.

As the morning wore on, Keith got ready and left for work, and I took care of the kids, watching what I could -- learning of the Pentagon attack, and of the crash in the fields of Pennsylvania. I watched as the President visibly blanched when the news was whispered into his ear during a visit to a Florida school. As all flights were grounded, I wondered where my brother, a pilot, was; at least he didn't fly for the airlines that had been hijacked. I remember sitting in the red upholstered chair, listening and trying to make out images from fuzzy TV signal as I nursed B. Brushing my finger along his cheek, I thought of all the children who had lost a parent this day. I prayed, tears running down my cheek.

This week as the poetry class I'm facilitating for Brave Writer started, I asked the families to start our adventure of poetry with some song lyrics. Remembering those days after 9-11, three songs come to mind: U2's "Beautiful Day" and "Walk On" and Sting's "Fragile." The latter is the one I taught this week in memory of the attacks in 2001. Although it was written before 9-11, it was actually recorded in the UK on the very date of the attacks, and I think they are a fitting response to the nightmarish events of that day. We are all fragile, just bone and sinew held together by soul. Although it takes so little to destroy a human, it requires a great deal more to remove humanity from the hearts and minds that planned and committed these horrendous acts.

FRAGILE
By Sting

If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one
Drying in the colour of the evening sun
Tomorrow’s rain will wash the stains away
But something in our minds will always stay

Perhaps this final act was meant
To clinch a lifetime’s argument
That nothing comes from violence
And nothing ever could
For all those born beneath an angry star
Lest we forget how fragile we are

On and on the rain will fall
Like tears from a star Like tears from a star
On and on the rain will say
How fragile we are How fragile we are

A REPOST FROM 9/11/09
I think we all remember with sharp clarity what we were doing as the events of September 11, 2001, exploded across our nation's psyche. For our family, we were in a time of transition, having worked until the wee small hours of September 11 packing up our belongings from our former house in the city to move them into storage for a couple of weeks until we could move into our mountain cabin. Here's my post about what we experienced, 3000 miles away from the real action yet close in our hearts and souls as tragic event after tragic event engulfed our nation: Remembering September 11.

This morning I woke all too aware of the date. I watched a U-Tube video of the happenings of that horrific day, eight years ago, posted on Facebook by the wife of our then-pastor. But as the four kids and I gathered around the school table and the living room for Morning Prayer, we prayed this prayer from the 1928 Book of Common Prayer:

For Our Country:
ALMIGHTY God, who hast given us this good land for our heritage; We humbly beseech thee that we may always prove ourselves a people mindful of thy favour and glad to do thy will. Bless our land with honourable industry, sound learning, and pure manners. Save us from violence, discord, and confusion; from pride and arrogancy, and from every evil way. Defend our liberties, and fashion into one united people the multitudes brought hither out of many kindreds and tongues. Endue with the spirit of wisdom those to whom in thy Name we entrust the authority of government, that there may be justice and peace at home, and that, through obedience to thy law, we may show forth thy praise among the nations of the earth. In the time of prosperity, fill our hearts with thankfulness, and in the day of trouble, suffer not our trust in thee to fail; all which we ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Later I also prayed another Collect, this one just a page or two past the above prayer:

For the Unity of God’s People:
O GOD, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, our only Saviour, the Prince of Peace; Give us grace seriously to lay to heart the great dangers we are in by our unhappy divisions. Take away all hatred and prejudice, and whatsoever else may hinder us from godly, union and concord: that as there is but one Body and one Spirit, and one hope of our calling, one Lord, one Faith, one Baptism, one God and Father of us all, so we may be all of one heart and of one soul, united in one holy bond of truth and peace, of faith and charity, and may with one mind and one mouth glorify thee; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

May the unity that we possessed in the aftermath of the horrific events of 9-11, of a terror-stricken and grief-laden country after which we came together as perhaps we have never done before and certainly haven't since -- may that unity of purpose as a nation return without terror as the cause. May we work with and not against each other. May we strive for the common good and not for personal gain. May we speak truth, rather than half-truths and distortions masquerading as truth. May accusations of "Socialist" and "Nazi" not be bandied about lightly, for tragedy and murder lurk behind those words just as they do behind the word "terrorist."

There's that old 70's song that comes to mind every once in a while, and it's as true of our nation now as it was in 1776 during our fight for independence, in 1865 as our country overcame civil war, in 1941 after Pearl Harbor, and as we remember today in 2001: "United we stand; divided we fall." So it was on 9/11, and so it is today.

Praying for our country, now and always,

Trying to Find the Space

2011-09-10T02:42:00.000-07:00

Yes, we're back to school.

And I need space.

Not physical space--that I have. While many home schooling families have dedicated school rooms or fancy libraries, we school at our dining room table above. It's in the corner of our living room, with our kitchen adjoining. So we "do school" right in the middle of our daily lives.

Education isn't a separate part of our day for us, taught in a separate place.

Education is a part of our daily life as a family.

The space I need is more of a mental space. While our school area may be tidy and well-organized, my mind isn't.

The first few weeks of homeschooling each autumn is always an adjustment. New schedules, new books, new plans--all needs to be settled into, made comfortable.

Kind of like breaking in a new pair of shoes so that we don't get blisters on our heels.

Then add into the mix of adjusting to two high school students and a middle schooler teaching an online class in the MLA Research Essay at Brave Writer, a class which started the same day we started school. The class isn't large, but it's still a time-consuming process to post all the class information and assignments and respond to student work and questions.

Next, add in the two co-op Class Day courses I'll be teaching starting next Thursday the 15th. One class, Intermediate Writing, an expository writing class for students in grades 10-12, is one I've taught probably ten times, but this class is full with a waiting list for the first time. Plus, I'm leading a team of teachers in offering a new class: Medieval History for grades 4-6. That baby is taking quite a bit of work, of organization, etc.

So with all of these things taking up room in my head, I haven't had much space or time or inclination to write blog posts here or to even draft my two stories, one of which is near completion.

I don't like not having space nor time nor inclination to write.

The stress of not having that "creative outlet," as my doctor call it, weighs me down. My mind feels heavy, sluggish.

Saturdays are my usual writing day. But with so many classes needing attention, I'm not sure that much, if any, creative writing will occur. I didn't post updates to my stories last week; I must post at least one new chapter this weekend or my poor readers will be sadly disappointed. They're already moaning over having to wait an extra week as it is.

So I pray for space--for time--for inclination. I pray that I will be able to do more than wail and whine about not having any of the above here in this blog and write something of true substance.

As I opened my Book of Common Prayer 2011 just now, Psalm 46:10, familiar to most of you, stood out to me:

"Be still and know that I am God."

I pray that I might be able to do so, tomorrow (actually, later today as I write this in the wee small hours of Saturday morning, basking in the cool of the evening and in the silence of the darkened house), and my hope is that you, too, will find yourself stilling this weekend, pressing into the serenity of the heart of Christ, who loves us and cares for us far more than we can ever comprehend.

Being still and finding space, I hope,

Rainy Day Gratitude

2011-09-05T18:07:00.000-07:00

Grey day across the meadow behind our home, after the rains

Insomnia has been my companion all summer. If I go to bed in the middle of the night, around 3 AM, I can sleep soundly for four to five hours. If I go to bed around midnight, I won't fall asleep until two-ish, then wake every hour. A dilemma indeed.

It's been a very difficult summer, to say the least.

This morning as I turned off my laptop and warmed my microwavable neck pillow before heading upstairs at 3:15, I heard it.

The gentle fall of rain, pattering quietly on the metal roof of our screened patio.

I opened the sliding glass doors all the way, and the previously muffled sound engulfed me. Leaving the doors open, I moved to the front door, switched on the porch light, and strode barefoot across the wooden planks to the three concrete steps. I raised my hand out beyond the protection of the porch roof, and there it was.

Raindrops, the circumference of a quarter, caught in my upturned palm.

And I breathed in grateful gasps of the strange yet unforgettable scent of rain hitting warm pavement.

In dry Southern California, our rainy season is November-April. Summer rain in July is not uncommon. But September rain? That's a rare blessing, a gem sparkling in the single bulb of porch light, a liquid diamond.

I hefted myself upstairs a few moments later after closing and locking doors, smiling to myself. I had heard and seen and smelled and touched and (yes!) tasted the blessing.

And it was very good.

The rain returned around 10:30 this morning, and all of us enjoyed it. We threw open doors and windows that usually stay closed all day, locking in cool night air as long as possible--our old-fashioned version of air conditioning.

But today the welcome rain cooled the air for us, and we inhaled its clean, sweet fragrance, thankful for the grace of it all.

Through the day, clouds hung heavy, protecting us from usual September beating of hot sunshine. Humid air wafted vanilla-scent of Jeffrey Pines through screened windows, and we wiped perspiration from our necks as we worked.

This is grace, this rain. A gift we do not usually receive in September, Southern California's hottest month.

So I continue on the journey to One Thousand Gifts with The Gratitude Community at A Holy Experience, thanking God this day....

641. for the crescent moon glowing against deep cerulean skies at dusk

642. for overcast mornings, sunlight diffused and dappled

643. for tart green apples, bunched grape-like on Pippin tree

644. for writing to be done, life's work with pen in hand

645. for all four kids and husband gathered into small bunk-bedded room, familiar tunes fingered on newly-repaired keyboard

646. for summer rain on an early-September morning

647. for sweet blueberries, plumply grape-sized, eaten for breakfast

648. for swishing of car tires on puddled, rain-dampened streets

649. for low grumbles of thunder rolling through silver-grey clouds, charcoal underbellies reverberating

650. for gentle drip-drip of rainwater from serrated oak leaves as showers shift westward

As skies remain grey, silvered by diffused sunlight creeping toward western peaks, the fresh scent of the day's rain sweetly remains, promising a cool, crisp evening ahead.

Grateful for the rain, this day and always,

Quotation for the Week

2011-09-04T03:38:00.000-07:00

It's been a crazy-busy week.

We started our fifteenth year of home education on Monday, schooling the three boybarians in grades 6, 9, and 11. Yes, two of the three are now in high school.

At least schooling started gently, gradually. The two elder boys did not meet with their algebra tutor (a college friend and practically a godmother to our kids) until Friday morning, so they had almost the whole week free from Algebra I for J and Algebra II for T.

And the peasants rejoiced.

Also, our Class Day co-op courses with Heritage Christian School, our private school provider PSP), do not begin until September 15. So T, a junior, must wait until then to begin Chemistry with labwork (a double-period class) and my Intermediate Writing class which I will teach him at home the day before Class Day so he can have PE at Class Day. And J is waiting for Class Day to start his World Geography course, also a double-period class. B, our lone middle school student, doesn't have to wait on anything except math drills, but his work book arrived just yesterday, so he's all set now; none of his Class Day courses (PE, Chess, Grossology) require homework.

In addition, I started teaching an online course in the MLA Research Essay at Brave Writer last Monday. My class is minuscule; I've never had a Brave Writer course with a mere five students. I won't be making much money, but with such a small class, it will be intimate and fun--lots of getting to know one another well. Two of the boys have interests in the study of insects and diseases; one of them is using that precise interest to furnish his topic which should work very well.

Despite the gradual start to homeschooling and a small online course to teach, this week has been busy...frenzied, almost. I'm still adjusting to taking E (a college sophomore) down to the community college for classes twice per week which takes a hunk out of my home schooling time, causing a rather drastic alteration to our home school schedule.

But we shall be meeting with the algebra tutor on one of the afternoons we were already waiting for E, so that should work well. On Tuesdays I've planned to meet with our chiropractor on a book he desires to write on good health for Christians.

Needless to say, as summer ends and school begins, I have been feeling the need for a little peace and contemplation. And Ann Voskamp had the perfect little reminder in her calendar for one of last week's quotation calendar that I keep at the home schooling table to remind me about focus and priorities, and I copied it into my Quotation Journal of the past ten years:

"...contemplative simplicity isn't a matter of circumstances. It's a matter of focus."
--Ann Voskamp

So as this new week bursts forth in scudding cloud and shy sunrise, I pray that I can remember this truth and focus my mindheartsoulstrength on the One who is PeaceBringer. Only in Christ Jesus can true peace, the kind that transcends human comprehension, guard me and guide me as we begin yet another school year together at home, gathered around the school table or flaked out across sofa and armchairs while I read aloud, pray aloud each morning .

And may His perfect peace be yours, this day and always!

Focusing on His Peace,

Mid-Week Thankfulness

2011-08-31T22:29:00.000-07:00

My lunch this day....

With the start of our 15th year of home education on Monday, then staying down in the city all day Tuesday, today is the day that I'm counting the gifts.

With boys in grades 6, 9, and 11, home schooling is a challenge and a blessing. It is difficult to leave summer behind...the late sleeping, the quiet days, the lack of deadlines.

Yet this summer has been sleepless, with slumber arriving between three and four in the morning most nights. On nights when it arrives earlier and easier, I toss and doze rather than sleep. The flare of chronic pain and fatigue is what Ann Voskamp, in her excellent book One Thousand Gifts (about which I shall write a separate post) calls "the hard eucharisteo," the difficult giving of thanks. She writes truth.

But with the fading of the heat of summer comes autumn, my favorite season. Even as school work begin again, I adore the cooling days, the hours spent in quiet study, the fire blazing in the wood stove that heats our home.

After slowly reading and digesting Ann's book this summer, I resolve to slow down and breathe. My norm during school days is to rush from one task to the next, multi-tasking constantly as I watch over the doing of long division with one eye while teaching online students the finer points of the MLA essay with the remainder of my schizoid-ish mind.

But I want to slow down, as Ann reminds me, and see the beauty and thank God for it. When I purchased Ann's book from Day Spring, I also received a "daybrightener," a daily flip calendar with quotes for each day from Ann's book. And today's provided the needed reminder as we begin the first week of thirty-six for this school year:

"I can't leave crowds for mountain top, daily blur for Walden Pond...but there's always the possibility of the singular vision. I remember: contemplative simplicity isn't a matter of circumstances[;] it's a matter of focus."

Truer truth has rarely been spoken to my heart. As I crave the contemplative, I must remember that contemplation is dependent on the state of my mind, not the state of our house or of our school. As much as I like to think that contemplation comes in retreat, in silence, in solitude, those elements are not a regular part of my life now.

Now my life overflows with boybarians, quarreling often over XBox and chores, issuing complaints regarding each other. I drive more now, transporting daughter, whose eyes haven't been healthy enough for a license, to community college classes. While she is in class I teach middle boy in Starbucks as we bond over caramel fraps. At home, oldest boy teaches youngest, saving me much work for which I'm grateful. I superintend house cleaning which I cannot do myself with chronic pain flaring. I sort laundry, plan menus and grocery lists. I teach online courses, typing lessons to students in New Zealand, Egypt, Ireland, North Carolina, New York.

Once co-op Class Days begin in mid-September, essays shall demand grading, lessons will need to be taught in expository writing and medieval history while boys tackle classes chemistry, geography, chess, and science, plus drive balls deep in PE. And I start another writing project, helping my chiropractor organize and flesh out his vocation for good health calling on God's powerful healing.

So silence and solitude will need to be a place in my mind, soul, and heart rather than in my surroundings. Not that serenity is impossible. I shall have to be aware of the tiny, hidden pools of beauty and peace in my life, and drink them in, quenching my thirst for contemplation.

Soon enough, as kids grow and become adults--graduating our home school, attending college, perhaps moving out--I will be missing these busy days. I need to savor the madness while I can, before the years slip through my fingers, disappearing into vague memories.

So at mid-week I join the Gratitude Community at Ann Voskamp's serene oasis of A Holy Experience, journeying toward my own One Thousand Gifts, with deep thanks in my heart...

631. for sheen and blush on pears, sweet juice dripping down chins

632. for Psalm 119, my favorite

633. for the welcome cool and tranquility of dusk, sun setting long behind craggy peaks, yet highlighting dark tree branches reaching against apricot and midnight-blue skies

634. for tang of Bing cherries exploding in a sunburst on my tongue

635. for winning prize of Home Depot gift card for Keith last night at library summer reading drawing--an answer to prayer

636. for gardening friend who, although moving to opposite coast, leaves her mark indelible in our community garden and in our community spirit

637. for welcome icy goodness of caramel frappuccino on hottest and weariest of days, a sheer delight of scent and taste

638. for memories stirred of percolating coffee I awoke to each morning of my childhood

639. for comfort food of chicken and biscuits for dinner tonight despite baring pantry

640. for the completion of reading Ann's book, One Thousand Gifts, a book I cannot recommend highly enough--I only wish that I were rich and could purchase ten or more just for dear friends

In slowing down enough to notice the beauties of God right there in front of us every moment, Lord, help me to give thanks for all You that gift me, helping me to see Your goodness and glorify Your beloved Son, the One who first demonstrated the true spirit of contemplation in the Gospels as He withdrew often to pray in solitude.

Praying to see and to thank, to slow down and to contemplate,

Saint Monica, Motherhood, and Home Education

2011-08-27T12:32:00.000-07:00

Saint Augustine and Saint Monica, his mother

Saint Monica has long been a favorite of mine--an example of determined motherhood and seeking God's best for her wayward child in prayer and in action. Her focus was clear and unsullied. Here is her story, courtesy of Saint of the Day from AmericanCatholic.org:

St. Monica (322?-387)
The circumstances of St. Monica’s life could have made her a nagging wife, a bitter daughter-in-law and a despairing parent, yet she did not give way to any of these temptations. Although she was a Christian, her parents gave her in marriage to a pagan, Patricius, who lived in her hometown of Tagaste in North Africa. Patricius had some redeeming features, but he had a violent temper and was licentious. Monica also had to bear with a cantankerous mother-in-law who lived in her home. Patricius criticized his wife because of her charity and piety, but always respected her. Monica’s prayers and example finally won her husband and mother-in-law to Christianity. Her husband died in 371, one year after his baptism.
Monica had at least three children who survived infancy. The oldest, Augustine, is the most famous.

At the time of his father’s death, Augustine was 17 and a rhetoric student in Carthage. Monica was distressed to learn that her son had accepted the Manichean heresy and was living an immoral life. For a while, she refused to let him eat or sleep in her house. Then one night she had a vision that assured her Augustine would return to the faith. From that time on she stayed close to her son, praying and fasting for him. In fact, she often stayed much closer than Augustine wanted.

When he was 29, Augustine decided to go to Rome to teach rhetoric. Monica was determined to go along. One night he told his mother that he was going to the dock to say goodbye to a friend. Instead, he set sail for Rome. Monica was heartbroken when she learned of Augustine’s trick, but she still followed him. She arrived in Rome only to find that he had left for Milan. Although travel was difficult, Monica pursued him to Milan.

In Milan, Augustine came under the influence of the bishop, St. Ambrose, who also became Monica’s spiritual director. She accepted his advice in everything and had the humility to give up some practices that had become second nature to her. Monica became a leader of the devout women in Milan as she had been in Tagaste.

She continued her prayers for Augustine during his years of instruction. At Easter, 387, St. Ambrose baptized Augustine and several of his friends. Soon after, his party left for Africa. Although no one else was aware of it, Monica knew her life was near the end. She told Augustine, “Son, nothing in this world now affords me delight. I do not know what there is now left for me to do or why I am still here, all my hopes in this world being now fulfilled.” She became ill shortly after and suffered severely for nine days before her death.

Almost all we know about St. Monica is in the writings of St. Augustine, especially his Confessions.

Today, with Internet searches, e-mail shopping and instant credit, we have little patience for things that take time. Likewise, we want instant answers to our prayers. Monica is a model of patience. Her long years of prayer, coupled with a strong, well-disciplined character, finally led to the conversion of her hot-tempered husband, her cantankerous mother-in-law and her brilliant but wayward son, Augustine.

As our family embarks upon our 15th year of home education, I pray for Monica's tenacity, her self-discipline, her clear vision in loving and serving her children, and her fervent life of prayer, especially on behalf of her children. Her example as a faithful wife and mother brought her family into the Kingdom of God, helping them to love Christ with all their hearts, souls, minds, and strength. May we mothers, whether we educate our own children at home or not, find much inspiration in Monica's example as well, and may we please our Lord in our faithfulness and tenacity as she did.

As we begin this new year of home education, I pray from the Book of Common Prayer 2011, page 68:

A Collect for Living in the Spirit
Breathe in me, Holy Spirit, so that all my thoughts may be holy; Act in me, Holy Spirit, so that my work, too, may be holy; Draw my heart, Holy Spirit, so that I love only what is holy; Strengthen me, Holy Spirit, to defend all that is holy; Guard me then, Holy Spirit, so that I may always be holy; All for Jesus' sake. Amen.
(inspired by John 20.22, Colossians 3.23-24, and Augustine's Confessions, ca. 397)

May we all be set apart for the work of the Holy Spirit, whatever our calling in life shall be, bringing glory to our Lord in all we say, do, and think, through His power and because of His love.

Frantically preparing for the school year,

Gratitude and Home School Plans

2011-08-22T19:35:00.000-07:00

School planning notebook

A week from today we'll be starting Year 15 of home education. I placed a final order with ABeka for T's literature book's teacher's guide and B's math drills/quizzes/tests and key. So now all my plans are lining up nicely. I have organizing to do and detailed plans to draw up, but the main ideas are set.

At Class Day with Heritage Christian School I'll be teaching Intermediate Writing for grades 10-12 and Medieval History for grades 4-6. On August 29th, I'll be starting to teach the MLA Research Essay at Brave Writer, then I'll be starting a Literary Analysis: Anne of Green Gables discussion in early November.

Tomorrow E starts her second year of college, this year at a nearby community college as her financial aid was messed up by both our homeschool group and the college she attended last year. She could only find two classes that were transferable and still open, so she's taking sociology and world history while continuing to work at the Bible camp nearby.

We always start the day with Family Prayers and Scripture readings from The Book of Common Prayer 2011. We also do some Bible memory and perhaps some church and/or art history together as a family as well.

T starts his junior year of high school, and our plans are these:

Algebra II--Saxon with our tutor, Johanna Vignol
Chemistry with Lab--Apologia at our co-op Class Days (double-period class)
American Lit--ABeka, combined with Brave Writer classes for The Hobbit and Merchant of Venice, plus my Intermediate Writing course that I usually teach at Class Day but am teaching him at home.
American History--ABeka
Computer Programming--not sure yet what we'll use
PE--at Class Days (one semester volleyball, one semester basketball)

J starts his freshman year of high school:

Algebra I--Saxon with our tutor, Johanna Vignol
Intro to Literature--Bob Jones, combined with Brave Writer classes for The Hobbit and Merchant of Venice, and Julie's Help for High School for writing.
Geography--"Mapping the World by Heart" at Class Days (double-period class)
Health--ABeka, 1 semester
Physical Science--ABeka
PE--at Class Days (one semester volleyball; one semester basketball)

Then my plan for B who is entering 6th grade--middle school:

Math--ABeka Mathematics 6
Science--ABeka
Reading--Bob Jones 6 Reader & Spectrum Reading
Spelling--Spectrum
Grammar--Daily Grams 6
Writing--Brave Writer's The Writer's Jungle
World History--Sonlight 6/SOTW
Literature--Sonlight 6
German--German in 10 Minutes a Day
PE--at Class Days
Chess--at Class Days

So those are our school plans for the 2011-2012 school year, God-willing. And this is our first year ever without an elementary student; yes, they're growing up. Joy and sadness mix, stirred by dust settling on Dr, Seuss books no longer read, picture books no longer perused--all outgrown by tall ones, two towering over me.

And thus I continue on the journey to One Thousand Gifts at the Gratitude Community at A Holy Experience, thanking God this day:

621. for lazy summer days, resting and reading

622. for boys working hard in hot afternoons

623. for strains of piano notes and guitar music wafting through the house

624. for clothes washed clean, lavender-scented

625. for coolness birthed from August sunsets, and extra blankets needed at night

626. for family photos graced with gleaming smiles and happy faces

627. for Sabbath peace of Sunday afternoons

628. for playing Set and gin rummy with youngest on Sunday evenings

629. for spaghetti sauce bubbling on stove

630. for new story idea rising (and prologue published) as old story prepares to set, only 5-6 chapters remaining

So this last week of summer stretches out, filling rapidly with middle son's algebra "boot camp" classes, E's college classes, and trips to my parents' beach house: first time to clean, and second to play.

Preparing for this new year with thanks,

Quotation for the Week...and Sabbath Rest

2011-08-21T00:33:00.000-07:00

This summer is nearly over.

Only one more week remains, then school begins on August 29, along with my new Brave Writer MLA Research Class.

My goal this summer has been to slow down, read Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts slowly and meditatively, chewing on each chapter and pondering how to apply each lesson to my life.

And just slowing down enough to truly SEE is a lesson all by itself--a valuable lesson that I am hoping and praying to learn and apply.

Part of this slowing down is taking as much of a break from my laptop on Sundays as possible (which is why I'm drafting this Saturday evening to post early Sunday). I'll read e-mail and possibly do a little Brave Writer work from time to time, but my goal is to stay off the computer as much as possible.

Last Sunday night I played gin rummy with our boys. And over the afternoon time I read a little and napped a lot. It was lovely to sssssslllooooowwwwww down and just BE.

And thus my quotation for the week is the theme of Ann Voskamp's beautiful and full-of-grace corner of the blogosphere, A Holy Experience, from which I copied these lines into my Quotation Journal:

"Earth is crammed with heaven,
and every common bush afire with God;
and only [s/]he who sees takes off [her/]his shoes.

The rest sit around it and pluck blackberries."

--Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Obviously I am a huge fan of Mrs. Browning, especially when our only daughter is named after her, for how could I resist when God gifts me a husband with the surname "Barrett"?

Lord, I pray that You will help us all to truly see the grace of Your world, the beauty in Your people, and the Love in Your eyes, from this day forth and always.

Have a blessed Lord's Day, a full-of-grace Sabbath rest!

Seeing His grace,

Saint Bernard of Clairvaux

2011-08-20T19:32:00.000-07:00

Saint Bernard has long been one of my favorite saints. He seemed to achieve an excellent balance among the different aspects of his life: contemplative prayer, service to others, preaching and teaching, scholarly study in theology, healing schism and reforming the Church, and writing. And the twelfth century was no picnic when it came to Church politics and intrigue, yet Bernard rose far above the fray, seeking God rather than pleasing people. (Something I certainly need to learn to do far better in my own life!)

Today's Saint of the Day e-mail from AmericanCatholic.org states:

Man of the century! Woman of the century! You see such terms applied to so many today—“golfer of the century,” “composer of the century,” “right tackle of the century”—that the line no longer has any punch. But the “man of the twelfth century,” without doubt or controversy, has to be Bernard of Clairvaux. Adviser of popes, preacher of the Second Crusade, defender of the faith, healer of a schism, reformer of a monastic Order, Scripture scholar, theologian and eloquent preacher: any one of these titles would distinguish an ordinary man. Yet Bernard was all of these—and he still retained a burning desire to return to the hidden monastic life of his younger days.

In the year 1111, at the age of 20, Bernard left his home to join the monastic community of Citeaux. His five brothers, two uncles and some 30 young friends followed him into the monastery. Within four years a dying community had recovered enough vitality to establish a new house in the nearby valley of Wormwoods, with Bernard as abbot. The zealous young man was quite demanding, though more on himself than others. A slight breakdown of health taught him to be more patient and understanding. The valley was soon renamed Clairvaux, the valley of light.

His ability as arbitrator and counselor became widely known. More and more he was lured away from the monastery to settle long-standing disputes. On several of these occasions he apparently stepped on some sensitive toes in Rome. Bernard was completely dedicated to the primacy of the Roman See. But to a letter of warning from Rome he replied that the good fathers in Rome had enough to do to keep the Church in one piece. If any matters arose that warranted their interest, he would be the first to let them know.

Shortly thereafter it was Bernard who intervened in a full-blown schism and settled it in favor of the Roman pontiff against the antipope.

The Holy See prevailed on Bernard to preach the Second Crusade throughout Europe. His eloquence was so overwhelming that a great army was assembled and the success of the crusade seemed assured. The ideals of the men and their leaders, however, were not those of Abbot Bernard, and the project ended as a complete military and moral disaster.

Bernard felt responsible in some way for the degenerative effects of the crusade. This heavy burden possibly hastened his death, which came August 20, 1153.

Bernard’s life in the Church was more active than we can imagine possible today. His efforts produced far-reaching results. But he knew that they would have availed little without the many hours of prayer and contemplation that brought him strength and heavenly direction.

Yet my favorite thing about Bernard isn't his place in church history, nor his stellar theology, nor his establishment of a holy order. No, it's a hymn, one that is dear to my heart; I especially like the version performed by the group 4Him:

O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown;
O sacred head, what glory, what bliss till now was thine!
Yet, though despised and gory, I joy to call thee mine.

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered, was all for sinners' gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior! 'Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.

You may listen to an mp3 of the above hymn plus read more about the hymn here: The Center for Church Music: Songs and Hymns

So as we prepare for worshiping our Lord Christ tomorrow morning, may we prepare our hearts through the help of His Holy Spirit to be like Bernard's: focused, thoughtful, contemplative, worshipful, loving. And may we echo the final line of St. Bernard's most famous hymn in our own lives: "Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee." Amen.

Meditating on the life of Bernard this day,

Gratitude After a Loooooong Week

2011-08-15T23:03:00.000-07:00

My son, working in our community garden with Peggy and Ann

I haven't been posting at all this past week...mostly because I haven't been sleeping. And when I don't sleep, everything I do grinds to a screeching halt.

Did you hear that SSSCCCCRRRREEEEEEEEEECH? I did.

I think it echoed.

Yep. It was that kind of week.

But even when one of "those weeks" comes ambling along, scattering every good plan and purpose to the four winds, we can find much to be thankful for.

The highlight of this week is the five-year blogversary of Meditative Meanderings! Yes, as of August 13, I've been blogging for five years. Half a decade.

Cool, huh?

(Yes, sleep deprivation makes me rather loopy....)

So I continue to push on, attempting to NOT fall asleep on my laptop (as has happened several times this week), adding to my journey to One Thousand Gifts with the Gratitude Community at A Holy Experience.

I am grateful this week:

611. for crisp summer mornings, bright and early

612. for vistas across the meadow, touched by morning sunshine

613. for five years of sharing my scribbles here, with your kind forbearance, dear readers

614. for late nights, cooled from heat of day, house silent and sleeping

615. for my son, his summer spent gardening with members of our community

616. for artful mystery novels that while away painful hours

617. for warmth of spa waters, swirling against sore muscles

618. for candles lit and icons shimmering, worship with body, heart, soul

619. for prayers in the dark, hands held atop quilt as they were 26 years ago when we were newly-wed

620. for scent of freshly-baked zucchini muffins (courtesy of my husband) wafting through our house tonight

So thank you to all of you who have read along with my silly musings and meanderings over the last few weeks or over the last few years. I appreciate your kind feedback, your readership, and your presence in my journey.

Thank you.

With gratitude,

Walking in Gratitude

2011-08-08T23:40:00.000-07:00

Highway 8 near the Pine Valley exit

The sun shimmers behind the nearly transparent clouds as I drive into our small town, the unusual humidity in this dry desert-like land drips perspiration between my shoulder blades before ten in the morning.

Living in a small town has its advantages and disadvantages. We stroll across an edge of the meadow that centers our town, rabbits and squirrels disappearing down slim holes in sheer panic, the brush whispering as they pass. Through this meadow we take the short walk to the highway that bisects the town.

On Old Highway 80 nestles the heart of our town of 1200: the county library branch (also known as the hub of the town with its wall of DVDs, its many meetings in the community room, its programs for young and old alike, its computers with Internet access, and its newspapers and magazines, not to mention books), the county park, the gas station/market, the part-time vet, the Sheriff's substation shared with the fire department (with its one paid firefighter and dozens of volunteers who guard our town from fire each autumn), the post office, the charter school, the diner/coffee shop, the realtor, the hairdresser, the community clubhouse, the grocery store, the dentist, the Curves, the motel, the community church, the public elementary school, the "fancy" restaurant, the Lutheran Church, the ice cream/burger stand, and another realtor.

That's it. That's our "downtown," our main thoroughfare.

And we can walk any one of them from our home in five minutes. The post office, the clubhouse, the grocery store, and the motel are within sight of our front porch, the path through the meadow wending its way to Old Highway 80, the highway that was the only road through the backcountry from the Arizona border all the way into San Diego proper until the late 1960s. Now an historic highway, it meanders through many small towns like ours as it travels up the mountain pass then descends into the Anza-Borrego Desert.

Part of this year's Pine Valley Days Parade

We have much to be thankful for in such a small town. Our 41st annual festival, Pine Valley Days, begins with a deep pit barbecue Friday night, then opens the big day, Saturday, with a parade at 9 AM before the July heat sets in. Everyone then descends upon the county park where the crafters ply their wares from booths, air scented with the grilled burgers and hot dogs, the kids begging for the rides and bouncy houses. Our kids even put each other in jail via the Alpine Outlaws, later bailing jailed siblings out, a non-profit fundraiser for Make-A-Wish.

As happens at the town festival nearly every year, a mid-afternoon downpour and thunderstorm sends shoppers, crafters, families, and townsfolk scurrying under any available cover, effectively shutting down the entire booth area. Clearing after thirty minutes, the country-western band strikes up live music again in the gazebo, and families hang out again, little ones asleep in their strollers and toddlers becoming rambunctious and cranky.

Yes, there are disadvantages to living in a small town, such as having to drive thirty miles to a mall or movie theatre, gas prices 50 cents a gallon above stations in the city, iffy produce and high prices in the grocery store, and only two churches from which to choose. But the advantages far outweigh the disadvantages as the kids chase frogs in the park, bike ride to work at the community garden, help elderly neighbors with yard and house work, and join in Chess Day at the library. I love facilitating our eight (or so) writers at our monthly Writers' Workshop meetings and talking books with the librarians.

Tammy Mason's beautiful "book quilt" at our garden booth in the park during Pine Valley Days

A wonderful quilter donated this "book quilt," with original book covers of many classic novels (which I am constantly drooling over--only three of the books I have not read...yet!!) to raffle for the library's benefit; our community garden booth hosted the raffle for the quilt during Pine Valley Days.

That's the kind of small town spirit we're talking about.

So I offer thanks for this place as I continue to count the blessings on my journey to One Thousand Gifts with the Gratitude Community at A Holy Experience, thanking God this day...

601. for small town festivals that bring together neighbors we don't see in the midst of too-busy days

602. for the community garden, growing community spirit as well as organic vegetables (and who made $250 at Pine Valley Days, funds to be reinvested into the garden and community)

603. for our little group of six-to-eight writers in our Writers' Workshop who gather monthly at the library to share our work, offer feedback, and encourage one another

604. for summer thunderstorms bringing much-needed rain and cooler temperatures in the midst of July/August heat

605. for old classmates on Facebook who bring laughter and love to my heart

606. for kids working hard, indoors and out, doing chores that I cannot

607. for possibilities of more lucrative work for Keith

608. for crisp summer nights plummeting into high 30s, cooling our heated house beautifully

609. for pale-pink double roses, blooming in cacophony of color

610. for the photo on my mantel of my great-grandmother as a young mother, her two children reading a book with her, one my grandmother--a delicately-colored image from the 1920s

So, happily ensconced in this small town, nestled into national forest which surrounds on all four sides, I find my heart grateful tonight as kids clamber to bed, groaning at too-early (in their expert opinion) bedtimes, but falling asleep, exhausted, minutes later. The house returns to order and peace as blankets are folded, scattered objects tucked away, laundry brought in to be folded in the fresh mountain sunshine of another summer day in this small mountain town....

And so life goes, made more visible for its counting, the importance of little things notices and catalogued here, and later copied into my deep blue Gratitude Journal.

The journey of gratitude continues, and we walk in it as we stroll across the meadow to return a library book and fetch the day's mail.

With warm regards from this small town,

Quotation of the Week: On Church of One and Prayer

2011-08-07T13:07:00.000-07:00

Behind the back dorms, Pine Valley Bible Conference Center

Because I had to drive my daughter to work at the nearby Bible Camp (officially the Pine Valley Bible Conference Center), I had to miss church at Lake Murray. At least J, E, and I attended Morning Prayer and the Holy Communion Healing Service at Victoria House with Father Acker of Alpine Anglican Church of the Blessed Trinity Friday morning.

Since I would be at the Bible Camp already, I decided to take my Kindle (which contains my ESV Bible and my updated prayer list), my Book of Common Prayer 2011, and Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts and have a little worship service of my own: a Church of One Member. I settled into an Adirondack chair in the cathedral shade of vanilla-scented Jeffrey Pines and spent two hours praying, reading God's Word, and cogitating on the various truths in Ann's shy little book.

The sunshine was too warm, so I had to scoot my chair several times, following the blessed relief of shade. Then I settled in again, sipping mango tea and, after tossing my flip flops aside, I burrowed my bare toes into the cool lawn, still dew-damp.

The grounds were quiet at first, then shifted to busy and noisy as a large group of teens piled into buses returning them to the city, then all became near silence again, tranquility broken only by faint birdsong and occasion conversation of camp employees. A few times my daughter's voice wafted my direction as she cleaned the lodge rooms behind me, the familiarity making my wee Church of One more home-like.

Some friends from ancient school days assured me this morning on Facebook of the value of my little Church of One. One friend wrote, "The Sabbath is A Day Of Rest...It is his day off too!! :)," and "Church and communion are in the heart and actions, not a fish or dove displayed on a Volvo...." I value his piercing insight greatly; shining truth typed in reply to informal status, unexpected and welcome. And the other friend typed, "One can have 'church' anywhere. :)" Again, truth flutters, grasped within my reach.

But I know, too, the value of worshiping with our church families. We aren't meant to be alone in worship, although an occasional Church of One can be a welcome anomaly. This morning's two hours disappeared in a seeming instant in my personal cathedral under the ancient pines, my toes curling around damp, cool grass as I read, meditated, and prayed.

And prayer is the key. Some people have asked me how I can pray for an hour or more. It's so easy for hours of prayer to wane as time flutters by, unmarked. When we pray, we speak to the very heart of Our Father, the One who created us, who lovingly shaped our personalities, our minds, our bodies, our very souls. He adores us, loving us so far beyond our limited understanding, so far past our human comprehension.

So after coming home to the rare treat of vacant house this afternoon, I thumbed through my Quotation Journal which I have been keeping for a decade now (as of August 4). And I was drawn to a group of quotations that sought to define prayer....

"Prayer is exhaling the spirit of man [and woman] and inhaling the Spirit of God."

--Edwin Keith

"Prayer is the spirit speaking truth to Truth."

--Philip James Bailey

And of course, the poet within felt a special affinity for this gem:

"Your prayer can be poetry, and poetry can be your prayer."

--Noelani Day

So as we rest and find refreshment on this Sabbath Day, a day on which I've decided to severely limit my computer use so that I can focus on other activities and truly seek a tranquil mind and spirit each week, may we focus on our communion with the One who promises to listen to our prayers, the One who loves us and gave His everything--His only Son--so that we may spend eternity in His Presence.

Praying and resting in Him this Sabbath day,

Feast of Transfiguration

2011-08-06T16:10:00.000-07:00

Raphael's "Transfiguration"

Today, August 6, marks the Feast of the Transfiguration. We read about this Biblical event in the ninth chapter of the Gospel According to Saint Mark, starting at the second verse:

And after six days Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became radiant, intensely white, as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, and they were talking with Jesus. And Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good that we are here. Let us make three tents, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah.” For he did not know what to say, for they were terrified. And a cloud overshadowed them, and a voice came out of the cloud, “This is my beloved Son; listen to him.”

The Collect for this day from the Book of Common Prayer 2011 reads:

HEAVENLY Father, before your Son Jesus Christ suffered on the cross, you revealed his glory on the holy mountain; Grant that we may see the light of his presence, be strengthened to carry the cross, and be changed into his likeness from glory to glory; Through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and rules with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever. Amen.

Raphael's famous painting, pictured above, shows us two scenes: the transfigured Christ, radiant in glory, and, below, the scene from Mark 9:14-29 in which Jesus heals a boy of an unclean spirit after His Disciples are unable to do so. We see the disciples, confused by their ineffectiveness, as the crowd gathers, asking why Jesus' followers cannot heal this child beset by demonic forces. And when Jesus does arrive, we hear from Him this important truth:

"All things are possible for one who believes.”

Yesterday when we attended the Friday service of Alpine Anglican Church of the Blessed Trinity at Victoria House, Father Acker explained the situation of this portion of Scripture more clearly. This place, near Caesarea-Philippi, a shrine to Pan, the Roman God of partying and mischief, at which Jesus was transfigured was a large rock wall next to a waterfall. In the rock wall, various niches had been carved, with statues of different deities, all of whom were worshiped by the pantheistic Roman culture. So when Peter, rather overwhelmed by the power of Christ's transfiguration in the presence of Moses (representing the Old Testament) and Elijah (representing the New Testament in the form of John the Baptist), suggested setting up three "tents" (niches), he was talking about adding images of Moses, Elijah, and Christ to the pantheon of gods. Then the voice of the Lord steps in, straightening out any possible misunderstandings, by declaring Jesus as His Son and commanding Peter, James, and John to listen to Christ.

So may we indeed listen to Christ in our lives as we are transformed ourselves into His magnificent Glory as, through the Holy Spirit, we become more like Him in all we think, say, and do.

On the path to transfiguration with you,

The Journey to 1000 Gifts Continues....

2011-08-02T17:50:00.000-07:00

Timothy on Christmas Day, 2009

Opening gifts is a joyful experience. Usually.

When it's a birthday or Christmas or Mothers' Day, etc., joy arrives in the receiving and in the giving.

We happy parents watch our children unwrap our choice for them, confident in their enjoyment of what is masked by brightly-coloured wrapping paper and elaborately-coiffed ribbons and bows.

We take photos of their smiling faces, placing the images with care in our photo albums, labeling names and dates.

We give; they receive, thanks gushing from their lips.

Do thanks gush from our lips when we receive God's gifts?

God's gifts are not as obvious in their presentation as the gifts we give. No patterned wrapping paper and delightful bow signals to us, "this is a gift from the Lord."

No, we need to have eyes to see and ears to hear, for God's gifts are fleeting at times, a mere flash of insight, a faint whisper of Grace.

And these gifts are the ones I am attempting to count, creating my own album with words rather than photographic images--although a few of those work their way into my remembrances, too.

And as I count, I create space in my overcluttered memory for this slice of Mercy, this dollop of Grace, this whisper of Beauty, this faint sunrise of Praise.

We can't let Busyness triumph or allow the "tyranny of the urgent" to take over, masking the gifts in the wrapping paper of rushing-past-it-all, tied with ribbons of not-enough-time, taped shut with this-must-be-done-NOW.

For these are the gifts unseen, unheard, and thus unopened.

How would we feel if our children didn't see the gift we wrapped so lovingly for them, tied with a bright ribbon, given with a hand-lettered card expressing our love? How would we feel if this gift was passed over in the always-rushing day, never noticed...never opened...never appreciated?

"To you I lift up my eyes, O you who are enthroned in heaven.

Behold, as the eyes of servants look to the hand of their master,
as the eyes of a maidservant to the hand of her mistress;

So our eyes look to the Lord our God...."

--Psalm 123:1-3a

And so we open our eyes that we may behold the wonders of our God (Psalm 119:18), and sing of his strength, sing aloud of His steadfast love (Psalm 59:16), giving thanks to the Lord, for He is good; for His steadfast love endures forever (Psalm 118:1).

So the journey to One Thousand Gifts with The Gratitude Community continues, jotting the gifts we see and hear, the gifts we open with joy, even the hard ones for which we see no reason but trust in His infinite goodness....

581. for rain that drenches, puddles gulped greedily by summer-thirsting land

582. for fans that circulate summer-warm air, cooling tempers as well as bodies

583. for bluer-than-blue delphiniums that graciously reseed themselves each year

584. for piano music drifting through our home, original compositions of our middle son

585. for Psalms singing the melody of praise, my heart reaching the high notes that my voice cannot possibly attain

586. for small town parades ending with grand finale of the town heroes: our volunteer firefighters who bravely defend us from autumn scourge of flames

587. for my lap quilt, tied with prayers of our church, purple pansies soft against my face

588. for the reaching out of hearts, deepening dear friendships over pinot grigio and Ben and Jerry's

589. for grace passing through summery days, resting body and mind and spirit

590. for peace of prayer, touching my spirit deep and true and real with tangible grace

591. for the grace of a Raven sent to soul-starved, exhausted Elijah-friend

592. for rolling laughter caused by black-and-white movies watched on humid afternoons

593. for coolness of evening while I journal-write from our front porch, the peace well-worth the mosquito-bites swelling redly on my ankles

594. for solving several challenges of teaching a new class at co-op with a single phone call to a wise friend

595. for eager ideas regarding teaching elementary medieval history this fall, a new class

596. for income at long last, enabling the repair of van brakes and other neglected practicalities

597. for cold, sweet Popsicles on hot, humid evenings

598. for late night chocolate conspiracies with daughter o' mine

599. for celebrating ten years (as of August 4th) of jotting words and phrases in my beloved Quotation Journal

600. for completing two weeks of thanks and opening 600 gifts since the start of this journey in December 2009

For these gifts, now opened, I thank You, Father--for allowing me to see and hear them, smell, taste, and touch them, over this journey of nineteen months. I echo the liturgy of the Psalmist: "For great is his steadfast love toward us, and the faithfulness of the Lord endures forever. Praise the Lord" (Psalm 117:2).

With gratitude from the depths of my heart,

Quotation(s) of the Week: On Literature

2011-08-01T02:04:00.000-07:00

My upstairs bookshelves, chock full of my favorite literary gems

Books.

They are my addiction.

My first job was, after all, in a bookshop--the old orange-themed B. Dalton Booksellers in the nearest mall, Parkway Plaza. I worked in bookstores off and on for ten years: three B. Dalton stores (Parkway, Grossmont, and Glasshouse (Sports Arena & Rosecrans), and the Harcourt Brace Jovanovich (HBJ) Bookstore on 5th and A in downtown San Diego.

So I worked in bookshops from my senior year of high school through college and then before and after graduate school. In fact, I was still working in the HBJ Bookstore during and after my pregnancy with Elizabeth. The mall stores were fine, but the HBJ Bookstore was incredible--the largest non-university bookstore in all of San Diego County--that is, until the Barnes and Nobles and Borders moved into town. It was not uncommon for customers to drive down from Los Angeles, one hundred miles to the north, for a Saturday afternoon of browsing. And it was not uncommon for some customers to purchase a few hundred dollars' worth of books in an afternoon.

And I was proud to stock the Poetry and the Belles Lettres (literary) sections; in fact, when the store closed in late 1992, I kept the Poetry sign from the top of the bookcase; it's pictured above, on top of my own private poetry "section."

On Friday night I spent the night with a dear poet friend who moved recently into San Diego proper. Over chicken marsala and pinot grigio, we discussed theology, poetry, literature, friendships, and many other topics. It's so lovely to have such a lovely kindred spirit with which to talk books and literature! She has her Master of Fine Arts in Poetry, while my Master of Arts is in plain old English--so she's more a writer of poetry while I am a student of poetry, prepared to sit at her feet and drink in her wisdom.

We re-discovered a forgotten (by myself, at least) truth: literature isn't only found in books. I toted an impressive stack of DVDs down the mountain with me for out evening pleasure, and we selected the classic The Philadelphia Story (1940) starring Katharine Hepburn, Cary Grant, and Jimmy Stewart. Over Ben and Jerry's Vanilla Heath Bar and my homebaked Cranberry Oatmeal cookies, we found that the screen writing of this classic film was simply incredible. The quick wit, the sly asides, beautifully acted with impeccable timing, of course--all combined to create a masterpiece not only of film but of literature as well.

Some people ask me regarding the definition of literature--versus just fiction, short stories, poetry, plays, etc. I consulted my Quotation Journal and unearthed a few gems to elucidate this term--after all, my undergraduate degree was not in English; it was in Literature--which is also Elizabeth's major at this time.

This first quote informs us about the reading of literature; the second, written by one of my favorite American authors (Jewett's Country of the Pointed Firs (1896) is a delightful summer read), explores the writing of literature.

"The test of literature is, I suppose, whether we ourselves live more intensely for the reading of it."
--Elizabeth Drew

"The thing that teases the mind over and over for years, and at last gets itself put down rightly on paper--whether little or great, it belongs to Literature."
--Sarah Orne Jewett

As the summer winds down, July fading into August and schools starting over the next few weeks, perhaps we have time for just one more great work of literature to read on the beach, or, even better, perhaps a great writing concept awaits the attention of our pen or keyboard.

Only time shall tell true literature from the mere book....

Literarily yours,

Sigh. I'm Doing It Again....

2011-07-28T22:50:00.000-07:00

For those of you who aren't familiar with living with chronic pain, here's the Spoon Theory.

I hate when I do it.

Or when it does it to me.

When pain burrows deep, tentacles reaching past sinews into marrow, I burrow myself deep, too.

I don't mean to. It just happens.

Fingers ache redly, so I don't write. Head spins sickly, so I don't read.

I don't want to talk, so I hide shyly, not wanting to heft my burdens on shoulders of others.

So I isolate, not blogging, not Facebooking, not Tweeting, not Wattpadding. I fold in on myself, reluctantly.

I hope to push through these days of pain and exhaustion, come out of my proverbial shell, and live well again.

Tomorrow I'll be pushing myself out there--attending Morning Prayer and the Holy Communion Healing Service at Victoria Chapel with Alpine Anglican Church of the Blessed Trinity, followed by J's guitar lesson with Father Acker, part of the Free Teen Guitar Class outreach. Then home to bake cookies to sell at our annual town festival where I'll be helping at the Pine Valley Community Garden booth after the town parade--Pine Valley Days is always a day of fun!

After dropping J off at the monthly Guitar Jam in Alpine, I'll drive to my dear friend's house where I'll spend the night and enjoy a girl-gab fest (with much poetry and literary discussion). I'll drive back up the mountain early Saturday morning to participate in Pine Valley Days.

And on Sunday, Lake Murray is hosting a Missions Conference since all of our missionaries are stateside. Two of our favorite missionaries cannot attend, but most will be here for a wonderful conference encompassing work in West Africa, North Africa, East Asia, and the former Soviet republics, as well as missionary training in Wisconsin, outreach to migrant farm workers in Wyoming/Idaho, plus hospital chaplaincy and homeless ministries here in San Diego.

So I have a busy few days ahead as I come out of this painful shell--pushing, emerging, and, I pray, blooming where I am planted.

Emerging from my hidey-hole, I pray,

Quotation of the Week

2011-07-24T23:17:00.000-07:00

I've had a very difficult week physically--pain just won't let up; it's blinding now as I type. So I won't preface this quotation with much except to say that it stood out to me as if it were written in crimson ink right in the middle of Ann's blog:

"Now is not an emergency to rip through, but a moment to embrace with gratitude."

--Ann Voskamp, on AHolyExperience.com

I not only jotted this sentence into my Quotation Journal; I also copied it onto my Shakespeare Post-Its and placed it at eye-level on the wall in front of my desk.

An important reminder, that.

How easy it is to hurry; how difficult it is to slow down, see what is in front of us right now, and give thanks. It's something I need to learn--desperately need to learn.

Learning to slow down and embrace the "now" with gratitude,

Saint Mary the Magdalene

2011-07-23T01:07:00.000-07:00

Saint Mary the Magdalene is, after Christ's mother Mary, the most important woman in the Bible. She was a great supporter of Jesus' ministry, thankful for the freedom she experienced from demonic possession as a result of Christ's power.

This morning, July 22, I attended the usual Friday morning Anglican services alone; usually I have at least one, if not more, of the kids with me. But it was a quiet day--no bells rung, a day of contemplation, of prayer, of reading and praying God's Word, of celebrating the Blessed Sacrament of Holy Communion. And it was a day to remember this Biblical saint, Mary of Magdala.

The Book of Common Prayer 2011 contains a Collect to celebrate this day in the life of the Church:

Almighty God, whose only Son restored your servant Mary Magdalene to health of mind and body, and made her a witness to his resurrection; By your grace may we mercifully be healed of all our weaknesses and serve you in the power of his risen life; Who with you and the Holy Spirit, lives and rules, one God, forever and ever. Amen.

The prayer regarding Mary Magdalene from Divine Hours: Prayers for Summertime reads:

Almighty God, you have surrounded me with a great cloud of witnesses: Grant that I, encouraged by the good example of your servant Mary Magdalene, may persevere in running the race that is set before me, until at last I may with her attain to your eternal joy; through Jesus Christ, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

I always think of Mary as the woman who first saw our resurrected Lord outside the tomb on that very special Sunday morning. With what sorrow did she approach the tomb, and with what joy did she depart from it to tell the Eleven what had happened! Mary must have been so very well-beloved of our Lord to be given the first glimpse of Him after the Resurrection. And before she recognizes him, she questions him about the missing body, believing Him to be the gardener, until He said simply, "Mary."

At that moment she realized several things: 1) Jesus was indeed alive; 2) Jesus had fulfilled His promises of rising again the third day; 3) God does miracles--He is indeed a God of grace and might, with power over Death itself.

Here is what the Saint-A-Day e-mail from americancatholic.org stated today regarding Mary Magdalene and the misinformation about her that I heard even from my pastor on Sunday:

Except for the mother of Jesus, few women are more honored in the Bible than Mary Magdalene. Yet she could well be the patron of the slandered, since there has been a persistent legend in the Church that she is the unnamed sinful woman who anointed the feet of Jesus in Luke 7:36-50.

Most Scripture scholars today point out that there is no scriptural basis for confusing the two women. Mary Magdalene, that is, “of Magdala,” was the one from whom Christ cast out “seven demons” (Luke 8:2)—an indication, at the worst, of extreme demonic possession or, possibly, severe illness.

Father W.J. Harrington, O.P., writing in the New Catholic Commentary, says that “seven demons” “does not mean that Mary had lived an immoral life—a conclusion reached only by means of a mistaken identification with the anonymous woman of Luke 7:36.” Father Edward Mally, S.J., writing in the Jerome Biblical Commentary, agrees that she “is not...the same as the sinner of Luke 7:37, despite the later Western romantic tradition about her.”

Mary Magdalene was one of the many “who were assisting them [Jesus and the Twelve] out of their means.” She was one of those who stood by the cross of Jesus with his mother. And, of all the “official” witnesses that might have been chosen for the first awareness of the Resurrection, she was the one to whom that privilege was given.

Mary Magdalene is also one of the greatesy subjects of painters through the ages. If you would like to see an assortment, search "Mary Magdalene" in Google Images and see all of the amazing paintings that come up. The painting above is by John Rogers Herbert and is dated 1859. I debated about posting Dante Gabriel Rossetti's painting as I saw it a year ago at the San Diego Museum of Art's PreRaphaelite exhibit, but I liked this one better; she's calmer, more "normal" which agrees with the above opinion that Mary Magdalene was not the same Mary who was a prostitute, nor was she the mother of Jesus' child (and thus the "real Holy Grail", as presented in Dan Brown's fictional book, The Da Vinci Code.

May we all follow Mary Magdalene's example of love and devotion to Christ and support of His ministry as He gifted us with eternal Life and Love. Mary loved Jesus with all she had and with all she was--which is the hope and prayer of every Christian as we sojourn through this life and look to the Next.

Walking in the example of Mary and the Love of Christ,

(Edited from the Archives, one of the five most popular posts ever on this blog)

A Wee Bit Late, But Still Trudging Onward....

2011-07-20T18:19:00.000-07:00

One of my summer projects is to recopy my Gratitude Journal, now just a stack of pages printed from my blog over the eighteen months I've been on this journey. As I can only handwrite ten or so entries at a time because of my rheumatic hands, even with my favorite fountain pen, it's been slow going. But it's also good that it's been slow--I've had time to re-thank God for each item on my list as I recopy, to ponder each entry's significance and to remember my frame of mind when I jotted it down, pinning gratitude to paper, creating permanence out of what can feel like nebulous prayers that slip from mind, never to return.

And it's also been wonderful reading Ann's book this summer. It's the only book I've purchased all year, and after being a fan of her blog for the past two years, it's nice to settle into her writing, experiencing bigger chunks of it at a time.

But it's not easy reading--not because of her beautiful, poetic style; no, not that at all--but because she challenges our ungratefulness, our un-seeing of what God has placed before us as gifts, the ones right under our noses that we see each day but don't actually SEE. And she challenges us to thankfulness for the seemingly bad things--and Ann's life has seen heart-wrenching grief. She calls it the "hard eucharisteo"--the difficult thanks, the ones we can't see for the longest time but thank on faith that there's beauty underneath the ugliness, grace underneath the sin.

But such eucharisteo (thankful) living does not come easy to us, even to us Christ-followers. The Christian life lived for His glory requires much effort, much willingness to examine our own motivations and deeply-hidden sinful ways, a willingness to take the time to look and truly, truly SEE.

And seeing cannot be rushed.

Our "nows" cannot be rushed through--and this is something that I must learn, I who sprint through my days always looking toward "the next thing" that needs doing and neglecting to focus on "the now thing" right under my nose. I who watch wristwatch and measure minutes, pushing children through homeschooling assignments, tapping toes impatiently at undone chores, and not truly seeing the grace that inhabits my days, simply because I'm too busy mind-organizing the upcoming three tasks that "need" to be done.

And this rushing ingratitude is why I decided nineteen months ago to slow down and count the graces, journeying toward One Thousand Gifts with the Gratitude Community at Ann's beautiful blog, A Holy Experience.

So although I'm posting a few days late because of headache and everything-ache, because strength flags as mercury rises, I did jot these on Monday, thanking God this week for:

571. ...the rustle of squirrels in branches hanging heavy to the ground with Pippins

572. ...praying in morning warm on our front porch, a church service of one

573. ...sweetness of mango steeped in black tea, deepest brown in blue ceramic

574. ...drone of neighbor's mower, tidying nature's summer abundance

575. ...bright emerald of summer Locust tree leaves, reaching toward noonday sun

576. ...warm breezes caressing, mountain-scented and pure

577. ...antique lamps born in 1926 gracing our yard, hugging them close in thanks as need trumps beauty before buyers arrive

578. ...laughter rippling from county park, child-joy wafting on weekend breezes across sun-browned meadow

579. ...pen glazing blue ink across paper as Gifts are remembered, rethanked, recopied

580. ...deep age-grooves, stung with sap, in vanilla-scented Jeffrey pines, stout with its decades

And thus the journey continues ever onward, as the truth of the old adage seeps into brain, remaining and remaining: seeing is believing.

Seeing all things anew in His grace,

Quotation of the Week: On Harry Potter

2011-07-17T23:36:00.000-07:00

Yes, Elizabeth and I sat expectantly in the nearest movie theatre Thursday night, awaiting the 12:01 AM showing of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 2. It was our first and only midnight viewing of the Potter series; for the other films, we usually took the premiere day off from school to see the first matinee, usually while everyone else was holed up in their school classrooms.

I will write a review of Deathly Hallows Part 2, but we're taking the boys and Keith to see the early ($6) matinee tomorrow morning, so I'll write about it after I've seen the film for a second time. The experience was thrilling, although I wish they'd stuck closer to the book in a few places.

But I still find many Christians opposed to the Potter books and films, and I really don't see why. JK Rowling is a professing Christian whose literary heroes include Christian novelists CS Lewis and JR Tolkien, and I believe that her series will be seen by later generations as equal to theirs in both overall scope and quality as well as Christian content.

If Christians remain leery of the series, I encourage them to read John Granger's excellent book Looking for God in Harry Potter in which Granger, a homeschooling dad of seven, outlines the Christian origin of character names as well as the Christian themes and imagery of the series. Written before the publication of the final book, which contains by far the most blatant Christian content, this book totally changed my mind about the Potter series. Granger also has a short article on the Christian themes in the Potter series, specifically the second book, here: "Harry Potter and the Inklings."

As I browsed several film reviews by Christian authors, especially by Frederica Mathewes-Green called "Holy Harry," I came across a wonderful article on the Christian themes in the series called "Deeper Magic, Deeper Meanings" by Baylor literature professor Greg Garrett that contained a quotation so powerful that I had to jot it into my quotation journal:

"I felt that Rowling's 4100-page epic was the best and the most powerful contemporary retelling of the gospel narrative I'd encountered."
--Greg Garrett, Professor of Literature at Baylor University

I think this quotation puts the Potter series in its proper context as truly Christian fiction. And I'll post my review of the final film probably on Tuesday.

Happy movie watching!

A "Deal"

2011-07-14T18:27:00.000-07:00

One of the lovely things about Facebook is finding old friends. Not long ago an old friend from grade school (we've known each other since 1974--second grade, I believe) contacted me, and although we moved in different social circles in junior high and high school (i.e., he was a popular football player while I was working on the yearbook and literary magazine), we've become friends once again.

And mostly over books.

He went back to school, starting college at age 40, and has become as voracious a reader as I am. But he was shocked that I hadn't read one of his favorite books, and I was equally taken aback that he had not read any of the Harry Potter series.

Thus our "deal" was born.

The Deal: If I start reading Stephen King's Under the Dome, he'll start reading the Harry Potter series.

So today I picked up my copy of Under the Dome from our town's library. Elizabeth even snapped a photo of me at my desk holding my copy as proof that I now have a copy in my hot little hands.

It may seem unfair for me to read one book for this deal while he has to read seven, but Under the Dome is truly a TOME! It weighs 3 pounds, 12 ounces, and is 1, 072 pages long. So although the Harry Potter series is technically more pages by far, this print is smaller.

I feel it's an even deal. Well, fairly even, anyway.

So the deal is on, dear friend: Where's your copy of Harry Potter and the Sorceror's Stone?

Reading, reading, reading,

Praying by the Book

2011-07-13T22:27:00.000-07:00

Some Christians either look down upon or simply don't understand why other Christians find value in praying from a prayer book. Whether that book is a Book of Common Prayer from the 1540's or Baillie's classic Diary of Private Prayer from the 1940's or Stormie O'Martian's more recent Power of a Praying Wife, etc., praying from a book, or "by the book" can express the soul-language of our hearts.

I had never prayed from any book, except the Scriptures of course, until about ten years ago. Yes, I started with Stormie O'Martian's books which have been accepted almost without question in evangelical circles, but then online friends encouraged me to try Baillie's slim volume of prayers.

And I fell in love with praying all over again.

Obviously, there's nothing wrong with extemporaneous praying--it's what we do all the time. And praying "by the book" should never totally replace praying on our own--Baillie even writes in his book that "These prayers are to be regarded as aids; they are not intended to form the whole of morning's or evening's devotions or to take the place of more individual prayers for oneself and others."

But adding such written prayers to our prayer times has totally revolutionized my own prayer life.

For me, written prayers often express my heart more thoroughly and deeply than I can in extemporaneous prayer. I find this especially true in using the Book of Common Prayer and Baillie's Diary of Private Prayer. Baillie's little book presents page-long prayers for Morning and Evening for thirty-one days, plus Morning and Evening prayers for Sundays; thus, each prayer is prayed once per month. The prayers become familiar over the years (and I've been using Baillie's book off and on for well over a decade), but for me, they are never rote. Nope, never ever rote.

Instead, they become beautiful expressions of the love and faith in my heart, expressed far better and with a more global outlook than my own private prayers.

One of my favorite prayers is the Twelfth Day, Evening:

O Thou in whose boundless being are laid up all treasures of wisdom and truth and holiness, grant that through constant fellowship with Thee the true graces of Christian character may more and more take shape within my soul:
The grace of a thankful and uncomplaining heart:
The grace to await Thy leisure patiently and to answer Thy call promptly:
The grace of courage, whether in suffering or in danger:
The grace to endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ:
The grace of boldness in standing for what is right:
The grace of preparedness, lest I enter into temptation:
The grace of bodily discipline:
The grace of strict truthfulness:
The grace to treat others as I would have others treat me:
The grace of charity, that I may refrain from hasty judgement:
The grace of silence, that I may refrain from hasty speech:
The grace of forgiveness towards all who have wronged me:
The grace of tenderness towards all who are weaker than myself:
The grace of steadfastness in continuing to desire that Thou wilt do as now I pray.
And now, O God, give me a quiet mind, as I lie down to rest. Dwell in my thoughts until sleep overtake me. Let me rejoice in the knowledge that, whether awake or asleep, I am still with Thee. Let me not be fretted by any anxiety over the lesser interests of life. Let no troubled dreams disturb me, so that I may awake refreshed and ready for the tasks of another day. And to Thy Name be all the glory. Amen.

So I pray, with words not wholly mine, but with a heart that, I pray, is wholly His.

And I find great comfort in praying in this way, especially when the exhaustion and brain-fog and pain of my illness makes praying extemporaneously a challenge.

For me, my private prayers were becoming rote. I felt as though I were praying the same things each day, almost as if I were ticking off a grocery list of requests. So the prayers I pray from books have been more heart-felt than my private, extemporaneous prayers.

I think that God doesn't look at our words in prayer so much as at the heart attitude behind the prayer.

"For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance,(B) but the LORD looks on the heart." --1 Samuel 16:7, ESV

With God, it's always the heart that counts.

Praying by the book with heart,

New Page: Book of Common Prayer 2011

2011-07-12T15:37:00.000-07:00

I just put together a page above on the Book of Common Prayer 2011 that I spent the last year editing with Father Acker of Alpine Anglican Church of the Blessed Trinity. It's been a labor of love for all involved: for Bishop Boyce who supported the project, for Father Acker who invested two years of 40-hour weeks into the project, for his wife, Alice, who did much of the format editing, and for myself, who helped edit for clarity, correctness, and flow of language.

Copies of the Book of Common Prayer 2011 may be ordered here: Ordering Information

And here is the link to the page I just drew up: BCP 2011 Page, or you can just click on the page below the Meditative Meanderings header.

Praying God's Word with you,

Writing the Gratitude

2011-07-11T23:38:00.000-07:00

This week I started the project I have longed to do since January. I finally cracked open the navy blue journal, pages crisp, unsullied. I lifted my favorite fountain pen, sloshing with blue Waterman ink--sea blue, bright with promise.

And so I began. I touch shining brass nib to the pure whiteness, following sepia lines that keep me straight. And I wrote the thanks, committing each numbered expression of gratitude to the page in my own penmanship.

Since I started this journey, I've dutifully copied and pasted each Monday's thanks to a Word document, then printed all, stark black against glaring white. When I saw Ann's own journal, written by hand, I wanted my thanks to be in my own writing as well. I wanted to take that final step of ownership--making these thanks even more mine.

Because of arthritic hands, I can only recopy ten thanks per day--or hands swell, ache, throb. The work will be slow, spread over many, many warm, summery days. But each time I sit to write, I focus, remember, thank again...gratitude rebirthed, reborn, all anew in royal blue as I nod my thanks, knees bent, to the ultimate Royalty, the King of kings.

So here continue the thanks, the gratitude written into journal as well as electronically inscribed in blog and Word doc. On the page, it takes a breath, truly lives, in slanting hand, pain-worn and rightly earned.

The price can never be paid, but it can be acknowledged.

Joining again with the Gratitude Community at A Holy Experience, over halfway along the journey to One Thousand Gifts....

Thankful to God this day for:

561. ...slanting rain, nearly three-quarters of an inch, suffusing thirsty ground

562. ...flash and crash of lightning and thunder, shaking windows in their frames and forking gray, electric skies

563. ...the quiet of writing in vacant house, silent with neighbors on vacation, creativity flowing in tranquil coolness as their cat rubs against my legs

564. ...snapdragons bright, reseeded from past years, always reborn without gardener's effort--every bloom an unexpected gift

565. ...returning to 365 photo-blogging, marking days by truly seeing gifts through small, point-n-shoot lens

566. ...beloved dachshund healing at last after winter paralysis from ruptured disc; sheer delight in Dashwood's bright-eyed wellness

567. ...whirr of stationary bicycle as I read from Kindle--strengthening legs and improving health while engrossed in new stories

568. ...chime of cell phone, reminding me to pray Divine Hours four times daily: in rising morning, in heated noon, in cooling evening, in drowsy night.

569. ...giggle of kids over sheer silliness, laughter enveloping the family at dinner table

570. ...the jotting of gifts in blue-bound journal, thanks in slanting script, ink staining white pages with cerulean words ruled straight

So I continue to write thanks in my own penmanship, making gratitude all-the-more personal, all the more mine. I own this journey, this journey that brings me ever closer to the heart of the Giver of Gifts.

Writing the Gratitude,

Quotations of the Week: On Writing

2011-07-10T23:40:00.000-07:00

This week ahead will be a writing week; I hope. I need to really buckle myself down after resting (or attempting to rest--my sleep patterns have been wonky, to say the least) for the past few weeks and force my fingers to dance among the keys and produce some decent writing.

I'm still working on my teen novella--I have thirty-seven chapters completed and will probably end up with fifty or so when I'm done. They're short chapters, though--only 2500 words or so, which seems to work best for the main venue I'm posting them. I'm churning out a new chapter every 4-5 days; I was hoping for twice a week but that isn't happening yet.

And I want to keep up with this blog and the other blogs I write for; I have some major work to do on our community garden blog. I need to design a new header, write some new posts, and update photographs. I also have some blog posts I need to write here that I've jotted down in my Kindle Notes as the ideas have struck.

But my major project, the main one I want to make considerable progress upon this summer, is to complete at least a full rough draft of the MLA Research Essay book I'm writing for Brave Writer. I'm writing it directly to high school students, guiding them through the entire process of planning, researching, drafting, and producing a 5-10 page college-level research essay according to the newest MLA (Modern Language Association) format.

I also have a meeting on Tuesday night with our local Writers' Workshop. We'll meet to share a couple of pages of our work, giving and receiving comments, suggestions, and encouragement to one another as we seek to hone our craft, becoming more effective communicators of the written word.

So with much writing ahead of me this week, I thought I'd post a few of my favorite writing quotations. The first two of these I've posted in the past, but they're so wonderful that I simply couldn't resist!

"There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein."
--Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

"Easy reading is damn hard writing."
--Nathaniel Hawthorne

"Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart."
--William Wordsworth

"Don't tell me the moon in shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass."
--Anton Chekov

So as I go forth to write my little fingers raw, I hope for a productive week ahead for me, and for you all as well!

On the writing journey with you,

Hope and Praise

2011-07-09T13:04:00.000-07:00

Each morning this gem of a devotion arrives in my inbox, and I look forward to quieting mind and spirit in order to read, learn, ponder, and pray.

The High Calling website is a favorite of mine, and I've posted several poems in response to their monthly writing challenges, receiving constructive feedback from some of the best Christian poets of our time. It's a blessing in so many ways.

Unfortunately, in the melee that this last semester turned into, I have fallen out of the habit of checking the website and writing in response to their prompts and challenges. However, this daily gem has spoken to me in wonderful ways, and I have at times posted comments to Mark Roberts, the author of these daily ponderings and prayers.

Today's offering spoke precisely to where Keith and I are. With the economy in its present state, Keith's home design work has been extremely slow, and he's taken to doing anything and everything he can, especially handyman-type work. He's done landscaping, bathroom remodelings, kitchen repair and renovation, furniture repair and refinishing, fence repair, front door refinishing, and he even installed an elevator in my parents' home. He has also received several stained glass commissions which is his forte, although the pay isn't much when compared to handyman or drafting.

I've been doing my part. While continuing to educate the kids at home, I've picked up tutoring jobs where I can, offered online grading of essays, and have taken on teaching additional classes at Brave Writer.

But financially it's been tight, and sometimes downright scary. We scrabble each week to buy groceries and pay bills which we keep as low as possible--necessities only.

So as we wait on the Lord, today's devotional spoke especially to my heart; I reproduce it in its entirety.

You may read it online here.

Hope and Praise
by Mark D. Roberts
Psalm 71:1-24

But I will keep on hoping for your help;
I will praise you more and more. --Psalm 71:14

Psalm 71 is a prayer for deliverance offered by an unnamed poet who has repeatedly experienced God’s help throughout his long life. Now he needs the Lord to protect and save him once again.

In verse 14 this psalmist writes, “But I will keep on hoping for your help; I will praise you more and more.” The verb translated here as “to hope” has a basic sense of “to wait.” It implies an extended time of looking to God and God alone for deliverance. The second line of verse 14 literally translates, “I will add on to all of your praise.” “I will praise you more and more” captures the sense of the original.

Notice closely the relationship between hope and praise in this verse. The psalmist does not say, “I will praise you more and more after you answer my prayers, when my hope is fulfilled,” though this would surely be true. Rather, his growing praise comes in the midst of hoping, as he is still looking to God to save him. His praise, in fact, strengthens his hope, because it helps the psalmist to remember God’s greatness and glory. When he praises the Lord for all he has done, the psalmist is inspired to hope in God more faithfully and earnestly.

When we are in difficult situations, when our desperation drags upon our hearts, it is sometimes difficult to praise God. Yet if we focus more on him and less on ourselves, if we remember his goodness to his people, including us, if we meditate upon his character, we will be stirred to praise the Lord even in hard times. Our praise will, in turn, help us to keep on hoping, because it makes the reality of God even more real to us.

QUESTIONS FOR FURTHER REFLECTION: How have you experienced the relationship between hope and praise? What helps you to praise God even in the midst of difficult times?

PRAYER: I praise you today, O Lord, because you are the all-powerful creator of heaven and earth.

I praise you today, O Lord, because you have created beauty and given me the ability to delight in it.

I praise you today, O Lord, because you have been ever faithful to your people, including me.

I praise you today, O Lord, because you give me not what I deserve, but so much better.

I praise you today, O Lord, because you have delivered me from all measure of snares in this life.

I praise you today, O Lord, because you are sovereign over heaven and earth and are working out your design for the cosmos even today.

I praise you today, O Lord, because you have chosen me, of all people to be part of your kingdom effort.

I praise you today, O Lord, because you have saved me through Jesus Christ, that I might belong to you and serve you with all my life.

I praise you today, O Lord, because in you I experience a hope that will not disappoint me.

I praise you today, O Lord, in the name of Jesus Christ, my Savior. Amen.

So today we indeed praise the Lord, thanking Him for His good gifts. The difficulties we are in draw us to Him, and He opens our eyes to His workings in our lives. He brings people to us to help and comfort us, and we see the Body of Christ actively at work, bringing His glory to the Kingdom.

And thus I pray one of the verses I cling to, Psalm 27:14:

"Wait for the Lord; be strong and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!"

So we wait, hoping and praying and praising, depending on the One Who loves us more that we can ever conceive or imagine.

Hoping, praying, praising, this day and always,

Storms of Life

2011-07-08T19:23:00.000-07:00

When the summer storms descended upon our small mountain town earlier this week, we rejoiced. Rain is a rare commodity in Southern California, and we look forward to our summer storms with unparalleled anticipation.

When the storm clouds folded atop one another after lunch, Keith peered at the darkening skies and decided to work from home for the remainder of the day so that he wouldn't miss the spectacle.

And what a spectacle it was...for us Californians at least. Those of you who live where summer storms are an ordinary occurrence do not realize the joy we desert-dwellers find in a simple summer storm.

The flashes of lightning, the roars of thunder, the winds whipping tree branches this way and that, the sheeting rain, and even the occasional bloom of hailstones--these events occur once or twice per year here in San Diego County, albeit a little more commonly in our mountains.

Really, it's akin to a fireworks display--a free one, courtesy of Mama Nature.

We thrill to each rumble and roar and flash the way kids hype themselves up for a trip to Disneyland. Everything in our household stops, and we gather on the porch to watch the large drops cascade down the roof, puddling in our front yard, watching with wide eyes and ooohing and aaahing over each flash from sky and rumble that shakes the porch boards under our feet.

After the first thrill waned and the kids returned to their common activities, Keith and I curled up on the wicker sofa on the porch, shoulder to shoulder, and watched the rain and the flashes of lightning in silence.

It's the kind of comfortable silence borne of over a quarter of a century of marriage...almost sixty percent of my life. We did chat a little about his almost-completed stained glass window, about the newest handyman job he's doing, about the kids and their quirks and habits and plans for future.

But in the lulls between the conversation settled the comfort of his arm resting behind my shoulders along the top of the sofa, of our bodies turned toward one another. It's the same comfort as his casual touch on my hair as he walks behind my chair in the kitchen, or my ruffling his gray head as I move behind his desk chair.

So we find comfort in one another while skies darken and winds buffet and rains sheet and thunder crashes.

And we know that the comfort we give one another through the storms has a Source beyond us.

Comfort in the storms--isn't that how life should be?

"Sing for joy, O heavens, and exult, O earth; break forth, O mountains, into singing! For the Lord has comforted his people and will have compassion on his afflicted." --Isaiah 49:13, ESV

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. For as we share abundantly in Christ's sufferings, so through Christ we share abundantly in comfort too. If we are afflicted, it is for your comfort and salvation; and if we are comforted, it is for your comfort, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we suffer. Our hope for you is unshaken, for we know that as you share in our sufferings, you will also share in our comfort." --2 Corinthians 1:3-7, ESV

Seeking and finding God's comfort in the storms of life,

A Glorious Afternoon

2011-07-07T23:10:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I settled on our front porch to read and write a little.

First I read and prayed from the Book of Common Prayer 2011, even though it was technically afternoon and I was praying Morning Prayer. One of my favorite prayers in the BCP is the Te Deum, a prayer dating from the fifth century, and I'd love to share it with you here:

The Great Hymn of Praise (Te Deum Laudamus)
WE praise you, O God; We acknowledge you to be Lord.
All creation worships you--the eternal Father.
To you all the angels proclaim,
To you all creatures of heaven proclaim,
To you Cherubim and Seraphim proclaim aloud,
"Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty.
Heaven and earth are filled with the brightness of your glory."
To you the glorious company of apostles sing praise;
To you the worthy company of prophets sing praise;
To you the white-robed army of martyrs sing praise;
Throughout the world, your holy Church sings praise to you:
The Father, whose glory is never-ending;
Your true and only Son, who deserves our worship;
With the Holy Spirit, our help and our comfort.

O Christ, you are the King of Glory.
You are the Father's Son from the beginning.
When you became man to set humanity free,
You did not refuse a human birth.
When you overcame the power of death,
You opened heaven to all believers.
Now you sit at God's right hand, in the Father's glory;
You will come again to be our Judge.
So come, Lord Jesus, to help your people,
Whom you have redeemed with your precious Blood.
May we be counted with your saints in everlasting glory.

O Lord, save your people and bless your heritage.
Direct them, and raise them up forever.
O Lord, day by day we glorify you;
We worship your Name always, forever and ever.
O Lord, by the help of your grace, keep us this day without sin.
O Lord, have mercy upon us, have mercy upon us.
O Lord, let your mercy be upon us, even as we trust in you.
O Lord, in you have I trusted and will never be ashamed.
(Is6.2-3; Rev4.4-11; Jn1.14;5.20;14.26; Ps24.10;28.9;145.2;123.3;33.22;31.1; Jam2.1)

After I finished my time of prayer and Scripture reading, I wrote in my journal about the happenings of the past week, pen gliding slowly across pages as thoughts are pinned down, wriggling a bit in protest.

There is something so relaxing, for me at least, in writing in a beautiful journal with a beautiful instrument--the ebb and flow of ink filling the thick pages, the slowing down of thought to match the pace of penmanship. The simple act of writing brings me such peace...which could be why I have kept journals off and on since 1980. I still possess my journals from high school; I've been thinking that I need to hunt those down from our attic storage area this summer. The handwriting is poor, the thoughts pedestrian, but the attempts at journaling will evoke many memories long forgotten, and for that reason, I would like to revisit them.

After writing in my journal, which I do on a weekly basis rather than daily, I finished the fifth chapter of Ann Voskamp's wonderful book One Thousand Gifts. Her writing is so beautiful and poignant, poetic yet stark in a way. Perfectly trimmed. And she writes from a place of transparency, of true humility and reality, not afraid to bare her soul and expose the ugliness we all attempt to mask. The main premise of the book is gratitude, an element of life I am attempting to grasp and apply to my own life on my own journey to 1000 Gifts with the Gratitude Community at Ann's blog, A Holy Experience. Her writing needs to be read slowly, thoughtfully, meditatively--it needs time to sink in, to take root and grow deep.

Next I tackled one of my few summer projects: copying my Gratitude List into a regular journal. Over the eighteen months that I've been keeping my list of Gifts, I've been copying and pasting the lists from this blog into a Word document which I then printed to copy into a leather-bound journal so that I can jot down more Gifts throughout my weeks rather than merely on Mondays. I want to be able to pin down gifts as they come to me rather than wrack brain for them because blank blog window demands each Monday.

With my swollen, painful hands, I can only copy ten to twenty entries per day even with my beloved, comfortable fountain pen. So this project will take a good portion of my summer.

So this is how I spent my afternoon--a lazy summer afternoon with no demands, no needs as boys were working with Keith and Elizabeth was watching something in her room. The house behind me was quiet, and the summer-browned meadow spread silent before me, only the turn of page or the scratch of pen marring the stillness...along with the occasional stellar jay call and breezes making their music through the reaching tree branches.

On a lazy, lovely summer's day,

Gratitude Never Arrives Too Late....

2011-07-06T14:35:00.000-07:00

Family on my parents' rooftop deck on 4th of July

With the 4th of July holidays, I am posting my contribution to the Gratitude Community at A Holy Experience a couple of days late. But can gratitude ever arrive too tardy?

It's a deceptively simple concept, this gratitude. This journey to One Thousand Gifts that Ann started and many of us have joined is a blessing that never comes too late.

It's not for God's benefit that we thank Him for the little (and large) gifts He sprinkles through our days...if we but see them. He is giving us opportunities to "Practice the Presence of God," as Brother Lawrence teaches us through his little book of the same title. And if a 17th century dishwashing monk can teach us so much about seeing God in the little, common, ordinary things of this life, how much more does God Himself teach us if we are simply willing to "taste and see that the Lord is good"!

Noting the ordinary, day-to-day blessings heightens our senses, grants us word and phrase to express them, and brings us into a fresh mindset, is eager to discover the next blessing under our proverbial noses, and then the next blessing, and the next...

...until we realize that all life is blessing.

Even those things that don't seem to be blessing, are blessing indeed...if we but open eyes beyond the tangible and see eternity glimmering through pain and loss.

The hard things, like illness exhausting and children lost and work too slow and bills teetering and quarrels rife--these seemingly sorrowful, hurtful parts of our lives can indeed birth blessings if our eyes remain fixed on eternity.

When pain becomes too much to bear...when mere ache become shooting flames blazing joints and marrow...when hurt delves too deep for tears...we find the One who always waits, always listens, always comforts. He became pain for us, so that He could save us from the ultimate suffering of eternity without Him...eternity without Love.

So with thanks I continue on, jotting the journey to One Thousand Gifts, thanking God this day for:

551. ...blistering heat of beach sunshine warming to marrow of my always-cold bones

552. ..."And I'm proud to be an American, where at least I know I'm free, and I won't forget the men [and women] who died to give that right to me..." as we celebrate 235 of independence

553. ...family gathered to celebrate nation's birth, telling old stories of escapades and family foibles, singing to patriotic music as fireworks blaze in the distance

554. ...the sapphire of ocean, crashing beneath our feet, as we walked to the end of Crystal Pier where Pacific melts into horizon, a sea of blues

555. ...joy of beach walking with boys, crunching sand underfoot, despite cane in hand and price of pain to be paid in hours to come

556. ...quiet glory of praying His Psalms, peace and comfort and grace suffusing my heart, mind, and soul as Word washes weariness, replacing anxiety with joy

557. ...blessing of summer storms, with lightning brightening dark skies; thunder crackling and crashing overhead, shaking windows; rain, blessed rain, pattering on rooftop, drip-dropping from pointed oak leaves, saturating thirsty earth

558. ...the coolness and relief the summer rains bring, temperatures plummeting twenty degrees in fifteen minutes as dark clouds billow overhead, tumbling over each other in stiff winds

559. ...the sweetness of homegrown peaches, juice dripping from smiling mouths and sticky chins

560. ...the grace of touch as he walks behind my chair, placing his hand on my shoulder--love filling, overflowing all

Gratitude hides in the dark shadows, grace peeking through pain...when we see with His Eyes.

Rejoicing as summer rains pitter-patter down from dark skies,

A Belated Saturday Evening Blog Post

2011-07-03T13:36:00.000-07:00

Each first Saturday of the month Elizabeth Esther asks us to join her Saturday Evening Blog Post by posting a link to our favorite post of the preceding month.

I've missed a few postings this spring, but now that I'm picking up blogging again, I will join EE's groupies and share my favorite post for the month of June.

Since I really started posting in the second half of the month, I didn't have that many posts from which to choose. But one stood out in its quirky stream-of-consciousness style, and that's the one I've decided to share:

A Meandering Meditation

I hope you enjoy reading this post as much as I thoroughly enjoyed writing it, first into my journal by hand, then typed into this blog post.

Meandering more than usual,

Quotations on America's Birthday

2011-07-03T13:15:00.000-07:00

Flag fluttering over Pacific Beach to Bird Rock

With our country's 235th birthday looming tomorrow, I embarked upon a quest for some quotations on America. As I've been collecting quotations in my journal for nearly ten years, any excuse to scroll through quotation websites with pen in hand is a welcome diversion.

The kids and I will be heading to Pacific Beach to celebrate the 4th with my family at my parents' place half a block from the ocean. It's wild and crazy at the beach on the 4th, but it's a true celebration; we can watch at least three fireworks displays from my parents' rooftop deck where we gather for grilled burgers and all the "fixins" after a day on the beach. The weather is supposed to be postcard perfect tomorrow, and the kids and I are leaving our small mountain town at 7:00 a.m. in order to obtain parking near my parents' place; I'm hoping for the handicapped spot right on Mission Blvd. just half a block from my parents' house.

So with Independence Day in mind, here is a quotation I unearthed with which to celebrate this 4th of July, even if I'm not a great fan of his novels:

"We must be free not because we claim freedom, but because we practice it."
--William Faulkner

So, to my American readers, I wish you a wonderful celebration of America's 235th birthday, and to my non-US friends, I wish a blessed week for you all. I'll be back late Tuesday after spending the night at the beach Monday and helping my parents clean up after the party on Tuesday. Keith is staying home to take care of our dog and to work on his stained glass and other projects.

Wishing you all a joyous 4th,

The Art of the Written Missive

2011-06-30T23:02:00.000-07:00

I spent time in the last week renewing a snail-mail relationship with a dear friend. She has just published her second book on Catholic unschooling, and we e-mailed a bit, chatting about our different projects since I just finished editing a book project as well (The Book of Common Prayer 2011).

Over ten years ago, when my friend lived in Virginia, we "met" on the old Sonlight forums and immediately discovered much in common, including our names: Susie (me) and Suzie. We christened each other "Anne" (me) and "Diana" after the two kindred spirits in Anne of Green Gables.

So I dusted off my wooden writing desk, pulled out my antique-parchment stationery, picked up my beloved fountain pen, and wrote a long letter--both sides of the page even!

Writing a real letter is so much more personal than shooting off an e-mail or sending a text or a Facebook message; when we read someone's handwriting, with all its imperfections and quirks, we possess a window into the writer's soul; personality shines through the crossed t's and dotted i's and weird q's.

This is a lost art--the handwritten letter. We may handwrite a thank-you note from time to time, but how often do we sit down and write a multiple-paged letter to a dear friend? And what an investment in friendship such a letter is!

And then there is the sheer joy of writing such a missive...for me, anyway. Of ink gliding across parchment, of scratch of nib and flow of idea, of careful expression of words and phrases. Writing a letter is a lovely way to spend an hour as well as a wonderful way to rekindle a friendship or even start one.

It's a lost art, the handwritten letter.

Is it an art you would like to help revive? Just pick up a pen and allow heart to flow like ink across the page....

With writerly affection,

Walking Humbly with Our God

2011-06-29T16:50:00.000-07:00

Keith has promised to make me one of these "personal kneelers"--called a prie-dieu, which means "before God."

Because, for me, it's all in the position.

I pray best on my knees.

It isn't comfortable for long prayer sessions, granted--especially for me whose knees give way at the best of times. But there's just something about kneeling that sets my heart in the right place for prayer.

When Father Acker was Rector of Christ the King in Alpine, my favorite part of Friday morning worship was the kneelers. Oh, I loved the beautiful stained glass windows, the majestic altar, the scent of beeswax candles, the fragrant fog of incense, the simple white adobe walls hung with icons beautiful. But for me, it was all about the kneeling.

It's akin to taking off shoes on hallowed ground. Kneeling is about prayers holy--set apart--beyond the ordinary.

It's not about groveling. Not when He bids us to "come boldly before the throne of grace." No, there's no groveling in prayer. Humility is not groveling.

But in prayer there's mercy and grace, love and confidence, and when we bend the knee, we worship Him with body as well as with mind, heart, and soul.

Kneeling for me means worshiping God with all that I am, recognizing the glimpses I see of all that He is--He who is the great I AM. He is God ever-present, ever-ready, ever-willing to hear and love and answer and advise and comfort.

Kneeling reminds me of who I am--creation--bowing before who He is--Creator.

So how can I not kneel?

I am reminded of the sung words to Micah 6:8:

"He has shown you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: but to do justice, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God."

I am also reminded of one of my favorite Collects in the new Book of Common Prayer 2011:

For Confidence [Note:In Latin, con=with; fide=faith, so confidence means "with faith"; I love that!!]

O GOD of peace, you have taught us that in returning and in rest we shall be saved, and in quietness and in trust we shall be strengthened; By the power of your Spirit, we ask you to bring us into your presence where we may be still and know that you are God; Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

And of course, I am further reminded of my favorite line from my favorite Christmas carol, "O Holy Night":

"Fall on your knees;
O hear the angel voices!"

So as we walk humbly and with confidence before our God, He reveals glimpses of His glory to us--and how can we not respond by falling to our knees in humble worship before Him?

Kneeling before the King this day,

Carry On Tuesday Prompt #109

2011-06-28T15:39:00.000-07:00

It has been many months since I wrote a poem, and even longer since I tackled a prompt from Carry on Tuesday. But over the last week I have worked on a poem from a prompt now two weeks old, the title to a song that saddens me greatly. The prompt, #109 is the title to Abba's song, "Slipping Through My Fingers," a song I know well from Mamma Mia!, a favorite movie of mine and Elizabeth's.

As a mother with three teens and a "tween," I am all-too-conscious of the slippage of time. I recall too easily our children's baby-days, their toddler years, their early school lessons. Veggie-Tales and Magic School Bus has been supplanted by Call of Duty Modern Warfare and Battlefield: Bad Company.

Last week I took the kids to my parents' beach house, half a block from the Pacific. While E walked with my mom to her hair appointment, I escorted the three boys to the beach. I sat in my beach chair, Kindle in hand, while J took out the boogie board to ride waves and T and B created sand sculptures, digging a protective ditch against incoming tides with a long-handled shovel.

The Carry on Tuesday prompt came to mind, and, grasping pen and notebook, I scribbled rough words, a draft of sorts, trying to pin down images before brisk breezes and faulty memory could tear them away. Following is the third-draft product:

beach day
in this light diffused
glowing beyond shifted cloud
above the glistening curl of waves,
he totes seaweed--
a head of hair rank,
spindled from ocean floor
woven onto firm shingle.

with perimeter of uprooted grasses
and oblong ditch dug deep,
he guards his delicate sand creations
from dervish of encroaching fingers,
a deathly shiver wracking.
but this mass of brownish-gold,
pointedly bulbed, thick-skinned and slippery,
cannot halt the immutable tides--

as i discovered for myself,
far too young on similar sands--
when innocent kisses, tentative touches
were shielded from prying parental scrutiny--
lacy foam, salted shockingly cold,
surging above bare ankles.
it all tumbles back in rough surf,
memory upon icy memory,
despite the years that slipped
through our fingers....

Copyright 2011 by Susanne Barrett

I'm not completely happy with this poem...yet. My mind creaks with disuse, verse awkward at the tip of my pen, tap of my keyboard. For once I am accustomed to writing fiction--perhaps the first time. Prose is the skin I fit in best right now; poetry stretches.

But how can I not reach, stretch, when opportunity allows? A rip here or there will not matter much; needle and thread are ready at hand, even if mending is untidy.

One must try to fit, after all. Writing should never be comfortable but always a reaching--a stretching--painful at times but how growth happens....

That's how writing becomes life.

Poetically yours, as always,

Another Multitudinous Monday

2011-06-27T14:28:00.000-07:00

With the arrival of summer comes the reading.

This past week I made time in the late afternoons to take my beach chair out onto the side lawn, placing it under the ancient Jeffrey Pine that holds the kids' tree house, and settling into dappled sun/shade with writing desk, journals, Book of Common Prayer, Kindle, and Ann's One Thousand Gifts.

After praying and reading God's Word, I read a chapter from Ann's wise book, soaking up God's Truth through her poignant writing.

The best writing seems to come from the deep places of pain and suffering--in which God reaches in, transforming sorrow into a joy so profound that it rocks our comfortable little worlds.

This morning I was reading from another favorite devotional, John Baillie's A Diary of Private Prayer. From the Twenty-Seventh Day, Morning:

...For all suffering freely chosen for noble ends, for pain bravely endured, for temporal sorrows that have been used for the building up of eternal joys, I praise and bless Thy holy Name.

O Lord my God, who dwellest in pure and blessed serenity beyond the reach of mortal pain, yet lookest down in unspeakable love and tenderness upon the sorrows of earth, give me grace, I beseech Thee, to understand the meaning of such afflictions and disappointments as I myself am called upon to endure. Deliver me from all fretfulness. Let me be wise to draw from every dispensation of Thy providence the lesson Thou art minded to teach me. Give me a stout heart to bear my own burdens. Give me a willing heart to bear the burdens of others. Give me a believing heart to cast all burdens upon Thee.

So with thanks for all things, the beautiful and the painful, I add to my journey to One Thousand Gifts with the Gratitude Community at Ann's A Holy Experience these gifts:

541. ...for the reading and the learning and the growing as I journey this path of gratitude, and the joy of discovery that infuses Ann's little book, One Thousand Gifts

542. ...for the gift of words flowing through pen onto paper, formed I know not how, both of prose and poetry this week

543. ...for the writing of the first poem of this calendar year, the ending of a too-long dry spell

544. ...for the gracious art of stained glass I watch as Keith works on this new commission, an Arts and Crafts-style for a 1915 Craftsman bungalow in Los Angeles

545. ...for the joyous play of ocean waves on gray days, toes dug deep into warming sands, boys boarding and digging nearby

546. ...for the delight of books and friends who also delight in discussing them, too, and who challenge me to read outside of my comfort zone

547. ...for peace of candles and icons, praying of Psalms, the anointing with oil and laying on of hands in prayer at Victoria House that sustain me in His grace another week

548. ...for lovely responses to my writing from friends and strangers, for words that encourage and uplift and inspire

549. ...for sweet, cold summer plums, juice running down my chin

550. ...for this day, my parents' 47th wedding anniversary, for a marriage strong and deep as a model

So as I walk with gratitude this day, I pray for our needs, knowing that God hears and answers, and thanking Him for the many blessings, the little graces that color our days lovingly, if we but look and see....

With gratitude, this day and always,

Quotation for the Week

2011-06-26T15:04:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite devotional books is Phyllis Tickle's three-volume set of The Divine Hours. I saw them at Costco several years ago but didn't have the money to purchase them; I just drooled rather unattractively as I turned the pages, knowing that I would readily pray from these books if I owned them.

Several months later, a friend from Alpine Anglican, whose son I was tutoring, mentioned owning the series and not liking it; she offered, and I joyously took them off her hands.

And I haven't stopped using them since.

The books cover the entire calendar/liturgical year, with a volume for Springtime, one for Summertime, and one for Autumn/Winter. Each day contains prayers for Morning, Midday, and Vespers (evening), basically Scriptures and a few Collects from the Book of Common Prayer 1979. Then at the end of each month are the Compline Prayers (bedtime), a week's worth of prayers that can be used four times in each month.

I have set my phone to chime at 9:00 in the morning, 12:30 in the afternoon, and 6:00 in the evening to remind me to go upstairs to my prayer corner and pray the appointed Scriptures and prayers. The Holy Spirit speaks to me wonderfully during these times, as if the Scriptures were chosen especially for me to address an issue I'm dealing with, or the emotions I'm feeling, or the discouragement I'm facing.

Each Vespers set of Scriptures and prayers usually includes a hymn--some I know, but most I don't. But last Tuesday's Vespers hymn caught me and held me, especially the third stanza:

O joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to Thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not in vain
.....That morn shall tearless be.
.....That morn shall tearless be.

--Rev. George Matheson, from "O Love That Will Not Let Me Go"
in Divine Hours: Prayers for Summertime, p. 115

As I, and many of my family and friends, live each day in pain (whether that pain be physical like mine or emotional which can often be worse), we can indeed open our hearts to God who allows us to indeed "trace the rainbow through the rain"--to see the good behind the pain, depending on His promises that the morning shall bring relief.

For me, mornings are very painful. I dread waking in pain so much that I almost fear sleeping. When I wake, my joints are swollen and stiff, my muscles ache, and I move extremely slowly. At times, the simple, ordinary task of taking a morning shower can sap my strength for hours, if not for the entire day.

But the promises are there, and I grasp them hard with hope, not willing to let go.

Thankfully, rising each morning "is not in vain." There is a day ahead, with work to do and people to love and God to worship. And there is indeed joy--even if it "seekest me through pain." We have to wait through the rain for the sun to shine, lighting the prisms of color through the rainbow--beauty from the rain...from the pain.

Memorial stained glass window by Keith Barrett

And then I think of C--the girl who loves rainbows, adores God, and is with Him now. We left-behind-ones grieve for her, missing her, but know that she has escaped the pain and grasps His promises...in sheer, heavenly joy.

Waiting with you for the "tearless morn,"

A Poem to Consider

2011-06-24T23:24:00.000-07:00

USS Ward (navsource.org)

I have many friends and family members who are either currently in the military or who formerly were; my grandfather made history as an officer on the USS Ward, the destroyer that shot and sunk a Japanese submarine just outside Pearl Harbor before dawn on 7 December 1941, thus alerting our military of the coming attack. The Ward, with my grandfather as captain was hit by a kamikaze on 7 December 1944, three years to the day after Pearl Harbor; my grandfather was able to evacuate all hands safely before the Ward was scuttled.

So with a history of military service in our family, plus having all three of Keith's sister's children serving at one time or another, and living in San Diego, a true Navy town with many active servicemen and -women in our church, in our neighborhoods, etc., praying for our military is very important to me.

Each I pray for those who are deployed, using my prayer list and the following Collect in the new Book of Common Prayer 2011:

For Those Serving in the Armed Forces
LORD God of hosts, stretch forth your almighty arm to strengthen and protect the soldiers, sailors, airmen, marines, and coast guards of our country; Support them in the day of battle, and in times of peace keep them safe from all evil; Endue them with courage and loyalty, and grant that in all things, they may serve without reproach; Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Why write about the military today? I receive the Poem-A-Day e-mails from poets.org, and this poem really brought home what our men and women experience when serving in the Middle East. Earlier this week President Obama announced the withdrawal of our troops from Iraq--which I hope is a wise move. But the military and their needs surround me. One of my friends from church, a Harvard grad in English Lit, is in the Navy, and her husband was just deployed; they recently welcomed their first child, James, into the world. My grown nephews have served in the Middle East, and sons and daughters of church friends are also in active service on the other side of the earth. I think of them, pray for them, and, although I shouldn't, I worry for them.

And this poem powerfully expresses what I pray they won't experience.

Mosul
by David Hernandez

The donkey. The donkey pulling the cart.
The caravan of dust. The cart made of plywood,
of crossbeam and junkyard tires. The donkey
made of donkey. The long face. The long ears.
The curled lashes. The obsidian eyes blinking
in the dust. The cart rolling, cracking the knuckles
of pebbles. The dust. The blanket over the cart.
The hidden mortar shells. The veins of wires.
The remote device. The red light. The donkey
trotting. The blue sky. The rolling cart. The dust
smudging the blue sky. The silent bell of the sun.
The Humvee. The soldiers. The dust-colored
uniforms. The boy from Montgomery, the boy
from Little Falls. The donkey cart approaching.
The dust. The laughter on their lips. The dust
on their lips. The moment before the moment.
The shockwave. The dust. The dust. The dust.

I'm not sure why this poem hit me so hard. Perhaps it's the simplicity. Or the vivid imagery set up as visual glimpses. Or the power of destruction in the middle of an ordinary day, ordinary happenings.

And I pray my own prayer for our servicemen and -women this night:

Keep our men and women safe, Lord. Surround them with the hedge of Your protection; envelop them in Your loving Presence. Bless them, Lord, as they selflessly serve our country, allowing us to live our lives in safety and freedom. Keep their families left behind safe and well. Preserve their relationships despite the physical distance and time spent far apart; may absence indeed make their hearts grow fonder. May we be grateful for their service as we surrender them into Your safekeeping, in the Name of our Lord Jesus Christ, the One Who Saves. Amen.

Prayerfully and poetically,