A Road Less Travelled

Today I am thankful for stories and the time to tell them together. I see the world through the glasses of story and I think of event in my life as chapters. I love to tell stories, though I think I prefer to write them. Sometimes Raquel and I will just sit around putting ourselves in different situations and telling the story that comes of it. I love to role play with our group because we can work together to tell a story that is cooler than anything any one of us could have come up with alone. There are many examples of moments in different games where everyone was on the same track and we all knew we had just made something awesome together. We have told some tragic stories, some happy endings within a larger sad story, we have had moments within stories where the story had to stop and wait for us to stop laughing. There are moments we retell and still think are outrageously funny. I cherish those moments which combine my love of stories and my love for the people who tell them together.

To the Author of my story,
I thank You that You have shared a small part of Your creativity with Your creatures.
You have given us the ability to mimic Your storytelling
And a small part of the joy that come from a story well told.
I also thank You that You promise us that our story has a happy ending.
You have also promised tragedy, but we can know that sadness is not the end.
There is a wedding at the end of our story and we are invited as the Bride.
Please give us strength to push on to the end of the tale and our happily ever after.
In the name of the Bridegroom and the Finisher I pray,
Amen.

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That being a bridge between people means that both sides walk all over you?

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Solo Femininity: Poor Policies and Kind Responses

This is a short article that resonated with me for some reason. Probably similar to the reasons that make me try to remember to smile at and thank the airline security whom I suspect are underpaid for enforcing the fascist regulations about how much toothpaste is ’safe’ to be allowed on an airplane. (Not that I’m opinionated…)

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Today I am thankful for coffee. I know that if most of you were present I would hear loud Amens and the sound of slurping.

I am thankful for the ritual that goes along with a good cup of coffee. I put milk and sugar in my coffee because I like how it tastes, but also it gives ritual and enjoyment in the preparation of my coffee and not simply in the drinking. First I get my special coffee mug and a spoon. Then I pour rich, dark, hot coffee into the mug, watching it hit the dark bottom and then fill until I tell it to stop. I get out the milk and pour in enough to make the dark brown turn dark tan. I watch the milk swirl and spin in my coffee, the light color and the dark color dancing around each other until they come to rest so close they appear to be one. I put the spoon in and give it a couple stirs to make sure the milk is fully blended. Next I get out the sugar and put some in the coffee. Sometimes I sprinkle cinnamon across the top noting the contrast between its sharp brown and the smooth brown of the coffee. And then I watch my coffee as I stir it. The steam rises up out of my mug reminding me that this pleasure will not last forever. The sugar on the bottom melts and the cinnamon sinks down to the bottom to take its place. I take the spoon out and the surface of the coffee settles into a light, smooth brown with flecks of cinnamon floating on the top. And then I take a sip. It tastes sweet, bitter, creamy, sharp. It tastes of dark, warmth, earth and deep, deep brown. I move off to do some pre-breakfast activity, the mug never far from my hand. Soon it is time for the last swallow. Cooler than the first with the clump of cinnamon that never dissolved I drink the last of my coffee. The flavors linger on the back of my tongue long after I’ve finished. I move off into my day rarely recognizing this morning ritual as a space of peace, calm, warmth, refreshment. So today I take the space and time to thank the All-Father for His gifts.

Father God, Your children are shamefully blind and cold to Your gifts to us.
We might notice when You give us something really big
But the daily blessings that add sparkle to our days often go without notice.
My Father, I am guilty of this more than most.
But in Your mercy You gave me a cup of coffee this morning
And put so much grace into it I had to notice its beauty.
I thank You this morning for my cup of coffee
And for all the coffee I’ve drunk while thinking it came from the coffee maker and not from You.
Thank You for sparkling my life.
Thank You for small rituals of calm and comfort.
Thank You for coffee.
Amen

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Today I am thankful for my computer. His name is Giles. Yes, I know, I named my computer.

At this moment I am writing this post from the breakfast bar. I am putting music on Giles so I can take it with me when we go to Erie next week. Crystal is sending me links from across the room. I don’t have to fight anybody for the computer so I can write this post. I don’t have to use a computer configured for someone else’s preferences. I have this space that is just my own and I have this tool that helps me communicate and hone the skills I want to have. And he can come with me where ever I go. It’s very cool.

Thank You, Lord, for my computer.
In the grand scheme it’s not worth much, but I enjoy having it.
Please help me to do with my computer what You want me to.
Please teach me to use this tool to bless others and to serve You.
Amen.

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Tonight I am thankful for near-spontaneous gatherings of friends, chili with cheese, sour cream and oyster crackers, generous friends and even the ride home on the highway in the dark. For all these things and what they stand in for I give thanks.

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Today I thank God that He put me here in Peoria. I suppose I should back up and thank Him that He made me love Peoria before He put me here.

Before I moved to Illinois I had only lived one place. When I was born my family was living in a house on Holland St. in Erie, PA, and then when I was six months old we moved to the house on Smithson Ave. For as long as I can remember I lived on Smithson. And then when I was 18 I up and moved on relatively short notice to Illinois. I left behind my dad, my sisters, a brother (who has since followed me out here) and the only church family I had ever known. I left all of that and moved to where I felt home.

I don’t remember when I fell in love with Peoria. When Seth and Crystal moved out here about five years ago I came with them and spent the summer. When I left I felt torn. I was going home to Erie, but part of me was still at home in Peoria. The next summer we went to visit them and I felt disjointed again because I had just left home (Erie) to go home (Peoria). And then I flew out when Noah was born to stay for two weeks and it was the same thing again. I felt confused, like I didn’t totally belong either place. I was supposed to stay in Erie for the rest of my life. But I felt like I had a foot in both places and was standing torn in the middle.

My move to Peoria wasn’t exactly what I would call ideal. After I got back from my two week trip in February we, that being my dad, me and Seth and Crystal, decided that I would move to Peoria. We decided that I would move in late August. Then late August became early August. And early August became mid-July and then early July. Finally I was talking to Seth on the phone in the middle of April. Crystal had just had a bad gall bladder attack and they knew she needed surgery. After the surgery she wouldn’t even be able to lift Noah who was still nursing at the time and would need someone there round the clock. Seth had a major project at work and couldn’t just take several weeks off and everyone who could be of some help were going to be out of town. So Dad and I looked at a calender and figured out that we could take a Saturday and drive six hours West while Seth drove six hours East. We would meet and move all my stuff from one van to the other. Then everyone would drive home. The only available Saturday was May 1st.

So that’s what we did. We drove six hours and met Seth in a McDonald’s parking lot. We moved all my stuff from Dad’s van to Seth’s and then Dad and I said goodbye. And he drove home and Seth and I drove home. I was finally going all the way home.

The first month in Peoria was manic. I got here late Saturday, we had Samuel’s birthday party on Sunday, I had Monday to settle in and then Crystal had surgery on Tuesday. It took me several weeks just to feel homesick. Then in September one of my sisters was having her second baby. This was the first baby in our family conceived after Mom died. I had flown out to Peoria to help Seth and Crystal when Noah was born because they needed the help and it was the sort of thing Mom would have done. I couldn’t not do the same for my sister. So three months after I moved to Peoria I flew back to Erie. It was odd coming into the city. I was glad to be back in my hometown, but I wasn’t home anymore. I was completely in Peoria so I could enjoy Erie for what it was, what it is. It was my hometown, but I don’t love it like I love Peoria.

I’ve written out this whole story and I’m still not sure when I fell in love with Peoria. I used to explain the disjointed feeling away by saying that after I spent the summer here Peoria was the only place I’d lived other than Erie. But that doesn’t explain why I loved it. I’ve visited places before and they are plenty nice to visit, but I don’t leave part of myself behind when I leave those places. I think the disjointed feeling came because God had made me love Peoria. Specifically, God has made me love the University East neighborhood. This is my neighborhood. I know it. I walk around and think ‘Mine. My home. My place.’ I want God to give me this place to win from the darkness so I can give it back to Him. I love it here like I’ve loved no place before. And I am so thankful that God put that love in my heart.

My Master, Who commands and directs,
You could have simply required me to move here.
You could have ordered me here with no explanation or input from me
And that would have been perfectly holy.
But instead You gave me love and made me want to be here.
You put Your desire into my heart and made Your will for me easy and pleasant.
You, Lord, are without compare for Your love and kindness to me.
May I show that love and that kindness to this city and this neighborhood You have made me love.
May I make this place home for my neighbors the way You made it home for me.
And may I remember Your love for me when Your commands and will are not so pleasant to my mind.
Amen.

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Today I am thankful that Jesus has promised to come back for us someday. With the possible exception of Isaac our entire household is down sick. We stayed home from church today and just felt yucky together. Last night Samuel said to Seth that he was tired of this world just going on because we all felt yucky and he was tired of being sick. Seth agreed and reminded him that this world won’t continue forever. Someday Jesus will come back for us and we won’t feel yucky anymore. Today we read from the end of Revelations where we’re told that we will reign with Jesus forever and that no one will get sick ever again. That was very helpful to hear.

At the same time I am thankful that He hasn’t come back yet. I was talking to a mother a while back who has some children who are not believers. She said that sometimes she prays that Jesus won’t come back because that would be bad for her children. When the director walks on stage it means the play is over and it’s time for the after party. And that is beautiful for some and should be scary for others. So I am thankful that His time has not yet come because there are people I love and people others love who aren’t yet invited to the eternal after party and I want so much to see them there.

Oh God, Who has appointed the times and seasons,
I thank You for Your merciful promises to us.
You promise us peace, healing, rest and joy.
You assure us that we will not have to be touched by death forever.
But You, Lord Almighty, are holy
And so there are other You promise pain and death.
I thank You that in Your mercy You have not yet given us what You promised.
I thank You that You are waiting.
I offer these thanks through Your Son, the Author and Director of the play.
Amen.

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Today I am thankful for my voice. I am thankful for it mostly because I have almost completely misplaced it today. It started wandering off yesterday and then I yelled, cheered and laughed to my heart’s delight and apparently scared it off. I don’t think I’ve ever lost my voice this bad before. I’ve gone hoarse before, but some aggressive throat clearing usually takes care of that just fine. This time not so much. My voice is coming almost exclusively from the top back of my throat. I have lost all of my bass. And aggressive throat clearing just makes me cough. So I guess I’m stuck with this until it goes away and my voice isn’t scared anymore. And it’s making me grateful of how my voice usually is. Normally I can yell, sing, whisper or speak with great purpose if I want to, but those abilities are gifts and they are not necessarily forever.

My God, Who taught the stars to sing
And gave to each one his ability to speak Your praise
I thank You for my voice.
I have so often forgotten that speaking, singing, laughing is a gift
And not a right.
May You keep my voice away for long enough today
To make me appreciate Your gift to me.
Amen.

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Last night we celebrated the Night of the Burning Plum. Many of us were nursing coughs or colds so the night was punctuated with sniffles, coughs and the hunt for the tissue box. And still it was delightful.

I went over to the Lansberry house early to help set up. Theresa commented that this was exactly the dinner party she always wanted to have. There were the regular folks- us, Lansberrys- and then there were the almost regulars- the Peiffers. There were the every-now-and-againers- the Creaths- and then there were the random people we kept adding in. Heather from Seth and James’s workplace, Ryan who we met at our previous church and have kept in contact with, and Ralph and Keith who started out Ben-Ezra friends and have become Lansberry friends, too. Altogether there were 27 people, 14 adults and 13 children. We feasted on pork raised by people we go to church with, mashed potatoes, salad and apple salad. For dessert we enjoyed the traditional ice cream with flaming plum cherry brandy sauce. When our hearts had been made properly merry we went into the living room to tell our stories.

Of the 27 of us only three adults and two children did not contribute anything to the stories. And even then there was lots of shouting, laughing and comments from the adults and joyous screaming from Margary. David Peiffer was really the only person who didn’t contribute anything, but he was asleep upstairs during the story telling. People told all manner of stories from wacky to serious to satire. I was impressed with how much most (most) of the children had improved from last year and definitely from the year before. There was a lot of audience participation even in the stories that weren’t designed that way. In fact, my voice was already going hoarse at the beginning of the evening and with all the shouting and laughing I have now lost almost all of my voice. I sound like a boy going through the worst stage of puberty. It’s kinda funny actually.

The night was a complete success. We had about twenty people packed around one long table and yet most of the time the conversation crisscrossed the table from end to end. James wrapped up the evening by talking about a family who’s life had been full of death. But then a baby had come to them and had helped to reawaken the joy and hope of the family. And he reminded us that that was what the Burning Plum was about. It was about love and hope together in a world filled with death and sorrow. It is our devotion to and our joy in each other that makes the Plum burn bright and strong. And it is because of evenings like last night that the Plum still burns. May its light carry us through this year and into the next.

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