Dreaming big dreams....

I've been thinking lately about dreams--those goals and desires around which we shape our choices, our resources, our time. At a very young age, I sought to capture the joy of any single moment with a long-term plan--a compulsion natural to my personality, I suspect, and one I have been struggling to shake since then. I can still recall being eight or so years old, swimming lap after lap in the pool of a family friend. I would beg her and my mom to time me, certain that if I could continue to shave seconds off with each successive lap, I could somehow prove that I was a future Olympic athlete! If you love it, might as well make a life out of it--and be the best, performing at the pinnacle of possibility.

In truth, I haven't entirely lost this drive to somehow be "best" at whatever it is I am doing. In fact, part of my present job is to challenge more women to contemplate "the pinnacle of possibility." As I work in higher education, this takes the form of urging them to consider being a college or university president. I'm willing to accept that not all will choose the path, but I want every single one of them to believe that it is possible and make an honest, reflective choice. But do I honestly wish to be best, or somehow climb to the top, and would I wish this for my children?

I've been thinking it just might be time to make a new list of dreams. I sense this every time I pick up my guitar, and I form the earliest version of callouses that would suggest I am ready to become a serious player. I'll never receive a dime for playing the guitar, but gosh, do I love it. I'd like for my kids to one day remember me giving myself over to these kinds of passions. Matt and I are movie-obsessed--he more than I, but both of us have dedicated countless hours to independent films. (Last night was "Man on a Wire" about the French wirewalker who graced NYC with a walk amongst the clouds between the World Trade Center towers--surely this film in part inspired this post....) I love to think in the future that our children will remember us as curled around one another on the love seat downstairs, exploring the world and its possibilities through the lens of some cultural creative. I want them to know that I loved to dance--and though my public dancing days are likely over, it's time we revive our family "dance party" tradition we used to maintain each evening before bed.

What other dreams have we already fulfilled, or might we fulfill now--no future schooling needed, no funds stored up in the bank? Matt makes a mean margharita, and we have certainly been enjoying this talent over the last couple of weeks. I can manage to look in the refrigerator most any evening and create a decent meal out of leftovers. We've picked up a new bedtime routine--spontaneous song-writing, where the kids provide me with 3,4,5,20 seemingly unlike concepts, and I weave them all together into a bedtime song. Potty humor abounds, given that the kids are five and eight, but these precious moments are certainly fulfilling the dream of helping my children to smile just a little bit more each day.

I dreamt for me--and I dream for them--that I would live my life with a companion who would love me deeply and welcome all of me....and this dream is fulfilled each and every day. I want to soak up these moments more, be present for all of them. I'm not terribly concerned if people can say of me that I was the best at any one thing I did--but please, God, let it be said that I was the best at living my life, moment by moment, laid out before me as only I can notice, receive, and acknowledge.

Can you imagine a dream bigger than this? I surely can't....

Glory

When we first brought a dog into the family this summer, the walking was a treasured addition to our daily routine. My shift was the morning; Matt's at night. While there were days when it was hard to wake to an earlier alarm, the reward was always so rich, I'd come home filled with gratitude that the responsibility of Ty was bringing me more fully into the natural world surrounding our home.

Our street is set just above the Farmington River, and the bend below our neighborhood leads into a section of rapids suitable for Olympic training. We see enough calm in the water to have our own hearts stilled, but enough action brewing to know that the river is powerful and swift--not for the faint of heart by kayak, canoe or on foot.

Whether climbing over fallen tree limbs beside the river, or hiking up the "mountainside" roads, we knew the summer walks were a gift that winter walks might not be. We celebrated wisely claiming the dog while it was still easy...when the difficult "Please don't make me go out there in that" weather was still months off.

Winter is upon us, and we have seen plenty of New England winter weather to remind us. Two snowstorms sandwiched Christmas in a world of white, and ice kept our kids out of school for some part of nearly every day this past week. There have indeed been mornings and evenings when the wind whips so strong and cold around the corners of our little Cape, neither of us is eager to venture out with the dog. But, oh, the reward when we do....as rich as the summer walks, if not more.

The bare trees leave us exposed to the neighbors, yes (something Matt typically detests), but down near the river, the world is raw and exposed to our eyes. This morning Matt saw a large tree gnawed to its core by a beaver only moments before. The waters swirl around ice formations that are dangerous, yes, but glorious, too. And while Matt has been the morning walker this week, I've had the privilege of the night--with nearly full and full moon guiding me along the ice-covered sidewalks of our still, silent village.

Last night I braved a night walk through a nearby cemetery. I typically adhere to a "don't do anything you wouldn't want your daughter to do" set of rules for where to walk and under what conditions, and on most nights this puts the darkened cemetery well out of my limits, but the moon was full last night and so light, the walk through the centuries-old stones was nearly as bright as day.

Having lived all my life in the northeast, I have seen tree branches after an ice storm before--the distinct, glassy coating that surrounds and separates every tiny branch (and can break off the largest of limbs if thick and heavy enough). I'm not certain I've ever seen the same under the light of a full moon, though. As I moved from the cemetery past the liquor store and pub (the local economy is thriving under the current economic conditions), I decided to extend my sojourn with the night sky with time in our backyard.

Walking circles around the heaven that is our yard, I was astounded at the trees. From just the right angle, every single ice-coated branch reflected the brightness of the moon in a dazzling shimmer of light that seemed a reflection of God Herself. I wondered at the metaphor of this display--do we show God's glory most when we are stripped bare, coated in an icy shield of doubt, questions, anger, authenticity? Is nature yet again teaching me that the cycle of budding new life, growth, and inevitable death and loss yields a glory not yet known or seen? Or was it simply a reminder that even the trees cry out in glory?

In the end, the lesson hardly mattered. I was simply glad for a dog named Ty, the privilege of the walk, and the gift of noticing what was and is and is to be....

September

Summer is such a richly indulgent season, with equally indulgent parenting on our parts. Stay up until 10pm? Absolutely! Head out to the pool at 7pm when showers and stories should already be underway? I'll race you to the car! Ice cream for dinner? It's dairy--it's protein. Scoop me a dish!

We have all been dreading the end of this time, but now that Labor Day has passed, and we have the first day of school under our belts, I feel an odd sort of relief. I'm showered, my teeth are brushed, the kids have been sound asleep for an hour--and it's only 9:30pm. The alarm will go off at 6am, and I (hopefully) won't push the snooze button for 48 or so minutes as I have for much of the summer. The dog will be walked, Kyra will be on the bus, and I'll happily sip my coffee as I drive to work on time with consistency. The pattern feels comforting....as though we are returning to a sort of health and normalcy.

I remember when Matt and I first fell in love (disregarding for the moment the three crazy years of my being in love with him, his being in like with me, and so on....). Being with one another was such a feast for the senses. The sight of him, even from a distance, created heat deep in me. Taste...touch...scent...it was incredibly indulgent to just be near one another, and we gave into all sorts of crazy urges. We'd stay up talking into the wee, wee hours of the night. We'd be participating in public life, together, but utterly absorbed only in one another. I'm certain there were hours where we sat in church, went to movies, enjoyed family dinner when we literally didn't hear a word that was spoken by another person. It was exhilirating, and it is still exhilirating for me to remember those days.

But just the same, as with summer's end, it was something of a relief to settle into one another with comfort, with familiarity. I can still find that heat, but I don't have to call the fire department every time Matt brushes by me. We indulge in one another, but we can also sit with the kids at dinner and actually hear the stories they tell us about school or the game they just played. We have reentered the greater world, and while we savor the times when we can shut out that world and dive into the banquet of one another, we are just as glad to return to this new pattern of togetherness when those nights or weekends come to a close.

Will autumn's gold bring indulgence, too? But of course! The canoe is strapped to the trailer, and we have plans to float and hike our way through the bounty of the harvest--but Sunday evenings will bring a return to "early to bed, early to rise," and really, I'm glad for it. Glad for all of it.

Blessing the room

Monday mornings are hard for me, in stiff competition with Sunday evenings. It's difficult to determine whether the actual return to work each week is more a struggle than the anticipation of leaving behind the home and family I so love. My resistance to leaving there (home) and being here (work) sometimes blocks my ability to work and accomplish what is before me to do in the here and now. In the interest of creating a new ritual, today I decided to bless the room--to literally ask God's light to shine in a space that sometimes feels more closed than open, more away from than toward. And in so doing, I want to bless there, and them, as well.

God of Light and Mercy, be with me in this space. I have been led here by your hand, and I have no place to be today but here. May I, too, be a light, and may I shine through each and every task that is before me. Give me eyes to see the opportunities to serve in love, to act for justice, and to bring hope to the hopeless. Even here, I am a minister of promise and opportunity--a new way to be, to know, and to love.

When my mind strays to other places, other times, forgive me--bring me gently back to the breath, to the moment, to now. I thank you for Matt--gracious, loving partner and friend; for Kyra--underwater-swimming, snuggling once again, almost 7-year-old; for Lucas--long, lean 4-year-old with a sweet "w" for "r" and energy from head to toe and back again. And yes, God, thank you also for Ty--walking companion, reminder of "now" and focus and the present. Help me hold them in my heart when I can't be present with them, and when I return to them once again, help me to have the same undistracted focus.

Thank you--for the gifts, for the struggle, for the learning, for the energy that is You moving through each and every moment. Amen.

Summer Camp: Then and Now

The RevGalBlogPals have brought a "Friday Five" that hits the spot! Here goes....

1. Did you go to sleep away camp, or day camp, as a child? Wish you could? Or sometimes wish you hadn't?

I'm not certain I ever attended day camp, but I know I went to sleep away camp at Pathfinder Lodge. Staying at camp for a week was so much my norm, it's actually the modern day inclination toward day camp that seems odd to me! My camp of choice was Pathfinder Lodge, an American Baptist Church in Cooperstown, NY. I can still picture one of my counselors, Debbie, with her hair in Princess Leia-like braids--blonde and beautiful, swinging her legs as she sat on the diving board....the same diving board that was wisely removed years later by my sister-in-law due to major safety concerns.

2. How about camping out? Dream vacation, nightmare, or somewhere in between?

I have mixed feelings about camping out as vacation. We own an amazing tent, and for the first few years of owning it, we'd actually bring it on every summer visit to Matt's parents' house. Before the kids were born, the tent was a place of passion! It's not nearly as pleasant to sleep as a family of four there, despite that it is large. Anyway, Matt's parents live on a large piece of property, and at the time we had essentially no yard--they were our camping destination of choice. But there were privileges in that arrangement, of course--access to indoor plumbing, a nearby kitchen, etc. I have camped in a more rustic environment as well, but those memories all seem to have rain in them somewhere....and it doesn't matter how amazing the tent is after days of rain. Things are just going to get wet!

3. Have you ever worked as a camp counselor, or been to a camp for your denomination for either work or pleasure?

Oh yes, yes, yes! I was a counselor and worked in the kitchen at Pathfinder. I have stated for years to Matt that when I die, I want to be cremated and have my ashes sprinkled in Lake Otsego--Pathfinder is just that special to me. (Of course, with my new passion for the Farmington River, we might have to spread the dust over a few favorite waterways!) My maternal grandfather was at Pathfinder as a counselor the night my mother was born--the very first year the camp was opened. My parents met there, and indeed I met my fabulous partner and spouse there as well. We married in the chapel right on the edge of the lake, and I am still stirred to walk into that space. The Spirit of God is just present there for me, and I suspect my faith was most significantly shaped by my time at camp.

My daughter and I went to Camp Wightman, CT's American Baptist camp, for the first time this summer. I was amazed to find myself in love with Wightman, too, and eager for Kyra and Lucas to cultivate a relationship to this place so they might have the sorts of memories I have of Pathfinder.

4. Most dramatic memory of camp, or camping out?

Dramatic? Hmmm....this one is a little gross. I am not a fan of vomit--I'm actually vomit-phobic. Anyway, one summer while counseling (bear in mind that I was a recent high school graduate....), a stomach virus hit camp. It hit camp hard--and it started in my cabin, with a sweet, chubby, blonde-haired little girl who threw up all over her bed. I wanted to run away, truly I did, but somewhere in me, a voice said, "You are the only mother she has right now," and I was able to hug her, wash her hair strand by strand, and essentially become the person I never imagined I could be. The vomit was everywhere that week....and the week after....and the week after....and eventually, when camp was entirely done, it caught up with me. Gosh, that was awful. And that night, precious Matt took care of me.

5. What is your favorite camp song or songs? Bonus points if you link to a recording or video.

This shouldn't be hard for me, but it is! There are many songs I loved and love--Rejoice in the Lord Always, This is the Day. I'm sure there are others, but they're alluding me at the moment. I'm simply grateful for guitars, a dark sky lit only by the campfire and fireflies, and the sounds of voices raised in praise.

On My Knees

Forgive the funky font sizes and changes....I'm feeling just lazy enough to leave them!

This morning at church during the sharing of joys and concerns, I spoke about the privilege of worship--the pleasure in being back in a church community we have grown to value and love after two weeks away. It's a hot day--and humid, too, most critically--so the congregation met in the basement fellowship hall. The air conditioning was the pull, of course, but the more casual worship environment was pleasurable for me as well. We're tighter there, sitting side by side, and sharing in worship in the space where we typically share fellowship--lemonade, coffee, a friendly word or smile--somehow brings this spirit of exchange into the service.

Last Sunday I had church on my knees, hunched over our garden rows, patiently pulling weeds to unearth one and two inch basil seedlings, the unmistakable scruffy leaves of a carrot top, and the bushy green signs of watermelon coming to life. God was as much in evidence in that garden as She was today in fellowship hall--my co-congregants were spiders and ants and birds and trees and dirt....luscious, heavenly dirt. And while I didn't encounter any grasshoppers, Mary Oliver's phrase about not knowing how to pray--but knowing how to kneel down in the grass--kept coming to me. It's been with me all week long. So here is this treasure of a poem from a treasure of a poet:

The Summer Day

Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

from New and Selected Poems, 1992
Beacon Press, Boston, MA

Copyright 1992 by Mary Oliver.

While searching for "The Summer Day," I found this new-to-me poem below, and it feels like a gift from God on this melancholy night when I'm struggling against returning to work tomorrow morning and leaving behind that garden and being on my knees in the grass. I suppose I do have the sort of spirit that carries a thorn--and that far too often I don't dare to be happy. But I do feel as though the world is somehow as it ought to be--as though what will be is what should be, even in the too-frequent losses and lamenting that follows. Somehow we are--Creation is--always straining toward life, toward energy, toward God. And Mary Oliver once again says it better than I ever could.


Morning Poem

Every morning

the world

is created.

Under the orange

sticks of the sun

the heaped

ashes of the night

turn into leaves again

and fasten themselves to the high branches ---

and the ponds appear

like black cloth

on which are painted islands

of summer lilies.

If it is your nature

to be happy

you will swim away along the soft trails

for hours, your imagination

alighting everywhere.

And if your spirit

carries within it

the thorn

that is heavier than lead ---

if it's all you can do

to keep on trudging ---

there is still

somewhere deep within you

a beast shouting that the earth

is exactly what it wanted ---

each pond with its blazing lilies

is a prayer heard and answered

lavishly,

every morning,

whether or not

you have ever dared to be happy,

whether or not

you have ever dared to pray.

from Dream Work (1986) by Mary Oliver

© Mary Oliver

Friday Five....on Saturday, of course!

I just love the RevGalBlogPals. Peering in on their "11th hour preacher party" on Saturday evenings always fills me with a sense of relief (so glad I am relaxing at home rather than frantically writing a sermon!), a sense of envy (perhaps I'll one day be one of those sermon-writing folks!), and the realization that I have once again missed the Friday Five. So, a day late, but never a dollar short....

With their fine introduction leading me off:

"With this Sunday's gospel reading in mind, that wonderful revelation of Christ to the companions on the Emmaus road. I wonder where you might have been surprised by God's revelation recently. So, with no further waffle I offer you this weeks Friday 5: How has God revealed him/herself to you in a...."

1. Book--I have read some fine books of late. Most recent was "Take This Bread: A Radical Conversion,"* and I certainly found God quite explicitly in Sara Miles' story of an unexpected communion conversion. I'm also reading "Leading with Soul: An Uncommon Journey of Spirit"* by Bolman and Deal, and I love the happy surprise I feel when there is a message within that seems intended just for me. This is often how I recognize the ever-presence of God. In this case, I've been struggling with holding a project close to my chest, knowing all the while I need to open my circle wider and integrate some partners in more meaningful ways. I read a section on "authorship" and the gift it is to extend to colleagues the gift of authorship, and I realized I wasn't extracting from them--taking their time, their energy that could be otherwise spent in other ways. Instead, I am gifting them with the opportunity for involvement and meaningful authorship.

*Is it me, or does every book I pick up have to have a colon and subtitle??? Time for me to find a novel to read!

2. Film--This answer might seem odd, but we watched "The Business of Being Born" the other night, and I saw God as I remembered so vividly the beauty of the births of my children. I was gifted with two natural births, both different and unique....experiences that have no comparison elsewhere in my life. I remembered through watching the women of this film what it felt like to be in the throes of transition, fully present in the moment, aching to be in that "not yet" moment toward which and for which my body was stretching, and suddenly to have the calm (well, at least in the first birth!) of pushing a slippery, slithery human being from my body into the world. My gosh, is there any greater evidence of the divine than that? To be side by side with Matt as we celebrated our partnered births and our partnered life together was a gift.

3. Song--A seminary professor at ANTS (forgetting his name at the moment--so sorry!) wrote a piece that I learned at a workshop this past February. I returned home to teach it to the kids, and we sing it often. They sing it because they like the words and simple melody; I sing it because I need to. It is again about the "now and not yet" tension that is my life. The words are "We are going to a place where music falls and fills up everything. And though it might be a long time, I know it's gonna be alright. 'Cause we've already started to sing." It's a very modern-day spiritual, and whether I'm washing dishes at the sink, taking the sometimes lonely trek to work, or simply needing to take a deep breath and sing, it restores me.

4. Another person--Long pause....this should be the easy one, shouldn't it? I see God in our associate pastor, Amy, who has become a source of great encouragement to me. My friend, Cathi, passed along her ethics paper the other day, desiring to share that she happily found herself in the space of claiming the "rightness" of gay marriage. I affirmed her for her process, telling her that I would hope to affirm her process even if we didn't reach similar conclusions--but of course felt joy that we did and do. When she wrote about how profoundly my own journey has influenced her, I knew that God was somehow using my life--and that being "used" doesn't always mean being on the world's stage, as I so often assume. Sometimes it means just showing up, being oneself with integrity and authenticity, and letting the rest happen. And of course God appears in my family each and every day. That we love one another, lift one another up, and continue to bring the best of ourselves into this home is a blessing.

5. Creation--A single purple crocus has sprung forth in the middle of our expansive backyard. Need I say more?

Bonus answer: your choice- share something encouraging/ amazing/ humbling that has happened to you recently!

The other day I had the privilege of taking our new provost to lunch. She was happily asking questions; I was happily answering. Only later when I returned to my office and was again reviewing some of her accomplishments did I realize how little I had asked her--how little I had listened to hear the gifts she will bring to us. I'm excited to work with her--her arrival is in and of itself a huge gift. But giving in to the intoxication of being asked my opinion was a humbling moment. I am vowing to listen more when next I have the privilege of her company.