tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190634382024-03-07T20:06:52.021-06:00Folk, Flocks, and FlowersNothing actually stands between saying, “The river sang,” and “It was as if the river sang,” other than a set of rigid rules that forbids the former from being more than a metaphor. -Fr. Stephen FreemanSheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.comBlogger455125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-48382576154748686702021-12-31T13:47:00.002-06:002022-01-01T11:39:14.065-06:00Now the Year Is Over<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaFecUNNXd28Oa1aRQFOxYgcllEsLen1p3xsM_2CM-FVHv5t5bb4MFbIwXbiz49JTibYDSrtqjmMtPqCpqQnwvJSJBDJDBXXOsK_ORqS8Smwc9i4xyXFbiwXCOmLlQaH98MIgcFedDcpEilq0Griqh5_ECz20uyiz8VcIJH4dTbX7Ijvm7Tpo=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaFecUNNXd28Oa1aRQFOxYgcllEsLen1p3xsM_2CM-FVHv5t5bb4MFbIwXbiz49JTibYDSrtqjmMtPqCpqQnwvJSJBDJDBXXOsK_ORqS8Smwc9i4xyXFbiwXCOmLlQaH98MIgcFedDcpEilq0Griqh5_ECz20uyiz8VcIJH4dTbX7Ijvm7Tpo=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Where I grew up, we often sang a hymn in church called "Now the Day Is Over," and it remains with me today, despite likely not having sung it since I moved away after college. I'll save my lament for the loss of older hymns for another time and simply say that I loved this hymn, always sung on Sunday evenings for obvious reasons. I loved the sense of peace it brought and the sense of order, acknowledging that God, the cosmic source of day and night, could be called upon in personal prayer.</p><p>It's a prayer for rest, for good sleep, for protection from temptation and evil, and a prayer for a holy beginning for the day to come.</p><p>It came to me when I was out walking earlier just as the sun began to set, and it strikes me as an appropriate hymn as we close out one calendar year and begin another, so I'll share the text here. Unfortunately, I cannot figure out with the new Blogger configuration how to format this as I would like to, so please bear with me.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Now the day is over, night is drawing nigh;</p><p style="text-align: left;">shadows of the evening steal across the sky.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Jesus, give the weary calm and sweet repose;</p><p style="text-align: left;">with your tend'rest blessing may my eyelids close.</p><p style="text-align: left;">Comfort ev'ry sufferer watching late in pain;</p><p style="text-align: left;">those who plan some evil, from their sin restrain.</p><p style="text-align: left;">When the morning wakens, then may I arise</p><p style="text-align: left;">pure and fresh and sinless, in your holy eyes.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">New Year's is a time of big parties for lots of people. But for some of us, it's more often a time of reflection, being grateful, and choosing, maybe daring, to hope as we look forward.</p><p style="text-align: left;">This year, like last year, I'm certainly more inclined to a contemplative stance. The struggling and suffering of the past two years of pandemic combined with both pandemic "side effects" and the normal challenges of life, call for prayer more than for fireworks, it seems.</p><p style="text-align: left;">At the same time, we have a new year ahead of us, and every morning is a new day. We have the opportunity to "arise pure and fresh and sinless" in the holy eyes of a God who cares so much for this world that He keeps the sun rising and setting, keeps healing the sick, keeps providing hope, keeps forgiving our sins, and keeps sustaining life and even overcoming death.</p><p style="text-align: left;">With a prayer for those who are suffering, and hope for all of us going forward, I do pray that 2022 will be a truly happy new year.</p>Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-63718828592205872062021-12-26T15:37:00.001-06:002021-12-26T15:37:17.878-06:00Second Day of Christmas Snow!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm usually the first to wake up in our house, and this morning followed that pattern.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Part of me had a hard time refraining from waking up the other to share the news, but part of me loved being alone with time to take in the quiet beauty. Snow had been forecast, but you never know whether it will or not. This time it did, and it did so in such a lovely way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKbpllzHlBMgBZi5oLyc9K0VTYOlh06kSQx_NcfkgHklTiavJXUvzDhPjx1-dFeN2lrLjK61hH2nxk1tzLe23_MvROVSFIEnv-1lyxi90Zkmul2H_joAP_faYLg9zxn28qNAwEpIBXPL_68VubViWb-SngUjB7VOecxbGROics09C6Ww6k158=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKbpllzHlBMgBZi5oLyc9K0VTYOlh06kSQx_NcfkgHklTiavJXUvzDhPjx1-dFeN2lrLjK61hH2nxk1tzLe23_MvROVSFIEnv-1lyxi90Zkmul2H_joAP_faYLg9zxn28qNAwEpIBXPL_68VubViWb-SngUjB7VOecxbGROics09C6Ww6k158=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is what I saw out the north window of the attic room which is my office space.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhaU9C8GVV9suJoYu9ockTgei1j9w9-0Pl2j_8ZbGp3ZEB28ha_cwDldmna4fMZ6uR9M2D9FghzanmE92OEztiZOO7QrAtuZPzbElXBZZUeNSfJW07xPiwC61UEVIDrT2WYF3kE8ZCwBqmM9X3ekfkz7CLLLyD4majQsXRHesffuNS7zCMV28=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjhaU9C8GVV9suJoYu9ockTgei1j9w9-0Pl2j_8ZbGp3ZEB28ha_cwDldmna4fMZ6uR9M2D9FghzanmE92OEztiZOO7QrAtuZPzbElXBZZUeNSfJW07xPiwC61UEVIDrT2WYF3kE8ZCwBqmM9X3ekfkz7CLLLyD4majQsXRHesffuNS7zCMV28=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And out the kitchen windows to the west, snow on the walkway below.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi3rg6wioRJMwQVswh23QhtRig7UXocgD_wVDCcP6P8rG3JGDguOM2IWsIMFu_2H_i7nBMUqH_p7WViLFaqENuK3-tTSGZNEVb_VnIHJeySPulBT7cTcEeOe-bnC-ELIJXPtMuGIPHFCqo8PCGehBLWH0mNCJKG8OmIiKkq4tSwv4vYD3VZMXs=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi3rg6wioRJMwQVswh23QhtRig7UXocgD_wVDCcP6P8rG3JGDguOM2IWsIMFu_2H_i7nBMUqH_p7WViLFaqENuK3-tTSGZNEVb_VnIHJeySPulBT7cTcEeOe-bnC-ELIJXPtMuGIPHFCqo8PCGehBLWH0mNCJKG8OmIiKkq4tSwv4vYD3VZMXs=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My first time to look out (?) the window in the roof over my desk in the attic room with snow falling.</div><p> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhf0qrNpHee_TSLCG7fhHewTlpn42jQp7PYMf3Z2MfjQElY9dHgUaLpUjAPluJY0FF5hSC-hRAGwdPKZlgbiyj5SsuWDekwOv-dJhCOkxRw-acvy7FL8sSNzwrn2BRMxOdIljAdPzXHgMtQeNBLg3mJeKO6Hcwv2R9sFhRYr8hxocInYjpHOaw=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhf0qrNpHee_TSLCG7fhHewTlpn42jQp7PYMf3Z2MfjQElY9dHgUaLpUjAPluJY0FF5hSC-hRAGwdPKZlgbiyj5SsuWDekwOv-dJhCOkxRw-acvy7FL8sSNzwrn2BRMxOdIljAdPzXHgMtQeNBLg3mJeKO6Hcwv2R9sFhRYr8hxocInYjpHOaw=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><p style="text-align: justify;"></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The view from the north kitchen window.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKiUj0Pp7e2fRWYIOhhFmrD81Hd8CxL96V7Oi2llkKZx1pYI4ODfH6I73gq64HpQ6Mjk3iZygSFYAzteJeUlTqTlV3_T-NngGwE3W6VjyEL1ZIklJ3HHxHXySD9tpjynVHbN_vMUoV0qOAJ0CyLZImNvZOcn3VO_mgIOWMonTGyAaxWQ9-bkk=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgKiUj0Pp7e2fRWYIOhhFmrD81Hd8CxL96V7Oi2llkKZx1pYI4ODfH6I73gq64HpQ6Mjk3iZygSFYAzteJeUlTqTlV3_T-NngGwE3W6VjyEL1ZIklJ3HHxHXySD9tpjynVHbN_vMUoV0qOAJ0CyLZImNvZOcn3VO_mgIOWMonTGyAaxWQ9-bkk=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Looking out on the street later in the day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWOykyyak2PPSTxchM8IVvhQFkhAKzbhK8P8BvavFjo7obN_k4VsKNQ9K7T8lHsy2vM5R1O6kftXgdqXmTJZ3bYunB_Jo8UPuUy2XH4tLcj7L9_CNLjeiGuSMFRwoW6PdvisnjmRF7FnwkOHURhnnttkTYifqxB6zY43QBAZKcmmLdoYmd_vs=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWOykyyak2PPSTxchM8IVvhQFkhAKzbhK8P8BvavFjo7obN_k4VsKNQ9K7T8lHsy2vM5R1O6kftXgdqXmTJZ3bYunB_Jo8UPuUy2XH4tLcj7L9_CNLjeiGuSMFRwoW6PdvisnjmRF7FnwkOHURhnnttkTYifqxB6zY43QBAZKcmmLdoYmd_vs=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Every morning many little sparrows come to this tall evergreen. Or maybe they sleep there during the night. I don't know if I'll ever know about that. But they are always there in the early morning. This isn't a great picture, but it was so cute to see them there with the snow. I often wonder what all the little creatures think about the weather, especially snow!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">These will have to suffice as our "two turtle doves" on this second day of Christmas.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9V4PzbxPuqhW9oxvNNXeIhmVtzXEfTjgAw-kKZEV3vtTJH-NKI7l1R7sQ6cKcgOhoBuJACBz6zokyaLYE0dj-ZpaQmmSHWUC0_qxHsQYIdTAQAQLBs0xU2SNmmvVfnkiz29I52Cyrw1W6vrXlJ2VQTOUOtSoF3-G30lhXhxG-RZQWsnWJ7u4=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9V4PzbxPuqhW9oxvNNXeIhmVtzXEfTjgAw-kKZEV3vtTJH-NKI7l1R7sQ6cKcgOhoBuJACBz6zokyaLYE0dj-ZpaQmmSHWUC0_qxHsQYIdTAQAQLBs0xU2SNmmvVfnkiz29I52Cyrw1W6vrXlJ2VQTOUOtSoF3-G30lhXhxG-RZQWsnWJ7u4=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We have a rather artistic neighbor, and when we went out in the evening to visit some cousins, we saw he had been at work bringing into being creatures of a different species.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSaUkrfcRevxesc6AkXfuL--rzaVoXYKa0bNGcydQZK2IiSbZ0h_c0mQn_CLW1YlRTbpom9_Vbr3lyr_ax1UaIgvLJiZtkA8wKvMUeQWvyZ9SthyAVcN8JjGNI655FcGX8ttz1YHlrEL5TZVVQ2G-nN1NThdRr0HtGLvacl5KVN3BZVaOB7JA=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSaUkrfcRevxesc6AkXfuL--rzaVoXYKa0bNGcydQZK2IiSbZ0h_c0mQn_CLW1YlRTbpom9_Vbr3lyr_ax1UaIgvLJiZtkA8wKvMUeQWvyZ9SthyAVcN8JjGNI655FcGX8ttz1YHlrEL5TZVVQ2G-nN1NThdRr0HtGLvacl5KVN3BZVaOB7JA=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The forecast is saying we could get another snowfall during the night. I hope so. Let it snow!</div><p></p>Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-75517602492468838162021-12-25T15:43:00.001-06:002021-12-25T15:43:50.091-06:00Christmas Snow<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9NEZLb3ZZp5R1CFxyVhK6vJouD0CoHs6rSqsELY2_Ae-HPrSkvityn8oqDtHEhcGmvsIonoLEscQs1lRdRBCq424jyOo5TIgGdeXyR_csPip4DXRE_xTivx2DW5uNh0TDdjk5F2X_gcx4O7b9h1biofb16qGY6O4Y2-BXVwv-bVA5hUh0CS8=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9NEZLb3ZZp5R1CFxyVhK6vJouD0CoHs6rSqsELY2_Ae-HPrSkvityn8oqDtHEhcGmvsIonoLEscQs1lRdRBCq424jyOo5TIgGdeXyR_csPip4DXRE_xTivx2DW5uNh0TDdjk5F2X_gcx4O7b9h1biofb16qGY6O4Y2-BXVwv-bVA5hUh0CS8=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: left;">This is the Christmas "tree" of my in-laws, actually branches arranged in a vase. The branches come from a big evergreen out in the yard. Some of the decorations surely came from a store.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But the snowflake ornaments came from the hands of my mother-in-law. After she took early retirement in her forties, she decided to learn to crochet. I was amazed back then at how much she began to do, making various items for tabletops and just the sorts of beautiful work that are done here.</p><p style="text-align: left;">But I was really amazed when I showed her some snowflake ornaments that my aunt had given me, and my mother-in-law liked the idea and began making them herself, getting ideas from the ones I had. But she had even more ideas.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I haven't found any two to be alike, just as with the cold, outdoor version. (I'm having tech issues and may have accidentally put the same one twice, though. I'm tired, so it's possible....)</p><p style="text-align: left;">Have a look, and if you don't have snow for Christmas, maybe these will at least warm your heart.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgML4HSzwDuU2IY0HCJtya_H8QAHGtjJ0GLiqs6uQUdqq8lQc2JoYGTxp4ab2F8i54i2m2KQ__9yfvv294LlyF5-u1ZvjhRTpzgt_alc99KeP81QGBTLFKSU9eW8fvmZGBB6ovV0d1kVnZuJE1NaMYuWvCnkMTmlNxLjKYVnvz9B4wOX4aJpcE=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgML4HSzwDuU2IY0HCJtya_H8QAHGtjJ0GLiqs6uQUdqq8lQc2JoYGTxp4ab2F8i54i2m2KQ__9yfvv294LlyF5-u1ZvjhRTpzgt_alc99KeP81QGBTLFKSU9eW8fvmZGBB6ovV0d1kVnZuJE1NaMYuWvCnkMTmlNxLjKYVnvz9B4wOX4aJpcE=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;">Merry Christmas!</div><p></p>Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-7064347613042598022021-12-22T15:02:00.000-06:002021-12-22T15:02:08.188-06:00Why are there so many churches in this place?<p>Some years ago, I was reading something. That's almost all I can say for sure about it. I don't remember if it was a book, or a magazine article, or something on the Internet, or what. Given the amount of reading I did during the years of the DMin degree, I'm sometimes amazed I can remember any particular book and author! In this case, I don't remember.</p><p>(I kind of wonder if it may have been James K. A. Smith, and if so then it was probably in his book <i>You Are What You Love</i>. I highly recommend that book, whether or not this came from it.)</p><p>Whatever I was reading, the author was for some reason driving in an area with lots of corporate buildings. His young daughter was looking out the windows and suddenly asked, "Daddy, why are there so many churches in this place?"</p><p>He was surprised and puzzled at her question, because they hadn't passed a single church, only a bunch of office buildings.</p><p>Then he realized that his daughter was mainly familiar with church buildings that looked liked office buildings, because their architecture was based on corporate architecture rather than traditional church architecture handed down through the ages.</p><p>If I remember correctly, he went on to make the point that everything we do in material ways shapes how we see things spiritually. Architecture affects the ways we think and feel.</p><p>As we drove from the airport the other day, out of curiosity I decided to take pictures of each structure we passed that I could see was clearly a church.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhbD1wOEbb1xUb5qM-vHIr-RAjBueJTd2bhFWC9A5PCreaHw6gfXQcXuQV5qrqKT3_5rjAqkUTC1ZNSsMCKM68O1aSoxBmhLUEz5YAnd7Lq5-pSDuwD1bJVBIhfuHcsgvGYNGA8pNqdT9JtYAXm1gFxpV6tov9MrtpiyW8Gs1UgDWxNKxovUrM=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhbD1wOEbb1xUb5qM-vHIr-RAjBueJTd2bhFWC9A5PCreaHw6gfXQcXuQV5qrqKT3_5rjAqkUTC1ZNSsMCKM68O1aSoxBmhLUEz5YAnd7Lq5-pSDuwD1bJVBIhfuHcsgvGYNGA8pNqdT9JtYAXm1gFxpV6tov9MrtpiyW8Gs1UgDWxNKxovUrM=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wish I could tell you where all of them were, but I can't. This one may be more accurately called a chapel, judging by the size.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBS0mDGHQK3VTV1Wl_5iudesaxgaKdG4tlJJvIpyriFBziVk-S62-eO34PprIWGYmfWQWyVm-KbPZuocAxUPB84HQ3X88G8lXjZyRP2EkLlRytAl0flfWgF6S_dLc0x_BXcUxfq025kBhzYWSdno7E31qE-YeHU7hyoF6xTWF5ihlRbnA3OG4=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhBS0mDGHQK3VTV1Wl_5iudesaxgaKdG4tlJJvIpyriFBziVk-S62-eO34PprIWGYmfWQWyVm-KbPZuocAxUPB84HQ3X88G8lXjZyRP2EkLlRytAl0flfWgF6S_dLc0x_BXcUxfq025kBhzYWSdno7E31qE-YeHU7hyoF6xTWF5ihlRbnA3OG4=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've always loved seeing churches built on the tops of hills. They remind me of Jesus' words about how a city set on a hill cannot be hidden, and neither should we hide the light of our faith. Not to show it off, but because the world needs light and hope and love.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgN7ytcGjiAq2nbVWhdHotRuoYxZEns0nUQsRUWpX7RzCsbNWPE2hwfQ9Xmtc8Um8ds7XbtzLZGC6R2hpUkLoai3_suC8Fbq2LZC49ncnbdSOXJnNtF1dUs6N9DnSVUvtNUgyRwJ552yWmhij5fUOapLEYOtEWB2QYRIQR0WKG7WdG8Ic18l3o=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgN7ytcGjiAq2nbVWhdHotRuoYxZEns0nUQsRUWpX7RzCsbNWPE2hwfQ9Xmtc8Um8ds7XbtzLZGC6R2hpUkLoai3_suC8Fbq2LZC49ncnbdSOXJnNtF1dUs6N9DnSVUvtNUgyRwJ552yWmhij5fUOapLEYOtEWB2QYRIQR0WKG7WdG8Ic18l3o=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm pretty sure this is in the place called Breznički Hum. I've always loved that name, knowing nothing about the place other than driving through it. Something about the name itself charmed me 30 years ago and still does.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaZlRqDDMSEo_hGTLaiRuSLAVFGeSUUzNwgYM7U6llv5vVLgjQPNhj-QozdleBklh-HnHVfhRVuKwh6LDxXHDuC_-K-H6LrM8hF7GYhnHCjF8FOL3CV26-5sAl4bgacwV8FhArDp1kVqGRlNMxr3bsUOY4VG2Zg1mPPgHhPpSdmTDW41OVcCQ=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjaZlRqDDMSEo_hGTLaiRuSLAVFGeSUUzNwgYM7U6llv5vVLgjQPNhj-QozdleBklh-HnHVfhRVuKwh6LDxXHDuC_-K-H6LrM8hF7GYhnHCjF8FOL3CV26-5sAl4bgacwV8FhArDp1kVqGRlNMxr3bsUOY4VG2Zg1mPPgHhPpSdmTDW41OVcCQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I think this may be Novi Marof, another place I know nothing about, but have remembered the name for 30 years because we would always drive by/through on our way to and from Zagreb. Now we actually have a friend from there, so perhaps it will become more than a name.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi_w0F-YkIQlSTAFxKPn0qxD9WV29IoAKH5LACeMXiJJwQvdrYslMBWP_-KVr_IqSmx14EaOoxuF3VO6zRbEZF0j9WOV9kKpjcpOZ815TYpLSVh9EogzdzwjMru1NehWQMxcCJ38UwFVzXDSxyJPtnA9jgfOdE1ygVqnRn3VySo6DLULcmLEUo=s3054" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2290" data-original-width="3054" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi_w0F-YkIQlSTAFxKPn0qxD9WV29IoAKH5LACeMXiJJwQvdrYslMBWP_-KVr_IqSmx14EaOoxuF3VO6zRbEZF0j9WOV9kKpjcpOZ815TYpLSVh9EogzdzwjMru1NehWQMxcCJ38UwFVzXDSxyJPtnA9jgfOdE1ygVqnRn3VySo6DLULcmLEUo=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div>Clearly, the architecture of each of these is pretty similar. And it's quite clear that they are not office buildings or centers of corporate activity.</div><div><br /></div><div>Except that the very word "corporate" comes from the word for "body," and the church's early teachings use that term to refer to the church a long, long time ago. So in a way these places are in fact centers of corporate activity, just activity of a very different sort.</div><div><br /></div><div>I realize of course that Christians can gather anywhere possible, and that the place they are in does not make them a church. But I also love architecture that makes clear the purpose of the space and turns the mind and heart toward spiritual truths. I love that steeples point (metaphorically) to heaven, that the height of the tower and steeple help us feel our smallness, encouraging humility. I love stained glass windows and other forms of art that over time have made the stories of scripture available and vivid for people who would never own a Bible. I love the big, wide doors on so many older churches, welcoming people in and also thick and strong as a protection against the world when needed.</div><div><br /></div><div>These are pictures I took in about an hour through the car window, of the places I could "catch" before it was too late because of our speed. There were others along the way besides these. "Why are there so many churches in this place?" is a question for another time. I'm just so thankful that the decades of Communism didn't do away with them, or with the faith connected with them. It did a lot of damage, but faith is alive, and for that I am thankful.</div>Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-1633188621633197422021-12-20T15:38:00.001-06:002021-12-20T15:38:56.807-06:00Advent in Varaždin<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3-FDV2bTR7eET3bO3P4LMlHyOhzL8e7iWj16P9gr8ByuRcC58-hoKJp8YRPXDY6URsisUpOoVZhuyb282l51ci-35VyB-yrQPD1Rcbmj-HDmauYVKahha_CRx0KuhsZJ7qfpHaZiwdCX9yTamR7Bu4XuSQ24r8Ke5_wc87C5ZmG0bAtsb12Y=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3-FDV2bTR7eET3bO3P4LMlHyOhzL8e7iWj16P9gr8ByuRcC58-hoKJp8YRPXDY6URsisUpOoVZhuyb282l51ci-35VyB-yrQPD1Rcbmj-HDmauYVKahha_CRx0KuhsZJ7qfpHaZiwdCX9yTamR7Bu4XuSQ24r8Ke5_wc87C5ZmG0bAtsb12Y=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Before writing about Varaždin, here's a picture from our neighborhood church. We got out after a night of less-than-ideal sleep and walked around to see familiar streets and houses, and to let the sunlight do its part in resetting our circadian rhythm, hoping we might sleep better the next night. (Alas, neither of us did. But we're doing okay despite that.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It was the first time either of us had seen this wooden nativity scene, almost surely carved by some local talent. It is really nicely done, and I love seeing things made by hand. Such a refreshing break from the inflatable figures that have become so common in Memphis!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghWQ3Mef9YKJtT4Jcnz82ZDzqAo8vZ_NpI5OXViGGUvEyuLLbVWnaaJXnda0e_KBRQveipZcE-q9Mcs1K05AG6sVpLIfN4juigLmSLDgI2m8lfElE_YunkWiWOW7YQFC53H-3x12nwz9RD3Q61ioPha3dmErxDc5BvJmnGm_evXBknXAEYkIk=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghWQ3Mef9YKJtT4Jcnz82ZDzqAo8vZ_NpI5OXViGGUvEyuLLbVWnaaJXnda0e_KBRQveipZcE-q9Mcs1K05AG6sVpLIfN4juigLmSLDgI2m8lfElE_YunkWiWOW7YQFC53H-3x12nwz9RD3Q61ioPha3dmErxDc5BvJmnGm_evXBknXAEYkIk=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When the sun got closer to setting, we took off in the car to meet a friend who lives in nearby Varaždin, just on the other side of the bridge mentioned in yesterday's post. Varaždin's baroque architecture just made me wonder how the city might decorate for Christmas, and it wasn't disappointing. The castle was left alone, which I thought was a good idea, as it could have cost a lot to do anything that would really do justice to it. And anything less would cheapen it. It was so beautiful in the light of a nearly full moon.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXzJiRgOImiKb3HmvDSiTmVrtW3rcOKnVYiAmLkAierKfDOvc6XqFG2ngI7EM4ZW6IH3b5iH-eL8u_0B5tfRzeU9GfdHDbpMFoLhX1izJWLI9keAi-ZQc93OKdiW015VCCezhz3Fml4aIPenNY51QUflrcIPzBmvEvItKHZiPNc303Kna_VrU=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXzJiRgOImiKb3HmvDSiTmVrtW3rcOKnVYiAmLkAierKfDOvc6XqFG2ngI7EM4ZW6IH3b5iH-eL8u_0B5tfRzeU9GfdHDbpMFoLhX1izJWLI9keAi-ZQc93OKdiW015VCCezhz3Fml4aIPenNY51QUflrcIPzBmvEvItKHZiPNc303Kna_VrU=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The central part of the city held nothing back, though. Strung with lights, alive with stalls selling ornaments, warmed by coffee shops selling hot drinks and refreshments, it was full of people and full of life, even with temperatures requiring hats and gloves. A stage was set up with live music heard in the surrounding area. Church bells rang every so often, adding to the joyful bustle.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is a part of Europe that I miss greatly in the States. Sometimes when I'm driving down the road, I try to imagine all the people in the cars around me as people walking by, the way it is in the cities of Europe. We miss a lot by not seeing people up close, hearing their voices, seeing parents and children holding hands, sometimes seeing expressions and eyes when close enough--all of that.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As we walked, I would look around and wonder, "Who here really knows the story of Christmas? Who knows why all this came to be?" And I just hoped that many did and prayed for all who didn't.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Because, just as in America, Christmas has been seized upon and put to use by the god of commercialization. These lovely cities and their celebrations have become <a href="https://www.adventuvarazdinu.com/" target="_blank">tourist destinations</a>, with marketing and awards given out. Zagreb, the capital, was chosen not long ago as the best place to go in Europe for Advent.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Which brings up another difference between Europe and America. Secular Europe, with its centuries-long history of being so heavily influenced by the Christian story and the Christian calendar, still calls this period leading up to Christmas, Advent. Christmas isn't here until December 25th, so they go by the church calendar and call all of this Advent celebration. Just as in America, it's an interesting mixture of earthly and heavenly influences at work.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCftddKxCplhigVFlgaolkIgdkHmDP3l-YAmxF342aK4CyCcqwcrFM0GaJTDpTUa5lfs8fQnWXbSWr56RnRk5go2dUgk8KiawO-Ax9xK8o7tIs4C9kujmwCzpt8EVrh8wiNaQ7OuhhIExNobII1GC5MXakM_rmueTctyelXek27Dl6POAk9a4=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjCftddKxCplhigVFlgaolkIgdkHmDP3l-YAmxF342aK4CyCcqwcrFM0GaJTDpTUa5lfs8fQnWXbSWr56RnRk5go2dUgk8KiawO-Ax9xK8o7tIs4C9kujmwCzpt8EVrh8wiNaQ7OuhhIExNobII1GC5MXakM_rmueTctyelXek27Dl6POAk9a4=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This was one of my favorite light displays. So simple, so serene, so much a mix of the old and new.</div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhw4WoFMxC5kuSBijHShGzCQGsyO3tYl9uUDbQMCw_TWpOHwDJI7oaqW2JC2IogykankL_2DTgOcKReVtICQ7y16VLFgxwXZhYUlecauBejAhkKIdhPm7HILsiHWbVu3n_xoKQZxw1CZ2ETcn0Akhp4MVrvNwCEIkIHJL0klZoOY_Ja5QMHxGo=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhw4WoFMxC5kuSBijHShGzCQGsyO3tYl9uUDbQMCw_TWpOHwDJI7oaqW2JC2IogykankL_2DTgOcKReVtICQ7y16VLFgxwXZhYUlecauBejAhkKIdhPm7HILsiHWbVu3n_xoKQZxw1CZ2ETcn0Akhp4MVrvNwCEIkIHJL0klZoOY_Ja5QMHxGo=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Speaking of mixing old and new, we saw new-fangled flashing lights on a ferris wheel, constantly changing colors while playing music--probably not something Mr. Ferris imagined when he created the first one before 1900.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMv93fKbb-gVS6YrgAnM3PZbSK9ZuxLlD3eaxJ-CiNxO797GENewNuyGsSBEVaw_HdB-s93dt-nuQ8PTTUprZdHcdiu7UPnO0z94UhBlz5uzi1tG9nj_WrX0WgnBahYjcq-fE2fQG8DXAv3oDKhyYAs6Vqtdpy2j9MUZBsyfEanMZIm9snkTI=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMv93fKbb-gVS6YrgAnM3PZbSK9ZuxLlD3eaxJ-CiNxO797GENewNuyGsSBEVaw_HdB-s93dt-nuQ8PTTUprZdHcdiu7UPnO0z94UhBlz5uzi1tG9nj_WrX0WgnBahYjcq-fE2fQG8DXAv3oDKhyYAs6Vqtdpy2j9MUZBsyfEanMZIm9snkTI=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And one of the last sights we spent time admiring was this striking scene, with that very old moon shining bright above the happy scene below.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(And then we hurried to the car, because my hands were freezing, even with gloves and mittens!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That part of living here will take some getting used to again!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i>All photos in this post courtesy of Mr. Vamplin.</i></div><br /><p><br /></p><br /> <p></p>Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-60072669758387848522021-12-19T15:40:00.003-06:002021-12-19T15:40:31.750-06:00Over the Ocean and Through the Woods<p>My hopes for the "same old routine" written about in the last blog post here did not go as planned. A leak discovered by the people living below us led to a major repair/rennovation project which all the chaos such projects bring.</p><p>Life continued, nonetheless. We survived the chaos and moved forward, and what I briefly mentioned in the last post (the "big ship sailing steadily toward us," that stood for moving to Croatia) kept moving forward, too.</p><p>And so this past Friday found us in the Memphis airport yet again, having successfully passed the negative covid test. (Lately I'm refusing to capitalize that, thinking that tiny virus, along with the illness it causes, has already had more than its fair share of attention.) It was pleasantly warm in Memphis, but we had our coats at the ready for the colder temperature we expected the next day.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBPZQIHcpYSDwN5in3yEYagAmUGFmjkgLkglgm-E36J1drep4q8yS5m_XsRyIHbjosIIzA7tobgnAxDVkoajqbbe2pTR56sbp1EooYEQDF8zkyOyLhZSup2bAoJEXGqBHE_3CVIUQ4vRWnaKuduBdoY1T6uGI48Fif1EGvfmhzXSUMDf6Cvro=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBPZQIHcpYSDwN5in3yEYagAmUGFmjkgLkglgm-E36J1drep4q8yS5m_XsRyIHbjosIIzA7tobgnAxDVkoajqbbe2pTR56sbp1EooYEQDF8zkyOyLhZSup2bAoJEXGqBHE_3CVIUQ4vRWnaKuduBdoY1T6uGI48Fif1EGvfmhzXSUMDf6Cvro=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You gotta love a plane with "Delta Spirit" on it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigDD7JbzjuMo3Bdr0TV93XbRXvhZ_rJe5U2wT9luQgkUQrjYcoTAY5h6I5y2TS5S_-4P2sHYoIU6z99bJ7F2WlwaZtyHdElmMOoNm7cCIQjTxmKn2soyf12iseNvUZxmSGNl7jwMS1-5R6_eoWdy9clwWLB1DyF_X8GfrfrccCNAHzXfe7wd4=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEigDD7JbzjuMo3Bdr0TV93XbRXvhZ_rJe5U2wT9luQgkUQrjYcoTAY5h6I5y2TS5S_-4P2sHYoIU6z99bJ7F2WlwaZtyHdElmMOoNm7cCIQjTxmKn2soyf12iseNvUZxmSGNl7jwMS1-5R6_eoWdy9clwWLB1DyF_X8GfrfrccCNAHzXfe7wd4=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>That Delta plane took us to Atlanta, where we heard lovely music from a saxophone player, a pianist, and a violinist, all in different times and places. We had some of the worst stuff called coffee I think I've ever had. We also took turns walking as much as we could, knowing how much sitting lay ahead.<p></p><p>This was the first time I recall seeing the moon, nearly full, out the window of a plane . . . .</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQE8-hmJhp4Au3hZVKIrV6BLLjM8380VeHwudj1vcGWRcS6D1zLamwBqkqPOJYqgj6N7lPooITXCqiI-RlV7uoHd9aDECwY-tJAgLqHB8Ic_VMi3VN6eQKH8U5Cav44JZcaw70FRESVNfiSESNUaW6cHIpHxWNXfSW3aibrDOcR5Lno7h1nVc=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhQE8-hmJhp4Au3hZVKIrV6BLLjM8380VeHwudj1vcGWRcS6D1zLamwBqkqPOJYqgj6N7lPooITXCqiI-RlV7uoHd9aDECwY-tJAgLqHB8Ic_VMi3VN6eQKH8U5Cav44JZcaw70FRESVNfiSESNUaW6cHIpHxWNXfSW3aibrDOcR5Lno7h1nVc=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Not the first, and probably not the last, time to see the sun rise from such a vantage point. It's always amazing. Flying is not generally pleasant or comfortable, but having a window seat makes for some wonderful moments of gratitude and contemplation.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSjKYgS5kz9cQhLPoI-xFxSPki9ANO3fEOtTcjnCjEfiAFObNPkrqUy5Gc_rXGIqXd6AE-ceYZyJb5l1ihcTBhkEk649vPq9HZT6IahOoMjrv5p_vAHFlzocuscRjSWvmCrcFeaPvhKy80SnSdXZL6G3HISOMb3ZdVc1XAi_7uVQrMKxlTSLs=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSjKYgS5kz9cQhLPoI-xFxSPki9ANO3fEOtTcjnCjEfiAFObNPkrqUy5Gc_rXGIqXd6AE-ceYZyJb5l1ihcTBhkEk649vPq9HZT6IahOoMjrv5p_vAHFlzocuscRjSWvmCrcFeaPvhKy80SnSdXZL6G3HISOMb3ZdVc1XAi_7uVQrMKxlTSLs=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We reached foggy, foggy Amsterdam on one of the smoothest transatlantic flights I've experienced, and after some much-needed walking and a pleasant couple of hours waiting, plus another hour or so of delay, we finally saw this plane out the window and knew we were almost there.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKksGuB1CFwbfnFMEOlwfc95Zs6R6BjLMIaS8EMNlTLkp7Afq-SSjqWvUWqSvmUkbQNv5vB2ArpB2UexOsf8KQkBQ9AodJbf67LM-UDhjRijwDo3GVsucj4tZUAcRDykpnwDASAtfAlJtfbEl5y1Q2wiexmyIuIiEfUAGQ9nCWZ999VmcexGk=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhKksGuB1CFwbfnFMEOlwfc95Zs6R6BjLMIaS8EMNlTLkp7Afq-SSjqWvUWqSvmUkbQNv5vB2ArpB2UexOsf8KQkBQ9AodJbf67LM-UDhjRijwDo3GVsucj4tZUAcRDykpnwDASAtfAlJtfbEl5y1Q2wiexmyIuIiEfUAGQ9nCWZ999VmcexGk=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have fond memories of the earlier Zagreb airport, old and not-so-shiny as it was. It was small, built in an older style, and you walked out of it to green grass with benches, a playground for children, and just a sense of being part of the real world, not the world of speed and traffic, hustle and bustle.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The new airport is nice, though, in its modern way. Mostly I miss the green grass. But I always enjoy seeing this welcome sign, which with its nod to handmade lace, olives, and fountain pens, does feel far from hustle and bustle and closer to the parts of life that make it worth living.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5-EYtvr34Gh5j8fah3Ivm5E5nYt6mVPFGejtADGZBzR2xkaEBUUKvOXlfd0gBakVIOcy0C-El3KRvGQuRr8_nzAxqC-4P7pBXz8_CNE-5f_UsvlKIjdj0LxICE-UpKegiKSrXHUFGOCX_IKBMJQ6MHZTLtue8U5LLjFY7R7RWNZ2BNh69UvU=s3065" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2299" data-original-width="3065" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5-EYtvr34Gh5j8fah3Ivm5E5nYt6mVPFGejtADGZBzR2xkaEBUUKvOXlfd0gBakVIOcy0C-El3KRvGQuRr8_nzAxqC-4P7pBXz8_CNE-5f_UsvlKIjdj0LxICE-UpKegiKSrXHUFGOCX_IKBMJQ6MHZTLtue8U5LLjFY7R7RWNZ2BNh69UvU=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A good friend met us at the airport, and soon we were in the car, the ocean behind us and the woods before us. The drive from Zagreb to Čakovec means lots and lots of wooded hills, with houses and churches and businesses dotted here and there. Lots of smaller towns but no major cities until we get to Varaždin. And then beyond Varaždin we cross this bridge, and that means we are officially in Medimurje, the land between the rivers, the land with Čakovec as its main city.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyu15ccj6wwA1li-Xqj8-MDag1X2Wt22CrxSEaytPCHjS7-sJ5zDTqzZ3qcq7_Vzhhxr0MVuMuJifMLGmlh4vWcv4VybOYmNxSulzvF3W_GQlGdNhvqjx6c88_nQnVMp8_u6y52RLLujFLqzy-6f2TGJfONuZxmQ11fuNPVpp_4gKOCw5VI7A=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgyu15ccj6wwA1li-Xqj8-MDag1X2Wt22CrxSEaytPCHjS7-sJ5zDTqzZ3qcq7_Vzhhxr0MVuMuJifMLGmlh4vWcv4VybOYmNxSulzvF3W_GQlGdNhvqjx6c88_nQnVMp8_u6y52RLLujFLqzy-6f2TGJfONuZxmQ11fuNPVpp_4gKOCw5VI7A=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And a land with trains, who have their own lovely bridge. The sun was setting on two sleepy travelers, making the view of the bridge even lovelier.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbYZ49ftVNqiNwpnGowHtYF29d-dM2rI58nGQrhrR0DMmQBtj2zPhSf8E0molwWSjAXZp08iEK8-ffQsw2zyH0bzVz-IjFfJfLAsEeZbOoc7yZVRkOrbgf5bTpTTm8-JXH-hEvIiDFyzb26_g_mFFosQV0fhb5vP8pJgAJb9i698KaaDJuSAo=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjbYZ49ftVNqiNwpnGowHtYF29d-dM2rI58nGQrhrR0DMmQBtj2zPhSf8E0molwWSjAXZp08iEK8-ffQsw2zyH0bzVz-IjFfJfLAsEeZbOoc7yZVRkOrbgf5bTpTTm8-JXH-hEvIiDFyzb26_g_mFFosQV0fhb5vP8pJgAJb9i698KaaDJuSAo=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The official city limits sign of Čakovec greeted us after we passed through a couple of smaller villages.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgS8JCIkbgIfd6hUL1pdtXPCvmxFK2r_xewp8AGKVimCGIc9IxMwOexTgGqb_q8nrM2BTzo7Nnarzo-8VPRCLklDXyVVx-n9FIN5AE1kolvpd2Rlm1aV_3SpZdT9d4x-MMWJsso10yxHnNNSThbPKGHk0BHUAkeJ1ndv_tkV97UB3DkTny4HzY=s2073" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1555" data-original-width="2073" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgS8JCIkbgIfd6hUL1pdtXPCvmxFK2r_xewp8AGKVimCGIc9IxMwOexTgGqb_q8nrM2BTzo7Nnarzo-8VPRCLklDXyVVx-n9FIN5AE1kolvpd2Rlm1aV_3SpZdT9d4x-MMWJsso10yxHnNNSThbPKGHk0BHUAkeJ1ndv_tkV97UB3DkTny4HzY=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And then the more interesting welcome came with its happy art and the reminder that Čakovec is the city of the 13th century castle that was home to the Zrinski family and others who protected this area and made possible the settlement that became a city.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And best of all, the sign was a reminder that we were almost home.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgim4nF2kQOnYqZIwxKKgmtlfI4ojzoS-eQtBO1aSwxml5qwwVDUB5N-2A58nymMumGjLbMPHZWBEV1ag42CNaat4W25CEpRCazDIQ7ppfLAMm0DEI2cOBwIqN0MOhbjTvgllR_Y460erRW8S23FbaW33c9VNBpmfkjX0MYxHFtKUen0vvcIEQ=s2104" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1520" data-original-width="2104" height="462" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgim4nF2kQOnYqZIwxKKgmtlfI4ojzoS-eQtBO1aSwxml5qwwVDUB5N-2A58nymMumGjLbMPHZWBEV1ag42CNaat4W25CEpRCazDIQ7ppfLAMm0DEI2cOBwIqN0MOhbjTvgllR_Y460erRW8S23FbaW33c9VNBpmfkjX0MYxHFtKUen0vvcIEQ=w640-h462" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p>Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-26247734409562234542021-08-12T07:43:00.002-05:002021-08-12T07:43:36.946-05:00The Same Old Routine<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0TXSKaK4k8XMyBo8Nf8qWVncr02xuEAG5bYpldhH3MvuDI8VwKSkBTuZtnXBas_UpA9aAur34zItdrdBqQVSzxquWhqIMJLPyUCwRy0aM0ykJVKl2uaLm2Xd6oWMrcuHJgPbjw/s2048/IMG_7354%25281%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy0TXSKaK4k8XMyBo8Nf8qWVncr02xuEAG5bYpldhH3MvuDI8VwKSkBTuZtnXBas_UpA9aAur34zItdrdBqQVSzxquWhqIMJLPyUCwRy0aM0ykJVKl2uaLm2Xd6oWMrcuHJgPbjw/w640-h480/IMG_7354%25281%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Coronamnesia. I don't think it's a real word. And I don't think I'm the only one to use it. But it's a real thing. Our memories are dependent on repetition and rhythm and routine, and major upheaval--getting too far from <a href="http://folkflocksflowers.blogspot.com/2020/07/normal.html" target="_blank">normal </a>for too long--makes it harder to remember things.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But I do remember some things from this strange time of pandemic upheaval. Like that the last time I wrote here, I wrote about the cello. I will say more about that, but right now I'm thinking about the piano.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I also remember that back at the beginning of 2020, I wrote about the determination to write more regularly. Which did not happen. The erratic state of my blog is a reflection of the erratic state of life.</div><p></p><p>Because someone recently reminded me that I have a blog, which got me to thinking about all this, I've also been thinking about a little index card that I noticed one time in the windowsill above Grandmother's oven. Just a little white card with the words written in blue ink in her handwriting:</p><p><i>Thank God for the same old routine.</i></p><p>I don't remember my age or situation when I first noticed it, but it stuck with me because it struck me as odd that she would have that written out for herself to see. We were brought up to count our blessings, but I had never thought of "the same old routine" as a blessing to consider.</p><p>Wow, do I see that differently now. For many reasons, experiences over many years have made sense of those words and why she might write them out to remember.</p><p>"The same old routine" feels like a faraway dream to me right now. Since writing <a href="http://folkflocksflowers.blogspot.com/2020/01/now-i-begin.html" target="_blank">"now I begin"</a> back in January of 2020, the pandemic broke out, changing all kinds of routines and rhythms for all of us. Additionally, we went real estate hunting, found a place, renovated "the chateau" (a condominium, but I dislike that word as a descriptor for my living space, and our complex has a French name, so I'm calling it a chateau), packed up our things and sold our lovely house, and moved into the chateau, which is lovely in ways of its own. Then within a month of that move, I learned that I would have to find a new office space for my practice. That was another upheaval. It also had a lovely outcome, but it was very stressful when I had no idea where I'd go but had to get out in a short amount of time.</p><p>And this year has had its share of smaller disruptions of rhythm, both sweet and somewhat bitter. The vaccines meant that Zoom piano lessons turned into children physically present in my living room again, which was wonderful. I began taking cello lessons, which was great fun. Resulting shoulder/arm pain led to stopping the lessons and starting a month of physical therapy to remedy the pain and, we hope, make playing cello possible again.</p><p>But I still don't know about that, because just a week after ending the PT sessions, I had foot surgery which left me largely dependent on husband, friends, and family for about a month. The following month included more mobility and physical therapy for the foot. I'm still not back to normal, but I'm starting to be able go for short walks and do some of the yoga-like exercise that was part of my same old routine before the surgery.</p><p>And now on the horizon, sailing steadily toward us, is the big ship of moving back to Croatia. I haven't written about that on my blog before, just another indication of how strange this time of life is! We've seen this ship coming for some time, but that doesn't diminish the size of it nor the amount it will disrupt and change the same old routine--what little there is of that.</p><p>I've begun a sort of rhythm in that each week I've been seeing fewer and fewer clients and going through more and more boxes. I trust both my clients and I will make this adjustment okay.</p><p>Support for that trust came to me yesterday in the form of a metronome. I'm about to get a metronome for one of my piano students and begin the process of teaching her to use it. And as I was looking at my own cute little one, a passage came back to me from my DMin thesis that gave me hope, in a week when I've had multiple moments of feeling close to overwhelm level. A few years ago, applying these ideas to a life of disciplined prayer, I wrote:</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQTDxsUDWFPleJCosIZkI9_PNVpD2cbA5pfC3TWpNX41ZF4C_wwghCRNYSZvvCguJYB-Q4WBK9g4iKLNzYM9ZWLaWsFGWTm0Cxp7oasExWDb-mp2S6x_-p7n9_mo1ewlCVWqObbg/s2048/IMG_7347%25281%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQTDxsUDWFPleJCosIZkI9_PNVpD2cbA5pfC3TWpNX41ZF4C_wwghCRNYSZvvCguJYB-Q4WBK9g4iKLNzYM9ZWLaWsFGWTm0Cxp7oasExWDb-mp2S6x_-p7n9_mo1ewlCVWqObbg/w640-h480/IMG_7347%25281%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p>A common friend of many musicians is the metronome. A metronome helps measure time, providing a steady tempo for a musician to match. People are not born with perfect rhythm; they learn it from their environment and from practice. As a piano teacher, I have worked with many students who struggle with rhythm and who have never used a metronome. Initially, they tend to struggle mightily to stay with the metronome. It requires will, persistence, and generally significant encouragement. Most go through a period of resisting and complaining about how hard it is to keep themselves in tempo. Those who stick with the process, however, wind up realizing (and often saying) that the metronome has become a good friend. It actually helps their playing improve and helps them achieve their goals of making meaningful music. Its difficult discipline eventually frees them, allowing them to feel more clearly and confidently the spirit of the music.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCvdKFUZ7rANglJRlNocVaoGe-YMjUdJeS_ew87MEqmD3LjRWUatFeHMsWdzdNZCjVpyl9rI1xuZdB_sSgS235yT4nI_xghnKINUo50AECaWeaoHaYDLTQWF9oOope0kVF0zvcw/s2048/IMG_7348%25281%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCvdKFUZ7rANglJRlNocVaoGe-YMjUdJeS_ew87MEqmD3LjRWUatFeHMsWdzdNZCjVpyl9rI1xuZdB_sSgS235yT4nI_xghnKINUo50AECaWeaoHaYDLTQWF9oOope0kVF0zvcw/w640-h480/IMG_7348%25281%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>And in the thesis I connected this with a wonderful passage about Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a musician himself, who wrote to a friend in <i>Letters from Prison</i>:</p><p><span style="color: #93c47d;">What I mean is that God wants us to love him eternally with our whole hearts [. . . . ] to provide a kind of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cantus_firmus" target="_blank"><i>cantus firmus</i> </a>to which the other melodies of life provide the counterpoint . . . . I wanted to tell you to have a good, clear <i>cantus firmus</i>; that is the only way to a full and perfect sound and can't come adrift or get out of tune, while remaining a distinct whole in its own right. Only a polyphony of this kind can give life a wholeness and at the same time assure us that nothing calamitous can happen as long as the <i>cantus firmus</i> is kept going.</span></p><p><span style="color: #93c47d;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFJg20YfbgRc9NJ0wpnABSDoidVL29YsasPh9BoilNaZIq5MyIsbFE5E9qVjgvTtUYf2KnyuhQcoVR6zlYc77qgsvYuZpr_xx18eeGa39EyBYMOhqMPhetPysO6KXfc_XPyEdSyg/s2048/IMG_7350%25281%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFJg20YfbgRc9NJ0wpnABSDoidVL29YsasPh9BoilNaZIq5MyIsbFE5E9qVjgvTtUYf2KnyuhQcoVR6zlYc77qgsvYuZpr_xx18eeGa39EyBYMOhqMPhetPysO6KXfc_XPyEdSyg/w640-h480/IMG_7350%25281%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Over many years of making music, and quite a few years of working as a counselor, helping people with mood disorders and people without diagnosable disorders who nonetheless struggle with moods because of temporary situations, I've come to realize the importance of actual metronomes and metaphorical ones.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I know the value of conductors who keep a steady beat that can keep dozens or even hundreds of performers together so that what could degenerate into cacophony instead sounds beautiful or powerful.</div><div><br /></div><div>With clients I sometimes talk about finding and creating anchors, small morning and evening practices they can make a part of each day, even if the rest of the day feels completely out of their control.</div><div><br /></div><div>And perhaps as with the conductor, the value of staying connected to even one or two people who have a steadying effect can make all the difference between cacophony and harmony.</div><div><br /></div><div>Especially staying connected to the Divine Conductor makes a difference. "Nothing calamitous can happen" if we do that. Bonhoeffer wrote that from prison in the midst of a savage war, and he wound up a martyr. Somehow that helps me believe I can handle what lies before me.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's been hitting me that I need more rhythm, more anchors, more "metronome work" in my life, even if it was only yesterday the metronome itself spoke to me about this.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I've found a way to make tomorrow a true retreat day, at a church with a beautiful nave and empty space where I can do some much-needed praying and planning. And I'm determined to work out a flexible but firm enough "rule of life" to get me through these next few months and into the new life beyond.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSfxWcXMGCip0-8-FGDXq6O1OlZIDOVjcKImBLePncWAGl-H718v0OIH7RlVtUqTPF4mOjEhwDP-tZ533qbfe4wTq1groFzfctawgCjkNevHa7yp8Xs8zQul_SEZDDMcYjELdOCw/s2048/IMG_7353%25281%2529.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSfxWcXMGCip0-8-FGDXq6O1OlZIDOVjcKImBLePncWAGl-H718v0OIH7RlVtUqTPF4mOjEhwDP-tZ533qbfe4wTq1groFzfctawgCjkNevHa7yp8Xs8zQul_SEZDDMcYjELdOCw/w640-h480/IMG_7353%25281%2529.JPG" width="640" /></a></div></div></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There's something comforting about the sound of an old-fashioned metronome. (I can't say the same for the digital ones I've used, whose sounds tend to annoy me.) The steady, resonant tick tock continues no matter how many times you get off the beat and have to start over.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And there's something comforting about looking forward to tomorrow and knowing that even with all the change, plenty of practices from my past can be reinserted into my life and carried forward. My life may be changing, but the God I pray to and the friends who love me aren't changing. The park I've walked in is still there. I can create a new rhythm with what is possible.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The old-fashioned metronomes, like old-fashioned clocks, have to be wound anew every so often, which for me is also a comforting thing, reminding me of my beloved piano teacher who occasionally had to stop her metronome and wind it during one of our lessons.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm ready to wind my metronome and use it more consistently. I hope writing in here will become more a part of my rhythm, even in the change-filled days ahead. I'm not ready to commit to that yet, but it's up for consideration.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I thank God for the same old routine, for this period of minimal routine, and for the new routines to come.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">And I smile in the hope that Fr. Lanteri would be happy along with me. <i>Nunc coepi.</i> Now I begin. (Again.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br /></div></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><br /><br /><br /><p></p></div>Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-45234338049789263302021-02-14T00:00:00.000-06:002021-02-14T00:00:27.538-06:00What Do You Have that You Did Not Receive?<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqM_2oFnDNif8-BswRW3rKvZixMqQYHCmrfKs__o6LNNT8P_iVgm892GEv6eUZ9QND9xVIta1T1o6tAEAZmkHlFFpbmEKNl0pglBh8-9mGvzhthkAtEgDlzhPrjao9HmImXkfjg/s640/Cello+scroll.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqM_2oFnDNif8-BswRW3rKvZixMqQYHCmrfKs__o6LNNT8P_iVgm892GEv6eUZ9QND9xVIta1T1o6tAEAZmkHlFFpbmEKNl0pglBh8-9mGvzhthkAtEgDlzhPrjao9HmImXkfjg/w640-h480/Cello+scroll.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I don't remember exactly when I fell in love with cellos. But it was a long time ago.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It was the sound. The lower register, the smoothness, the beautiful way they somehow seemed to sound more like a human voice than any other instrument,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">as far as I could tell, anyway.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIIS58lJnuHxQCos5XcT-KhpynzS7671qa6F-mrXztRlefeAZXwzD8sH18mT67jAHe650DtDYqm1M2QWyzyKvrSrzfVdWeBIIMyB_H-qrQ5b39_ZUSYhSWT0cJNrjkgJtjlibD4w/s640/Cello+sigma.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIIS58lJnuHxQCos5XcT-KhpynzS7671qa6F-mrXztRlefeAZXwzD8sH18mT67jAHe650DtDYqm1M2QWyzyKvrSrzfVdWeBIIMyB_H-qrQ5b39_ZUSYhSWT0cJNrjkgJtjlibD4w/w640-h480/Cello+sigma.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And the more I went to the symphony and saw them,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the more I began to notice how beautiful they were to look at,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">as all the string instruments were.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But something about their size made them the "just right" place</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">for that beauty--not too big, not too small, but just right.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">They are human sized, as well as human sounding.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And so, many years ago, my beloved and I decided that someday we would get a cello.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I would learn to play it first, with hopes that he would too one day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(But first he would learn piano, and we would play duets together.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Someday. Someday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">After this degree, when I'm not working so much, after this crisis, after that surgery.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">After the other surgery, after the move, after we get settled.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Someday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfFLxLPdpmKuAdRgUr2KwhHYq4GFb7_5Lb0Jxk5mhoWCqij39ARfNjGFybI6B3eCjiIpgtF8g-5KETcdAPb_-vtNy-AShxJDu6GGxFIo6vpJfmHpeqU2yejJpKEtPBaBk6LJ2WDQ/s640/Cello+vertical.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfFLxLPdpmKuAdRgUr2KwhHYq4GFb7_5Lb0Jxk5mhoWCqij39ARfNjGFybI6B3eCjiIpgtF8g-5KETcdAPb_-vtNy-AShxJDu6GGxFIo6vpJfmHpeqU2yejJpKEtPBaBk6LJ2WDQ/w480-h640/Cello+vertical.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Well, today was that someday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He did it for my birthday, a few days ago.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We went up there together, met with the man with the cellos,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">had a little introduction, heard the lovely sounds, chose the darker colored one with the greater resonance, signed the papers, and walked out with a cello.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A cello which is purely a gift from a man who loves me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There are a lot of things we don't have in common. We're pretty seriously different.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But we both love beautiful music, and he decided to make a dream come true.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The longer I live, the more often I think of the speech given when I graduated,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the counseling degree graduation, a seminary counseling degree,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">so the speech wasn't "you are amazing and can do anything,"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">but instead was "What do you have that you did not receive?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It was about gratitude, about a realistic perspective that everything is a gift--</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">life itself, with everything it includes.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(As the billboards in Memphis remind us, No One Gets a Diploma Alone.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Well, I sure didn't get this cello alone.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's a birthday gift from my husband.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's also, in a very real way, a birth-day gift from my mother.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My mother, who was born on this very day many years ago</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and who gave birth to me</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and who is not now here to see or hear this cello.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But she is surely the reason I love music.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">She is the reason we grew up experiencing singing as a normal part of life.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The reason I knew the notes on the piano before ever taking a piano lesson.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The reason I "had an ear" for music.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Without all that, who knows if I would have played piano or loved the symphony?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Would I have spent money on my first record, Pachelbel and Fasch pieces?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Would I have sung in choruses that let me be on stage with the symphony,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">adding to my love of those cellos that I saw up close and personal?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBTJmAq3VzBSOL0mTk96TFbTlFDqmVvVAN9IjFGZR0g2KrsnW7BY4qG5RrUrQdZvS_ECRRJZjFChOVvcFLkhsRZzJ0cOj6g8crGqjRT9CRS2zslvUYK1-vS_dDCyJkFfKX8HQSA/s640/Cello+heart.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBTJmAq3VzBSOL0mTk96TFbTlFDqmVvVAN9IjFGZR0g2KrsnW7BY4qG5RrUrQdZvS_ECRRJZjFChOVvcFLkhsRZzJ0cOj6g8crGqjRT9CRS2zslvUYK1-vS_dDCyJkFfKX8HQSA/w640-h480/Cello+heart.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I never knew before today that a cello has a heart.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Maybe that's why it sounds so human.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I guess that the other string instruments also have this feature, so that's likely not accurate.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But it's still a lovely thing, to see this little heart shape carved into the wood of the bridge.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I've loved cellos for a long time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And now it kind of feels like this cello is loving me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It's going to be a challenge, learning to play it. Humbling, without doubt.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But I think it will help to look down the strings and see that little heart</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and to think "this is about love," and remember the ones whose love</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">brought this all about,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and be grateful for what I've received.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And a really wonderful thing about a cello is that it can never, ever sound quite the way</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">that a violin can sound in the hands of a beginner!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I tried that over thirty years ago! Eeek!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But even if not every note this cello makes will sound wonderful,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I think in its own way it will be beautiful.</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-76879658267081988212021-01-18T00:10:00.003-06:002021-01-18T09:17:46.736-06:00The Shoulders of Giants<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI82P7z1OMkfeJXyVj7y6qhBbyzWGCu3AR9lTuYOJtkeejbJwAjzYMhV0lcYN6pASSDxbpm6bYTcsyiTJngPZaRgr8Vt6cWZzyQFOV8AOADF0FTaIdls37Rz61CzMMiJtnFMX74Q/s2048/Grandmother+Graduation.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI82P7z1OMkfeJXyVj7y6qhBbyzWGCu3AR9lTuYOJtkeejbJwAjzYMhV0lcYN6pASSDxbpm6bYTcsyiTJngPZaRgr8Vt6cWZzyQFOV8AOADF0FTaIdls37Rz61CzMMiJtnFMX74Q/w640-h480/Grandmother+Graduation.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>From what I recall being told, my grandmother was taller in her earlier years, before osteoporosis set in, than I am as an adult. You wouldn't guess it from this picture.<p></p><p>You also wouldn't know from this picture that she never wore a graduation gown. She wasn't able to go to college, thanks to the Great Depression and financial struggles it caused, likely complicated by the family's house burning down and her father dying when she was ten years old.</p><p>You can't tell from this picture that she never played piano or any other musical instrument. It just wasn't part of her upbringing.</p><p>But this beloved woman--despite osteoporosis, as well as two separate broken hips, both of which she recovered from and continued living independently--was always taller than I was when it comes to strength and character.</p><p>She died on this day (January 17) eighteen years ago, and for eighteen years I have thanked God for Grandmother and prayed "help me to be like her in the ways she was like You."</p><p>She and Granddaddy paid for my early piano lessons. She always encouraged me and asked me to play for her. She cut flowers from her own yard, drove them to Arkansas, and made the flowers arrangements for my senior piano recital. And bought my dress for that occasion, too.</p><p>Granddaddy and Grandmother used to give all of us a dollar for each A on our report cards. That wasn't a primary motivation for me, but it showed that they thought it was important to work hard, and that learning about the world mattered. Grandmother was a reader, and even though she seemed to spend more time in the yard and in the kitchen than she possibly could sitting with a book, the bookshelves in the house intrigued me with <i>Gift from the Sea</i>, <i>The Prophet</i> (How I wondered about that name, Kahlil Gibran!), <i>I'm Okay-You're Okay</i>, and always <i>National Geographic</i> magazines were around.</p><p>She was never a cheerleader that I'm aware of, but she certainly was my cheerleader, and I'm sure she was the same for all my siblings and cousins. It's amazing how powerful encouraging words from her were. She remembered our interests, remembered our teachers' names, and asked about them from time to time.</p><p>She taught children's Bible classes for many, many years. Her Bible stayed on the kitchen table, and we often read from it and a devotional book before meals when it was just the two of us, not a big family gathering. Before the big family gatherings we would often sing the Doxology together. It was obvious from the wear and tear on her Bible, that it was her constant companion, a strong connecting point with the God she loved and served.</p><p>And so when I see this picture, with my arm around her shoulder, even though I'm not standing on her shoulders, I know without a doubt that I would not have graduated with that counseling degree were it not for her, nor with the DMin degree years later. I know that I would never have entered piano competitions and become a piano teacher without her influence. The last time I saw her was after a choral concert, because she always encouraged my musical endeavors.</p><p>And I am quite sure that without her faith, which saw her through heart-wrenching loss and struggles of various sorts, I would not be a person of faith. I have no idea who I would be without her, really. I'm thankful I never had to find out. She was always there, always loving and serving and giving, encouraging and teaching with words and beyond words.</p><p>"Help me to be like her in the ways she was like You." Thank you, dear God, for Grandmother, a giant in mind and spirit.</p>Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-64279681062939526192020-07-01T23:24:00.000-05:002020-07-01T23:24:16.003-05:00Normal<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Aaron Burden on <a href="https://unsplash.com/" target="_blank">Unsplash</a></td></tr>
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Yesterday I was talking with a sort of mentor who has listened to me over the past couple of years, and I asked what advice he would have for me going forward, since I'm not sure how much more our lives will intersect.<br />
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His response: "I think you will regret it someday if you don't start writing. Writing something. Your blog, a book, whatever. I think you'll be sorry if you don't do more of that, get yourself back into it."<br />
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So, because I respect his thinking, nearly half a year after I wrote about the possibility and the power of always beginning anew, here I am on my blog, beginning anew.<br />
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I had started a post sometime in the time between January and now, to share the poem below as a way of expressing what this year so far has been like. After the January New Year's post, a good chunk of my free time was spent helping a special person in my life by proofing and editing their master's thesis. Once that was done, the free time was spent traveling to visit friends out of town as well as hosting a friend from out of town. Oh, and both a personal retreat and a group retreat. A pretty full month.<br />
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By the end of February it was becoming clear that life was about to be hit by the novel coronavirus, and March ushered in the reality of that with all its unsettling dynamics. I was closely watching the news coming from Italy, with daily death counts and pictures of coffins the stuff of surreality. We had beloved people in Bergamo, the hot spot, who became ill with flu symptoms.<br />
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Normal life here began closing down. I stocked up on groceries. Started seeing my clients through a screen. Learned that someone I had had lunch with the first week of March, had been exposed to people who had tested positive, so I stayed in for over two weeks straight just to be careful.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Andrew Buchanan on <a href="https://unsplash.com/" target="_blank">Unsplash</a></td></tr>
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Then one Sunday morning I woke and found a text message, "Croatia had an earthquake." It was March 22, and until I could get more details later that morning, I had no idea if people we knew were okay or not. We were so thankful to learn that as bad as it was, it could have been much worse. Then that same week two different friends in Croatia were hospitalized with serious problems.<br />
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March was an apocalyptic sort of time for everyone. Writers have been using that word to refer to the pandemic, not so much as an "end of time" word, but in the literal sense that an apocalypse is an unveiling of reality, pulling away the props and curtains we have in place in what we think of as normal life. We've been able to see serious cracks and crevices and crooked places as the veil has been pulled away. It's been a painful time in many ways.<br />
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In early April a very dear friend died. I'm sure I'll write more about that later.<br />
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Then near the end of May began the events that led up to the ongoing protests and all the difficult and painful realities and the accompanying emotions intertwined with that part of our country's story.<br />
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All to say that even though I had thought I'd be writing more in 2020, it was as if my mind went into survival mode. All my energy was needed to just keep taking the hits, as it were, and keep up the necessary functioning, working with clients and occasionally teaching for our class at church (via Zoom), learning to teach piano through a screen, helping a group tasked with making decisions about when and how our church might return to some kind of meeting in person. (We have not yet.)<br />
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The early days of the pandemic often took me back to Croatia, to the early days of the war in 1991. It was uncanny how many emotional memories I had during March. Of course a virus spreading around the world was very different from a war starting, but I repeatedly had intuitive flashes, my body and mind making connections back almost 30 years to those feelings of uncertainty, fear of the unknown, the hope that maybe it wouldn't be as bad as some predicted, the hard realization of how bad it could really be. The way time slowed down. The sense of isolation. Small things like the grocery store shelves emptying. Much bigger things like the wondering who would survive and who would be lost. Weeping at scenes of death coming through the media.<br />
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One night I sat at the piano and wept as I realized that it could be many months, possibly a couple of years, before I would sing in a chorus again. Certainly not the greatest suffering of the situation, but it represented so much more than what might seem to some a simple hobby.<br />
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Since the third grade, I have kept some kind of journal. It started in a little green diary with a lock and key and has gone on to fill bound books of various sizes and shapes, with rarely a week between writings, and sometimes daily writing for significant periods of time.<br />
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But for the years that I lived in Croatia, I have nothing in writing beyond letters and occasional notes in a planner that I've found in my desk there. I did no journaling for three full years.<br />
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I think the past few months have been something like those three years. The mind can only do so much, and my mind hasn't had the energy or ability to put things in writing.<br />
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"Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings; it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity," said William Wordsworth. My dear English teacher used to emphasize the importance of the "recollected in tranquillity" part of that process; one's best writing doesn't tend to come completely spontaneously, but requires some distance for reflection and a sort of absorption and assimilation. And sometimes writing at all seems to require some distance.<br />
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Perhaps I'll share one day a poem I did actually compose in those early days, before the virus had clearly arrived in our area. But for now I will share a poem by someone else. I've shared this poem with many of my clients over the years, people struggling when life events have taken them so far from what they had called normal before. I don't recall where I came across it, but since then I've learned more about its author and just love it all the more for the life behind the words.<br />
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We've all lost some of our Normal since I last wrote on this blog. I hope that anyone reading this has been able to hold on to enough Normal to keep you anchored in the midst of all the change. And I hope you'll find some courage and strength in this poem, especially when you consider the writer, whose life you can learn more about via the link at the end.<br />
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "papyrus";">About <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Normal</st1:place></st1:city></span></b><span style="font-family: "papyrus";"><br />
<br />
Right now,<br />
I don’t know what <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Normal</st1:place></st1:city>
is<br />
Anymore.<br />
That’s because <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Normal</st1:place></st1:city>
has been changing<br />
So much, <br />
So often, <br />
Lately.<br />
For a long while of lately.<br />
I’d like <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Normal</st1:place></st1:city>
to be <br />
Okayness.<br />
Good health…<br />
Emotional health, <br />
Medical health, <br />
Spiritual health.<br />
I’d like <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Normal</st1:place></st1:city>
to be <br />
Like that.<br />
For now though,<br />
I know that <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Normal</st1:place></st1:city>
won’t be normal<br />
For a little while…<br />
But somehow,<br />
Sometime,<br />
Even if things are not Normal,<br />
They’ll be okay.<br />
That’s because I believe <br />
In the great scheme of things,<br />
And Life.<br />
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</span><span style="font-family: "papyrus"; font-size: 10.0pt;">May 2001</span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">From the book </span></i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hope-Through-Heartsongs-Mattie-Stepanek/dp/0786869445" target="_blank">Hope through Heartsongs</a></span><i style="font-size: 10pt;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Hope-Through-Heartsongs-Mattie-Stepanek/dp/0786869445" target="_blank">,</a> written by Mattie
J.T. Stepanek, a 10-year-old “poet and peacemaker” who died from a rare form of
muscular dystrophy. He started writing poems when he was five to allow his mom
to “see what was inside of him” and he continued to write up until his death at age 13.</i><br />
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.daily-journal.com/opinion/the-faith-of-mattie-stepanek/article_cbb29c1d-4af3-5ee1-89b6-5dc782705ccd.html">https://www.daily-journal.com/opinion/the-faith-of-mattie-stepanek/article_cbb29c1d-4af3-5ee1-89b6-5dc782705ccd.html</a></i></span><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-54610016064562217352020-01-05T23:02:00.001-06:002020-01-05T23:02:28.454-06:00Now I Begin<div>
I thought I would sleep in on January 1st. Rudy, our dog had other ideas. He, of course, had not stayed up to midnight, and apparently he felt like 5:00 was a good time to get up the next morning. Since his getting up sometimes means "knocking" on the door to the hallway to be sure someone is aware it's breakfast time (at least by his reckoning), my morning didn't go as I had planned.</div>
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And I'm so glad. After tending to Rudy, I decided to make the most of it, lit a candle, and waited. The window in our bedroom faces east, so I turned the chair so I could face east also.</div>
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Early morning has always been my friend, but because of the trees all around and the closeness of the houses where we live, I rarely think of trying to see the sun rise, because it's just so hard to see it until it's higher in the sky and all the pretty colors have faded. And many mornings when I am up around that time, if I do look out, all I see is gray turning to blue.</div>
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But New Year's Day, as I sat there and looked, I could actually see, between the roofline of our house and the neighbors' trees, the rosy presence of the sun coming up, like a flower blossoming beyond the trees. The night's condensation on the window blurred the view, but it was perhaps more lovely for the gentle blurring.</div>
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I have been reading Fr. Timothy Gallagher's latest book, <i>Overcoming Spiritual Discouragement,</i> which is based on excerpts from the writing of a priest, Fr. Bruno Lanteri, who lived through the death of his mother at an early age, significant health issues that affected the choices available to him in vocation, significant setbacks in his ministry, and even arrest and exile because of Napoleon's attacks on the church during the time of the French Revolution.</div>
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We talk about making New Year's resolutions, but I think we often forget the word "resolve" that they depend on. Determination. Firm commitment. Fixedness of purpose. In the life of Fr. Lanteri, his plans and his work were interrupted in ways completely beyond his control. But rather than giving up, he began anew. And clearly the ability to come back from political exile and start over at the age he did, came from a lifetime of developing the virtue of perseverance. From the book:</div>
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Say then with boldness, "Now I begin," and go forward constantly in God's service.</div>
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Do not look back so often, because one who looks back cannot run.</div>
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And do not be content to begin only for this year.</div>
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Begin every day, because it is for every day, even for every hour of the day,</div>
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that the Lord taught us to say in the Our Father, "Forgive us our trespasses," and,</div>
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"Give us this day our daily bread."</div>
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And recognizing that sometimes we falter because of our own choices, he wrote:</div>
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If I should fall a thousand times a day, a thousand times a day I will begin again,</div>
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with new awareness of my weakness, promising God with a peaceful heart, to amend my life.</div>
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I will never think of God as if he were of our condition</div>
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and grows weary of our wavering, weakness, and negligence.</div>
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Rather, I will think of what is truly characteristic of him and what he prizes most highly,</div>
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that is, his goodness and mercy, knowing that he is a loving Father who understands our weakness, </div>
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is patient with us, and forgives us.</div>
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The book has been such a blessing, and reading it right around the turning of the year has made it even more so.</div>
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I have several unfinished projects, unrealized ideas. New Year's has given me time to reflect on the things out of my control over the past decade (a job ending, turmoil of moving into private practice, my mom's serious health problems and death, neck pain, a nerve block, and two major surgeries, extended family crises), things within my realm of influence but still unexpected (the opportunity to do a Doctor of Ministry degree, time-consuming commitments at church), and the things that are very much my own responsibility (procrastination, sometimes plain old laziness, struggling with the addictive pull of the Internet.)</div>
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For all of these, I have found it so helpful to say, "Now I begin," no matter when I originally had the idea or started the project, and no matter how often I fall into bad old habits. It has been so helpful in moving forward and letting go of the past.</div>
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I'm so thankful I was unexpectedly awakened and had that sunrise moment. I'm thankful for Epiphany tomorrow and a continued meditation on the theme of light. And the Light.</div>
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And I'm thankful for the words of Fr. Lanteri:</div>
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Above all, I have asked the Lord to give you great courage and firm hope in God,</div>
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so that by this virtue, overcoming all discouragement </div>
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and striving not to lose that precious time the Lord gives us,</div>
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you may attain greater good for yourself and for others,</div>
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especially since the Lord has given you so many means for this and the desire to accomplish it.</div>
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Now I begin.</div>
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Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-72310747745246538292019-11-14T22:02:00.002-06:002019-11-14T22:02:25.614-06:00Height and Depth and Length and Letters and LoveToday I remember Mr. Wright, Ray A. Wright, my high school English teacher and friend for many years, who died on this day in 2002.<br />
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I've shared some of <a href="https://folkflocksflowers.blogspot.com/2009/11/mr-wright.html" target="_blank">his poetry </a>here before. Tonight I got out the stack of letters from him, most written when I was in college and he was at Ole Miss working on a doctorate. I hadn't looked at them in years but knew where they were and just decided to read a couple.<br />
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What a beautiful thing, that he took the time to sit and write these words to me. And took the time to read the words I wrote to him. These letters, because of their very words and because of the connection they represented, helped me through some hard times, and I imagine they will in years ahead, too.<br />
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I remember thinking how neat--that's probably the word I would have used then, even though I remember chiding myself for using that word too much!--how neat it was that his address had a 26 in it. 26 was my favorite number, the one I got on my club jersey, connecting back to high school stories, happy memories. So it was a happy coincidence that I enjoyed each time a letter came.</div>
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(And he would have gently chided me for writing that awkward sentence up there with the dashes. And then might have said, "Well, you've proven you know the rules, so you're allowed to break them. But that really is rather awkward!")</div>
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I wish I had copies of what I had written to him, what he was responding to. I wonder what music had recently brought me to tears. It happened a lot. Still does. But it would be sweet to know what he was referring to.</div>
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When I was blessed with the opportunity to sing the <i>Prayers of Kierkegaard</i> many years later, I know that brought tears to my eyes, for sure.</div>
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I am so thankful for the length of time this friendship stretched throughout my life, from ninth grade for a little over twenty years. And I would say it definitely made up in depth what it lacked in length. And with the memories and the letters accompanying me through the rest of my life, and with the faith we share and the goodness of the Father in heaven who "didst save us," the height and depth and length of this relationship become part of the eternal goodness of God.</div>
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During the time of his final battle with cancer, pain, and a coma, my chorus was preparing to perform Lauridsen's <i>Lux Aeterna</i>. <a href="https://folkflocksflowers.blogspot.com/2013/10/lux-aeterna.html" target="_blank">I sang it with Mr. Wright in mind</a>, and it always comes to mind this time of year, just as he always comes to mind when I hear or sing that music.</div>
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His life's light shined into my little life. May light perpetual shine upon him.</div>
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<br />Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-50300950720767065022019-10-08T22:47:00.001-05:002019-10-08T22:47:47.264-05:00I Love You Truly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today would be my grandparents' 84th anniversary! They married on October 8, 1935. All I really know about the wedding is that this song was sung. This is a copy of the music that came to me either from my mother, or from Grandmother's house, after her death. I wonder if it is the actual sheet music that someone used for their wedding ceremony?</div>
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They were married for 54 years, actually. Granddaddy was twelve years older than Grandmother, and he died almost exactly 30 years ago, strange as that seems. It will be 30 years on November 6.</div>
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If you know this song, you know it's kind of hopelessly romantic. At least it seems so to me, implying that sorrows and fears can fade away simply by being in the presence of the one you love. Maybe it's the music that makes it seem hopelessly romantic, or maybe it's being calloused to love songs by all the ones written in more recent decades, that definitely have a superficial approach to love and give too much importance to emotions and even physiological feelings.</div>
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But when I think that this song was written at the literal turn of the century, before the sixties and the triumph of feelings and individualism; and when I read on Wikipedia that Carrie Jacobs-Bond painted china and rented out rooms to make ends meet, and wrote songs to supplement her husband's income; I think maybe she had a deeper kind of love in mind than much of what winds up in love songs these days.</div>
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And when I think of my grandparents' marriage, I know that they loved each other truly. Their love didn't do away with sorrows and fear. They married during the Great Depression. Granddaddy's brother and mother died four years later, and his father died two years after that. Granddaddy struggled with bipolar disorder in a time when there wasn't much you could do for that. They had their share of sorrows and I feel sure there was fear mixed in. But their love--not just for each other, but love for God and family as well as for each other--gave them what it took to face the fear and to survive the sorrow.</div>
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And I am so thankful that they did. Their marriage led to my mom's coming into the world, as seen below, and eventually to my being here. And all my siblings and their families, and my cousins and their families....we are all here because two people loved each other truly.</div>
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It's amazing what love can do, what people can overcome. And the good that can come into the world because of that faithful, persevering love. I'm thankful for my grandparents. I love them truly.</div>
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Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-35278263209893729292019-09-29T19:46:00.001-05:002019-09-29T19:48:10.427-05:00Morning in Medimurje<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
[This is a continuation from the last post, which I wrote much closer in time to the other one, but life events kept me from posting it....but in case you need a refresher, or are a new read and have no clue, I was writing about our trip to Croatia in late spring.]</div>
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From Munich we flew to Zagreb, where a good friend met us at the airport and drove us the circa hour and a half to....home. Because oddly enough, we travel from home to home when we make this trip.</div>
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In fact, on our last trip, I took this little sign and left it there just to add a touch of homey to the house there. And you can't see it, but next to the muesli (which I took with me this time) and on the other side of the little boxes of tea there, I had left a box of cereal when we were there in November, and it was still within the expiration date and ready to eat.</div>
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So in some ways it just felt like walking into normal.</div>
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The house there looks very much like many other houses in Croatia with its light facade and terra cotta roof, its fence along the front of the property. Like many others, it has flowers in front and fruit trees and vegetables further back. It has the ingenious metal blinds ("roleta") that aren't aesthetically lovely as wooden shutters but are amazing for having a dark bedroom at night or letting in just the right amount of light during the day.<br />
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Red clover was in bloom, which is also a very normal thing, but not too far from our house, set in the midst of this particular patch of clover, stands a reminder that "normal" varies quite a lot from place to place.</div>
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I walk by it just about every morning when we are there, as it's just off the street that leads out into the fields where I like to walk. It's an old chapel, built in the 14th century. You can read <a href="http://zrinskiroute.eu/en/ruta/senkovec/" target="_blank">a bit more about it here </a>and <a href="https://kajkaviana-magica.eu/en/kapelica-sv-helena/" target="_blank">also here</a>. Before an earthquake hit, a much larger complex stood here, a church and monastery. Now only the chapel remains, and I'm so glad it survived. I would love to go inside one day and see the frescoes. It belongs to the city museum and it always locked, but I think surely you can make an appointment to see it? After almost 30 years of standing an looking at it from the outside, I imagine going inside will feel something like a dream come true for me!</div>
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The shorter construction to the right covers an area where excavation has been done in the last 20 years. The local story says that this chapel is connected to the castle in the center of town by a tunnel that served as an escape route in case the castle were ever attacked. No one seems to know if such an escape ever was necessary, and I imagine the time, energy, and money it would take to try to excavate the entire route to prove the tunnel's existence is simply not worth it. But underneath that dwarfish little shelter, you can see what is obviously the end of some kind of tunnel going somewhere. It's really fascinating.</div>
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I just found a photograph of the chapel, near the end of <a href="http://www.h-r-z.hr/images/portal/portal_07_korunek.pdf" target="_blank">this long article,</a> taken in 1921. Someday maybe I'll be capable of reading something like that, but for now it's just amazing to me to see an actual photograph of that chapel taken when my grandmother was a little girl growing up in far-off Tennessee....and to think that when the chapel was built Dante was probably living and writing in not so far away Italy.</div>
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I learned on this trip that local legend includes a story about a dragon that is also connected to this tunnel story. Somehow I think the tunnel is more likely to exist than the dragon....</div>
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Sometimes I think about these things on my morning walks there. And sometimes I just stare at the red clover and listen to the birds singing.</div>
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(About the title: Medimurje is the name of the region. I love the name, as it means "between the rivers," and so makes me think of Mesopotamia and Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and so much that comes from that.)</div>
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<br />Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-83763827914081578252019-07-15T18:35:00.001-05:002019-07-15T18:37:12.580-05:00O for a Thousand Tongues to Sing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So, here is what you see outside the room <a href="https://folkflocksflowers.blogspot.com/2019/06/it-may-be-new-record-going-over-six.html" target="_blank">I wrote about </a>last time. I will always remember the first time I saw this sign over a decade ago and followed the arrow, intrigued.</div>
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It's impossible to describe in words what it's like to walk from the hustle and bustle of the airport, the constant movement and noise, into the quiet place that sign points to. It's such a welcome and unexpected contrast. We get so used to functioning in noise and tuning it out to the extent we can, that to walk into, and then sit in, such deep silence, causes the body and mind and spirit to move into a different realm of perception.</div>
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It takes a moment to adjust, and then you begin to notice things around you and within you that you simply would not have noticed, could not have noticed, with the noise.</div>
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This was the first time I noticed these hymnbooks on the shelf near the entrance. Maybe they were there before, but I had not seen them. Again intrigued, I picked one up and opened it.</div>
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And it's not possible to put in words either the sense of "walking into" that hymnbook. We were far from home, in a country where neither of us has lived, on a continent that has largely forgotten the faith that once infused its history, literature, architecture, ethics, and sense of identity.</div>
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So to sit in that place, open this book, and see hymns that I grew up singing in church was just a lovely surprise. This is even the same tune we used with this text when we sang it in church.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6oaCoHFnav8G_jTGI-Zrz5TxpDllPMDtF9IRr41xT9ywljqLvmFXTCJAM9uo6DiSWXq8QfEGptkBQC3Brqge2rwSPKLyEDsCqnL_i3iT79ErECG1fvVNlhPWCU6Qsgq6t2xa9w/s1600/IMG_2063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt6oaCoHFnav8G_jTGI-Zrz5TxpDllPMDtF9IRr41xT9ywljqLvmFXTCJAM9uo6DiSWXq8QfEGptkBQC3Brqge2rwSPKLyEDsCqnL_i3iT79ErECG1fvVNlhPWCU6Qsgq6t2xa9w/s640/IMG_2063.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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And then to see it written out in so many languages, and to know that people have been singing it in different countries (or else why would it have been included?) for many years, expressing the same thoughts and beliefs, even though their languages and cultures and histories and habits were not the same, just filled me with a beautiful sense of connectedness. I didn't feel so far from home.<br />
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Especially because we had this sung at our wedding, with its other tune, known as Hyfrydol.<br />
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This one started off with the Italian, at least on this page.<br />
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<br />
And here it begins in English. They included so many languages that they printed the music more than once for readability because they wouldn't all fit on one opening.<br />
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We also had this song at our wedding.<br />
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<br />
And we did not have this one at our wedding, which will surprise no one, probably, but it was one of my favorites growing up.<br />
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And eventually our time in the prayer room ended, and the journey continued.<br />
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<br />Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-25351471621903483772019-06-29T20:50:00.000-05:002019-06-29T20:52:05.519-05:00Airport Adventures: May the Lord Go Before You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It may be a new record, going over six months without putting anything on my blog. Certainly not a record I intended to set.<br />
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Maybe reading the book<i> <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/40672036-digital-minimalism" target="_blank">Digital Minimalism</a></i> affected me more than I realized. I did not determine not to write on my blog, but I was enjoying the intentional space between me and the screen as a result of reading that book (which I haven't yet finished, but do recommend.) It wouldn't surprise me if at some level that book was a factor.<br />
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But I think it had as much or more to do with a couple of different health issues that meant extra appointments over several months. And a couple of major house repair/renewal projects that interrupted life significantly. And singing in a couple of different choruses over the spring, which meant two rehearsals each week for a good bit of the time. Oh, and two out of town conferences that took me far away from home. (Don't they say good things come in pairs?)<br />
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Whatever the reason, here I am again. Determined to share some pictures and do a bit of writing about our recent travel to Croatia.<br />
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The picture above is from a booklet I found in the Munich airport, in the "Raum fur Stille und Gebet," or "Space for Prayer and Silence," a lovely small secluded area which "invites people from all over the world to pray in silence, to calm down, and to draw new strength," as the website says. And it must have some amazing insulation, because when you get in there, it is completely quiet. You'd never imagine you were in a bustling, noisy airport if you didn't already know that.<br />
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I've written about it before<a href="https://folkflocksflowers.blogspot.com/2008/05/munich-airport.html" target="_blank"> here</a>, and since that first visit have been there a few times. This is the first time I had seen the little prayer booklet, with this lovely prayer written in ten languages. It was a wonderful way to be welcomed onto the European continent and to begin our visit there.<br />
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I know I've seen a chapel in at least one other airport, somewhere in the States, but I can't recall where it was. I wonder if any of my readers have ever found a chapel in an airport? And how many have wished they could?<br />
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And I just found <a href="https://www.munich-airport.de/_b/0000000000000000919875bb58778587/raum-fuer-gebet-und-stille.pdf" target="_blank">the most amazing thing</a>. An entire history of this place, with photos from the architect's designs to the woods where they found the tree, and how they moved it into the airport. Fascinating. Now I just need to learn to read German beyond my single college semester level! (If you decide to check out that link, just know that there are a couple of blank pages after the initial title page. then it's full of pictures.)<br />
<br />Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-17677595970190368132019-01-20T23:12:00.000-06:002019-01-20T23:12:33.554-06:00God's GrandeurI was sitting out on the deck just now in the freezing cold, working to find a position comfortable enough for my neck that I could remain in it for a while. The neck part because I've been cautioned by surgeon and physical therapist that I simply should not look up too much. (Not sure whether I'll ever try to visit the Sistine Chapel....)<br />
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But the whole reason for being out there is because the moon is in the act of being eclipsed even as I sit here and write. I couldn't take the cold too much longer, so I came in for a break before returning in a bit.<br />
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This morning in our Sunday Bible class, the theme was how the Creation is a witness to faith in God, looking at Hebrews 11 : <i>By faith we understand that the world was created by the word of God, so that what is seen was made out of things which do not appear.</i><br />
<i></i><br />
In the context of discussion, a class member mentioned that the eclipse would happen tonight, and I'm so glad he did, because though I had seen something about it earlier, I had forgotten.<br />
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Sitting out there just now, besides noticing the moon, and noticing that it was very cold (the thermometer says 26 degrees), I couldn't help noticing how clear the air was and how brightly the stars shone, something I haven't seen in a long time. It was beautiful. I wanted so much to be able to stay there, but I couldn't.<br />
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…..Well, I left and I'm back. And while I was out there, I had the idea of bringing my grandmother's rocking chair out to the deck. It couldn't hurt the chair, and it would let me lean back enough to see the moon and to have support for my neck. So I came back in and got the chair and watched the rest of the veiling of the moon more comfortably.<br />
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And the whole little experience brought to mind evenings at Grandmother's house when we would have finished washing dishes and cleaning the kitchen, maybe preparing something for the next day's deliciousness, maybe watching the news or something worthwhile on TV. And at some point Grandmother would say, "Let's go sit outside for a while."<br />
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And we would do that. Take a couple of folding chairs (or more than a couple if there were more people) out the back door to simply sit outside on the driveway, with the backyard before us and the whole sky above us. It was always warmer weather, so we might hear a symphony of cicadas or see lightning bugs blinking in the yard around us. With or without those, there was always the wonderful smell of being outside and the vast sky above and whatever stars we could see.<br />
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I don't have specific memories of conversations during those times. It wouldn't surprise me if we may have sung once or twice. "Can you count the stars of evening that are shining in the sky?" I really don't recall what we talked about, or even that talking was much a part of it. I was not generally a big talker if someone else didn't start it off, and what I do remember is sitting there quietly at the end of a day, feeling such a sense of togetherness as we absorbed the beauty of the night.<br />
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Oh, and I do remember something specific. Grandmother bought a moonflower vine and planted it right out there by the back door so that she could look at it in the evenings. And smell its wonderful scent. I do remember talking about that and going over to admire it.<br />
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The moon, the stars, the rocking chair, the sun and earth all part of a beautiful moment tied to other beautiful moments. What a gift to have minds and hearts capable of perceiving, remembering, connecting, feeling, loving. Tonight is a full moon, and a full heart.<br />
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And I think of St. Francis, from class earlier today.<br />
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<i>All Praise be yours, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars;</i><br />
<i> in the heavens you have made them,</i><br />
<i> bright, and precious, and fair.</i><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><i></i><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-37278504516320410262018-12-29T20:07:00.000-06:002018-12-29T20:07:37.086-06:00Wondering While Wandering<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I just wonder if anyone else has ever seen this in their neighbor's yard at Christmastime. This is a home not too far from us, but far enough that I don't know the people who live there. Each year I see these cute little choristers and wonder who the people are who live in this house, where they found these guys, or whether they are homemade.<br />
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I wonder if the neighbors are singers themselves. I wonder if they would be happy if I knocked on their door someday and just said, "I want to meet the people who have such cute Christmas decorations."<br />
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To my thinking, this is just rather unusual, and in a delightful way. I wonder if these are decades old or not. They certainly bring a sense of "times past" when I see them.<br />
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I wonder, and then I wander on down the street.Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-59113670059223338322018-12-28T23:00:00.001-06:002018-12-28T23:00:31.691-06:00Blogland Faux PasToday a very kind reader from the "daily in December" writing group, a person I have never met, sent me an email that, among other kindnesses, expressed concern that she had left comments on this blog but had never seen them appear. She asked if I had seen them, or if they had disappeared into the blogosphere.<br />
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I had, in fact, wondered over the past month at the lack of a single comment on my blog, when I was writing more than I have in years. But I was not getting any emails from the blog, as I always had before, telling me when a comment was awaiting moderation. It has been so long since I wrote here on any regular basis, and I know so many people use Wordpress, I wondered if perhaps my blog is just too difficult for commenting, or maybe my writing was just not interesting enough to warrant comment. But I just kept at it, telling myself it was good for developing discipline, whether or not anyone were reading what I wrote.<br />
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This email, however, led me to go to the "dashboard" and do a bit more exploration. It took a bit, but I finally found the hiding place of about 25 comments people had left, that were just sitting there waiting!<br />
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Having just finished watching the movie <i>Emma</i> this evening (the Gwynneth Paltrow version), I can hear voices in my head speaking in lovely British accents, having a conversation about the impropriety of keeping people's comments waiting, the lack of generosity it shows, and how I ought to have been more diligent in ascertaining the situation behind the lack of comments. What a poor example I have provided of blog etiquette.<br />
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But mostly I'm just glad someone pointed this out, and that I found the comments. And I do hope I can figure out how to get some kind of notification sent to my email for the future. Any help with that is welcome.<br />
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To all the temporarily banished commenters, thank you for your patience and good will! I assure you I will be on the lookout for comments in the future!Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-45104961492244106802018-12-27T21:57:00.000-06:002018-12-27T22:00:10.743-06:00Snow Geese on Arkansas Field<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We drove and looked, and looked and drove.</div>
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Field after field.</div>
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No geese.</div>
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"I guess they've gone further South by now."</div>
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"I had so hoped to see the geese on this drive."</div>
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"Seems like they have been here in December before, but maybe I'm remembering November."</div>
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"I thought it was Christmas; there was that song....how long ago was that....?</div>
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maybe I was listening to Christmas music,</div>
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just earlier in the month,</div>
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on a separate trip."</div>
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Another field of water, but no geese.</div>
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No geese.</div>
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We sighed and accepted it, stopped looking out the windows,</div>
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returned our attention to each other and the conversation.</div>
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And then, a long row of trees, and beyond, another flat field.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And there they were.</div>
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Snow geese.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Hundreds? Thousands? How to know?</div>
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They humbled and rejoiced us with their numbers, their beauty, their very presence.</div>
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And as always, I remembered <a href="https://folkflocksflowers.blogspot.com/2007/12/canada-geese.html" target="_blank">that other day, that other year.</a></div>
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<br /></div>
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The geese that appear year after year,</div>
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They might as well be angels.</div>
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Angels of a lesser order, of course, but messengers for sure.</div>
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<i>O ye beneath life's crushing load,</i></div>
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<i>Whose forms are bending low,</i></div>
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<i>Who toil along the climbing way</i></div>
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<i>With painful steps and slow;</i></div>
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<i>Look now, for glad and golden hours</i></div>
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<i>Oh, rest beside the weary road</i></div>
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<i>And hear the angels sing.</i></div>
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<br />Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-30675742450367825372018-12-26T22:58:00.003-06:002018-12-26T22:58:58.462-06:00Tradition, Tradition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_AKmbQNu7eJdw_tvtXUUj3CkQKojCLvUbO8JO4jmxEieLwuOG_x7wgLLAbqeBI_vmsF31fe46dxDiyFZk1QZfTGm3Dpy4mMTRQI5MBjcYyzMRDjMO8AnXeVDK6HjAZh8KOZhLIw/s1600/IMG_0793.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_AKmbQNu7eJdw_tvtXUUj3CkQKojCLvUbO8JO4jmxEieLwuOG_x7wgLLAbqeBI_vmsF31fe46dxDiyFZk1QZfTGm3Dpy4mMTRQI5MBjcYyzMRDjMO8AnXeVDK6HjAZh8KOZhLIw/s640/IMG_0793.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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It's funny how you can develop a soft spot in your heart for something that the rest of you can't stand.<br />
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That's how boiled custard is for me. I've never liked the taste of it. I don't really even like the feel of it, the consistency. I don't care for custard pie, or coconut custard pie. I can't think of anything called custard that I like.<br />
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But in another way I love boiled custard.<br />
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Because the only place I ever heard of it or had it, was at my grandparents' house at Christmas time. Even though I didn't like it, it was clearly considered a special treat, on par with the wonderful desserts we had--pecan pie, coconut cake, or some other delicious treat. So I knew it must be special stuff, and I didn't what was wrong with me that I didn't like it.<br />
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So when I saw these cute containers of boiled custard in the grocery store, and I had in the back of my mind that my husband did like the stuff when he tried it many years ago at Grandmother's house, I decided to buy some and bring it home.<br />
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Turns out he said he never did like it, either, and it wound up being disposed of.<br />
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But the truth is, I kept it for a good while in the refrigerator just because each time I saw it, it reminded me of Grandmother and her voice and accent, and the coziness of her kitchen and the elegance of her dining room, and the happiness of our times there.<br />
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Life is full of paradox. And part of me still wishes I could like boiled custard, just to have that in common with the grownups in my young life. And because it seems part of a tradition, a culture, that may be fading away. The same way I wish I could speak with the accent my grandmother had, that wonderfully rich, elegant Southern accent. But I can't, at least not for long.<br />
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On the other hand, they're selling boiled custard at Superlo Grocery, so maybe that tradition is in good hands. I hope so. I do hope so.<br />
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<br />Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-55035395231497484902018-12-25T22:39:00.000-06:002018-12-27T08:34:16.825-06:00Merry Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Today, we insist that everything has changed, and that it is good. We rejoice that God has come into our world, in human flesh, and we believe that Christ will come again. We give thanks for the Christ we know now, in the poor and oppressed and despairing of this world, and we believe that we will know him also when he comes in glory. today, we are not resigned; we stand up and sing, for God has not given up on us. We are his own, and we are welcomed to the feast."</div>
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~Kathleen Norris, <i>God with Us</i></div>
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Today was a beautiful day of seeing how faith has been working, and is working, in lives that have suffered and struggled mightily. It's not my place to share those stories in detail, but each of these pictures connects with the life of someone who could have easily despaired, but instead stands up and sings because of their faith in the Christ who came into the world and has overcome the world, the suffering, and death.</div>
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The image above was sent to me this morning by a dear friend who lived through battles of war in Europe years ago, and now battles illness in later years. She is beautiful and brave, and her faith in Christ strengthens me.</div>
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This is the shadow of the wreath on our front door and reminds me of my dear friend who said she always loved the pictures I posted of light and shadow images. She is no longer with us, and I will always remember how courageously and lovingly she faced her illness and death. She won't come through our front door again, but when I see surprising shadow images now I always think of her. She was not resigned to the darkness but trusted in the light, believing that Christ will come again and trusting she could await his coming in glory with hope.</div>
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And this little tree is a gift from my sister, given because our grandmother had one like it all the years of our celebrating Christmas at her house. My grandmother's life, and the lives of many people in my own family, including my own, have been changed forever because of Christ coming into the world. Lives that could easily have been lived in despair have instead been lived in hope, in perseverance rather than resignation. When I reflect on what could have been, and what instead <i>is</i>, I am amazed.</div>
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In a different way, it is as beautiful and amazing as <a href="http://folkflocksflowers.blogspot.com/2018/12/the-moon-by-night.html" target="_blank">the moon on the water </a>the other night. God's light has shone in our lives, reflecting off people around us and people who came before us, and when the light shines in the darkness, the darkness cannot overcome it. "God has not given up on us," and so we do not give up.</div>
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We stand up and sing. We give thanks. And we feast. Merry Christmas!</div>
<br />Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-14466877839150373402018-12-24T22:46:00.000-06:002018-12-24T22:46:27.861-06:00The Moon by NightIf I could have stopped, I would be able to share some of the most beautiful images I have seen in a long, long time.<br />
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I was driving from Searcy to Memphis the evening of the 22nd and left later than originally planned. I needed to be in Memphis by a particular time for a dinner date. So I could not stop to take pictures.<br />
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But I am so glad I left at the time I did. Otherwise I might have missed it.<br />
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As it was, just as I was coming out of a more treed and building-ed area, and the sun had just about finished setting, over ahead of me to my left was the biggest moon I have ever seen, about half above and half below the horizon. Rosy peach colored. And just huge.<br />
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And for the next half hour or so, I was driving through the flat, wide expanse of Highway 64 with the beautiful huge moon before me, so thankful to be right there, right then. If I had left any earlier or later it would not have been the same. If I had been in an area with trees or buildings, it would not have been the same.<br />
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Once the moon had risen a good bit, the timing was perfect for something I could not have imagined. I came to the area where the rice fields were flooded. By then it was very dark. For several minutes it was a movie director's dream--that huge moon shining in the sky, and the light cast by the moon's reflection shimmered across the surface of the water out there in the middle of nowhere, with nothing competing for the eye's attention.<br />
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Of course I had to pay attention to the road and the traffic, but there wasn't much traffic, and so I was able to soak in the beauty of this magical evening, this magical moon.<br />
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I had been listening on the way over to an interview with Sir Roger Scruton about his book <i>The Soul of the World</i>. I haven't read it, but from what I gathered via the interview, I think he would have agreed with me that night when I felt that I was seeing much, much more than just a rock in the sky reflecting light waves. I think no one could see what I saw and experience it that impersonally, unless they had been taught over time to disconnect themselves from the world around them and the experience of beauty and awe.<br />
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I couldn't stop, because of my time constraints, and I think the memory of that moon that evening will remain in my mind and heart longer than if I had been able to stop and photograph it, perhaps, because I gave it my full attention without placing it or framing it. If anything, I felt as if it were looking at me, helping me be in my proper place.<br />
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"So God made.....the moon to rule over the night." On this night, I saw the majesty of this beneficent ruler! And it occurred to me that every month, a full moon rises over these fields. Every month, it shines on the water. Every month, this beauty is created, whether anyone notices or not. It's fascinating to think about that. That God has made things in such a way that incredible beauty abounds continually, with or without a human being to notice it. Because God is beauty, with or without an audience. It is simply who he is.<br />
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I missed a few nights of writing because of the trip and catching up at home, but this experience of the moon was so lovely and connects in my mind to the discipline of watching and waiting that comes with Advent. We miss so much beauty if we are not practicing waiting, developing eyes to see and ears to hear.<br />
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I'm thinking of the shepherds in the fields at night. Something about being awake at night seems to be important if we want to see and hear God's messengers, at least some of them.<br />
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The glory of the Lord, like any light, shines brightest in the night.Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-27485427519911897252018-12-19T23:12:00.002-06:002018-12-19T23:12:23.188-06:00MessiahTonight we heard Messiah by the Memphis Symphony Orchestra and a small choir formed from the Memphis Symphony Chorus. They outdid themselves. It was wonderfully, powerfully done. I'll be dreaming the music, I suppose.<br />
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The man next to me had brought the score with him and said for me to poke him if he accidentally started singing. It is hard for me too, in a way, to sit there and not sing. I saw a woman on our row mouthing the words.<br />
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Seeing the people around me was almost as delightful as hearing the music. Something about the way the pews were shaped and placed made it easier than usual to see people. And because they kept the lights up.<br />
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So I saw this man with his well worn score, the woman mouthing the words. People all around were gently swaying in time to the music, as I found myself frequently doing. I noticed a woman two rows ahead of us who could barely contain her joy when it was time for the Hallelujah Chorus, and when everyone broke into applause, she not only clapped but also raised her hands upward, the way people sometimes do in worship.<br />
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I sat there and wondered how many people there believed what was being sung, or how they believed it. I thought about this again after Worthy Is the Lamb, when the applause rang on and on and on, longer than usual for a symphony performance. And certainly longer than you would expect for a piece so frequently performed, so familiar. My own hands began to hurt from it, but there was no way I would stop as long as it was socially acceptable to keep clapping! The joy in the air was palpable.<br />
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Messiah is long and covers much territory, and my mind went to so many places this evening as I listened to the music--to the stories and ideas the passages point to, and to times in my own life when I've sung the music, or when I've "beheld the Lamb" in a particular way. I thought about the ways I've gone astray like sheep, and about my high school music teacher introducing us to various pieces and talking about how Handel used the music to "show" sheep straying here and there and valleys being exalted and rough places being made plain.<br />
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Tonight I wondered where all the minds in the room were going, what all was represented by the people present, what their stories were, why they loved this music so much. And there was no doubt at all that they did, given that prolonged applause. I thought of Kurt Vonnegut's story about the child who had seen the sun, living on a planet where no one had seen the sun and didn't believe it was real. They teased the child who talked about it, and the story doesn't have a happy end, though the sun proves to be real, after all.<br />
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I just wondered tonight, what does Messiah mean to all these people in this room? For how long will it continue to be cherished and performed in a culture that seems to be growing more and more secular? Will the music alone be enough to keep it alive? And if so, how often might it actually cause someone to wonder, to ponder, to search?<br />
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It's amazing where all a mind can go during two and a half hours of music!<br />
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But it kept coming back to the words and the music, and tonight was a beautiful gift in this life of watching and waiting for the eventual Hallelujah Chorus. Hallelujah!Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19063438.post-11436345011465659582018-12-18T22:45:00.000-06:002018-12-18T22:45:12.293-06:00Watching and Waiting: Fog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I wrote words for these photos yesterday and somehow lost them.</div>
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I was crestfallen, but then today found more words that fit with what I was thinking,</div>
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so perhaps it was best this way.</div>
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<span style="color: #ffd966;">These images come from my walk in the park yesterday morning. The fog was amazing.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge9FjUz7a3IVqhDhMOdk2PEbX_hIbV1_Ic4cIiWgBLPuQfjPd49VK5ls5hVVc47hUc2iFP7F5lvBQAsA94Gdqrt-CwdHn3w7-JVI6opKUqkdvNZ_OCKIXmP7IxKCLVFvNMop3cZw/s1600/IMG_0858.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge9FjUz7a3IVqhDhMOdk2PEbX_hIbV1_Ic4cIiWgBLPuQfjPd49VK5ls5hVVc47hUc2iFP7F5lvBQAsA94Gdqrt-CwdHn3w7-JVI6opKUqkdvNZ_OCKIXmP7IxKCLVFvNMop3cZw/s640/IMG_0858.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I tend to love fog, so I found it beautiful.</div>
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But I was also thinking how it might be for someone not used to fog and not familiar with the place.</div>
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It could be disorienting, even frightening.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL13T-PaYb2mp7yovwqIxjk5wcIvznyx2NPmGthruJlFd0bZCnIAXITGOmhy2hgIZZA58UoF0O9LzOd4OpPh0W-9gTioVv-etkzJzRyXh85-vz3qYZwcqJmiuKtcLo2ee9yv17vw/s1600/IMG_0860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL13T-PaYb2mp7yovwqIxjk5wcIvznyx2NPmGthruJlFd0bZCnIAXITGOmhy2hgIZZA58UoF0O9LzOd4OpPh0W-9gTioVv-etkzJzRyXh85-vz3qYZwcqJmiuKtcLo2ee9yv17vw/s640/IMG_0860.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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If you'd never experienced fog before, you might wonder how long it would last,</div>
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or even if your whole world had somehow changed.</div>
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I thought about people I know, mostly younger than me, going through hard things,</div>
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disorienting experiences, confusing transitions, strong emotions,</div>
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which tend often to make it very hard, if not impossible, to see clearly.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnVXf12O6xxHhaj1qq-45xtrUKq8DfHm8H8I10ab2WU_Q8Ham4Xelpxo1lyUWbCoVv43bdm9KalLN0O5gZkcKSNmfkF7VuuUyFP0BoR9zUZ8CinX-p2IjejNydKjU3y9DW6aS7w/s1600/IMG_0872.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTnVXf12O6xxHhaj1qq-45xtrUKq8DfHm8H8I10ab2WU_Q8Ham4Xelpxo1lyUWbCoVv43bdm9KalLN0O5gZkcKSNmfkF7VuuUyFP0BoR9zUZ8CinX-p2IjejNydKjU3y9DW6aS7w/s640/IMG_0872.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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The fog yesterday was so thick, it condensed on branches like this. Beautiful to me, but not so beautiful if you were wondering whether your feet would ever be on dry ground again! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRntsMaczCa9Vr2dFP5r-Ysl8Wop7rd6nsKm73H6a_36jBlSbdG_MzZut1MNhItt3kGxC51lRwK7xbjHUMKGh2wkQFLS1B9qpQ5DXOl0bwwBkHqENXVMR2bje7TSfBfZhSjVBV3A/s1600/IMG_0880.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRntsMaczCa9Vr2dFP5r-Ysl8Wop7rd6nsKm73H6a_36jBlSbdG_MzZut1MNhItt3kGxC51lRwK7xbjHUMKGh2wkQFLS1B9qpQ5DXOl0bwwBkHqENXVMR2bje7TSfBfZhSjVBV3A/s640/IMG_0880.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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In the fog, our eyes can play tricks on us. You have to lean on your knowledge of what you knew was there before, and trust that memory, that knowledge.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbq8qq5IlKpyRkdH56jaNCOu5Qpi_16tsXJ9YbpPqD2_NuDCS9-GKR9CQJbKjUfAzVvEBNmhPvIZk9NoxUDkNCmLHKeFwX1tLxg2u-X1ZJC3qovXcumDTCtXf5q0u5t_NkI_OiKQ/s1600/IMG_0881.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbq8qq5IlKpyRkdH56jaNCOu5Qpi_16tsXJ9YbpPqD2_NuDCS9-GKR9CQJbKjUfAzVvEBNmhPvIZk9NoxUDkNCmLHKeFwX1tLxg2u-X1ZJC3qovXcumDTCtXf5q0u5t_NkI_OiKQ/s640/IMG_0881.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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This is beautiful as an image of reflections on water, but when life situations feel this unstable and distorted, even the light coming to us can seem painful sometimes.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUAGhOrky_Rix64YXoGTf8S_VViWU5wPgXRtpSkl2hd325oz0gHrf4KCv7rT3kLoOz2ZVzKyhcD6DhfghenrcoZYzgiG5rCWQp7U8JNjUNPnq9rakMfXQk8p_8lUEJH72Es6n-Vw/s1600/IMG_0886.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUAGhOrky_Rix64YXoGTf8S_VViWU5wPgXRtpSkl2hd325oz0gHrf4KCv7rT3kLoOz2ZVzKyhcD6DhfghenrcoZYzgiG5rCWQp7U8JNjUNPnq9rakMfXQk8p_8lUEJH72Es6n-Vw/s640/IMG_0886.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I found myself yesterday thinking of these people, thinking these things, and wanting to say, "Watch carefully and wait. Don't give up. Refrain from making rash decisions about which path to take."</div>
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As a friend once told me in a tough time, "Don't doubt in the dark what you've seen in the light."</div>
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Those are good words.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqHYxzqQx7EO2sm_3zZxH1jGqMDBIiVlduHJWuy8zmS2-6TOctGZyInlCfh7ZJeUtnBOn7zIiekmZ96LFXgV9Rnlz34xeZvgY_GZJoCOukA6rEJYo-0Zw_hL_MXFCTx9tFCS1vxQ/s1600/IMG_0890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqHYxzqQx7EO2sm_3zZxH1jGqMDBIiVlduHJWuy8zmS2-6TOctGZyInlCfh7ZJeUtnBOn7zIiekmZ96LFXgV9Rnlz34xeZvgY_GZJoCOukA6rEJYo-0Zw_hL_MXFCTx9tFCS1vxQ/s640/IMG_0890.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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And then today I read these words of John Donne, from the blog of a friend of a friend:</div>
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But today if you will hear His voice,</div>
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Today He will hear you.</div>
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He brought light out of darkness,</div>
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Not out of a lesser light;</div>
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He can bring thy summer out of winter</div>
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Tho' thou have no spring,</div>
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Though in the ways of fortune or understanding or conscience</div>
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Thou have been benighted til now,</div>
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Wintered and frozen, clouded and eclipsed,</div>
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Damped and benumbed, smothered and stupefied til now, </div>
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Now God comes to thee,</div>
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Not as in the dawning of the day,</div>
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Not as in the bud of the spring</div>
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But as the sun at noon,</div>
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As the sheaves in harvest.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn6b34teOwD3c8QXj5s3IF_jNXyQWEwRmCSBprHO74o1vb2cYisuJoHA5Ae76K4ricT7p5Cum-iPrhDr50E-YX5nOiv0gRKibeI8jTVxHxdfEKaLMQhSPOPTbT8kaSwLjpKdn13Q/s1600/IMG_0896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn6b34teOwD3c8QXj5s3IF_jNXyQWEwRmCSBprHO74o1vb2cYisuJoHA5Ae76K4ricT7p5Cum-iPrhDr50E-YX5nOiv0gRKibeI8jTVxHxdfEKaLMQhSPOPTbT8kaSwLjpKdn13Q/s640/IMG_0896.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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It wasn't quite noon, but this last picture was taken less than an hour after the first one. The sun's rising to a certain point completely cleared away the fog, and it felt like a different world.</div>
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This Advent I'm thinking those words of John Donne might make a good Christmas gift to lots of people living in the foggy confusion of our world these days.</div>
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"Now God comes to thee." Emmanuel!</div>
Sheilahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03592157819188364751noreply@blogger.com3