Christmas Clothespins

God is with us in so many ways. In no way do I intend disrespect by suggesting that He is with us even in the form of clothespins. Hear me out.

My beloved Grandmother at some point had some clothespins spray painted gold to use at Christmastime. I don't even recall what she used them for, nor when I somehow became the recipient of some of them. I began using them to pin Christmas cards we received to a string or ribbon hung on the dining room window. Or hung from the mantel, at our former house.

Seven clothespins were not enough, so I used plain ones until one day of one year, while hanging up Christmas cards, I realized that I could also spray paint them and have a bunch more gold clothespins.  I had never used spray paint, which I guess is why I hadn't thought of it before. But I thought it couldn't be that complicated to buy some and paint them. So I did.

Ever since then I've had two contrasting sets of clothespins that I pull out during Advent as we wait for the cards to arrive. At first it kind of bothered me that the two "gold" paints were not the same, but not for long.

This year as I was taking them out, I noticed the difference in the colors. I also noticed the difference in the heft of the clothespins. Grandmother's, as you can see, have the two little indentations near the end. They are heavier than the others and better made. I couldn't find any like that when I was shopping for them. All they had were these slightly smaller, definitely flimsier, lighter-weight ones. I wouldn't want them for hanging clothes on a line. I can't imagine they could hold onto a pair of denim jeans. Still, they are fine for hanging Christmas cards. But I still prefer the others, the older ones.

They are built more solidly. They have a firmer grip. They were carefully painted. I didn't realize until it was too late that when I painted mine, which I did in a bit of a hurry, I missed some spots. But Grandmother's are solidly painted, fully covered. And of course, best of all, they were hers. They were in her house, in her hands.

And Grandmother was among the first people to teach me about God. And to love me, which she learned from God. And to show me through the trials of her life and in her many letters over the years, how much she loved and trusted in God.

And so these solid, firm, whimsically golden clothespins, because of my Grandmother, speak to me of God and faith and love. And I do my best to imitate. And even though my attempt didn't turn out quite like hers, it helped me bring  forward to the present something from Christmas past.

God is with us in so many ways. Even in the form of clothespins.

This is for Yesterday

From the living room of a dear friend where we sat yesterday in the glow of the lovely tree, our conversation roaming far and wide as it nearly always does if we have more than five minutes together.

Said conversation led to more watching and waiting, as I offered to pick up said friend's daughter returning from college. Heavy rain, misplaced keys, an accident on the highway all led to a rather suspenseful evening, but all was well in the end when said daughter came home to said tree and I imagine slept very well.

And I know I certainly did--though a Christmas party and then a movie at home meant I forgot to write anything....so this is for yesterday.

Watching and Waiting: Risotto Lessons

Many years ago I made risotto alla Giuglia (risotto with onion sliced thin and zucchini and yellow bell pepper cut in Julienne strips.) for the first time. I was young and still getting used to using a big knife, and Julienne strips took considerably more time than simply chopping, or even dicing something.

And at that time I had no access to Arborio rice, so I used long grain rice, the only kind I could get.

With the chopping and time it took for that hard rice to soak up all that broth and cream (and a teaspoon of pepper), making that recipe took an hour or more. I worked hard to get the onion slices as thin as possible. And then holding the zucchini chunks upright and carefully slicing those thin strips took a good while. And then standing and stirring, standing and stirring, standing and stirring as I gradually added the broth-cream mixture.

It doesn't take me as long now with my current knife prowess and the way Arborio rice soaks in the liquid more quickly. But I'll always think of that recipe when I think of how it often just takes time to have anything really good. And you have to pay attention. As my cookbook says, the "judicious" adding of the liquid and stirring is they key to a good risotto. Not too much too fast, but you can't let it dry out, either. Watching and waiting and paying attention.

So tonight as I did that, I also thought about Advent. And now it's late, and I'm just going to leave it there and let the readers draw their own meaning from this little reflection....

Jesus Christ The Apple Tree

The tree of life my soul hath seen
Laden with fruit and always green
The tree of life my soul hath seen
Laden with fruit and always green
The trees of nature fruitless be
Compared with Christ the applle tree

His beauty doth all things excel
By faith I know but ne'er can tell
His beauty doth all things excel
By faith I know but ne'er can tell
The glory which I now can see
In Jesus Christ the apple tree.

For happiness I long have sought
And pleasure dearly I have bought
For happiness I long have sought
And pleasure dearly I have bought
I missed of all but now I see
'Tis found in Christ the apple tree.

I'm weary with my former toil
Here I will sit and rest a while
I'm weary with my former toil
Here I will sit and rest a while
Under the shadow I will be
Of Jesus Christ the apple tree.

This fruit does make my soul to thrive
It keeps my dying faith alive
This fruit does make my soul to thrive
It keeps my dying faith alive
Which makes my soul in haste to be
With Jesus Christ the apple tree. 

The apples in the bowl are from Thanksgiving, when I made an Italian apple tart. The recipe said to peel the apples--actually, it said to pare them--but I was pressed for time and also like to leave some of that nutrition in there. And then I just thought they looked so cute!

We sang this sweet song as part of the Lessons and Carols service. It's such a fascinating metaphor, I think, and this writer has done a good bit of thinking about how it may have come to be. I did not know until reading this about the association between the Latin words for apple and evil. Fascinating: that whole idea of Eve eating an apple has a very logical explanation! (And I realize while writing this that I may well have heard that at some point, but if so, it sure didn't stick.)

Each time we rehearsed this, and when we performed it, I would get a little teary-eyed at the words of the last stanza, "This fruit does make my soul to thrive; it keeps my dying faith alive...." When I look back over my life so far and think of the various ways my faith has been kept alive when it felt close to dying, it is humbling and heartwarming.

If you've never heard the song, here's a sweet performance of it by the ever-wonderful Kings College Choir of Cambridge.

Magical Musical Morning

This morning we drove downtown to the Peabody Hotel for a lovely treat. Being at the Peabody is in itself a lovely treat. Originally built in 1869, it was demolished and a new structure built a block away between 1923 and 1925. It closed twice in the 70's with financial difficulties and reopened in 1981, when I was in the ninth grade.

That is so strange to me, to think of this place empty and uncertain of its future, and to think of downtown Memphis as a forlorn, financially failing area. I remember when I was younger driving by downtown (we lived in Arkansas, and my grandparents lived an hour northeast of Memphis, so we went through Memphis a lot) and knowing that it was considered ugly and pretty barren. But we never went there, so I have no visual memory of that time.

And now downtown is so alive and full of wonderful places, and the Peabody is a huge part of it all.

And they have a huge Christmas tree every year! (That bit of railing you can see on the left side is the second floor of the building, so that gives you an idea of what I mean by huge.)

Music was the reason for our visit. Or better said, family who were involved in the music. The Harding Academy A Cappella Chorus were there to sing Christmas pieces and other music, and they did a wonderful job. One of the basses is my nephew, and his dad drove the group down on a school bus, so it was a morning of family, music, Christmas lights--and ducks!

If you don't know about the Peabody ducks, then you really must come to Memphis and see them for yourself. We got there in plenty of time to see them do their thing. And we got to hear them join in the singing a time or two, making for quite a contrast to the lovely sounds coming from these young people's voices.

This little fellow came from behind the couch where I was siting to get closer to the group. He stood there transfixed for a good long while. I wondered if he had ever heard such singing before. Since singing has always been a part of my life because of church, I can't imagine what it might be like for a child (or an adult, for that matter) to hear beautiful harmonic voices singing like this for the first time. It probably would seem like something of a miracle.

And it is, really. That we are made in such a way so that our voices can make such beautiful sounds, expressing thoughts and feelings and just doing amazing things. We take so much for granted, but this morning, and this little child, opened my metaphorical eyes, and my literal ears, once again to not only the beauty but also the sheer wonder of music.

Watching and Waiting

Photo from Memphis Flyer


It's late, but I'm committed, so here goes.

Advent is so much about watching and waiting, things we aren't very good at when we've not had to do much of it. And of course the Advent readings bring very serious themes to our minds and hearts related to watching and waiting.

For tonight, however, I'll take it in a different direction. This evening we went to the airport to watch and wait for the arrival of our niece/granddaughter/daughter--my brother's daughter, who spent this semester in Greece and Italy. Nine of us all together stood near the doorway where the passengers appear, by the top of the escalator that goes down to the luggage retrieval area.

The Memphis airport brings so many things to mind. When we were young, we went there to greet my uncle, and later my uncle and aunt, who lived in Michigan, England, and Belgium at various times. I imagine we went there, though I can't remember clearly, to greet my grandparents when they returned from their "Holy Lands" tour with my uncle. (I put it in quotes because I just remember so well hearing my grandmother's voice as she referred to that trip, always with that term.)

I remember the first time I ever flew into and out of that same airport, going to and coming from Italy.

Tonight my husband remembered a time when we arrived there from Croatia, and recalled that my aunt brought Kentucky Fried Chicken for the group of family that had gathered, and that we ate there in the gate area.

All these trips were back in the lovely days before so much of the airport was off limits to anyone but travelers, and we could actually wait for loved ones and see them right as they walked off the plane. I miss those days!

Many memories, much to wonder at and the thankful for. I never dreamed that airports would become so much a normal part of life. I still remember so well the first time being up in the clouds, the first sunset, the first sunrise, the wonderful KLM flight attendants on my first flight over. On my flight back from Italy after my semester over there, I had so much hope that someday I would be able to go back, but I really had no idea whether or not it would happen.

Tonight we were waiting for my niece. Her older brother stood nearest the "do not pass this line" spot, all set to take a picture of her when she appeared. Grandparents were visiting farther back. I stood there chatting with the younger nephew and with friends whose daughter was part of the same group. Time passed, we waited, and it did seem that enough time had passed that we began to wonder.....And then we heard a loud cry our of nowhere and turned and saw that the expected one  right there in the hallway hugging her mom! As if she had just materialized out of nowhere!

It turned out, if I understood right, that they had come out at another terminal and had walked down from there to the luggage area and then up the escalator to where we were. Creating quite a stir!

It reminds me of the verse, which I just found in The Message paraphrase-- "Be vigilant....You have no idea when the Son of Man is going to show up." It's not as poetic as the "Watch therefore" of older version, but that "you have no idea" sure fits for our experience this evening! Not only could we not predict the exact time, but we didn't even know which direction she would be coming from!

And it fits my own experience with airports and flying across the ocean. No idea what lay ahead. No idea that at this point in my life, I wouldn't be able to remember how many trips I've made. Life is full of surprises.

It amazes me how much we talk as if we can plan things out. Of course we have to plan, and we must make decisions, but so much is not in our control. Advent is good to remind us of that. There's a lot we have no idea about, but we can watch and wait for the One who does know and does show up, often when least expected. And if we are watching and waiting for Him, then just as tonight, even though it may be a startling experience, it will also be sweet.

Carols of Praise

Good tidings of great joy!

My post a couple of months ago about blogging more regularly seems now like a fuzzy dream. It was not so smart to set that goal, perhaps, shortly before making a three-week trip overseas, coming home to a family wedding, Thanksgiving guests, and then having all the catching up to do with that.

But today is the second Sunday of Advent and a good time to renew that goal, and I've been encouraged by a group of others who are blogging daily in December, so maybe I'll catch some of that energy and keep this going.

That angel up there looks a little like I feel. Not extremely energetic, but doing his part. I'm not sure where the artwork came from, but it's on the front cover of the program for the Lessons and Carols service I sang in tonight. Lessons and Carols is my favorite event of the Advent/Christmas season.

I remember the first time I ever heard these words. It was Christmas Eve in 1994 or '95. I turned on the public radio station and was amazed to hear prayers being prayed and the scripture being read. We had only fairly recently come to live in the States, and public radio was fairly new to me, but not so new that hearing scripture being read didn't seem like a sort of miracle. When I realized it was a cathedral full of people and heard them praying the Lord's Prayer, it struck a place deep inside me.

I kept listening and was delighted to be introduced to the Lessons and Carols service and to the fact that it aired every year. It was such a beautiful surprise, and I recall having tears of wonder and joy in my eyes more than once as I sat on the floor wrapping gifts and listening.

A few years later I was equally surprised to learn that this service was actually performed in our very city, and it wasn't long after that, that I joined the choir so that I could be a part of it.

Perhaps I'll write more later about why this service means so much to me, why it so often brings tears to my eyes. It has to do with lonely exile, gloomy clouds of night, and sad divisions--and the hope of Emmanuel in the midst of all that.

This (above) is the place in the service where I nearly always realize I'm not going to make it much further without a tissue. It is absolutely glorious singing this descant arrangement to "O Come, All Ye Faithful," with the choirs, the congregation, the organ and brass ensemble. If sound could somehow show in the air, I think the whole space would be sparkling with gold and deep blue at that point. It's a powerful beauty that pierces some deep place in the soul, the way only music wedded to words with deep meaning can do.

Of course the air doesn't actually turn gold and blue. So I'll end with another bit of the front cover

A Prayer for the Weary

Lift up our souls, O Lord,

to the pure, serene light of thy presence;

that there we may breathe freely,

there repose in thy love,

there may be at rest from ourselves,

and from thence return,

arrayed in thy peace,

to do and bear what shall please thee;

for thy holy name's sake.

Amen.

(A prayer by Dr. E.B. Pusey, Anglican theologian, 1800-1882.

I'm not sure where I originally found this, but I love it.

To "be at rest from ourselves," such a generally unspoken need.)

Bridge

This bridge, in the park where I often walk, has become so much a part of my internalized normal, and part of what I love about this park, that until I just now looked at this picture that I took this morning, it never struck me that it could look unwelcoming or pointless to the uninitiated. Because at the end of the bridge is a closed gate. And it is in fact a locked gate.

So it's a bridge you cross simply to then have to stop. And that sign you can see makes it clear that you are not to try to get over or around the bridge.

But I love the bridge because I think it's pretty. It's solid. I use it to do stretches. I look over the edge to watch ducks, fish, turtles, and when I'm lucky, a heron. I love to stand or lie down and just look at the sky.

And I love that closed gate that says "KEEP OUT."

Because it also says "WILDLIFE REFUGE."

I love that right here in the middle of a big city is a place set aside for wildlife. Wild life.

"We need the tonic of wildness" says the all-natural rose-scented facial tonic I bought at Whole Foods mainly just because I loved that quote. It's from Walden, by Thoreau, who went on to write, "At the same time that we are earnest to explore and learn all things, we require that all things be mysterious and unexplorable, that land and sea be indefinitely wild, unsurveyed and unfathomed by us because unfathomable. We can never have enough of nature."

When I was in college, an English major taking an American Lit class, I remember writing either in a paper or in my journal, that I thought I had been a Transcendentalist all my life without knowing it.

Well, I know more now and would not say that. But perhaps it's fair to say that I'm a Transcendental-ish Christian.

At any rate, I chose the bridge picture to represent yet one more transition, one more moving from one place to another, in that I really do hope to start writing more again. It feels as if my brain, and thus my mind, have recovered enough from the thesis writing and then the neck surgery I had this spring, to be able to write again. I even kind of feel the itch.

And for now this blog will be a sort of wildlife refuge for my writing, still meandering here and there. It's a mystery to me, a bit of a wild thing, still, where it may go.

But any readers are welcome to walk the bridge-- and you may also open the gate.

Messiah, Mama, Music, Memories

I was "home," at my dad's house, for a short visit earlier this week and took this picture. I was struck once again by how this Messiah album goes back into my earliest memories. How I used to think it said "MESS ee ah," which to my young mind sounded like "messy," and I knew it couldn't mean that, but I didn't know what it meant. At some point of course I learned the meaning of the word, and I learned to say "me SI ah," and my freshman year of college began singing the "Hallelujah Chorus" and "Worthy Is the Lamb." Eventually the one called the Messiah took on an importance in my life I could never have known when I was 5 or 6 and trying to make sense of this album cover I saw in our house day after day.

I suppose this album was in this record shelf before I came into the life of the household. And I suppose my mother was the one who brought it into that household, because she loved music and sang in the college chorus and would have been the one to buy or be given this music.

Today marks two years since her dying. Many thoughts and feelings have coursed through my mind and heart in recent days because of this date, but tonight it seems best simply to share from Messiah, music that once meant so much to her. I look forward to singing it together Someday. And of course it comes from the Bible, which mean even more to her:

Behold, I tell you a mystery;
we shall not all sleep, but we shall be changed,
in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet.

The trumpet shall sound,
and the dead shall be raised, be raised incorruptible,
and we shall be changed.

For this corruptible must put on incorruption,
and this mortal shall put on immortality.

O death, where is thy sting?
O grave, where is thy victory?
the sting of death is sin, and the strength of sin is the law.

But thanks be to God, who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

If God be for us, who can be against us?
Who shall lay anything to the charge of God's elect?
It is God who justifieth,who is he that condemneth?
It is Christ that died, yes, rather that is risen again, who is at the right hand of God,
who makes intercession for us.

Worthy is the Lamb that was slain,
and hath redeemed us to God by His blood
to receive power and riches, and wisdom and strength, and glory and honor and blessing.

Blessing and honor, glory and power be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne,
and unto the Lamb forever.

Amen.