An Avocado on my Tree?

I do not like avocados. I realize this is tantamount to treason for a native Californian, but it's my eternal position on the subject. I was never persuaded by Rod and his beloved guacamole or any of my many friends who love and revere the avocado. But, the one hanging on my little Christmas tree this year makes me laugh and it's just perfect because it's not real!

The way it came to my tree today is a sweet and hilarious story. Two years ago the Johnston family stayed with me on their way to the Oregon Coast. We had a great time at a Mexican restaurant which is when fourth grader Mattie learned I do not eat avocados. We had quite a discussion about the slimy, weird, green stuff so imagine our collective surprise when we pulled into my garage after dinner and saw a big box holding a variety of things that said "Avocados" across the side! It was a Costco box that'd been there for months after carrying food I really do eat. Everyone laughed and Mattie remembered. She really remembered.

Today was a long work day so getting out of the car to fetch the mail in the wet, windy weather was a pain, but it was worth it to get a box from Texas. As soon as I hung the glass avocado with its bright, copper colored pit I sent a picture to Tressa, Mattie's Mom, who called me right back. "Mattie wants to talk to you" and away we went! This kid has more energy than all the lightbulbs in my house and she's a hoot. "Aunt Sherry, remember about the avocado box? I saw this ornament and told my Mom you had to have it!" And then she told me all about being the Snow Queen in the school play today, about how half the school is her friend (of course), about their Christmas trip back to Utah to see their family and ski, and how our dogs urp when their tummies are upset. It was a wild ride through a sixth grader's mind!

When she talked about seeing her family for Christmas, she added a little snippet I just about missed: "We'll see everyone, all our cousins, my Grandmas and Great-Grandma; everyone except our dear Aunt Sherry will be there." It was so sweet. I love being her Aunt by friendship!

This will be the first Christmas of my life without my Mom so to honor her I got a small living rosemary bush and decorated it with the beaded ornaments we've had through the years from her Mom, Grandma Edith. It's poignantly full of love and memories. The other small tree has a few of my favorite ornaments from the decades of Christmas with Rod - more poignant memories of love.

In grief, we build our memorials to those who were always going to be here, but are now somehow gone. We build these little tributes to invoke their memories, to call them back to us. But, new life, like the One in the manger, can only come when room is made for the surprising, for the new, for the joy, for the silly -  like a glass avocado from a wildly happy and loving little girl.

It brightens my season and makes me grateful for this Christmas - indeed different from any I've ever known.

Different in who is no longer here, but eternally the same in the One who is coming.

Thank-you, Tressa and Mattie, for making this real for me, this particular year, with the sparkly, glittery, shiny, bright avocado on my tree.

Security Check

"How much money does everyone get?" the adorable 5th grader asked me as I quickly scanned the directions for a game I'd never seen before. "Everyone gets $1 million and this is how it's doled out....." The boy playing the game with us was thrilled to hear he'd soon have a million bucks! The table where we sat was surrounded by the chaos of kids just being dropped off at church for almost three hours so their parents could shop for Christmas. "What kind of pizza is for dinner? What are we doing? Is there a movie? Which movie? What's the craft? Do we have to stay in this room?"  Susie kept giving us little piles of money and Joey was very eager to get started. Then, Susie stopped counting for a minute, looked at the three adults in the room, and said to me, "Oh, this is perfect! You're the grandma, Whitney's the mom, and Ann's the aunt! Perfect!" and she returned to counting. Then, it was time for pizza and gingerbread house decorating and everything else they did that evening. The game was put aside and never played. I venture to guess that Susie and Joey never gave it a second thought.

Susie's statement has stayed with me for the past two days. She counted three adults in the room, gave us roles with inherent responsibilities, and pronounced the situation "perfect." In other words, the chaotic scene in the room passed her security check and she felt safe.

In Genesis 19 Abraham and Sarah offered hospitality to three strangers who appeared at their tent. They served the best food they had and made them comfortable. In 1425 this scene was depicted by  the famous religious icon, The Trinity, by Andrei Rublev. Theologians have debated the meaning of the three visitors for centuries.  Angels or maybe the Trinity? In Rublev's depiction, the Holy Spirit gestures to the open space at the table as if to invite the observer to sit down, break bread, share life, and to become part of the magnificent God story. The story of Advent. The story of Christmas.

So, when I think of Susie's proclamation of perfection, I put myself in her place. Who's in the room with me?

In other words, how's my Advent security check going? How well am I listening? How well am I waiting? What am I anticipating? Do I understand the  magnificent invitation to join the Trinity at table this holy season?

Perfection is coming and it's already here.  The children know this better than any of us.

Limitless Boundaries

When I returned from the store, more things were gone. We were getting ready to move to the seminary for Rod's studies in 1988 and the apartment we were assigned was smaller than the condo we couldn't sell. I'd left him in charge of our pre-move sale, but when I got back I saw that familiar look on his face. "Who bought the twin bed?" I queried. "Oh, you know the kid next door doesn't have a bed so I gave it to his Mom." As the calculator in my head ticked off the amount of money we'd just lost, the faith in my heart was challenged. Here he was, telling me he'd given this away and that away because so and so really needed it. He was only practicing the one thing that had always been part of him: His pastor's heart. I, on the other hand, was trying to protect us, to ensure our safety, to make sure that the plunge into ministry with no guaranteed future would not ruin us. Ha! I sure had a great deal to learn in 1988.

Since then the learning, the teaching, the plunging into limitless boundaries has never stopped. The man I was privileged to call my husband and best-friend for almost 35 years had a heart with no limits. It was always I who called him to account, who questioned the veracity of his ideas and proposals. In the end I know he died with unquestioned faith and joy for all that he was able to do, to give.

And, that's the twist. The living and the giving. Where do the limitless boundaries start? What's kept within and what's kept out? What part of this call to give to our fellow human beings do we accept and what do we ignore? How do we decide? And, how do we mediate the consequences of each decision?

Like I do every morning, I just put Tahoe's warm, freshly dryer tossed towel on his bed for his enjoyment. In the moment it occurred to me that he's more comfortable than all the people burned out of their homes in Paradise, California. He may be more comfortable than the family living in the trailer on our church property.

Limitless boundaries -- I still hear Rod's voice "They really needed it..."

What's mine to do? What's my choice today? How will I sleep with the consequences tonight?

Which Role?

On that particular day there was a big crowd on the move. The self-appointed leaders told everyone along the way what to do, how to do it, when to do it. In the middle of the crowd was the Man of the Hour and they were very intent on keeping him moving. They had no time for delays or distractions. So, when a beggar on the side of the road asked what was happening, the leaders were frustrated and upset when others told him Jesus was in the crowd.

Naturally, the blind beggar became very excited, called out for attention, called out for mercy.

Naturally, the leaders told him to shut-up and go away.

Naturally the Man of the Hour stopped the entire enterprise and asked him a simple question,

"What do you want me to do for you?"

The blind beggar stated his desire, it was granted, he was told his faith made him well, and he joined the big, rejoicing crowd moving towards Jerusalem.

Scripture always invites us to take a role. Would we be in the crowd relying on others to tell us what to think and how to act? Would we be the self-appointed leader deciding who's in and who's out? Maybe we would be the desperate person in need of healing. Possibly, too, we might try to imitate the Man of the Hour helping, healing, saving.

The crowd played follow the leader. The wanna-be leaders tried and failed to contain Jesus, the true leader. The blind beggar defied commands to cease and desist as he pled for mercy. It was very clear what he needed, but the Jesus respected him enough to ask,

 "What do you want me to do for you?"

We play every role in this story from Luke. We hide in the crowd protecting the best kept secret ever. We try to direct how, when, and where God works. We cry out for salvation. We offer help, healing, and safety.

The crowd kept moving towards Jerusalem. They didn't understand the journey, Jesus, or the destination itself. They didn't understand why Jesus stopped or the question he asked. The man with new vision certainly didn't understand any of this, either. He only knew he'd been respected and healed.

What crowd are we moving within? Who's in charge? Where are we headed? Is Jesus free to move and act?

*************************
 (Luke 18:35-43, The Message)

Distance

Lepers. Unclean. No contact. No acceptance.

In a group they came that day, standing at the required distance, calling out for mercy.

He told them, across the distance of rules and customs and space, to go to a place they'd never been.

Yes, go to that place where you've never been welcomed, never been touched, never been allowed to enter, he said. Just go.

He never came near or touched them. All they asked for was mercy and he sent them elsewhere.

Obedient: Did as they were told. Followed his command to go to the place that shunned them, the unclean; to show their ravaged and deformed bodies to religious authorities who wanted nothing to do with them, let alone come near or acknowledge them.

Risking everything to follow his command that defied all reason -
They became clean on the way.

Mercy restored them to community, to health, to life.

-----------------------

Homeless. Unclean. Frightening. Dirty. Sleeping in the rain on the cement. Hiding in the alcove.

In a group they came that day, passing by quickly, not wanting to take notice, keeping distance.

Three feet through the wall from his dirty, wet alcove to their table in the posh restaurant with the overly stuffed buffet of prime rib, turkey and salmon.

Three feet, a very short distance  ---
One in despair no longer seeking mercy -
One struggling to comprehend.

Then, he spoke again: Yes, go to that place that scares you and you don't understand. Risk everything. Don't judge, he said. Just go.

In obediance, paying for the extra meal, tying up the bag, walking out the door -  the healing came.

"Happy Thanksgiving. The food is hot."

Mercy given. Mercy received.

The Way becomes clear when we listen to the Truth and mercy brings others (and ourselves) back to Life, back to the Table.

The lepers of Jesus' day still call out for mercy through the world's refugees and homeless.

The Table is big enough.
The distance is irrelevent.
He continues to say it:  Just go.

The Watch

As I've done my whole life, I put on my watch every morning.  It doesn't track my health, ping with texts, display email, tell me the date and day, or connect to my phone. It doesn't have a battery, digital display, or a delicate band. The second-hand quietly sweeps clockwise every minute past 3, 6, 9, 12, as the big and little hands reliably declare the minute and hour. None of this happens, though, without a daily winding of the gold knob on the side. It's worked for decades without any repairs.

Long before it came to my wrist, it was on his wrist. I remember seeing it there every single day when he went to work, when he came home, when he read the San Francisco Chronicle at the table, when he drove the car, and when he worked in the yard.

It was a fixture. He was a fixture.

It never crossed my mind that his watch would one day be on my wrist.
It never crossed my mind that one day he would be gone.

I always thought there would be time to ask about his childhood in the orphanage, to ask about his time in the military, to ask about his time at USC, to ask about everything. Time. I always thought there would be more time for questions.

I'd found it in her desk when I cleaned out the condo. The enormous Danish roll top desk was gorgeous. I muttered to myself that it was a crazy expense she didn't have to make, but she did anyway. Amongst the many papers, pens, paper clips, and pencils it was waiting to be found in an old plastic bag. At first I was indignant. Why did she leave it in here like this? It seemed so cold, so uncaring to leave it with the rubber bands and staples. It went into the "Take home with me" pile, but the same thing happened at my house. I really didn't know what to do with it so for a few years it just sat in my dresser drawer. I didn't think it was right for me to use it. I needed to protect it, protect him, keep his memory in the drawer.

One day a couple of years ago, for absolutely no particular reason, I decided to wear it. I took off my cute little watch and put on the much bigger, round, brown, old relic. When I wound it up, it still kept time. At first it felt strange to have it on my wrist, but quickly it became a grounding fixture for me. Just as he had been. Just as he continues to be.

Since he last wore his watch my life has changed in profound ways. Even as the second-hand has quietly swept past 3, 6, 9, 12 over and over, time has stood still --- like it did on this day seventeen years ago. The day my Dad died.

I always thought there would be more time. I still think he should be here. His watch tells me every single minute that he was here and continues with me, regardless of space and time. I'm still on the clock with regrets for time wasted when he was alive and with a long list of new questions for him. But, they will have to wait. Wait for another kind of time, for eternal time when, to be honest, the questions will no longer matter at all.

Can we do this?

"Love each other.......Heal the sick.......Raise the dead.......Cleanse lepers.......Cast out demons.

That is what loving each other means.

If the Church is doing things like that, then it is being what Jesus told it to be.

If it is not doing things like that - 

no matter how many other good and useful things it may be doing instead - 

Then it is not being what Jesus told it to be.

It is as simple as that."

                                                                                   Frederick Buechner, The Clown in the Belfry

Today, like every single day across the globe, was very hard. Here are only two events: Twelve more people died in another mass shooting and children continued to die of starvation in Yemen.

Not enough loving, healing, raising, cleansing or casting out of the demons that plague us.

I wasn't in Thousand Oaks or Yemen today, but that doesn't get me off the hook. Did I manage to do anything as Jesus commanded?

I tried.

He knows that I tried.

Only His grace can bless and multiply my small efforts, our small efforts to be the Church.

And in these small efforts --

We push back against the tides of hatred, illness, death, separation, and fear that work so hard to convince us there is no other way.

But, there is.

There is always another way of hope and love.

And we, the Church, are commanded to live it so others may live in the first place.

Can I do this?  Can we do this?  Can you do this?

The Communion of Saints

I love this Japanese Maple in my backyard. When we planted it in the summer of 2013 it was very small. Now it covers the garden wall, stands at least 20 feet high and 10 feet wide, and extends above the fence. Below it is our special Shalom brick providing holy protection to a few of Rod's earthly ashes. As with each Fall, the tree's delicate leaves are turning deep red and purple, but the tips of the branches are birthing new growth. New, delicate, beautiful leaves are a surprising contrast to the ones that know it's time to change, it's time to go.

In church this morning I got to do something I just love -- serve communion. "The cup of the new covenant poured out for you," I repeated to each person as they dipped the bread in the cup.  It's such a holy and humbling privilege. I felt part of the wide body of Christ which is always old and new. My own body is getting a bit old, but sharing the cup with others felt like new life, new green leaves popping out all over the place on a beautiful November day.

There are some bumpy days ahead this month. There will be the seventeenth anniversary of my Dad's sudden death. There will be the first Thanksgiving without my Mom. There will be my thirty-eighth wedding anniversary and the fourth one without Rod. A few days ago was All Saints' Day and Pastor David talked about the saints in our lives.  I know who they are and their love is always present to me.

As the sad days of this month come like they do every year, I pray to remember the Communion of Saints, the cup of the new covenant, and the new life in my backyard in the midst of shorter days, longer nights, and the temptation to think I'm all alone, because I am not.

Paper Prayers

Dear LORD,

Place this prayer, this page
              Snuggly in the pocket of my heart -

That as I write,
              I may live.

And in my living
              May my writing be true and  honest.

Grant me the strength
              To carry your mission where You want it to go.

I need You in my prayer,

                      in my writing,

                                in my living -

Away from this page.

Amen

1095 Days

More than 1095 days ago, in fact 9.5 years ago the Pastor of Community Presbyterian Church in Brigham City, Utah wrote this prayer in his journal following a car accident that nearly killed two elderly parishioners in snowy Sardine Canyon --

Lord,

Loss and sadness are hard - real hard. There are so many mysteries to life and we spend a lifetime just trying to figure them out.  Give us - give me - the faith and courage to live in the moment and when I pray Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, give me the integrity to mean it. 

Amen.

There are so many mysteries to life and we spend a lifetime just trying to figure them out.

As I sit in this beautiful room overlooking the Pacific with Tahoe sleeping at my feet, Rod's words call to me over the expanse of the past 1095 days since he died. Three years seems like a long time and yet, when your husband dies, that moment is right there, right at the finger tips, right at the edge of every sentence.

It is such a mystery why he died so young and so quickly. It is such a mystery how my Mom, my dear demented Mom, could last until she was 83. It is such a mystery how lifelong friends can evaporate in a cloud of unmet expectations and lack of commitment. It is such a mystery how one heart can keep beating while the heart that kept it going no longer beats.  It is such a mystery how art introduces us to our new selves for the very first time. It is such a mystery how faith carries us through things we thought we'd surely never survive.

Loss and sadness are hard - real hard.

Harder than I've ever known, depths of despair and sobs of anguish I never knew my heart and body could produce. And, again, when your husband dies, that moment is right there, right at the finger tips, right at the edge of every sentence. Hard - real hard.

And when I pray Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, give me the integrity to mean it.

Integrity of heart, soul, body and mind are needed to follow where Thy kingdom may lead, to do whatever Thy will may ask. Yes, integrity is the utmost commodity for living these days of hard loss and sadness, of spending our lifetime figuring out such mysteries ~ how the young can die, how the friend can turn away, how the old struggle for years without mind or memory, how art frees us, and, finally how Christ gifts us with faith and carries us through mayhem we could never imagine while neatly planning our lives at twenty-three. Our plan never included these past 1095 days, but then again, it never included the astounding grace that has carried me this far, either, because I never knew I would need it.