As I walked in the neighborhood where my church lies, a place where many immigrants legal and not reside, I came across this sign.

It was placed on a newstand. It REALLY offended me on multivalent levels. First the derogatory nature and then the pure blasphemy of using God's name to promote hatred.

The quoted "scripture" does not exist in any of about 16 versions of the Bible I resourced. I don't think it exists in the Bible at all but was made up.

Now I am not a Biblical literalist anyway, so to attribute any words directly to God seems to be a dangerous propostion in any context, but when it is used to promote hate it is unconscionable and downright offensive. It makes me ashamed of being a Christian. After seeing this I was so upset and was in need of prayer. So I wrote the following Psalm.

Those who have hatred in their hearts
whose tongues breed fear
Make mockery of your grace
and profane your name

Pasting words of hatred
upon words of hope
Creating victims of oppression
where you call us to be free

Slandering your holy name
trading it for injustice
Stamping upon the back
of those you favor

How long must they get away with it?
How is it they are the popular and privileged ones?
Will fear and prejudice always win over love?
Where is your justice, O God?
Is it in me?

I shall wash your holy name clean
Unstick it from its grave
Speak for the abandoned
for those who are not seen

The wetbacks some are called
a pejorative hateful word of racism
They try to banish and yet secretly hire them
from where they stand

O God, your freedom cries out.
Your word must be set free
from those who call themselves holy.

We are a lost nation God
calling out from the depths of corruption and greed
Do not abandon us, but give us your mercy
Uplift those who would speak grace in your name

Who will promise peace and mean it?
Who will keep their word and yours holy?
Who will work for good and not evil?

Come, Lord Jesus, Come
Come in the child, in the immigrant,
in the preachers and the teachers
in the wise and aged
and in the young and bright.

Bring forth your promised tomorrow, today.

I also did a sermon containing this story that prompted a family of my congregation to try to do something to render this sign harmless although it was glued to the newstand.

It is days where people are prompted to take action that I feel most called to ministry. Thank God for changed hearts, for active hearts, that show faithful love and acceptance.

Painting Prayers

I want to be an artist, but I never seem to find the time. My craft has become sermon writing, but it doesn't seem to be enough. I need something visual. I need to get back to painting.



There never seems to be enough time and too many excuses abound. My too messy house. My too busy ministry. My too lazy self.



I wish I could do it as a discipline. As a way to exercise prayerfulness.

I get inspired by the blog Painted Prayerbook http://paintedprayerbook.com where Jan Richardson paints liturgically and then blogs on it. And yet I haven't picked up a paint brush for about a year.

Part of my problem is inspiration......it comes when it comes and sometimes it comes at the most inconvenient times. I used to drop everything and respond to it, but I haven't had that luxury for the past three years.

I am so much better in touch with my self and my feelings when I can visualize them, physically exercising them out on a canvas or some other material. Crafting pain, joy, or wonderment through color and lines, smooth and rough surfaces. I can craft these things with words but it doesn't produce the same sort of satisfaction and expression that the visual arts gives me.

I'm writing this as a reminder that perhaps I'll look at this on my blog to remind myself to get out the paints and the canvas and get started.

Mi Familia

Family is such a meaningful and sometimes difficult word. Today in Spanish class we were learning the words for relationships in a family. This made me very lonely. We were asked to describe our families to one another. We were to talk about our mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, children.

As I described and thought of these people I became saddened and felt lonely.

Mi madre--Mi madre es muerte. Nothing else to say. I haven't learned yet how to say she was funny. She was red haired. We haven't gotten to was....we're just in the present.

Mi hermano--Mi hermano es simpatico. But we don't have a very close relationship since we grew up. There is some satisfaction in knowing that he is always there if I need him.

Mis abuelos son muertes. All of them.

Mi esposo-- Estoy divorciada. Enough said.

Mis ninos- Son fuertes de las corazones. Their hearts are strong, but I know they hurt.

Mi padre--I just told him Estoy divorciada.

That's my Spanish lesson for today. Mi familia. There are great and wonderful descriptions about them that I can share. Great memories. But unfortunately describing family also evokes difficult times and circumstances.

And yet that is the nature of family. Families go through difficult times, but they're still family.

And I am grateful for the family I do have....relatives and others that I have adopted as my own.
And I am grateful for my church family....though they drive me crazy sometimes.
I am grateful for todo mi familia.

He Who Crosses His Arms

I had seen this man at our church. He had come to Jim's service and then to mine a couple of times. He wanted to join, and so he entered my new member's class. I knew him, because he sat alone, because he held back, because he crossed his arms in front of his chest to protect himself. Yes, I had noticed him. And there he was in my class.

This class had 3 other people, a mother and daughter, and a recovering alcoholic. I had them introduce themselves. He addressed where he was from and how he had been a United Methodist his whole life. The rest of us had come from other denominations, that we had rejected and had joined the United Methodist Church because of its acceptance.

It became obvious why he held back, when he told us he was a recovering alcoholic, lived in the local halfway house, had left children behind with an ex-wife.

After the introductions we went over the Missions and Values the church had passed just months before I had gotten there. They were statements to be proud of, and I went over each one. I got to the statement that spoke of ministry with families of all diversity. I explained that the statement included all families....the single family, the divorced family, the homosexual family, and that we were serious about diversity....and that Jim and I were going to hold the church to this value. I asked if anyone had any questions or comments.

He spoke up, and told us all that after the divorce, he began to live an alternative lifestyle. And that the church, the United Methodist Church he worshipped in ,didn't approve, and how he had moved on. I responded by saying that I welcomed him, and was glad that he shared and how his experience, all of our experience add to faith and ministry. I also told him that if anyone ever gave him problems about his lifestyle, (anything but grace and love) he was to come to Jim or I and that we would be there to support him.

I looked into the other's eyes and with seriousness, I told them that as part of being members they were to uphold these values, and that if they saw anyone treating others with less than grace and love they were to act responsibly as members by speaking out against it. Reminding others of the values of the community they belonged to.

They nodded. The session continued, and as we said our goodbyes. One of the women took the man into her arms and embraced him with tears in her eyes. She had been accepted and knew that he would be accepted too.

The remarkable thing about this story is that before Jim and I came to this church it was known as the most conservative United Methodist Church in the valley. The senior pastor before us was part of the confessing movement, and the church has had an anti-homosexual group supported by pastors meeting there for years. And yet, the Spirit, she moves. Before we came, already a movement had begun. The Spirit began moving among a few members to change the missions and values and prepare the way for us.

This is my call. My call has always been to heal the damage the church has done to its people. The damage done to those within its walls and without. The damage done by hateful words, exclusionary behavior, isolation, inaction, and outright victimization. I wondered why I was called to this church. My first charge and so much damage to be undone.

But he, he reminds me why I am here. He, with crossed arms who sits with a critical eye of the church he once loved. Him, Jesus Christ revealed.

I

Move on out

The king went up to the house of the Lord, and with him went all the people of Judah, all the inhabitants of Jerusalem, the priests, the prophets, and all the people, both small and great; he read in their hearing all the words of the book of the covenant that had been found in the house of the Lord. The king stood by a pillar and made a covenant before the Lord, to follow the Lord, keeping his commandments, his decrees, his statutes, with all his heart and all his soul, to perform the words of this covenant that were written in this book. All the people joined in the covenant.

The king commanded the high priest Hilkiah, the priests of the second order, and the guardians of the threshold, to bring out of the temple of the Lord all the vessels made for Baal, for Asherah, adn for all the host of heaven; he burned them outside Jerusalem in the fields of the Kidron, adn carried their ashes to Bethel. He deposed the idolatrous priests whom the kings of Judah had ordained to make offerings in the high places at the cities of Judah and around Jerusalem; those also who made offerings to Baal, to the sun, the moon, the constellations, and all the host of the heavens.

2 Kings 23: 2-5

Doesn't every church have their idols? The things the church needs to toss from its holy places. I feel like King Josiah upon coming to this church. Priests (leaders) have been appointed here that have done damage theologically. There are many divisions and divisive groups that have had control of this church and its time to claim this house as a house of worship once again. Can I be brave like Josiah and take the heave ho to all the things unsacred in this church?

God who rebirths
Help me to make your house a home
a home and refuge for all who are hurting
all who are oppressed
all who are misunderstood.
Give me the strength to throw out the
revered idols of the past and
bring fresh Spirit into your temple.
Amen

Supreme Teacher

Have nothing to do with stupid and senseless controversies; you know that they breed quarrels. And the Lord's servant must not be quarrelsome but kindly to everyone, an apt teacher, patient, correcting opponents with gentleness. God may perhaps grant that they will repent and come to know the truth, and that they may escape from the snare of the devil, having been held captive by him to do his will.
2 Timothy 2: 23-26

I guess this means I can't hit people over the head either literally or figuratively. Ah, patience....it is so hard to come by. As I look toward next week and the start of my new ministry as Associate Pastor of a long standing traditional United Methodist Church, I know that there will be controversies, and things that make me want to bite my lip, or bite someone else.

This bit of wisdom reminds me to look at each situation and determine whether it is worth fighting for. What needs a gentle turn and patience and what needs to be prophetic. As a person who tends to be on the prophetic side, I must remember to walk with gentleness in order to turn peoples hearts.

In a church that is used to doing things a certain way, this is essential. How am I going to change their minds about including the "other". How am I going to teach them to see God in everyone, even those they don't understand or are at odds with? It's all teaching. I must take this advice given to Timothy as my own, and look at ignorance and hostility as teachable moments.


Supreme Teacher of all that is good,
Grace me with gentleness, patience, endurance
and fortitude to teach your people
about the love you have for all creatures
that unconditional love that we should
model as Jesus Christ did. Amen.

A prayer of strength and peace

As God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.

Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hears, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly; teach and admonish one another in all wisdom; and with gratitude in your hearts sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to God. Colossians 3: 12-16

I need to clothe myself in everything but meekness. I do not need to be meek during this difficult situation. I need to clothe myself with love. Most of all love of self and love of my children. I long for the peace of Christ to rule, for wisdom to speak and for a just conciliation.

I need to be thankful, and let myself be nourished by the Spirit...through the psalms, hymns, songs, prayers, thoughts, and scriptures; secular and biblical.

Gracious and loving God,
I feel overwhelmed, fearful, and in need of your true love.
Be with me on this journey. I need your nurturing and guidance.
I need your strength and your steadfastness, Jesus.
I need your wisdom, Sophia.
Give me peace and patience, I pray.
Amen.

Not enough oil

As a woman who comes with oil to bear to anoint Jesus' feet, I wonder do I have enough oil.

You see, I am grateful for Jesus, his grace, his forgiveness of sins, his healing ways. Lately, I've been feeling like Mary Magdalene with her 7 demons. I don't think I have seven, yet I haven't really counted. I can come up with three off the top of my head though.

I think finally the grief of my mother, has caught up with other pressing griefs. And then there are the friendly demons....taking on a new ministry, graduating, annual conference.

I think I'm atop of the stressor scale, and haven't had much time to diffuse. Today and yesterday I had the urge to clean which is a sure sign that I need to process. I'm not a good processor by doing nothing......but when I'm busy physically I tend to think well. So tomorrow I hope my house is empty and I am able to do some thinking, processing, and grieving.

See-saw Self

For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it in patience.
Romans 8:24-25

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things left to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:38-39

I need to be reminded right now of God's perfect love for me though I love imperfectly. I can never measure up to the expectations placed on me as clergy.

This role that I have taken on, which I see as merely being available to God and God's people 24/7, is full of expectations I cannot possibly meet.

First of all there is the above job description. After all, I have a hard time praying. I focus on things that don't matter. And sometimes I am blindsided to people's needs.

Secondly, I must keep reminding myself of the people God chose to speak his words. When I remember David, Paul, Thomas, Deborah, Mary, I feel better knowing that God doesn't choose perfect people to speak through, more like perfectly flawed people. Well there you have it again.....God chooses a perfectly flawed woman to speak through. And so I struggle with my imperfect nature.....difficult nature, sinful nature despite knowing that I am truly called.

Politicians always worry about their public image. Hah!! try worrying about your public/private/self/spiritual images all at once......I think I need a PR angel.

Paul must have understood all this. After all, why would God call him. He was an egotistical zealot who killed, blamed, and tortured others. So I love it that Paul comes up with the notion that in hope we were saved. And since God is the one who "saves" us......it must be God who does the hoping. Hoping that we'll get a clue. Hoping that we will be of some use to the hurting world.

And so it is important that we know that NOTHING separates us from the love of God. So God hopes I am open enough to be of use. That I don't block the Spirit by self-wallowing, self-pity, self-denial, self-deprecation, self-esteem, self-aggrandizement......as a matter of fact self-opinion interferes with listening and being open to the Spirit's guidance.

So it is a delicate balance between self-awareness so that I may improve my actions toward love. And self-less-ness so that God may enter in and heal myself, others, and the world.

I need to tip the scales a bit I think.

Stone heart, take heart

I will make you a new heart,
breathe new spirit into you.
I will remove your heart of stone,
give you back a heart of flesh.
(Remembering the Women, 300.)


It is my shame that I know what it is to live with a heart of stone.

A heart of stone comes with not living authentically, no honoring yourself or what you know. When you truly do not embrace your own spirit, your own inner core, you become deadened.

Perhaps you even really die in some ways.

Like a thousand birds pecking you over the years, not enough to kill you at once, in fact, often you never notice their tiny bites, after all they don't seem to hurt that bad. And then you realize, as you wonder why you can barely walk, the devestation they have caused over the years. Tiny indescribable and minor grievances that have pecked away at your soul.

And the only way to survive, to make peace, is to developed that hardened heart, or mind, or soul, or belief. After all it is a lot harder to peck away at stone. Stone doesn't live. Stone doesn't breathe, or move, or speak. It just exists.

In seminary, I kwew of many people whose hearts were awakened. Who received new hearts and new spirits. I am one of them. And yet I struggle.

Because those birds are still pecking. Silently. But I feel them more than ever. I want to kick them, to shoo them away. I can now. I am no longer stone. Praise God.

Life giving, stone turning, breath of presence
who inspires the kicking of flesh destroyers big and small,
You who have brought rhythm to rock
soft light to brokeness
Be the wind upon my face reminding me that I am
moving flesh, unbounded

Amen

Finding Sophia

Does not wisdom call,
and does not understanding raise her voice?
On the heights, beside the way,
at the crossroads she takes her stand;
beside the gates in front of the town,
at the entrance of the portals she cries out:
"To you, O people, I call,
and my cry is to all that live."

(Remembering the Women, 298)


I love that wisdom and understanding are feminine. But even more, I like that she stands at the crossroads, that she raises her voice, that she seems to be everywhere.

And her message, her message is for all who live.

I just graduated from Claremont School of Theology this past weekend. Graduation often calls us to reflect on the years past and how they have been shaped. One thing I can say that I most definitely learned from seminary is "my voice."

I learned it in all kinds of ways. I learned it from Carol--- who believes that you can speak things into becoming. I learned it from Karen--who taught me the beauty and deep meaning of words as powerful truths to be expressed with both determination and care. I learned it from Sally as she gently set her voice free.

And I heard my own voice reflected back to me from many, many, friends and colleagues, so that I could hear it for the first time.

So in seminary I finally heard my voice. It is powerful...it has a lot to say...but I can't really say that it is my voice alone. It is more like a powerful force of the Spirit moving through me, crafting words that never would normally come out of my mouth. It is a weird and wonderful thing.

I think her name is Sophia.

Mother's don't break hearts, do they?

A little sad today. At least it didn't really hit me till now.

Of course I don't know if it is related to my mom, tough words that I needed to say that my husband didn't want to hear, or all the friends I will miss from seminary. I don't know.

I do miss my mom. I thought about getting out her yearbook and recording her memories onto computer files so I could preserve them for my children. But, I never got around to it.

It's not that my day hasn't been busy. I am currently covering a 4 ft. paper lantern in blue and green tissue paper to represent the Earth. It is part of a decoration for the Baccalaureate service.

That's another thing. I don't really want to leave school. Because then, I have to face reality, and I'm not so sure I'm ready to do so. Seminary was like permission to take care of myself; to be number one for a change, instead of putting everyone elses needs first.

Guess that's the thing that maybe I'm sad about. My mother taught me to sacrifice myself at all costs, as if I what I wanted didn't matter. This is what she did. Of course, it did make her quite abusive, as soon as all that pent up rage was unleashed. So I have spent my childhood and much of my adulthood sacrificing my own desires for my mother.

Then I put my husband's needs above my own, and then my kids. I was always last. And it seems that at times I don't even know where to begin to claim my freedom back. It all seems overwhelming.

And yet, my soul has been crying for years to be free, through depression, through artistic expression, through desparately wanting to run away. At seminary I had true freedom, and I dread having to go back to hardly any.

I made it this way, so how do I unbreak it, without breaking hearts.

Just One More Reason

Just one more reason why our church should be open, affirming and accepting of the LGBTQ community.

I love medicine, so I frequently watch Discovery Health. I especially like the shows that depict live ER medicine. I guess I never quite left nursing in some ways.

On this show a woman was brought in who shot herself. She tried to commit suicide by shooting herself in the stomach. It didn't kill her, just brought her inward suffering to the surface. The bullet missed her aorta by centimeters.

Later in the show you see her family, and her priest praying over her. This is a young latina. And then the social worker asking her why she would try to kill herself. Her answer: She is a lesbian, a fact that her family cannot accept. Her family keeps hoping to pray this "SIN" away. The social worker does her best to convince the family that this is not possible. And I am left wondering how long this woman will suffer the angst of not being accepted as God created her.

I want to reach out to her and let her know that there are churches that believe that she is made in the image of God. That she is valued for the gifts she brings, as a woman, as a latina, as a lesbian. But I know that she suffers because these gifts seem like three strikes against her.
My shame is that the denomination that I belong to, that I minister with, cannot be a church I recommend where she will receive welcoming, healing, and acceptance.

I would personal embrace and defend this woman. I would accept her into my community and my church without condition.... .with the unconditional love God demands from us. She is me, I am her. One in the body of Christ. I am ashamed that my church cannot realize the oneness in Christ.

Unraveling the stitches

Grief upon grief....so much sadness, there aren't enough tears.

Tears for my mother....for all her pain, for all her sadness. For all that she wished she could be. For all the sacrifice she made to make others happy while she fell deeper into lowness and anger.

Tears for what could've been. For choices that I made to compromise. And now I hurt others, hurt myself, loving what could have been, that wasn't meant for me. Knowing I have caused damage to people I love.

Grief upon grief. Bitter tears and little hope. Chances taken that I could become the daughter my mother hoped for, to live the life she dreamed of. And now, she is gone, and my life unravels thread by thread, the picture of my life dissolving from my eyes. That picture was never knotted, never firm, always ready to be unraveled. And so it does. There the canvas is bared
to be threaded again.

This time will there be knots to hold everything in place? A firm foundation on which to build a life?

But then there are threads that can never be pulled. The remainders, firmly knotted, interwoven within the canvas. There remains the foundation that has been created, on which to build. Nurture those threads. And grieve for the others, as the work begins anew.

Tag by Karen

Depth Brings Beauty, Surprise, and Joy

Go Hillary!

I am so glad that I voted for Hillary. I don't know if she'll win, but I am more convinced than every that she is the best candidate.

Finally, there is someone who is speaking and taking stands at political risk for things she believes in. And of course I like her because I agree with the things she stands for.

Today on CNN I heard that she took a stand on the Olympics in China. She doesn't think the President of the United States should be at the opening ceremony as a stand against the human rights violations of China. I think this is a brave and risky stance. But finally, finally, someone is willing to stand up on behalf of people over economics. Hillary is willing to stand up against a nation that has held most favored nation status (China) for years in the U.S. And why have they gained this status....because of the economic prosperity the US gains from this relationship. But human rights violations have been going on for decades. Can anyone forget the college student standing against the tank in Tianman (sp.?) Square?

Then I turned to the Ellen show and heard that she is going to campaign for gay rights in the U.S. She believes that gay couple should be able to become beneficiaries, have entitlement and family priviledges in institutions, insurance, and all the rights married couples have. YES! Someone who is looking out for the marginalized, not the powerful and privileged.

I am proud to have voted for her. I proud of this gutsy woman who is willing to take a stand, even if it means losing her career over it. She is a role model for me and all women, children, and men who believe in truth and justice over economic and political prosperity.

Mom's Eulogy

My mother had a great smile and a hearty laugh. The kind of laugh where you knew that she was in the room. These are some of the things I inherited from her. People say to me, I knew you were here because I heard you laugh. And that laughter was present throughout her life, right up until the end. She had hard times we all know, but she always was quick with a laugh….making someone else break into a smile or hearty laughter………laughing at herself to lessen the seriousness of the moment.
When my mother was undergoing chemotherapy, my kids, husband, and I came to visit her. After greeting her at the door with her carefully placed do-rag as she called it we brought our bags to the back bedroom. There awaited a surprise for us. Growing up my brother had a life-sized bust of Spiderman. It was red plastic with prominent spidey-eyes. As we entered the room we came face to face with Spidey and his carefully placed and coiffed blonde wig. It struck me as funny. My mom….famous for her red hair in high school, hated to lose that wonderful hair because of Chemo. She would gain it all back after her treatment. Still red….naturally red, free from any dye. But in that time of loss….personal loss. She found a way to control that bit of sadness with her great senses of humor. Taking the hair, the fake hair that didn’t quite fit her and bequeathing it to her bald companion Spidey who needed it more than her.
In one of the last conversations I had with my mother, she had plans for escaping out of her ICU bed at Florida Medical Center. She knew she had to go down three floors…..but it made her laugh at herself to know she didn’t know what to do next. And I think we both envisioned her in that backless gown standing in the lobby she had worked in for 20 years. So in that serious time, that time when we both knew my mother was dying, she broke that tension with our great laughs echoing through the phone line. That is what she left me with….that was the last joke I was privileged to hear, to share.
When the times were rough and hard….the sad times, the difficult times…..laughter prevailed for mom comforting her and those around her. That is the gift of joy. Joy isn’t like happiness. It doesn’t come and go….it is always there. Through the good and bad. It brings hope….that there is always room for lightness and laughter even through the most difficult times. This joy is the incredible gift I have received from her. It is the gift many of us had the pleasure to witness.
And so in this time where we mourn our loss….of this great woman who touched all of us in special ways, there remains joy…..and the resounding laughter and smiles present in our memories of her. And hope, that there remain many more laughs in heaven above for all of us when we get to be with her again.
Gracious God, as we remember Carol, Desi, Essie, mom and sister, we know that you blessed us with the gift of laughter, joy, and hope through this beautiful woman. And we thank you for the time we had with her for she lavished us with those gifts you had given. In this time of mourning bring us that joy she taught us, that she would want to give us. Creator of life, who brings love and joy through laughter, we thank you for mom’s life, and we thank you for our lives touched by her. Amen.

Ritual for Mom

As I write this I am doing a ritual. I have sorted through my mother's paperwork. And boy did she save everything, every bill, many receipts. There is tons of information about my mother on these documents from personal information to credit card numbers.



My brother has a shredder at work, but I decided to do a ritual. I am burning all of these documents in an old metal popcorn can my mom had lying around. I find it appropriate that it has snowmen on the outside of it. Of course they're not melting, but they're pretty sooty by now. She had a lot of documents.



I kept all of the important stuff, so don't be worried. I'm finding it very therapeutic to burn these items. It is also very therapeutic to have coconut rum while I am doing it. It's nice to unburden my mother from all of these obligations. Mostly monetary.



But I am saving the best for last. The grande finale will be the medical reports, all the Xrays, physical exams, CT scans that never really diagnosed her with what finally got her in the end. My mom remains an enigma. A woman who can't be predicted. Who can't be pinned down to a single diagnosis.



I will deliciously enjoy watching the cancer, the diabetes, the high blood pressure, the liver disease all go up in flame. I want to unburden her. She is unburdened already, I know. But this is one last gift of freedom I can give.

Too late for goodbye

I tried to make it, I really did. I got a blister on my foot trying. But the airplane was late and I missed my connection. So I spent a night in Las Vegas waiting for another flight. My original flight would have landed at 7:07a.m. She died at 8:45a.m.

She wanted it that way. My mother never did like to say goodbye to me. In fact she would start an argument with me everytime we had to part. It was as if my mom needed to justify leaving me, that somehow it was good that she was leaving because we just couldn't get along or something.

I didn't at the time, but I realize now that it was a mental mechanism for her. A way of coping with having to part.

I said my goodbyes to my mom long ago in some ways. Those times when there is needed separation from such a powerful force in your life. And then I said goodbye a couple of months ago when I knew she was starting to die. I knew and she knew, but it was a secret between us....as mother and daughter....as nurses. We knew she was entering this new phase of her life and had frank discussion about it. Well as much as we could without going into tears, and maintaining our safe distance from one another. It was intimate but not revealing.

That was the nature of our relationship, much love, much respect, much admiration and maybe even appreciation.....but none of that was said. It wasn't stated. We just didn't, couldn't communicate on that level....it was a loss to both of us.

Today my brother and I did the memorial service arrangements. Nothing fancy, but decent enough, all the important elements in place. That too is much like her. All the basics nothing fancy.

But I tell you she was well loved. So many people knew her and loved her. I do too. I really will miss my mom. But the things I do, the joy, the laughter I have reminds me so much of her. It is the gift she has passed along to me. The gracious gift that I hope to pass on to my children.

Many mothers and daughters have difficulties with one another. And believe me, were no different. But right now all those things seem insignificant. I just want her back. That's all. I can take all of her idiosyncracies to hear her great laugh.

But in my mind, in my soul, I can hear it. Praise God.

An Abundance of Peeps

Maybe I was inspired by the peep show on KC's blog. I don't know what got into me...but we have an abundance of peeps this Easter. I started out with yellow and green chicks for Thom my GB Packers fan. But he also said he liked Cocoa peeps (which by the way don't taste like cocoa at all, they just taste like regular peeps) so I bought cocoa peeps in the form of rabbits. We also have blue rabbits too because they're my daughter's favorite.

I say favorite with a bit of reservation. They are their favorites because well they're cute....but I don't think my children will really eat them. Peeps are aptly named....they're fun to look at. Maybe it's the right idea to make them into art. Brings new meaning to the lesson we learned in elementary not to eat our art supplies.

Ok, So Its an Easter Sermon that I start with

It isn't that significant that I start a blog at Easter. Easter week always gets me thinking. But I started thinking about it differently this year. I really looked at Easter through the eyes of a broken world.

It doesn't hurt that I just finished Walter Wink's "The Powers That Be." We often think of the people who killed Jesus, and more often than not the Jewish people were unfairly blamed. This is ridiculous...it wasn't the Jews, it wasn't the Christians, it wasn't even individual sin. What I believe killed Jesus was what Walter Wink calls the powers and principalities. That is, the systems and institutions we have set up as a society, and as nations. These are the governments, businesses, industries, and social instituitions like schools and churches that we have set up as a collective. The problem is they are flawed.

In a world that often runs on fears these flawed institutions hold onto power, resources, and bureaucracy, and none is immuned. These powers and principalities become corrupt at some level and can lead to heinous acts to preserve themselves. That brings me back to Jesus.

The power and principality called Rome killed Jesus. Jesus was a threat to the power, resources, and bureaucracy of the Roman governing system, not to mention religious powers as well. One called on the other to execute action that would ensure maintenance of the status quo. Jesus was a rebel. He dared to live out through action his voice of non-violence.

But I cannot only talk of Jesus' death on Easter Sunday without talking about his resurrection. Whether or not you believe in a bodily resurrection is of no consequence to me. Because regardless Jesus was resurrected. He lives within us. Everytime we take a stand against the status quo on behalf of those who are victims of violence, oppression, and ostracism there Jesus is. That Spirit....that willingness and strength to act against fear and helplessness comes to us. Alleluia. He is risen, risen indeed.