Concordia University, Seward, Nebraska

Speech Camp!

 ... and so it begins!

My Short Mind...

     Mindfulness

     My Mom turns 80 in May and, as my siblings and I discuss how to how honor her faith-filled life, I know one thing that brings her great joy-  telling stories about me.  This past summer, for example, as we had dinner with our friends Dot, Sandy and their entire family and, because they missed out on these tantalizing anecdotes as I was growing up, my mother had the entire family rapt in laughter around the supper table for hours with my coming of age stories.  Quite frankly it's hard to tell, of all of my misadventures, which ones bring her the most joy.  I assure you that she never found this much joy in my sins and foibles at the time, but now, with the fermentation of years, she comes alive telling these tales.  I guess I would have to say that perhaps her favorite story from my checkered past highlights my wandering ways.  Like the courtesy stories of the ancient past, our Mimi uses these stories to instruct the generations of what NOT to do, and Ladies and Gentlemen, I am a living legend in this area.  If only I knew then what I know now, but alas, that was not to be...
     When I was a wee lass, my mam had me play outside while she was, no doubt, toiling away inside of house.  I'm not sure where my siblings were in this story... no doubt coaxing me astray, but they are not featured prominently in her telling of this tale.  As she turned back to go into the house from the porch, she strictly forbade me,  with her piercing blue eyes flashing, to leave the fenced in yard an "or else!"   Can you see where this story is headed?  The next thing she knew, when she came out to check on me or perhaps even bring me back inside the house, I was gone.  The real clincher of the story resumes when she eventually found me.  Apparently, I had wandered four houses away and when she chastised me by saying, "I told you not to leave the yard!" I retorted...wait for it..., "But, Mommy, you know that I have a short mind."  And oh, doesn't she howl with laughter at this part of the story... It's all she can do to finish the story about dragging me and my bike,training wheels and all, back to the house on Caledonia Street and, with every step I took, she spanked me harder and harder.  Never one to be short of a good comeback, Mom is less than amused when she reports that I chastised her right back saying, "It is not polite to spank your kids in front of the neighbors."  Don't get me wrong, I am grateful that, in my nearly 50 years, I have brought so much joy and laughter to so many, but as my mother recounts this story, I always reply, "I still hold with that statement.  I do have a short mind."  It's true;  I do.
     As I embarked on Advent this Fall, I also began a Health Quest and continue to actively seek to change my short mindedness in all aspects of my big-girl life-  in my relationships, in my teaching and coaching, in my praying, in my eating and moving, and even in my driving... in all aspects of my living.  The quest for better health and wellness that I began with my Nourish to Flourish class (https://www.facebook.com/RenewWellnessCoaching) was the foundation and now my Weekend Warrior class (https://www.facebook.com/pages/Kaylies-Food-Fitness) continues to help me strengthen my core from within.  I am sure that I will continue to be fodder for my mother's stories in the future, but I don't want my short mind to define me anymore.  I want mindfulness to characterize all of my actions and my interactions for my next 50 years.  And so I begin again... 

(halfmoonyoga.org)

     In the meantime, I would invite all of our family and friends to celebrate our mom in this year ahead.  If you have stories about Mom jot them down and send them to me.  If you get a moment in your day, drop her a line and then, come May 12th or slightly later as the case may be, we hope to call to mind the stories of her life as we celebrate her.  Please pray for her, ever mindful of the fact that, as all of us have faced our misadventures, she has spent her life holding all of us close in prayer.

    

On the Phone....In the Middle of the Night...for an Ultimate Communication

All Saints' Day- All Souls' Day

pic from usdailyreview.com

     When the phone rings in the middle of the night, albeit at 3:43 in the morning, it literally takes my breath away.  There is a certain panic that rushes through my brain and screams, "Who is it?  What's happened?" So a couple of weeks ago, when the phone rang at 3:43 in the morning, I raced across the parsonage from the bedroom to the kitchen, hurdling sleeping dogs and and computer cords and grabbed the parsonage phone sitting on the counter.  "St. John's Parsonage..."  I breathlessly offered in the guise of my most professional persona. On the other end of the phone came sounds that I can only describe as being from far out in another galaxy.  It sounded like a transportation center from the cosmos with voices and noises that were indiscernible.  "Hello?  Can I help you?"  No answer but chaotic bruit.  My heart was pounding, my brain was reeling, but I hung up and made my way back to the comfort of my warm bed. I no sooner had shut my eyes and was trying to steady myself with some deep breathing when the parsonage phone rang again.  3:46 AM.  I read the clock and this time in slow, determined motion I pounded my way into the kitchen, answered the phone, spoke my litany of responses, but the only reply was the garbled sounds of people speaking under water ....through tin cans.... half way across the world.  And although I made my way back to bed, it was fruitless.  I was up for the day.  I pondered how phones ring in the middle of the night and tried to shake that ominous feeling.

     As I made my way into my morning routine, I was knee deep in my daily devotions at 4:20 AM when the parsonage phone came to life again.  This time, wide awake, I turned to the phone, looking at it like it was possessed.  I read the caller ID and it read, "Ultimate Communications" and I couldn't quite believe what I was seeing.  Ultimate Communications, a local business in downtown Randolph, was owned by my dear friend Bob who passed away on July 13, 2014.  Although it was still in business, I was confused.  I picked up the phone and trembling said, "Hello?"  This time I heard a very distinct voice reciting an incantation from an answering machine, "You have reached Ultimate Communications.  We can't come to the phone right now..."  Stunned, I just stared at the receiver and said, "but you called me."  I made my way back to the bedroom,and I explained to my groggy spouse what had just transpired and, in my overly analytical way, what I thought it could mean.  "Something's wrong with the phone lines..." he tried to assure me.  In my mind, it was something more.   I made my way to the prayer chair and said a rosary in thanksgiving for my friend Bob.

     Last night while I sat at church reading the bulletin about the Festival of All Saints, I thought of Bob again and my phone calls in the middle of the night.  *I listened to readings from "Revelation" and "1 John" as Les rang the church bell for each member of the congregation who "in the last year have died in Christ and entered life eternal."  Derrick read the Gospel from "Matthew", and it was like I was hearing the Beatitudes for the first time.  I renewed my fervent commitment to live a holy life, be a sign of Christ's Love and Light to others, phone calls or no phone calls.  Thanks, Bob.  Thank you for reaching out and touching me during your life and even now.  I guess my little reminder the other morning really was the ultimate in communication.

 

*From the bulletin..."The festival of All Saints occurs just as the landscape in the northern hemisphere heralds the dying of plants and the quiet of winter rest.  In like manner, the readings and liturgy of this day call us to rejoice in all the saints:  those who have died and now rest in Christ, those who live now, and those yet to come.  As the church year draws to a close, we hear warnings about the end of time, stories of crisis and judgment, and parables of loss and death.  The Christian community speaks honestly about human frailty and mortality.  At the same time, we confess our faith in the risen Lord, in the communion of saints, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting.  While both life and death may bring us fear and uncertainty, the liturgy calls us in life and in death.  Christ has claimed us in baptism and nourishes us in the new Jerusalem.  There we shall join all saints in praise of God, who has turned our graves into the doorway to eternal life."

Room 115

Rushing Headlong into Monday

     My sister and I were talking on Facebook this morning at 4 AM about the fact that we were both up at that hour rushing headlong into our Mondays and whether or not, this made us "crazy."  That question resonated with me on the whole drive into my classroom this morning...  I guess it's kinda true.  

     I woke up at 3:23 this morning and talked myself into going back to sleep for 20 minutes.  I wanted to sleep longer.  I probably needed to sleep longer, but at 3:43 AM I couldn't.  I was so excited to greet my Monday, tiptoeing around my sleeping family members while waking my snoozing pups, and see my students whom I missed on Friday when I attended the NSCTA conference in Grand Island.  Every Monday morning, I can't wait to hear about their weekend adventures.  I can't wait to tell them about mine.  I greet my mile-long list of things to do with a breathless adrenalin rush as I also run through my litany of things that I feel exceptionally grateful for this morning...

• I love that this morning I looked in the mirror and I had two fat, juicy pimples staring back at me...
• I love that I am going gray... well, sorta...
• I love the fact that I am married to my best friend who embraces my brokenness and laughs with me and at me...
• I love that even though our sons haven't figured out what they want to do with their amazing lives and talented selves, I know with an unbreakable faith that they will figure it out and help to make the world a better place...
• I love that my siblings, cousins, my family and friends are sharing this journey with me...
• I love that every morning I feel like I am driving through a tunnel of corn or snow or cows...
• I actually love that, on any given day, I really never know who is sleeping in our home 1500 miles away from where I sleep most days...
• I love the fact that I serve a God who forgives me my epic failings every single day and who must really have a twisted sense of humor too...

     I'll probably be blasting the Boomtown Rats song, "I Don't Like Mondays" when my students walk into the room today, but I have a confession to make... I love Mondays actually.  Call me crazy!

Grand Island, Nebraska at the NSCTA Convention

Listening, Speaking and Connecting...    

 while

...In the Family Genealogy...

     My Uncle Lowell loved his family, documenting our history, and kept meticulous records that we cherish to this day.  So as I was away from the parsonage for the last couple of days while attending the Nebraska Speech Communication and Theatre Association convention in Grand Island, I was thrilled when I received a text from Colin, who is still rehabbing from his auto wreck back in August.  One of the many blessings embedded in this horrible accident and injuries that Colin sustained is that he has had to the time to resurrect Uncle Lowell's research on our family tree and expand upon it.  It is a passion, a calling and a mission as he connects the dots of our past with our present and future generations.

     So I received this text, in between sessions at the convention, because Colin had just discovered that Pilgrim and ancestor John Alden's son, John Alden, was accused of witchcraft during the Salem Witch Trials of 1692.  And there it was.... some how across time, the story of Colin's 10th great grand uncle reminds me of why I do what I do.  Through teaching and coaching Speech, we want to help students discover their own voices, find confidence in who they are and inspire them to right the wrongs (or at least confront the evils) in the world.  This crosses over into my family mission as well, and this helped me to connect some dots this past weekend as well.  

     My Uncle Lowell was a great, but humble man, and I miss him so very much.  He left behind a powerful legacy that, I pray, will live on in our family for many generations to come as we step out in the future and contribute our own narratives! 

John Alden’s Account of His Witch Trial Examination

Posted on March 6, 2012 by Rebecca Beatrice Brooks from historyofmassachusetts.org

Captain John Alden Jr., the son of Mayflower pilgrim John Alden, was a merchant from Boston who was accused of witchcraft by a local child during the Salem Witch Trials in 1692.

Alden had stopped at Salem in May on his way home from Quebec where he had arranged the release of British soldiers captured at the Candlemas attack in York, Maine.

After he was accused, police officials brought Alden to the Salem court for questioning. Alden wrote his own account of this examination and the events of the courtroom that day, during which he suggested the afflicted girls at the center of the hysteria, whom he referred to as “wenches,” were merely pretending to be bewitched and also said they were being prompted by a man standing behind them to name Alden as a witch:

“Those wenches being present, who plaid their jugling tricks,
falling down, crying out, and staring in peoples faces; the Magistrates demanded of them several times, who it was of all the people in the room that hurt them? one of these accusers pointed several times at one Captain Hill, there present, but spake nothing; the same accuser had a man standing at her back to hold her up; he stooped down to her ear, then she cried out, Aldin, Aldin afflicted her; one of the Magistrates asked her if she had ever seen Aldin, she answered no, he asked her how she knew it was Aldin? She said, the man told her so.”

Although the girls had never met Alden before and had never seen him, his name was not unfamiliar to them thanks to numerous rumors around town that Alden was supplying the French military and Wabanaki Indians in Maine with ammunition and supplies during the ongoing King William’s War, according to the book “In the Devil’s Snare: The Salem Witchcraft Crisis of 1692″:

“But the precipitating factor that caused the authorities to finally move against Alden, who, according to one document, had been ‘complained of a long time,’ seems to have been news conveyed to Boston by Elisha Hutchinson on May 19. Two recent escapees from the Indians near Pentagoet had just arrived at Portsmouth, he revealed. They reported that ‘Castene had been at the port whence they came…Expecting to find goods there which he sayd Capt Alden owes him & promist to leave there, but finding none threatens what he will do when he meets him againe.’ The information that their greatest French enemy, Castene, has been ‘promist’ goods by John Alden appears to have been the last straw. Nine days later, John Alden was formally accused of being in league with the devil.”  

One of the afflicted girls, Mercy Lewis, lost her parents in an Indian attack in Maine, prompting many historians to speculate that the girls believed Alden was indirectly responsible for their deaths, as well as the deaths of many others, and accused him of witchcraft in retaliation. This theory is further supported by the fact that during the examination, Alden writes of one of the girls outright accusing him of selling supplies to the Indians as well as fathering illegitimate children with Indian women:

“Captain Alden Denounced” Illustration by Charles Reinhardt, circa 1878

“Then all were ordered to go down into the street, where a ring was made; and the same accuser cried out, ‘there stands Aldin, a bold fellow with his hat on before the judges, he sells powder and shot to the Indians and French, and lies with the Indian squaes, and has Indian papooses.’”

Realizing the danger he was in, Alden held no hope for a fair trial and sought other means of escaping his fate. After being held in a Boston jail for over four months, Alden managed to escape the jail in September with the help of some of his friends and fled immediately for New York where several other accused witches were hiding out.

It wasn’t until the witch trial hysteria began to die down that winter that Alden declared “the public had reclaimed the use of its reason” and decided to go back to Salem and post bail. He finally appeared in court on April 25 of 1693, after the hangings had stopped, and his case was dismissed.

Sources:

University of Virginia; Important Person in the Salem Court Records: http://salem.lib.virginia.edu/people?group.num=all&mbio.num=mb45

University of Virginia; Salem Witch Trial; John Alden: http://salem.lib.virginia.edu/texts/tei/BoySal1R?div_id=n6&term=&name=lewmer

“In the Devil’s Snare: The Salem Witchcraft Crisis of 1692″; Mary Beth Norton; 2007

“The Salem Witch Trials”; Lori Lee Wilson; 1997

Rochester, New York...

Michelle

 R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

Carole

     As I drove across New York State this summer, historical markers drew my attention to some national issues that erupted around the Rochester, New York area, "The birthplace of women's rights" (visitrochester.com).  How is it that with my open driving eyes, I never saw the markers before?  Why do I continue to be blind to oppression in all of its forms, and what is it about tonight, when my eyes should be shut, that I am haunted by all they represent?
     Sometimes, The Women's Movement seems far away from me in the year 2014, even when I open up the evening paper and read the front page headlines about the Ray Rice case.  It's too horrible to imagine, and I haven't watched the video.  I can't.  But at the same time I insulate myself from this harsh reality, I thank God that I have been given every opportunity in my life to voice my opinions without fear, and I can succeed in the goals that I set.  How complacent we can get when we lose the opportunity to struggle, and it's times like these that I remember my friends Carole and Michelle.               

      Carole, a classmate and Michelle, a colleague were both smart, beautiful and vivacious women in the prime of their lives when they were killed by their husbands.  Sometimes I feel guilty on a night like tonight when our family is sitting around the supper table talking about our adventures, our brokenness and misadventures really, and just laughing.  We are far from the picture perfect family, please don't get me wrong, but I think about what dinners must have been like for Carole, Michelle and countless other victims who are terrorized in their own homes.  I recognize how I could very easily have gone down so many different paths during the "search and rescue" phase of my life, than the one that led me to my beloved husband and partner.  

     Michelle and Carole's legacy to me each day is to embrace my own brokenness, help others to heal, try to empower those with whom I come in contact and find joy in the life I have been given.  I joined the Amazon Smile program in honor of Carole so that with each purchase I make- some of the proceeds go to our favorite Essex Junction High School Class of '83 charity, "Women Helping Battered Women, Inc."  Frankly, it doesn't seem like enough.  October is Domestic Violence Awareness month, and The National Coalition Against Domestic Violence sponsors a "Remember My Name" project, a national registry to increase public awareness of domestic violence deaths (http://www.ncadv.org/programs/RememberMyNameProject.php).  Their motto is "Every Home A Safe Home."  Safe home... now that seems to me to be a basic human right, male or female.      

(Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton

 from

http://nysparks.com/historic-preservation/heritage-trails/womens-heritage/default.aspx)