At the Phantom Tollbooth... Concord, New Hampshire

Random Acts of Kindness

                It’s kind of humorous when I think about it now, but at the time, I felt defeated.  As I left the nursing home after visiting my father-in-law, I got in the Silver Bullet and headed back to the cabin.  The tears were coursing down my face as the sky opened up and unleashed a terrible storm.  The torrential downpour outside of the car equaled the emotional upheaval inside of me as I headed up the highway.  I talked, prayed, okay… ranted, as I begged my father in heaven to give me the sight to see the road clearly and the insight as to which way to go.  I felt overwhelmed by all that I had to do, and I felt like a failure with what I had tried to accomplish.  I think that my grandmother used to refer to this dynamic as a good ol’-fashioned “pity party.”  So there I was partying my way up 93 North when I saw the signs alerting me to the fact that there was a tollbooth ahead.  I frantically searched my armrest for the coins I would need to pass through this obstruction in my path.  I found pennies.  I found nickels.  I found Australian coins, but no quarters… nothing that would get me through.  Slowing as I approached the barrier, I reached behind the seat blindly searching for my pocketbook.  As I deciphered its presence and swung it onto my lap, I halted the van at the stall.  I rolled down my window, held up my index finger and asked for her indulgence as I began to scan the deep recesses of the purse for my payment.  Its upright and unbending handles poked into my eyeball, and I was once again blinded by the impalement as well as my own stupefying stupidity.  As this absurd scene continued to unfold and the cars began to impatiently line up behind me, I glanced up sheepishly to see the attendant beaming at me from behind a veil of fog, water and pain. 

                “You may pass on through, Ma’am.  The gentleman in front of you paid your way.  Have a great night.”  My mind was a swirling mass of confusion. 

                “Who?”  I queried while she pointed to the anonymous car speeding away ahead of me.  “…but I don’t know him…”  I floundered futilely for the words to express this misunderstanding.

                “Have a wonderful night!” she cheered.  “Congratulations and thank you.” 

                “Thank YOU,” I bawled as I lowered the purse back to the floor of the car, squinting at the metallic dot on the waning horizon and crying even harder now. 

                …And so it was that when I was feeling the most helpless and lost, a selfless, and presumably random, act of kindness came from out of the clouds to give me courage and help me find my way home. 

 

 

 

Plymouth State University

 

Life’s Little Survival Kit

                I have this group of friends, unofficially dubbed the RaRas, who gather at the pond each year.  Some members of the group protest this name for various reasons,  but I’m not sure what else to call them.  Basically, we address all of life’s big questions over the course of a weekend, reminisce about our life as friends-  family really, and then… rah, rah, I am ready to be propelled back into my life in Nebraska.  To think of it in St. Johnsbury terms, the founding home of the Fairbank’s scale, my life is in balance.  On one side of this scale are my mom and our families, our godchildren, and friends and on the other is our mission:  our vocations in Nebraska with our St. John’s family, school, Spokes, Scouts and Speech. 

                Anyway this summer was a momentous one.  One of our kids will be attending Plymouth State University, our alma mater, in the Fall.  Plymouth was the thread that brought and ties all the RaRas together in one way or another and now the next generation (a.k.a Lindsey) would be using it as her metaphorical dock- jumping off into the big wide lake-world as well.  To signify and celebrate this, the RaRas pulled together a Plymouth State survival kit, but it was more challenging than we originally anticipated to take all of the lessons we learned over our four years at Plymouth and boil them down to tangible objects to symbolize the intangible lessons we learned.  Eventually the survival kit emerged:  a lock, a fire extinguisher, silly putty with sound effects, a paint marker for writing in the snow, a winter tuque and a Vermont tee shirt.  The moral to the these objects-  have fun, be safe and never forget where you come from…

                Our prayer, the real survival kit for you, Lindsey, as you journey off to Plymouth is that you not only have the time of your life as you prepare for YOUR  life’s mission, but that 25 and even 50 years later, you will be surrounded by a group of friends (or dragonflies ;) as the case may be) and their families who continue to inspire you to be the best person you can be and who nourish, support and inspire you along the way.  We love you- RaRa, Lindsey!   xoxo

 

Miles Pond Vermont... We are Sacred Temples…

On my morning walk around the pond, my new friend was communicating his frustration that I was in his habitat.

We are Sacred Temples…

                Many times throughout the school year when I review the upcoming deadlines for English assignments,  a student, having already packed up her handy dandy planner, will begin writing on her palm or wrist or arm or big toe… any available skin.  Inevitably, my hypervigilant eye will spy this blasphemy, and I have been known to screech, “Your body is the temple of the Lord.  Don’t deface YOUR temple.”  This morning in my daily readings, I read again this passage from Corinthians 3:9-11, 16-17, and it made me reflect.

                Spending my summer in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont reminds me of this scripture.  As I work on the cabin to refresh the wear and tear that it has endured over the past year of my absence, there is a sacredness about our ritual.  As I drive down our lane and the pond comes into view, I greet the mountains and wait for the welcoming call of the loons.  I thank God for my safe passage cross country and begin to set the deck furniture in place after I have opened all of the windows, letting a cleansing, cool breeze replace the stale air with the fresh.  I dust off all of the framed and fading pictures that grace the window sills.  A fresh coat of paint does a body good too.  This feels holy to me.  Furthermore, throughout the summer, we travel away from the Pond to other hallowed locales:  cemeteries where the bones of our ancestors are interred;  houses we haunted as children;  libraries and museums, chapels (http://www.chapeloftheholyfamily.com/) and churches as we attend Bible studies, Masses, weddings or funerals.  As I take these pilgrimages in my temple-body, I am often struck by the passage of time and the realization that like the cabin, I must embrace customs that nourish my wellness so that I can radiate Christ’s Light and Love to the world while fulfilling my mission of loving and serving all.

                This spring as the speech season was winding down, I decided to take my sister-in-law Wendy’s “Nourish to Flourish” online nutrition class (http://www.renewwellness.net/).  Inspired by my cousin Asa’s recovery from a severe stroke, I wanted to indeed nourish my body, this vessel given to me by God to do His work in the world.  If in fact, “the Spirit of God dwells in…” me, as I pray each day it does, I want to live long and prosper.  This class opened my eyes as to how the elements that I invite into my body impact my health physically, emotionally, spiritually, and even cognitively.   If the first week of the course felt like my body was immersed in a monsoon as it was striving to strike a balance and repudiate the nutritional sins from my past, the second week brought sunny skies with clear thinking, boundless energy and refreshing renewal.   By the end of the fourth week, I had forged a new foundation for a legacy of healthy living. 

                I do not have a solution to prevent students from writing on themselves, but I do know what I want my body, in communion with this life, to communicate- respect, joy and Love.

               

 

 

Randolph, Nebraska... Happy Anniversary, Babe!

 25 Years and Holding On...

     Okay, so our Anniversary is still about a month away, but my time in Church always inspires me to examine the deeper symbolism in the everyday occurrences in my life.  Today was Palm Sunday, and I thought a lot about Jesus' triumphant arrival into Jerusalem, which inevitably led to his death on the cross, but also to Easter morning.  As Derrick and I approach our 25th wedding anniversary, I thought about how triumphantly we stood before the altar that April day in 1988 in the midst of an ol' fashioned Vermont snowstorm.  By God's Grace, we made it through that storm, and all of the ones that have followed, more humble, grateful and a little bit wiser.   (Our exteriors may be a little more weathered, worn and warped like our dock too...)  I wish I could compose music to express the love and gratitude I feel for our lives together because my husband eats, breathes and thinks in melodies. Me?  I can't carry a tune or ever get the words right. And for a man who takes his music, and his calling, so seriously to be able to accept and appreciate all of my faults and foibles, intentional and unintentional, I feel so blessed.

     My friend, Erin Swenson-Reinhold said it best in her blog about the "Joys of Marriage" as she reflects on a similar dynamic in her own marriage when two different people merge into one life and relationship.  This can be "...quite a challenge...  Merging these two paradigms (Internal Processor- Derrick, the introvert and External Process-Moi, the extrovert) has been a growth process for both of us through the years.  There are times when we do better at listening to and hearing each other...there are times that we fail miserably.  Fortunately, the grace lies in the fact that (we) have chosen to love each other in spite of our differences.  We have chosen to push ourselves out of our natural comfort zone to try and understand the other...particularly during difficult times of life" (http://dinnerinflorida.blogspot.com).   To put it another way, I feel like our marriage and our resulting family are kind of like skipping rocks.  We are all so different that the force of our interactions creates momentum.  That spinning effect we have on each other actually stabilizes us and keeps us afloat, so we don't sink beneath the waves on a daily basis.  Through the love, grace and forgiveness my husband, and now our sons, extend to me each day (along with some healthy doses of laughter), I truly believe that we are helping each other reach Heaven and achieve Salvation along the way.

(Holly Hobby Photography)

To our Son’s new Dominican Mother

The Candle in our Window...

He wanted to save the world even then...

Ian's new home in the Dominican Republic...

February 10, 2013

To our Son’s new Dominican Mother,

          Thank you for taking our son into your home.  We hope that he brings Love, Peace and Joy (along with that Pure Vermont Maple Syrup) to your family while he is there.  Although I have never met you, our lives have been joined forever.  We want you to know that we miss him each and every day, but we're beginning to understand now that, as he discerns his call in this world, his time with you will provide him with new experiences, knowledge and insight that we never could.  Thank you.  The generosity with which you are living out your Vocation by opening your heart and your home inspires me to do more... to be ... more. 

          We knew that Creighton University would change our sons' lives, but we never suspected how much it would impact ours.  In hindsight, we should have.  Each place we have lived while discerning our family Mission has influenced us.  We carry a little piece of each place with us.  So too Ian will change as a result of your presence in his life.  Quite frankly, he already has.  

          When we lived in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, there was a tradition they had there of placing candles in their front windows.  Throughout the years we lived there, we heard MANY different stories about why they do this, but we've adopted two that we share with people who ask us why, even after Advent is over, we have candles in our windows each night.  One story holds that it is a signal to the stranded stranger of warmth, friendship and shelter.  The other meaning holds that it symbolizes loyalty to family and friends away from home (http://www.americanfamilytraditions.com/Candle_in_the_Window.htm).  Our candles are burning brightly in Nebraska tonight for our Beautiful Boy who is falling asleep under your roof for the first time.  Our candles are burning brightly tonight, so that you know, if you ever find yourself on this distant shore, you have a place to call home. 

With love and gratitude-

Ian's American Mom

         

         

Australia

Happy New Year!

  

My Epiphany

     It seems fitting that I would return to Nebraska from Australia on The Epiphany.  As I sat my mopey, jet-lagged self down, and I listened to the readings and Derrick's sermon this morning, I had an EPIPHANY of my own.  I have heard the story of the Magi every year for my entire life and even fancied myself like the fourth Magi... the uncoordinated, unwise, but well-meaning one, of course.  Like the Three Kings, I have spent my whole life seeking Him too while trying to love all and serve all those around me, interpreting the signs as I go.  This year the story of the wise men took on a new form to me, I realized, as I transformed my metaphorical faith journey into a pilgrimage to Australia to be with my Cousin Asa and his family as he recovers from a stroke.  

     This was a trip born out of great love and longing;  the star is my cousin Asa.  His love and his courage, to overcome what must be darkness at times, inspire me daily.  In some ways, maybe the star is also the obsession I have to reconciling all that is family to me.  I always felt that this came from my Faith in an indescribably seamless way, but maybe it was some unfinished business I felt I had WITH or had to do FOR my Dad.  My Father's love was always a guiding light in my life, and it still is.  So I went to Australia on my mission to BRING healing.  I left home on Christmas Day, was stuck in the San Francisco Airport for three days, slept in the same clothes, missed Sydney and my cousin Rebecca completely as I cried, prayed and petitioned.  My friend Cathy visited me each day, and like a hip and incredibly beautiful muse, helped me to see the LIGHT.  I felt much darkness because I had come so far, and sacrificed so much.  I couldn't reconcile that I was powerless to overcome the dark obstacles that blocked my journey.  Graciously, Cathy lent me her light as she led me back to my own, and eventually I escaped the desert that was for me, the San Francisco International Airport.  

     When I finally got to Australia, I longed to be the LIGHT and LOVE ambassador to my cousins.  Instead I received it at every turn.  The warmth and gracious hospitality that I felt in the homes where we stayed lulled me to sleep each night.  The support of my loving family back home spurred me to seize each moment I had there, so I basked in the warm and brilliant Australian landscapes.  The scrumptious food nourished my soul, and the laughter we shared filled me with absolute JOY and contentment.  

     This ironic epiphany rushed over me at Church this morning...I brought presents (and my entire heart and soul with me) to Australia, and even though it wasn't gold, frankincense or myrrh, I was given the greatest gift by Asa and my family-  I was the one who has been inspired, healed and sent forth to be Christ's light and love in the world again...

You shall see and be radiant. (Isaiah 60:5)

What's in a Name? A Rose by Any Other Name...

     When we named the Black Bear Bungalow seven years ago, it was quite a process.  We wanted the cabin to choose its own name, and it did, in effect, when a little black bear came tumbling out of the woods by the garage one day. 
     What shall the new addition to the family compound be named?  Anyone?  Anyone?