The Unexpected Life

Christmas Eve found me in the front pew of a charming California stone church with clerestory stained glass windows and an actual nave dominated by  a majestic stained glass depiction of Emmanuel as shepherd, the One for whom we’ve made this pilgrimage at all. The pews behind me were filled with those also seeking Him, and the social halls received live streaming for the church’s parishioners who were unfortunate enough to arrive less than an hour before schedule.  My row was filled not with my biological family but instead one of my chosen families with whom I have shared life for more than 20 years – heartaches and heartbeats, tears and laughter, hopes and desolation, and all surviving multiple continents. This was not my home church, not even my hometown, but this was where I had chosen to be.

I had driven 6 hours almost on a whim. I had come because I felt the need for a thin place. Do you know the concept? The Catholic priest, Fr. Richard Rohr, ascribes the idea of a “thin place,” a place where God is close enough to touch, close enough to feel, to the Celts. “The edge is a holy place, or as the Celts called it, ‘a thin place’ and you have to be taught how to live there.” (Richard Rohr, Life on the Edge: Understanding the Prophetic Position, 2011.) But there is some debate about whether the concept predates the Celts; I’m not about to argue. My only care is that I needed my “thin place.” I needed to touch God. Continue reading →

In the South we have levels of “tacky.” I can’t speak for other parts of the country; I’m just sharing my personal knowledge. Take it for what it’s worth. The lowest and, therefore, semi-acceptable level, allowing for discreet display is “fun.”

No where else in the country is the word “fun” nuanced in such a way, but if you have ever attended any gift-giving occasion in the land of true Southerners, you, my friend, know exactly that of which I speak.  Gift opened, and you watch as the receivers eyes glazed slightly, lips pursed a tad, and after the slightest of pauses exclaimed in the sugary sweetest of voices, “Oh, how FUN!”

The second level of “tacky,” is just that – “tacky.” Acceptability at this level and appropriateness of display of “tacky” vary widely unless, of course, you belong to the DAR, Junior League, or Daughters of the Confederacy. I’m pretty sure it’s in the by-laws of these organizations that displays of tacky are barred for all members, and are, in fact, cause for immediate dismissal. Continue reading →

I wasn’t going to decorate for Christmas at all this year – no tree, no lights, no huge stocking on the front door. I was boycotting the holiday, and this from a girl who loves her Christmas – tacky bows and all. Frankly, I feel like I’ve been on a treadmill that runs the full length of I-10 from Phoenix to Tucson, my little Volkswagen sucked under the belly of the machine then spit back on top only to repeat less than a week later. I was bone-weary tired, and, really, what was the point of dragging all of those boxes of ornaments and such out anyway? I wouldn’t be in my house any single stretch of time long enough to enjoy them fully. If you’re thinking of any version of Dickens’ Christmas Carol, even the one with Mickey Mouse, feel free to visualize because that was exactly how I was feeling.

Then today, as I sat in my completely non-festive living room, staring at my options for viewing choices on Netflix and Hulu, the holiday movies started popping up. (Has anyone noticed that all the contemporary holiday movies are taking on a decidedly romantic vibe? Please explain that to me. Did someone hire my nemesis, N. Sparks, to write Christmas movies???) Suddenly my front window devoid of its seasonal Charlie Brown tree seemed incredibly sad to me, and I just couldn’t stand another moment of the thought of canceling my own Christmas. Continue reading →

A few weeks ago, a lovely little envelope arrived in snail mail that was actually real mail. I don’t know about you, but my heart just thrills anytime I receive actual, personal mail. (There would be a few qualifiers, but I won’t go into that.). When I open the mailbox and find a gem of a letter or card snuggled in among the catalogs, credit card solicitations, and coupons, I do my own little version of a touchdown victory dance standing right there beside the bank of mailboxes. (It’s okay; laugh if you must.)

I waited to open the little envelope until I had reached the kitchen counter and dispensed with the rest of the mail (trash compactor). Then, of course, because I’m Southern, I carefully cut a horizontal line straight across the top of the top of the envelope with my Sterling silver, monogrammed letter-opener. (No, not really. I tore into it with my veritably non-existent fingernails. I believe I own a letter-opener, possibly two, not silver and certainly not monogrammed. I have no idea where I put them.) My fingers liberated the card.  Then, my eyes quickly scanned it, and I smiled. Then, I reread it. Huh, but still smiling. Continue reading →

My brother, M, turns 42 today, but he will celebrate his day deployed to a country half a world away, defending our freedom – the only job he has in his entire life wanted to do. From the time he was a very small child, M would tell people that he was going to be a soldier, and he enlisted in the Air Force directly out of our senior year in high school to become an USAF cop. Twenty three years and lifetimes later he is an expert in his field, requested by name for his past two duty stations, and one of the best men I know.

When my mother welcomed her infant son those four decades ago, she was determined that her son would never touch a gun. (Somewhat ironic considering that she had married a man who intentionally got himself tossed out of Virginia Tech with the sole purpose of going to Vietnam. Hmmh…) Then when M was less than 18- months old, sitting in his highchair while eating his lunch, he chewed his toast into the shape of a gun and pretended to shoot our mother with it. I guess you could say he was destined for his career path. Continue reading →

So, today was a glorious blue-sky, 80 degrees, Phoenix Autumn day, and I couldn’t help myself. I just had to run. Now, here’s the deal: you CANNOT tell my mother. I’m not afraid anymore of much this world holds (Not afraid?,  you ask. Hold that thought.), but I still have a Southern girl’s healthy respect for her mama. Any girl who claims a Southern heritage but denies that her mama scares her just a bit is lying about one of those two things; don’t trust her as far as you can throw her.

Anyhow, moving along, this being my second run since falling so ill several months ago, it was slowwwww and not very far, but I did it. (Can you tell I’m quite pleased with myself? That’s what the bold type was for.) I wasn’t too far from home, when a flyer stapled to a telephone pole caught my eye, not because it was a bright color or fancy font but because it was about a lost puppy, and you know how I feel about dogs.   Then something else, something odd, made my eyes pop wide, and my feet almost jolted to a stop.

The puppy, a very sweet, fluffy little guy, was named “Simba.” Okay, now I’m all for people being allowed to name their animals (and children) pretty much anything they want, and having been a school nurse I have heard some super offbeat names. Continue reading →

I lie awake at night afraid to close my eyes. I’m an insomniac by nature, but now I have a reason. I know what I will see, what I will hear: the Bataclan at night with the explosions destroying the lives inside, or worse – the aftermath. So, instead I lie staring at the ceiling. Slowly, my chest starts to compress and I feel like I’m trying to breathe underwater. Enough!

I climb out of bed trying not to disturb the blanket of dogs surrounding me – only one of them is mine. The rest are a normal fixture here with my parents, but mostly they’re a comfort on night like this. I smile at them as they snore. Jug lifts his head, decides he should follow. Then we head for the kitchen. In my “real” life, this is when I’d tie on my running shoes and head out the door, but that hasn’t been a possibility for months. So, instead, I head for the coffee maker. Continue reading →

If through our lives we are to bring glory to the One who created us, then does our death serve that same noble purpose? This question gnaws at the corners of my consciousness more and more frequently as people I know or know of depart this life. Some of these people I know well, some just tangentially through family or friends, but all leave me pondering that same question.

This week my friend from childhood, S, lost his brother which also means his mother and father lost their son, a wife her husband, and a child his father. I’d never met S’s brother, but the entire family has always lived out their amazing life of faith, an inspiring life of faith, really. But no matter how deep their faith canyon cuts or how fast their belief rapids run, I still can’t imagine the strength that must be needed to carry them through a situation that feels Salvador-Dali-surreal. I suppose that’s how we know human strength alone has long since fled, and God alone holds them all in His strong, capable arms. Continue reading →

Off of I-19 headed from Tucson south to Mexico lies the Tohono O’oodham Nation’s reservation. As you approach this sovereign yet long since subjugated people’s tribal territory, glistening in the bright desert sunlight rises a magnificent white emblem of their history, America’s policy of manifest destiny history, and the history of Spain’s Conquistador’s all gently blurred at the edges by time and romantic notions – the San Xavier del Blac Mission.

The Mission, initially established by the Jesuit priest Fr. Kino more than 300 years ago, was not this beautiful church itself. No, instead, it was the message of Christ and his love brought to a nation, in Spain’s estimation, of heathens in desperate need of salvation. No telling what the “heathens” themselves thought.   The Mission has survived, transferred hands to the Franciscans, then abandoned at one point by the Roman Catholic Church completely for some 70 years, only to have the Catholic church return in 1912 to find that the Tohono O’oodham had, for their part, maintained their unique blend of Catholic Christianity and traditional religion. Today the Mission still functions as an active Roman Catholic parish and school. And it is magnificent. Continue reading →

What did you loose this morning as you were getting ready to run out the door? Keys? Phone? Coffee cup? Maybe the baby strapped in the carrier? You ran back frantically searching under the sofa cushions (keys), the bathroom counter tops (coffee mug), and the upstairs landing (baby). Finding them all, heaved that sigh of relief. First gold star of the day: you have it together, babe. No fire in the kitchen, everyone is breathing, and you even remembered to put on your underwear.

These little lapses of memory, so easily correctible, are simply a matter of attention and focus. When life calms a little, like in 18 years when that last baby is sent off to college, you’ll have time to breathe again. But in the intervening years, what will you have lost to the chaos? Yourself? Connection with your spouse? Connection with your Lord? Continue reading →