His and Hers

There are two chairs by the side of the road. Abandoned partners. His and Hers.

This is a scene right out of Pixar’s animated movie UP, only the chairs have been lifted from Paradise Falls and set down here at the edge of 5 Mile Road. I am looking for balloons caught in the trees – colorful gumballs disappearing into the stratosphere, a chubby Wilderness Explorer named Russell hiding beneath the porch or a rare bird named Kevin following me.

This lonely upholstered pair is “For Sale” and I wonder what memories come with them. Did they seat a couple who dreamed of going places never realized? Or, are the chairs extra baggage – being sold to fund the next big adventure. Maybe this is about survival in these poor economic times. Or perhaps, they just got old. (The chairs that is.)

We have an empty nest facing us in this next month or so and I wonder about the chairs in our home. They have wide, soft memories. They have seated us well in this great adventure. We could be like Carl, the balloon salesman in the film. It could take a court order and the lift of 10,000 helium balloons to get us off our behinds.

Or… we could avoid all the fuss of talking Dobermans in biplanes (sorry, you’ll have to see the movie for that). We could make a choice now to set those chairs purposefully… atop our own Paradise Falls… to serve as our Ebenezer as we move on to the next leg in this big adventure.

“The word "Ebenezer" comes from Hebrew and is actually two words pronounced together: Even Haazer. Written in Hebrew it looks like this:

It is usually transliterated as a proper name by dropping the definite article (Ha) from the Hebrew word for "help" (Ezer) and putting it together with the Hebrew word for "stone" (Even) to create: "Ebenezer." The etymological roots of the word, thus defined, should demonstrate that an "Ebenezer" is, literally, a "Stone of Help."

Literally speaking, an Ebenezer is a "stone of help," or a reminder of God’s Real, Holy Presence and Divine aid. Spiritually and theologically speaking, an Ebenezer can be nearly anything that reminds us of God’s presence and help…” - Dr. Gregory S. Neal

Our Night Sky

“The reason why the universe is eternal is that it does not live for itself; it gives life to others as it transforms”
- Lao Tzu

This past week we celebrated our son’s graduation from high school with an open house gala. I spent hours gathering photos for the memory boards. As I charted his life thus far in images, certain aspects of his personality gravitated toward each other and shone like bright constellations. Here was Hercules, strong-willed and determined, from scaling fences at age two to winning the “Iron Man” award at age seventeen. There the Chamaeleon - from pirate to cowgirl to goodwill hunter to prom king – creative and adaptable.

I did not get a chance to leisurely observe the completed boards until this week. And, like gazing up at the Milky Way on a clear night, I was overcome. This galaxy known as 'son' pulses like a quasar and what a mystery and privilege it is to be considered Co-creator.

Shoes

I’ve come into the house momentarily blind from running in the blazing sun. I am quick to kick these sweaty shoes into a dark rectangle otherwise known as the hall closet. The Asics are still airborne when I realize I have to go back outside and fill the bird feeders. Feeling around with feet only, I slip on a pair of my clogs and head out the door.

Back in the light of day, I am startled to find very masculine dress shoes awkwardly clinging to my feminine feet. (I thought they felt a little loose!)

I’m wearing someone else’s shoes and wonder if I would have stepped into them as quickly and genuinely with open eyes.

Bread and Wine

I am in town and hungry. Though the dulling edge of spring air slices its way through layers of sunlight, I am not about to miss this opportunity for a helping no matter how poorly served. In fact, I’ll take 2nds... and maybe 3rds, thank you very much!

That is how I find myself here, at an outdoor table by the river. That I am the only one on the patio is more perplexing. Has the absence of sun all these long winter months made for a slow thawing of the heart? I can relate, but am quick to forgive on account of the fact that I don’t want to miss a day of it. I think the people inside are missing out.

“Are you O.K. way over here on your own?”

This question from the server is innocent enough, but unsheathes a double-edged sword. Perhaps I am missing out as well.

She sets the food in front of me. My portion of sunlight arrives, illuminating the bread and wine.

“… the holy meal, epitomized in the bread and wine shared by Abraham and Melchizedek… this primal meal wasn’t intended as an expression of exclusion… It was a meal of peace and fellowship, bringing together two different people with their different religious traditions. The sacred meal in this light becomes a celebration of hospitality, of community, of inclusion, and of reconciliation.”
- Finding Our Way Again, Brian McLaren

New Life

We have a cardinal couple nesting in our yard this spring. The cedar tree has come alive with the sweet chirping of hatchlings. We've watched mom and dad dart to and fro gathering food, defending the nest and tending their young.

This evening, I went out to prop up an unruly Wisteria and came face to face with this little one perched in the tangle of vines, appearing just as unruly and bold. He's caught in the awkward “in-between” - that of home within reach and moving on into the wide, wild world. So familiar, so like a young man I know.

Henry and the Poison Puddle

“Small relics of the mouldering mass were left,
at once of substance as of form bereft;
dissolved the whole in liquid poison ran,
and to a nauseous pool shrunk the man.”
Dante’s ‘Divine Comedy’ as translated by Henry (Wadsworth Longfellow)

photo by Christy Berghoef

Henry introduced me to the poison puddle. I had barely arrived at Bryan and Christy’s before his small hand gently but firmly grasped mine, guiding me to the back porch amid emphatic exclamations of “I have to SHOW you something!” There was no question that Henry's brother Winston, like Aaron to Moses of old, would accompany his brother in case he suddenly was at a loss for words. Somehow I doubted that would happen, assured that between the two of them I would get a complete and thorough introduction to the ‘SOMETHING’.

I waited patiently while the brothers donned the appropriate garments for the ritual of entering the sacred tent of Northern Michigan drizzle; first zipping then buckling up their rain slickers and smartly sliding small feet into rubber clogs to ground their tiny bodies to the earth in the event of a lightning strike. I felt self-consciously under dressed and unprepared as I pulled the hood of my wool sweater over my head and slogged out into this mystery in leather sandals. Henry, however, kept my hand firmly in his and guided me along the path, through the garage and into the drive in the back of the house.

There it was. The poison puddle.

We all squatted down, heads together in fascination at the evil slick of silver-gray that ominously snaked its way through the water.

“It’s oil! It’s poison!! Don’t TOUCH it!!!”

A command that both threatens and invites.

We looked long and hard. We considered it carefully. And we all agreed. We would avoid that puddle.

photo by Christy Berghoef

With the understanding of that boundary out of the way, we were free to explore the alleyway. I wisely took my sandals off and rolled up my pant legs in anticipation of some serious puddle jumping. We spent the next ten minutes relishing the gift of rain and praising its visceral qualities with our feet.

While the boys were still caught up in the moment, I apologized that my fun had to end and turned back to the garage. I had gone no more than 5 feet when the laughter stopped and the panic-stricken voice of Henry (followed by Winston’s) gave me quite a start!

“ANGELA! THE POISON!! STOP!!!”

There I was, about to put my bare foot right IN the poison puddle and just as suddenly, Henry was at my side – his hand in mine again.

Disaster averted.

Great relief flooded us all and we turned back to the house together.

I’ve been thinking about that puddle. There is something both terrible and fascinating about it. I think Henry and Winston get this and that is why they are wise to go out in pairs and not leave each other alone. I think they are wise because inside us all is the desire to test that poison puddle. Maybe it is on a day when the sun starts to shine again and that icy gray slick pulses like a rainbow. Maybe it is inadvertent – we are just going along unaware and step directly into it.

That’s why we need our Henrys and Winstons. We need to stick together. We need to stare in fascination and horror into the poison puddle together, to know it through and through so that we become convinced of its lethal dose on sight alone. It is this awareness that then provokes us to virtually throw ourselves in the path of a brother or sister who is about to take the plunge.

As a final note, I went out running today. It’s still drizzling. There are still puddles. This became painfully evident as I was rudely baptized with mud by a passing car. Just as I was about to curse the driver, I thought of Henry and the poison puddle. Maybe this dousing wasn’t malicious. Maybe people are mostly driving through life with no awareness of the puddles around them. Maybe they are waiting for their Henry… to point them out… to step in their place… and then… to lovingly take them by the hand and guide them home.

(Photos courtesy of Christy Berghoef. Visit her site for photo cards and much more... www.rawinspiration.etsy.com)

My Cup of Tea

There is a legend that says the Chinese Emperor Shen Nung, the Divine Cultivator, discovered tea accidentally when he was boiling water under the shade of a wild tea tree. A few of the leaves dropped into his pot, tinting the water and he drank the resulting infusion. Immediately, he was overwhelmed with a sense of well-being. If only it were that easy.

On Sunday, our pastor prayed for a person facing a difficult doctor’s appointment. In his prayer he said, “Lord, that is an appointment that none of us would want to be called to, but it’s an appointment You may call us to.” At that moment in prayer, I had an appointment with Lectio Divina.

Lectio Divina is a very ancient art practiced by Christians. It is a slow, contemplative praying of the Scriptures which enables the Bible, the Word of God, to become a means of union with God – not unlike brewing tea. The same excerpt from scripture steeps several times in the vessel of the heart. The Holy Spirit then draws forth the flavor of one particular word or phrase to speak directly into the life of an individual. Its true intent is to cultivate the ability to drink deeply of the cup of Christ and to hear “with the ear of our hearts.” On Sunday morning, I was surprised to find that I am not totally deaf.

You see, there has been something collecting in my heart over the past few months. The first bits settled when my sister’s cancer returned. Further deposits were made with each new challenge – a blood transfusion here, a debilitating fever there – a heap of dried matter littering the chambers. My own set of health issues compounded the effect and finally, the news of our precious 8-year-old niece’s terminal illness threatened to stop it up for good.

Yet something happened that morning. Pure, hot truth poured into me, the words “…it’s an appointment You may call us to” steeping the bits slowly. That which had collected in the vessel of my heart, the bitter and potentially lethal remnants, began to infuse the grace I was experiencing with a particular quality. God was brewing a tea with the tender leafs of my suffering and the sufferings of those around me. Would I trust Him with it?

A traditional tea master is implicitly trusted with the fine art of nurturing a tea plant. This is quite an involved task especially because all tea comes from one kind of plant.* A master knows when to pluck and when to wither. A master knows that differences in climate, soil, temperature and moisture will yield very different, yet equally significant teas. Without the Master, my own precious harvest threatens to become dry dust or an over-steeped sludge served up in the cup of a broken world. Or maybe even worse, a saccharin-laden mixture that covers up the honest and full flavor of the cup that is mine.

Jesus had a cup placed before Him. He never asked for a different cup – only that He would not have to drink the dregs. "Abba, Father," he said, "everything is possible for you. Take this cup from me. Yet not what I will, but what You will." Because of His trust in the Tea Master, we are able to experience the full flavor of grace.

We have a new teahouse in Traverse City. It is called Serenity and is located on Front Street across from the State Theater. You can choose to sit cross-legged in the sunlit windowsill, slowly sipping away at an iced drink while watching the activity on Front Street (this is the favored perch of the teen-aged clientele). Or you may choose to curl up on a comfy sofa with a steaming cup while reading a book on the history of tea making. The folks at Serenity know that there are as many ways of appreciating tea as there are cultures to appreciate it.

I’m learning to appreciate tea. I watch the light refracting through the infused water and think of the very sunlight that withered the leaf. I remind myself to breath in the aroma that holds all knowledge of its origin. I let my tongue roll over the flavor, tasting each nuance of the soil it was nurtured in. I let the warmth pour through me. I am learning to appreciate that the hardships endured and the tender nurturing received lend character and, in the hands of the Master, are one in the same.

Wars have been fought over tea. Ceremonies celebrate it. So precious was the secret of tea in China that England sent spies into the country to attempt to discover the secret of their process. The truth is there is still a war being fought over tea. It wants to do away with the ceremony and steal the secret. It does not want us to know how precious we are to the Tea Master and that every day He is calling us to an appointment…

“Then he took the cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, and they all drank from it.”

What is your cup of tea?

*( All true tea comes from the same type of plant, an Asian evergreen known as Camellia sinensis. Herbals are not technically teas, but Tisanes.)