Catching up

I love road trips. Even the one that contained a horrible ugly breakup in the middle of the desert was great. They are the chance for spaciousness. Horizons. Unconstrained time. Uncluttering the mind. This one was hard on Heather (because it was a thing-that-had-to-be-done in the middle of a complicated move without her pregnant wife) but great for me. We went through NM, with its unexplainable beauty like something out of another Mind, and into the rolling ancient mountains of the northern South, all trees and red dirt and granite (or is it slate?) rock sheers.

It was a easy trip, roadwise. Except yesterday morning, when we deliberately left early so Heather could spend time with her sister, going back to pt school. We were stopped near the edge of Tennessee, about 200 yds behind a semi tractor on fire. 1 hr 45 mins of alternating prayer, boredom, and bladder needs. Many emergency vehicles came; we saw only one leave. But -- when we finally passed the blackened carcass, it looked like the kind of thing a driver could see coming and escape. At least we hoped so.

About an hour in yesterday, I realized I'd forgotten to send our worship team liturgy for an agape meal. Nothing to be done at that point, which was good: it meant God had to step in and provide for our quite-capable team. How wonderful to leave liturgy (the work of the people!) in such Capable Hands.

Now, headed toward New Orleans, Denver, and home. Blocked ears, open heart. And a few more emails to clear out of my inbox before I get home.

There's a there here.

1:15ish: A sign of hope in Tennessee

2:12 p.m., North Carolina welcome center

Austin doesn't know it, but he's nearly home.










2:40 p.m. Asheville, NC, Heather's sister and brother-in-law's house, Austin meeting Tuck.










2:47 p.m. Sisters & lunch: Home.








Pics of Heather are blurry, 'cause the fatigue was falling away and the contentment flowing on.
Narrative tomorrow. It's time to sleep.

Cookeville, TN

Just off 40 for gas and coffee at 8:22 a.m., an hour and no coffee after setting out. Austin ate both last night and this morning, so he's happy and relaxed. Or, maybe he knows it's the last day on the road, and is just grateful, like his mom.

Over the last few days, I've gone to a double venti nonfat misto.

MEG in her Natural State (Arkansas)

We stopped for lunch today in North Little Rock, where my wonderful husband's mother, Elaine, lives. 101 degrees, only God knows how much humidity.
Austin (see above right -- he's much handsomer in person) didn't even want to walk around the beautiful big park we stopped in.

Elaine (left, obviously) looked cool, as always, and brought a picnic of goodies. (MEG -- I finished all the cookies tonight!)

That plate was made by her eldest when the kids were young. Yes, I saw the one that my wonderful husband made when he was maybe 4. Caterpillaresque.

Tonight we're walking distance from Opryland and the Grand Ole Opry, but are sleeping rather than walking. Tomorrow, God willing, Asheville.

The chains remain the same

7:14 Oklahoma City

The sun rose late today,just a half hour or so ago. Starbucks, 1.2 miles away next to a hwy entrance,opens at 5:30. It looked closed -- no cars. But Heather's half-caf and my double venti nonfat misto were ready lickety-split, one of the advantages of an empty store. This is the second empty Starbucks I've ever seen, the first being yesterday in Tecumcari, NM.

It's 81 degrees. We have the windows open because it's so cool.

No, I have never said or written "lickety-split" before. All kinds of firsts are happening.

Where do terrorists come from?

We're in Oklahoma City tonight, home of the Redhawks, the Will Rogers Park and Horticultural Gardens, and the National Cowboy & Western Heritage Museum.

It is also the home of the Oklahoma City National Memorial & Museum. Its tagline is "On American Soil". The home page and front history page tell the story of the bombing of the Murrah federal Building here in 1995, killing 168 people. It is a nice website, and I imagine the memorial itself is quite special.

A couple of mouse clicks down through the History menu options you will find one sentence on the bombing itself:

On the morning of April 19, 1995, Timothy McVeigh parked a rental truck with explosives in front of the complex and, at 9:02am, a massive explosion occurred which sheared the entire north side of the building, killing 168 people.

There are 13 more references to McVeigh, most in the first person remembrances, but that's the only "official" mention. There are 30 references to "terrorist" and 62 to "terrorism". The Memorial has become a center for the study of the "impact of violence" the futility of using violence to affect governments, and "the importance of personal responsibility". Fair enough: the mission is broader than the tragedy that inspired it.

That said: one narrative reference to the terrorist, McVeigh, an Anglo-American. One narrative reference to "domestic terrorism". And 22 to this being a terrorist attack "on American soil". That is, if you missed the reference to McVeigh, and the one to "domestic terrorism", you could easily assume that this was a foreign attack on a national landmark. Even though, of the 335 incidents of terrorist acts in the US logged by the FBI between 1980 and 2000, 250 (75%) were committed by American citizens.

As we crossed the border from Texas to Oklahoma, Heather and I commented that we didn't know much about Oklahoma. Heather knew about Oklahoman Indian branches on her family tree. I knew of the Cheyenne and the Cherokee. We both knew the Rodgers and Hammerstein 1943 musical. And we both remembered the Oklahoma City bombing.

To the dead and the survivors, we remember you.
We remember too that violence and terror live not-so-deeply in our fallen souls.
And we remember that all acts of terror are on domestic soil, all are against our people, for we are all "part of the main", and potential immortal citizens in the Kingdom.

It's why they always paint Him that way

You know all those paintings of Jesus, where the sky is pierced by beams of light which shower down upon him? We saw that yesterday, somewhere between Winslow, AZ and Santa Rosa, NM (which is where we stopped for the night). Not being a photographer, and not having brought a camera, I couldn't get that picture. So these will have to do (taken by my trusty Sanyo Katana DLX):



We had been watching rainclouds developing in the distance for quite some time. As the distance to them got shorter, we were fairly convinced that we were headed into a storm. Instead: a clear double rainbow that we could see from end to end.

Maybe 200 drops on the windshield. It was so clear that we watched it move across the landscape -- the individual shrubs and the grass -- as we drew nearer.
Then at once we passed under it, and it was gone.

Can't you just see the light of glory?
"The rocks and stones themselves would start to sing."

Takin' it easy

"Standin' On The Corner Park", a Route 66 Roadside Attraction.

No idea? It's as in "Well, I've been standin' on a corner in..."

Kingman, AZ 8:11 pm

It's the day's end at the Days Inn. (How many times have they heard that one?) The goal was to get out of California, and 583 miles or so later, here we are.


View Larger Map

Didn't take the route Google suggested, or the one AAA highlighted on the three maps, but we made it. It takes three maps to get out of California, and one to get from Arizona to North Carolina.

Easy drive today, though Austin is completely disoriented. And bored. It's really sad that a 55 lb. red haired sweetie dog is more bored than his graduate-degreed human companions. Of course, we're able to see the blistering expanses of rock, dirt, and cactus, which I suppose makes it more interesting. It was 104 when we stopped for gas ($5.79/gal. in nowhere CA), but only 94 when we stopped again ($3.95/gal. in nowhere AZ).

Passable pizza, tastily overdressed Caesars, and Sierra Nevada in the room, and we're headed to sleep. After I work on the newsletter, of course, with the raison d'trip lying on the floor.

970 Hwy 17 SJ2SC

First day of driving Shannon's dog, Austin, to North Carolina, 7:50 a.m.

I'm on an express bus of the local transit authority (VTA). The number's 970, but none of the signs say that. They all say Hwy 17, which is the only through road from San Jose and the rest of the Bay Area to Santa Cruz and the rest of the northern South Bay. (California has another South Bay, but it's in Southern California near Los Angeles and might properly be called the southern South Bay.) Hwy 17 is known for being crowded or closed: it's two lanes each way of winding mountainous road, speed limit 45-55, real speed 15 or 75. What happens is people drive 75, crash, and then everyone else drives 15. And once there's an accident, forward motion ceases. Done. Might as well pull out your nearly pristine copy of War and Peace.

The bus, however, rocks hard. Cupholders. Comfy seats. Luggage racks. Clean. And get this: Wi-fi. Free. So the first leg of the journey -- San Jose to Santa Cruz -- is a breezy hour of blogging and getting work done. The next five days, driving I-40 with Heather and Austin in August. The company will be great; we'll see about the rest. I hear Heather has the ends of the flu. I have an ongoing ear infection and cough. Austin snores. Raise the roof.

But I have mapped all the Starbucks, Peets, and local dives along the I-40. Can you say "road trip?" I can. Happily.

The heavens are open

You know how sometimes in the Gospels the heavens open and the glory of God is revealed? After two weeks with Dallas Willard and Keith Matthews, and 20 fellow vineyard-workers, I know what that means. At this moment (and I pray it lasts) I can see the scope and arc of Scripture, the majesty of the kingdom, the interrelation of the law and the logos in Christ, the real meaning of evangelism, and the point and practice of following Jesus.

Wow.

Now how do I live, teach, and share this?

What an incredible blessing -- I am humbled by the Glory and the Presence.

Body of Christ

Can't say I've ever craved the Eucharist before, but last night, walking back from Whole Foods to the retreat center where I'm studying "spirituality and ministry" with Dallas Willard, my whole body got hungry for the Eucharist -- not just for the liturgy and body prayer, but for the body and blood itself. I could taste the wine and bread, not in my mouth, but in my soul's memory. So, since none was to be had, I mentally rewrote our liturgy as I walked...which made me late for dinner.

Reminding me of the food that satisfies.

Timing

I don't know how they do it.

My emailboxes are full of promotions from other pastors. Brian's new book and tour. Rob's articles.
My Firefox bookmarks link to regularly updated blogs. Daily, even.
Opportunities for reprioritizing abound: 7 Habits; Make Your Time Top-Heavy' Purpose-Driven.
Me? I'm up at 3:30 a.m. because it's quiet and had to feed the baby anyway. It's been 2 months -- 2 months! -- since I was here in cyberspace. I have exercised maybe 1x/week. Precious little meditation. No more than a book a week (not including those little black-and-white shapebooks that we "read" to our kid).

Talk to me all you want about how a baby turns your life upside down. Talk until you're blue in the face. Others manage it -- manage to do meaningful work, manage to stay in touch with the Big Gal. What gives?

I'd like to think that She's trying to teach me something. But, other than "don't compare yourself to others", I'm at a loss. And honestly, given the Holy Spirit's movement in my communities, and the book bubbling in the back of my mind, Her timing stinks.

If you're a pastor, writer, parent, and faithful contemplative, please email me with how you do it. I'm open to suggestion. And do tell me what has to go to make it happen.

Our Christmas gift

Elisabeth Ladoska Scott
born 12.26.07, 4:55 p.m.
7 lbs. 5 oz., 19"


Elisabeth
"Consecrated to God"

Ladoska
My great-grandmother, the Spiritualist minister and theologian

Scott
My husband's family name

Welcome home, long-expected one.

An advent cleaving

You can tell by the advent candles when our lives cleaved.

It is Christmas morning in our house, as it is in much of the world. Even the Orthodox are celebrating the Feast of the Nativity today. (We rarely align, due to different calendar systems. How unlikely!) After heating yesterday's coffee, setting a fresh pot going, and putting rice on for our diarrheic dog, I turned my attention to our kitchen table, which has been buried under cookies and candy and boxes and tissue and ribbon and communion bread for a long time.

That table was its own record of the season. 16 days ago, we had friends over to bake cookies, drink wine, eat amazing hors d'oeuvres, and generally celebrate friendship. The table never really emerged from that event, as we continued to pack cookie bags and wrap staff and team leader gifts and sort through dog harnesses and xmaswear and take phone notes and make lists.

This morning, I packed the last three cookie gifts, condensed the remainder, put away the boxes and tissue and ribbon, and swept up the crumbs and more sticky reminders. Then, I turned to the table that holds our little stereo, unburied the advent candles, and replaced them on the table.

Two have been burned. Two have not, and the Christ candle looks as virgin as the Holy Mother herself.

Somewhere around December 9, our world cleaved. We got a call from our adoption agency, asking us if we wanted to connect with a certain birthmother, living in Florida, due to give birth on January 3. On December 20, we had spoken with her, flown her to California, and were meeting with her and the agency to work out details. Since then -- five days ago -- we have moved her twice, scoured the area for affordable weekly housing (don't bother -- it's not here), collected gently-loved baby goods from our church family, run countless errands, gone to clinics and Medi-Cal offices. And: planned 4 worship services, written sermons and entire liturgies, led small groups, thrown parties, created graphics, rehearsed, decorated, redecorated, and redux over the last week of the divine waiting. Did I mention prayer? There's been a lot of prayer in there.

Things could still go differently than we imagine. The birthmother could change her mind. The baby could not survive. The birthfather could decide to contest. The last remaining Indian tribe might claim the child, with scarcely a drop of native blood, as its own. There are lots of unknowns in this scenario, including God's will.

Today is Christmas, and a young woman is very far from home, staying at an inn, waiting for the birth of her child. And we, we are exhausted and terrified, and very very hopeful.

Yesterday's doctor said the baby isn't going to wait until January 3.

Improbably, the word "cleave" has two precisely different meanings. To cleave is to "split or divide as if by a cutting blow." It is also "to remain faithful."

You can tell by the advent candles when our lives cleaved. We need to light them all tonight, on this first day of Christmas, to celebrate the arrival of the long-expected babe.


Painting: Nativity, by He Qi (China)

Did Jesus have a theology?

This morning at 7 a.m. Bible study (3 parts caffeine, 1 part Scripture), my wonderful husband and I got into a theological discussion about the nature of God, and the bipartite nature of Jesus.

(As background, we had just read Luke 3:21-38, where Luke tells of Jesus' baptism and then gives his lineage. Or not. I noticed for the first time the qualifier in verse 23, where Luke writes "He was the son, so it was thought, of Joseph." Luke is taking pains to contrast God's paternal claim on Jesus at baptism, and the common belief about his "paternal" ancestry through Joseph.)

Wonderful husband gives this idea (my words -- his were better): Jesus in the flesh was the constant creative tension between his humanity and his utter divinity. That is, every moment, every action, was a pushme-pullyou of those competing natures -- utter particularity and utter universality -- shown definitively in his cries on the cross.

That took us on to other things (and discovering that wonderful husband is pretty much a Christian Platonist), which is always fun.

Then, he decided I was becoming an apocalyptic, aiming for/reveling in the ushering-in of God's kingdom, a/k/a the End Times. (Not in the paperback novel sense, for Christ's sake. No leaving the car behind for me!) I told him I'm still all about Process.

So, apparently, I'm a "Process Apocalyptic."

Which, I'm inclined to think, reflects the can't-help-but-live-it theology of my Lord.

Santa Baby

For Songbird, who has never seen one. This is a statuette from Catholic Supply:






At this site, you can get the "whole" Kneeling Santa collection. I understand there's a cross-stitch pattern available.

The bah humbug Friday Five

The RevGalBlogPals ring asks five questions of its members every Friday. This one is leaning toward crabby christmastide, but since I haven't been writing very religiously ("Bad blogger, bad!") I thought I'd throw my coal into the stocking.

Please tell us your least favorite/most annoying seasonal....

1) dessert/cookie/family food
The miscellaneous yet ubiquitous 2nd rate candy: waxy chocolate, candy canes, stale ribbons. And, every plate of cookies or cakes that is very kindly given but enough for 12 people, unless I see it first. Especially the shortbread/spritz cookies that are made with nonbutter and no finesse.
Oh, golly, and rum/bourbon balls. What a waste of cocoa and spirits.

2) beverage (seasonal beer, eggnog w/ way too much egg and not enough nog, etc...)

Hate eggnog. And don't tell me that if I just had yours I'd change my mind. It's like diner hollandaise, which I loved as a kid but can't even think about now.

3) tradition (church, family, other)
We've pretty much blown apart the traditions in our house and made them the way we want them. So I'll have to say consumerism.

4) decoration
Blown up anything on lawns. The image of Santa praying at Jesus' manger. Cutesy statuettes. Over-the-top electrics.

5) gift (received or given)
I've done some poor gift giving myself, just totally guessing wrong. Worst I've received? Any one I wasn't expecting from a giver expecting reciprocation. Or the childhood ones with long and strong strings.

BONUS: SONG/CD that makes you want to tell the elves where to stick it.
Aaah, but there are so many to choose from. The whole Nutcracker. Grandma Got Run Over By A Reindeer. Christmas songs sung sexily, generally. All I Want For Xmas Is My 2 Front Teeth. And, truly, by 12/26, any background soft strings or Muzak version of anything.

Bad blogger! Bad!

Black Friday

In honor of Black Friday, here is something from the Advent Conspiracy website.
Thank you, Jeanne.

Resist

by Jeanne McKinley

About a year ago I woke up to a strange hum. I was disoriented by it at first, didn't even know what the sound was, so I got up, looked out the window and saw a steady line of cars driving down the hill.
What in the world?
Are they evacuating the neighborhood and nobody told us?
I looked at the clock, it was 4:45am, then it hit me -- it was the day after Thanksgiving.
Black Friday.
I remember being blown away by the fact that my entire neighborhood was on their way to be the first ones out for the store buster prices, free socks or scarves or whatever other item the store would be dangling to bring us in, and then I had a moment of panic,
"Oh no, I'm going to miss it!"
I was missing the sales that would help me save money on Christmas presents!!
And then I remembered...
I had done that before, joined in the throng, jumped in the fray of craziness at 5am, I thought I had been missing something by not being a part of the American ritual of day after Thanksgiving sales. I realized, as I was standing in a line that wrapped around to the middle of the store that I had fallen for it, the idea that I needed to buy these socks at a great discount and that my family would be really excited about these fleece coats that were the "hottest thing" -- though I wasn't saving money because I had grabbed about 7 other things not on my list, but that I just Had to have.

I've been thinking about resistance today, the idea that this is my chance, as the holiday shopping season heats up, to resist. It's not easy. Resistance is a word that you feel, as I choose to not buy fun looking, sparkly junk that will put a momentary gleam in my children's eyes or make my house look pretty, I can feel that at times. As I choose to create things that will be meaningful and relational but will take effort and my time and frustration when it's not looking like I wanted it to, I feel that.

Here's something else -- I admit it -- maybe it's a girl thing but I love to shop. I love to spend money and buy things and I love to buy other people things and there's more -- I love to find the Perfect gift for someone, the thing they will absolutely LOVE. I love that feeling of "AH HA!" this is IT, and I'm going to be awarded the giver of the year award because I found THE present that will bring the most joy and happiness to that person, the gift that shows I know them best and have found the thing that resonates with them perfectly. The gift that they'll tell their friends about, "Jeanne got me that!"

Not pretty is it?

I can justify that feeling with the fact that I want to show my loved ones how much I love them by finding that perfect present but there's something I'm getting out of it as well, strokes, appreciation, people pleased with me.

No, not real pretty.

These are some things that God is redeeming in my heart this year as I refocus and rethink Jesus' birthday. The way I'm going to buy gifts and the way I'm going to give gifts. To give of myself as Christ gave to me. To hold my friends' and family's faces in my hands, look deep into their eyes and tell them how much I love them. And most of all to worship Christ in a beautiful, uncluttered way and to be free to love Him with all of me.

It's different, it's transformational and it feels really good.

Friday when I wake up to the hum of traffic, I'm going to roll over, pull the blankets tighter and cuddle with my hubby and I'm going to resist.

Resistance doesn't sound so bad after all does it?

Snoring companions

I


I've been asked to update puppy pics. So here is Tanq at his puppy kindergarten "graduation".







And one of our wonderfully patient cat, Jamba.
Yes, he's under the bed.