gold

There are still yellow and red and even green leaves on the trees as of November 27. They are falling though as I sit here. Rain is coming and so many will be assisted in their falls. It feels like harvest to me.. even though we're not farmers. The boys are home, the leaves are falling, we planted winter vegetables yesterday and we're middle aged. Pete and I are both surprised how tired we seem to get after an evening of revelry or of a little yard work. We've vowed to get stronger. I think we have to up the ante. We joined the gym, but have managed about twice a week. We haven't managed even many walks lately. Today, we'll try to do it all... like New Years resolutions after a debauched New Years' Eve, I am bound to avoid the carbohydrates today after Thanksgiving dinner's carbo loading. It was SO GOOD though! So grateful .. for so many things. and when I feel this grateful, it's hard to simultaneously care about being penurious. Is that the word I'm looking for? Focus on the gold.

wednesday, the day before thanksgiving 2009

Let us pray. Hmm. That's what popped into my head as I started to begin writing.. The priest says that at points in the mass. "Let us pray." Then we all gather our selves to .. God. For me, this time at the keyboard is time to gather .. what the light seems to be shining upon. Today, Billy and Robbie are home. What a treat. Into the house comes their energy, each of them a force. Tommy and John will be home tonight too as will dear ole' Dad. Robbie and I are cookin' up a dinner so that we can sit down together and have a little family feast. I know that the dynamic is not altogether pleasing to everyone. Everyone gets on the nerves of somebody... but right now, I am overjoyed to have this little family of ours together, and the boys seem happy to be home. We all happened to eachother... and I am so grateful. Welcome home boys... always.

monday, november 23, 2009

the widow with the two coins. Today's gospel is about Jesus' observation of the poor widow who gave all she had to the temple offering. The wealthy gave from their excess. A commentary I read said that we might consider just surrendering a little bit, step by step, to a radical faith in God. What would that look like? I find this a little bit more approachable!! where in my life is there a "holding back"?

monday, november 22, 2009

Cristo Rey, November 21, 2009

From Luke's gospel: "For this I was born and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice." So, you say your a king? Well, no, I didn't say I was a king. Jesus responds to questioning by the Roman caesar. The political power seeks to establish who is in power? Among the Jews, this Jesus is now powerful? He is certainly making waves, having caught the attention of the religious establishment now too. What courage he possesses to stake his claim and not back down. He remains steadfast in his knowledge of the truth and in his preaching of it. I remember being little and knowing something to be true and being told by the grown ups in my world that I was wrong. The sensation within my Core Self was like the energy trapped in an incipient atomic explosion. I remember coming to an awareness that there are people and places where the truth is not heard. Certainly within my own self, there is a resistance to the truth. I used to tell the boys to put on their armor when they were facing a tough day at school. I was saying it kind of in jest to help them feel empowered.. but I'm thinking it would be good, in a similar vein, to invite the King to reside within me and be that voice reminding me of the truth. I need to consult the King of the Universe to act as the king of my universe. What would Christ the King look like in my imagining? Maybe the Jesus who spoke to the adulteress. Maybe the Jesus who commissioned Peter? Maybe the Jesus who died on the cross.

Thanksgiving, in anticipation of the feast

We gather today, Lord of abundant life, as grateful children. Delighted and humbled by our bounty, we celebrate gifts of food and shelter, of colors that dance at dawn and dusk; we relish the scent of cooking foods, of burning leaves and summer's wet grass, of snowflake, of animal fur. We marvel at the intricacy of spiders' webs and fish bones, newborn babies and lines etched on faces of grandparents come for a visit today. All gifts from Your hand. When our meal is completed, leftovers stashed, and naps taken, we will leave replete, energized, and eager to go generously into the world and share our good fortune.

I did not write this. I found it on Belief.net. I think I will make it a point though, of writing my own prayer of thanks... which will be a long long list, and I know will bring me to tears.

all things done with love

four of us, Pete, Tommy, John and I were priveleged to attend the military memorial service for a downed C 130 pilot yesterday at the Presidio in San Francisco. The oldest brother of four boys, Che joined the Coast Guard with hopes of flying. That he did. and that is how he died, doing a search and rescue mission off the coast of San Diego. His plane struck a Marine helicopter flying in formation on exercises in the same air space. The brothers had lost their mother nine years ago to breast cancer, having separated from their father years before with the divorce of their parents. Dad had moved to France. So much of the ceremony honored the memory of Che and honored the gift of his life. One of the most moving elements of the military honors was the presentation of the flag. A young, African American "coastie" with very erect military bearing slowly marched up the center aisle holding the folded flag before him, placing it on the center table as proscribed by protocol. We heard several speeches, including one each given by the brothers. At the end of the ceremony, the honor guard took the flag, ceremoniously and painstakingly unfolded it, and then reverently and painstakingly folded it again. The most touching part of the day for me was when the African American guardsman held the three cornered flag while another guard smoothed the already smooth triangle and then squeezed any remaining air out of the "package". It reminded me, on reflection, of the way that the priest cleans the chalice and folds the purificator at the eucharist. I've witnessed a priest do that kind of domestic chore on the altar with such reverence and love, that it brought me to tears. The flag is what usually rests on the casket of the deceased. In the absence of the body, the military has created a ritual that infuses every inch of that flag with reverence and love, that it can humanly convey. The flag was then given to the commanding officer, who in turn, gave it to the family. It also reminds me of the love that those of us who love put into making the beds of our beloveds: our spouses, our children, our grandparents and parents, all those we love.