I Am

A few days ago, I was revising the part of the blog that tells about me.  I said I was a retired social worker and a spiritual journeyer.  Later I thought, "I can define myself in many other ways:  wife, mother, grandmother and so forth.

This time of year we hear from scriptures, particularly the Prophets, many names for God:

Root of Jesse
King of David
    Rising sun
    King of the nations
    Immanuel

And those terms made so famous by Handel:

Wonderful Counsellor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.
(Isaiah 9:5)

These arw only a few of the ways that God, Yahweh, the Holy One is defined.  Each one provides another facet of Who God is.  I would add several:

Mother, Spirit, Brother, Sister, Friend, Lover, Protector

And all summed up, I think, in I AM.  Remember - “tell them I AM sent you.”

Which description comes closest to how you know and relate to God, to Jesus?  Which one the most often?  Which ones, other times?  I most relate to God as Friend.  At times, God is my challenger; other times, my refuge, my strength, my counselor.

Since we are created in the image of God, I think it must also be a holy exercise to recognize and embrace OUR many names, too; our multiple roles and identities.

I Am: 

Child of God, Woman/Girl/Female, Daughter, Sister, Friend, Student, Wife, Lover, Mother, Grandmother, Creator, Listener, Observer, Learner, Teacher, Counselor,

Worshipper, Elder, Mildred/Millie/Mimi, Grammy             

    And the list could go on…

I think about the names that define me.  I consider this a holy exercise.  How do my names relate to those for God?  What is God calling me to in this season of Advent, in my life, as suggested in my various identities?  Are there some that need to be placed in the background so that others may flourish? Is there one that’s been hiding that I need to call forward and embrace?    I remember:  there is a season for everything, including our various roles.

I also think of how my various roles blend with others.  How we complement each other and work together.  How I respect our differences and our otherness.  How I listen.  How we, together in our corporate I amness create community.  How sometimes I clash with others and must work to respect them, to seek forgiveness and to forgive them - even those I must strongly disagree with or whose I amness seems really wrong to me.  I know that they all are made in the image of God.  We ALL are!

I'd love to have you share some of your own names; your I am...

And always, in all these ponderings, “I am because God is the great I AM!”

Happy Advent.

Pajamas

Good morning!

I love pajamas.  I mean, I really love pajamas.  I love them so much that, if I could, I would wear them all day, everyday.  I love them so much I actually do wear them all day some days and most of the day other days.  I’d love to have a collection of pj’s for every day of the month! Really!  I’d even settle for every day of the week!

In the picture above, I’m wearing my favorite pair. Can you tell that’s what I have on?  Do the roses give it away? They are silky and feel elegant. I’m wearing them with my pearls to celebrate Kamala Harris becoming the Vice President of the United States.  Quite an occasion. One that certainly deserved such elegance.  Right?

I can only wear these particular pajamas in the day time.  They are too warm to wear to bed. So maybe that makes them lounging pajamas.  Anyway, I feel a bit old Hollywood when I wear them.  I’ve worn them to Zoom meetings.

My next favorite pajamas are cotton with fun print capri bottoms and solid contrasting short sleeved tops.  I have two pair.  One has a white background  with pink cocktails; the other pair is turquoise with Eiffel Towers.  Both have pink tops.  They are old and now raggedy around the tie waists.  The tops are a bit stretched out.  They are NOT too hot to wear to bed and work in all seasons.  I add a soft, light hoody jacket (a slightly heavier one with fake fur around the hood in cooler weather) when I get up in the morning, thus they become a total outfit, fit for as long into the day as I choose to wear them. I’ll wear them until they completely fall off my body.  They are that comfortable. I don’t wear them to Zoom meetings.

This love affair with pajamas and wearing them all day began, I’m pretty sure, during the Time of Covid!  How much we learned from that time.  Coloring your hair, putting on makeup, wearing panty hose, getting all dressed up isn’t as as important as you seemed to make it in the past.  And it sure as heck is a lot less trouble and a lot more comfortable to stay in your pajamas all day.  I love the lessons from the Time of Covid.

What does this have to do with the season of Advent?  Shucks!  I’m trying to figure that out.  

Maybe it’s about keeping things simple and focusing on the truly important. Being comfortable with yourself, getting to know yourself in new ways, letting go of facades, learning to be more present to beauty and joy and the peace you find within.  Being more aware of and present to those closest to you.  Taking time to listen to good music, read your favorite kind of book, have a real conversation with that special person, be creative, get back in touch with that thing you use to love to do or always wanted to learn.  

Watching, waiting for the quiet voice that will always come.  

In your pajamas!

Quell Pen

This morning I received a gift during my time of meditation, a vision of a beautiful writing implement being placed in my hand, an exquisite quell pen.  I saw that the feather was a brilliant white, reaching out like the wings of an egret.  The writing tip was silver, ready to dip into the ink pot.   I held it as gently and with as much awe as if I were holding a precious jewel or a new born baby, maybe a baby bird or kitten.

This magical implement held the promise of something though of what I’m not quite sure.  Am I to take it as a call to begin writing again? To use my writing to bring hope and promise to others?  If this might be the message, I am giving it a try and we’ll see where it goes.

Yesterday was the beginning of Advent, the beginning of a new year in my faith tradition.  The calendar is fresh, the story of the unfolding year as yet to be recorded. We wait.  There is promise of coming change, of salvation for the world.  We cry Veni, Jesu!  Come Lord Jesus.  Come quickly. Dare we believe?  We’ve waited so long.  The promised one has not come quickly.  The world is so dark. How can we keep waiting and believing?

Look back to the times the Holy  has come to you in your ordinary past.  In times of pain and times of joy.  In darkness and in light.  In loss and in gift.  Hold these remembrances to your heart.  Veni, Jesu.

Now look forward while holding close these past times of fulfillment.  In the remembering you can embrace the promise of the new year ahead.  You can travel through Advent to Incarnation.  From birth to death.  From death to Resurrection and back to the New Year again.  Veni, Jesu.

So in this first week of Advent sing “Come thou long expected Jesus, light a candle, be a candle, recall the light in the darkness of the past and watch for the light coming to you in particular ways in the days ahead.  Maybe even in a vision of a Quell Pen.  And share with me your experiences. Veni, Jesu.

Late Night

I'm laying awake next to my sleeping  husband.   It is now very late night or maybe very early morning as it's past midnight.    I don't really like to lie awake like this.  But I also hate to let go of the day, perverse creature that I am.

First blog post in a year and a half.   Rereading old posts and they are damn good!  Should have kept going but discouraging when it seems few read it.  I have written in other ways over this time gap but not consistently enough.  I know I need to get back to it with some discipline.  I have a family history to write after all.

I'm writing this from my iPhone to see how it works.  I do so much more work on it than on computer.  PC is just so darned slow.  Need a new one!

Must go to sleep.

Writing from beautiful Gulf Shores, Alabama

Digging a Hole to China

I love to walk on the beach and every time it offers something

different.  One day recently was calm surf and a hole to China!  I

remembered a little girl digging and digging on the shore and

saying, "Daddy, I'm digging a hole all the way to China."  Those

days of my childhood were delightful, magical, safe, full of love

and possibility.

The hole on the beach that morning suggested that a child still tries to dig all the

way through to China.  Our children, every last one, need a calm ocean to be

able to dig a hole to China; a safe and secure place to imagine and dream.  Let's

all work to create that kind of world!

By Still Waters

I was frustrated with God.  I was ready to give God a good talking to.  I was at work on one of the days that my assignments were outside (back when I worked as a camp host in an RV Park) and, as I went about wiping off tables in the patio and sweeping the kitchen floor, my thoughts were a jumble of concerns. I started outlining them.  The psalmists have nothing on me when it comes to complaining to God.  The concerns were interfering with my work, no Brother Lawrence me today. (Brother Lawrence is that monk whose little book, "The Practice of the Presence of God", talks about offering your most menial tasks in service to God.)  Though I tried, it wasn't working.  I decided to go sit down in the swing by the river and really concentrate on telling God what for.  I put away my rag and my broom, collected my coffee mug and phone and headed over to the swing.  Once a sat down, I looked out at the view, preparing to lay out my case.  Instead, the calm streams of water before me seemed to enter my entire being.  I felt peace flow over me; my thoughts seemed to float away in the water ripples.  I could not even bring to mind all the things that had been worrying me a short time before.  I guess the psalmist is right that "He will lead you by still waters".  I did not consciously try to imbibe the peace of the river. I did not seek it.   It fell on me and filled me without my asking, clearly an action beyond me.  It was magical and I can only explain this as completely God's grace overflowing.  The other amazing thing that happened shortly after this moment was an answer to prayer for one of the things I had wanted to complain to God about.  So God seemed to be saying as I was gifted with this blessed peace:  "Quit being anxious about so many things, My grace is sufficient".

I will get angry, anxious and frustrated with God again.  I wish I thought I wouldn't; that I could totally "let go and let God", but I know that won't be the case.  I do know that I can return at those times to that place of still waters, experience the release and peace for a few moments and keep on keeping on learning this total trust thing!  That's good news!

Re-Creation: Hope in the Time of Devastation

Re-Creation

The Story of a Mountain

Long, long ago a high and majestic mountain was created.  She stood tall like a royal princess above the surrounding hills and looked south and north to two brother mountains.  Upon her slopes grew soaring pines, forever green, that sang with the wind. At her feet nestled a sacred lake; from her, streams and rivers flowed to unknown destinations.  Flowers and birds and beasts grew and flourished in her shadow.  Many came to honor the princess mountain.  The earliest people fished in her streams and lakes and hunted in her forests.  They floated down the rivers in their canoes to trade with other peoples.  They named her Fire Mountain because she often smoked and spit fire. They created stories about her formation and energy. 

As the years passed, more people came.  They explored her slopes.  They climbed to her peak and skied across her trails.  They pitched tents at her feet, fished her waters and hunted her hills.  They built camps and lodges and homes around the sacred lake.  Young men and women made annual treks to the mountain to have fun at the camps.  Families returned generation after generation--grandfathers, fathers, sons; grandmothers, mothers, daughters--passing on the stories one to another, the secrets and lore of the hunt, the fishing, the wilderness.  They came to recreate at the foot of the gracious peak; to rejuvenate from the business of their lives in other places; to re-create themselves in the beauty of creation.  They, too, honored her. 

One day, all of this came to a crashing halt.  Fire Mountain blew up.  She exploded in a great conflagration and spewed her smoke and ash high into the sky and all across the landscape.  It seemed the princess had spoken her rage to her brother mountains to the north and to the south in one ultimate eruption.  When she quieted down, she was no longer so tall and majestic.  Her peak was gone.  Her whole side was gone. She was bare. 

The mystical lake disappeared.  The forest was laid bare, the trees horizontal skeletons from the blast.  Ash covered the flowers and bushes and all the land for miles and miles.  Gone the lodges, gone the camps, gone the homes for recreation.  Where were the fish and the frogs that swam her waters?  What happened to the elk and deer that roamed her meadows and grazing land?  What about the birds that sang in her trees and soared on the vernal of her slopes?  Death and destruction all around.  No living thing visible.  Like the aftermath of an atomic bomb, the scene was total devastation.  All was gone.  Silence ruled the land.  The mountain still stood but no longer so tall, a great gulp in her side, still steaming and spitting at times but in a hushed voice.

It seemed there would be no more annual treks to the foot of the great mountain.  No more telling of how it was when grandmother was a girl, grandpa a boy.  No more teaching in this place of how to sight the gun, or cast the perfect fly or follow the trail through the trees.   All of this seemed to have come to an end.

But then, amazingly, ever so slowly, a surprising thing started to happen. A green shoot pushed up next to the skeleton tree.  A flower bloomed. A seed from a pine cone, burst open in the heat, began to sprout.  From under the ash, the lake perkled through.  A raccoon foraged among the fallen logs.  Eagle soared on the vernals.  Birds chirped from the skeletal branches.  Ectoplasms began to generate and create oxygen in the mystical lake and the fish and frogs returned to swim.  Deer and elk appeared in the meadows.  A new lake was formed, bright and sparkling.  The rivers ran clean.  Life was returning and growing.  Slowly the people returned as well, not to build lodges and houses this time but to once again camp and hike and ski along Fire Mountain’s trails; to fish and hunt.  Now, telling the story of the great explosion intermixes with the memories of how it used to be, building new memories, one generation once again telling the next.

The mountain and her environment have regenerated, not exactly as before, but in a new way.  Re-creation is happening, old into new, with renewed energy and life and purpose.  Like the phoenix rising from the ashes, the sacred cycle of life continues.  And, as if she knew that this was the way of things, the princess mountain continues to stand proud and majestic as she has always done, her face changed and renewed, surveying her land and all who come. 

A story of Mt. St. Helens, and for all times of natural devastation, to bring hope that regeneration and recreation will happen in the great cycle of life.

All rights reserved; Mildred P. Ericson; 10/31/12