Angel   

I sink my shovel into the soil under the angel statue.

It slides in easily, as if it were meant to go there.

There is a pocket under the statue, a place made just for you.

I open the small canister and take a pinch of you.

I sprinkle you in the warm fragrant space.

I feel your bone and your ash, the last I will ever touch of you.

I watch the last bits fall into earth, becoming one with the small piece of the earth that I own.

Goodbye.

I close the rich soil over your place and arrange the flower and herb plants around your angel.

Goodbye.

I will see you again.

In the faces of my children.

In the blue sky like your eyes.

In the warmth of your sweater.

In the art that your mind created.

In the alto voice you gave me.

And maybe in the realm you now call home.

Goodbye.

Silver crown
 

It falls like a flurry in the autumn night

Upon the naked brown trees

A sparkle here and there

Decorating the dark landscape

Its color white, not gray

Wizened ancestors honored at its arrival

It will not be plucked

Or wished away

Regretted 

Or flown to a warmer clime

Shrouded in a darker hue

Or fretted about in shame

As winter approaches

The layer grows thick

White mantle of age

Flowing around the mind

Its beauty forgotten

By some, but not all

I will not send them away

These wisps of white

In the autumn of life

I will not waste a second

Changing them back

And I do not judge

Those who choose to change back

That is their choice, and it’s fine

But not mine

I have earned every single one

And wear them proudly

As a silver crown of honor

As an elder of my tribe

And one who gratefully accepts

That the gift of long life

Far surpasses the alternative

Take the log out of my eye

As I pondered in my prayer time this morning, I asked, as always, for direction, for making me more like the One I follow, for hearing the still small voice telling me which way to go.

As I sent out the thought, “Please help me be the kind of person You want me to be,” my next thought was, “Not like so-and-so; he is so angry and bitter and unloving, I don’t want to be like that” and this flashed through my mind:

    To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else, Jesus told this parable:  “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.  The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector.  I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’ But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” (Luke 18: 9–13)

Because I know people who are so bitter about the recent election that they are speaking angry, vicious, even violent words against others who feel differently. And my self-righteous, quickly banished thought was, that is not the way. Not helpful, not loving, and for Christ followers, not His way.

A very dear young person in my life said before the election, “You’ll hate me if I vote for the other side.”  I said, no, honey, I try not to hate anyone; many people who I care for very much are on the other side, including family, friends, co-workers, and church members. You can disagree without hating. And I’ve tried not to call them idiots, ignorant, deluded, stupid, uneducated…like so many have on both sides. I call them people who believe differently. And I hope they do the same for me.

The same young adult said that I “shove my opinions in others’ faces”. I really hope I haven’t come off that way. I have really been trying not to.
Throughout this presidential campaign, I have shared a great deal of information, mostly on Facebook, because I thought my friends may enjoy it, and some of them were still undecided and could use some more information. I read each of the articles and verified their source and whether they had been fact-checked. I attempted as well as I could not to share anything containing personal attacks, or anything offensive or nasty. I saw myself as a filter of information for others, hoping they too would share. I avoided writing about the other candidate’s religion, albeit having “unusual” beliefs and rituals, knowing that ALL religions are strange, and the door is open for criticism of my own as well.

I remembered the things said about the other candidate during the last election and about the previous president. I did not want to be that sort of vessel. I did not want to get into any mean-spirited debates. And most of all, if my chosen candidate lost, I did not want to become a bitter, angry person spouting things like “I’m going to Canada!” (not possible), “We should just split into two countries, Red and Blue” (not going to happen) or horrible things about our new leader. I hoped that both sides could come together to work on solving our common problems rather than fostering even more divisiveness. And if my candidate won, I hoped I would avoid gloating.

For many progressives call evangelicals “Pharisees”, hypocritical, holier-than-thou…but at times we have our own brand of self-righteousness. A Druid/Christian priest once told me, even Pagans have their fundamentalists.

And when Jesus said, “Take the log out of your own eye,” I don’t think he meant, “Tell other people to take the logs out of their eyes”, but to look inside ourselves and start working there.

Razor-Thin Line

“…I believe it is vitally important that we cast our ballots for candidates who base their decisions on biblical principles and support the nation of Israel. I urge you to vote for those who protect the sanctity of life and support the biblical definition of marriage between a man and a woman. Vote for biblical values this November 6, and pray with me that America will remain one nation under God.”

                                                                                Billy Graham

     This was a full-page ad published in many newspapers across the country during the presidential campaigns of 2012.  The Rev. Billy Graham, now the mouthpiece for his even more conservative son, Franklin, is walking the razor-thin line between church and state, between keeping and losing the tax-exempt status afforded religious organizations for endorsing candidates for public office.

     This morning, the day before the election, I went to the office of the preschool where I work, which happens to be in a church. Just outside the office is a bulletin board, and on that bulletin board was the newspaper page with Graham’s image and words above.

     Oh, how I longed to take a sticky note and write on it, “And that’s why I’m supporting President Obama and Senator Bob Casey, for upholding Biblical values such as caring for the less fortunate, peacemaking, social justice, and stewardship of the environment.”

     It’s strange how Biblical standards can differ so much depending on our perspectives.

^“ I pray they will be one…”  John 17:21

 under my nails

I’d never watched anyone die before.

Sure, I’d seen dead people in open caskets, always standing at a distance thinking that barbaric until realizing that it provided closure, and that our ancestors handled their dead themselves, laying them out in the living room, as natural a part of the life cycle as birthing in your own bed.

But never the dying. As one of the few non-medical-personnel in the family, I’d carefully avoided those icky parts of life, natural childbirth the exception.

We got the call and made the long drive south, listening to Coldplay’s “Fix You” and, tears rolling, thinking couldn’t he still be fixed?

Walked quickly down the hospital corridor and found the room, peeking gingerly in.  I, the squeamish one, gasping in shock at the yellow skin, the distended abdomen, eyes staring into space (heaven?), mouth open with occasional moan and trickle of blood. 

Summoned a nurse to do something about the blood, if not the pain.

And we sat, and sat, talking to the shell of this 6 foot 5 strongest man I ever knew, singing “Amazing Grace” and Zevon’s “Keep Me in Your Heart” (Warren having gone on shortly before) and “Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door”, well knowing his disdain for sappy music.

This confirmed agnostic, who had married a Southern wild woman-turned- fundamentalist-later-mellowed, she later said came to faith.

And family came, and came, and we all sat, and sat, talking quietly while the numbers dropped and the morphine dose rose and the pulses and breaths became more distant, until they were no more.

Someone said we should open a window to let his spirit out, but I’d always thought that spirits could travel through walls. Weren’t they in another dimension, unbound by physical barriers?

We took the box of ash to his mountain, faithful ones and searching ones.  We talked and cried and laughed and remembered. We dipped our hands into the ash and he became one with the sprouting spring flowers beside his treehouse. He flew into the wind and stuck to the bushes. We dipped again and he lodged under our nails. He brushed on our jeans and tracked in our sneakers. 

And a smaller box we took on our long drive north, to bury the next spring beside those of brother and father, amid snow flurries and Navy honor guard playing Taps.

Dot Girl

      “Mommy and I saw a girl in the store with a dot on her forehead. Mommy said that girl doesn’t believe in God or know God.”  Elizabeth’s eyes were wide with concern.

     It was the very first day at my brand new preschool assistant teaching job. I stood there stunned, wondering what to say to this earnest 4-year-old person of faith.

     “Uhm…mmm...How does Mommy know that?  Did she ask the girl?” My mind was racing. Should I seize this teachable moment? Dare I step near the boundary, and if so, where was it?

     Little Elizabeth ran off to play with her new friends, and another task took my attention. But this brief conversation left me with food for thought.

     Granted, we were in a church-based preschool. And I’m sure her mother has loving intentions. But in all her striving to save the soul of every stranger who crosses her path, she has planted the seeds of intolerance and prejudice in her little saint.

     Scenarios ran through my head. Does the mother routinely ask those with dots whether they believed in God as presented in evangelical Christianity?        

     Maybe Elizabeth had asked her mother why the other girl sported a dot. She did prove to be quite an intelligent, inquisitive young soul in my class.       Whatever the case, it appeared that the mother assumed that wearing a dot, or whatever it represented, was incompatible with orthodox Christian faith.

     I went home and Googled “forehead dot”.  According to Wikipedia, the dot, or bindi, can mean any one of many things:

•        It represents the “third eye” of spiritual sight, which sees things the physical eyes cannot see

•        It aids the wearer in honoring one's intellect, so that their thoughts, speech, actions, habits and ultimately their character become pure

•        In meditation, the spot between the eyebrows is where one focuses one’s sight, so that it strengthens concentration

•        It is believed to protect against evil spirits or bad luck

•        It is merely (and increasingly today) a cosmetic mark used to enhance beauty; a style statement

•        It helps the wearer to focus inward toward God. As such, the bindi signifies piety as well as serving as a constant reminder to keep God in the front of a believer's thoughts.

     It would appear that the bindi can signify almost as many things as there are people who wear it. One thing that it does not signify, however, at least in my readings, is atheism.

     And those who make a habit of judging the eternal destiny of everyone they meet, and teach their children to do so, feed the stereotype of the intolerant Christian, and turn many off to Christianity even before they’ve heard any of the actual teachings of Jesus.

“Do not judge, or you too will be judged.”  Matthew 7:1