Spiders and me

As I suspected would happen upon my return to work and hence my travels...I have neglected my blog. Sigh. I have much to tell - but all in good time. I have been musing on my weird-creepy anniversary of being bitten by a spider (likely a yellow sac spider which has the same cytotoxin as the deadly brown recluse spider). On 8-18-08 I noticed an itchy bite on my right heel - how annoying, but I didn't think much about it...until the next morning.

I've always had a healthy respect of spiders...even an admiration. They make cool webs and eat a lot of bugs. My dad read Charlotte's Web to my sister and I when we were in elementary school. I loved Charlotte - her compassion, her wit and her way with words. Charlotte saved Wilbur! Hooray for spiders!

Upon finding spiders in my home, I usually catch them and throw them outside. While we lived in Florida, Matt and Dan found a huge spider the size of a tea saucer in their room. It was so big that it made a flopping sound as it scuttled across their ceiling. After lots of commotion and yelling (ahhhhh), armed with a broom, coffee can and lid, Matt and I ascended the stairs. Brushing a mammoth spider off a cathedral ceiling with an eight year old wielding a broom is no small feat. We swished it as it plopped to the floor and I captured it! Yes - in the coffee can and then promptly marched outside and took it to a stand of trees to release it. Bye spider!

While in Mexico on an immersion trip meeting with the Sisters of Our Lady of Guadeloupe, Jack and I also captured a family scorpions (mom and babies) we found in our room and threw them over the stone wall into the ravine. At breakfast the next day, we told the Sisters and the rest of our travel-mates about our humane capture of the arachnids. Wide-eyed, the Sisters said, "Oh, next time just keeel them." We all laughed. Then Jack composed a song with a driving bass beat, "Scorpion, O Scorpion - Scorpion don't bite me! Please go to Jaynie's bed ---- instead." The Sisters were greatly amused by this funny song.

Jack taught me about brown recluse spiders - also known as fiddle back spiders down south in Nashville. He said that they were shy and hid from people - thus the name, recluse. However, Jack told me that their bite could cause skin necrosis and cause your flesh to be eaten away down to your bones. Yuck - I had never heard of that! We didn't have such spiders in Iowa. Oh, but we had them in Kansas. When we moved to our 1930's home in Kansas in 1993, Jack pointed out the brown recluse spiders in the garage. Later on, we found them in our home. Killed some of them, caught others and threw them outside but never were bitten. Thank goodness! One of my former LCM students was bitten while attending a wedding in Wichita, Kansas. The bite caused a large wound. I remember Isaac telling me about this in vivid detail. Ish. I sent Isaac picture mail of my bite. He replied that his bite looked the same.

So, on the morning of 8-19-08, when I looked down at my heel and noticed a angry-red, dime sized bite wound, I knew it was bad. By 2:30 that afternoon it was worse. I was feeling nauseous and had a slight fever. Off to the Express Care I went. The doc was surprised and had never seen a bite like that in Minnesota. He sent me away with antibiotics and I thought that would be the end of that. No such luck. Three day later it was bigger and I felt gross.

Off to my regular doc I went. She had practiced medicine in Tennessee and had treated folks with brown recluse spider bites. Said mine looked like theirs - ugh. Two more antibiotics - better and stronger, including one called dapsone for treatment of leprosy. Great.

Not so much. Ten days later on August 30 I was feeling really strange - super strange, feverish, exhausted, fatigued in a way I'd never experienced. What was up? I was almost done with my meds and according to the world of me, I was no better. Something was wrong. It felt like something was trying to shut me down. Little did I know, that's exactly what was happening!

What transpired is too long to tell (I've written at length about this entire ordeal elsewhere). Bottom line: I was succumbing to sepsis and I didn't know it. Jack rushed me to the hospital late Sunday night. Seven hours later I was fighting for my life in the ICU. My body, seeking to fight, search for and destroy the raging infection in my blood, was trying to kill me.

I was told that I had severe sepsis and that I might die. Through the wee hours of the morning of September 1st, by body went through cycles of severe rigors (violent shaking and chills from the high fever). Through my IV's and central line they pumped me full of antibiotics and other medicines to keep my heart from failing and other organs from shutting down. It was awful and, oddly enough through it all, I never lost consciousness. I even kept my sense of humor and joked with the ICU staff. They were amused and told me that most of their other patients can't even talk, much less crack jokes to keep them laughing. Ha ha. But into the middle of the night, nothing was funny any more.

I prayed - a lot. Others prayed, too. I cried. Others cried, too. Later I was told that the nurses and doctors didn't know if I was going to survive. They seemed grim. All they could do was wait. I was determined not to die. I didn't see Jesus, but certainly felt his presence through the night. By the amazing grace of God, through able and angelic nurses and the loving care of family and friends, I survived.

Of course, I lived to tell you about this. I had gained twenty pounds in fluids to keep me alive in the ICU. When I was released from the hospital five days later, I had lost a cumulative total of ten pounds by the time they flushed the fluids out of me. I was a waif and a shell of my former self. Once active in my biking, Aikido, walking and sailing - I could barely walk around in my house. I was ordered to be on medical leave for a month. I was an emotional and a physical mess. I had been to hell and back. It was horrible. When I returned to work, I could barely make it through one worship service. Yet, though I was grateful to be alive, because I could scarcely move, many days I was reduced and rendered to complete depression and utter despair.

It's taken nearly two years to feel almost "normal" again. Today was one of those days where I was suddenly overcome by sheer exhaustion and fatigue. When this happens I have to rest, slow down and sleep. Nothing else helps but that. Thankfully, those days are fewer and farther between - but they still haunt me. As with anyone who survives death, it has given me pause to consider the meaning of my life as well.

During my long recovery, I read a lot about other survivors of severe sepsis. Only about half of us survive. I read about spider bite stories. I searched for ancient wisdom about spiders. As it turns out, others who have survived bites have wondered about its meaning, too.

Someone else asked:

I was bitten by a spider 3 weeks ago.

What is the spiritual message of the spider bite?

Spiders differ from insects in having eight legs rather than six and in having the body divided into two parts rather than three. The number eight laid on its side is the symbol for infinity. The number two implies the union of two forces joined together. Together they equal ten. Drop the zero and you are back to the starting point of one. The hidden message of spider is unity...

Recall the date of my bite: 8-18-08

Because spiders are actually very delicate they embody the energy of gentleness. Spiders are not usually aggressive unless they are defending their lives. Moving forward in all situations with a gentle strength is a skill that often needs to be learned for those with this totem. In [hu]mans, the bite of a poisonous spider symbolizes a death, rebirth process. Poison enters the nervous system and the body either transmutes it or falls victim to its venom and dies.

I read Native American stories about Grandmother Spider who is the creative weaver in creation. She represents the gift of writing and calls us to make use of our creativity and weave our dreams into our destinies. I ponder what it means to have transmuted poison. Surely this must be a good thing, right?

I think about spiders a lot as I knit hat after hat, scarf by scarf and blanket and prayer shawl alike. I think not only about the actual physical act of weaving through knitting, but my creative writing, too. This is one of the motivating reasons for this blog and my postings on Facebook. I've heard from folks that my writing is helpful. Others find it amusing; sometimes profound, inspirational and truth-bearing. I hope that's true.

My Aikido friends nicknamed me, Spider Woman. I like that. I don't fear spiders even though I nearly died. If anything, I have a deeper respect and fascination about them. I am still mystified over what it means to live with this spider totem and to bear the humorous tag, Spider Woman. But I do know that life is fragile, life is precious and you just never know when your life might just take a weird-creepy turn into the mysteries of life and death.

So, love God who breathes life into your being, love your dear family, love the children and love your creative-self into being a blessing to all you meet.

Blessed be!

Dylan, the Sun Dolphin and Sailing

Dylan died one year ago today - July 1, 2009. He was almost 18 years old! He was the only dog I had as a "grown-up" and he lived with us since he was just old enough to have been taken from his mom and the rest of the litter. Jack's sister, Linda, picked him out for us from a litter in North Carolina. We had researched all sorts of dogs - lots of them seemed like they would be fun in our family. But one special trait caught our eyes - Schipperkes love to be on boats. They were bred to guard barges in Belgium, the place of their origin. Wow - perfect for us! Jack and I met while sailing, actually while windsurfing. We both loved sailing. Our kids grew up with sailboats and on the water. We needed a dog to join us.

So, our friend, Daphne, picked the tiny puppy up from Linda, boarded a plane and flew to Boca Raton, Florida in February. She brought us a 3-month old little bundle of black, fluffy fur - whom we named - Dylan.

Dylan is Welsh meaning: Son of the Wave, Born near the Sea, Spirit of the Sea. Famous bearers of the name: Welsh poet Dylan Thomas and American folk singer Bob Dylan. People would ask us if we had named him after the poet or the folk singer. We'd say, "Nope, we named him after the Sea." We didn't know if he liked the sea or sailing, but we were willing to take a chance on him and see if Schipperkes' heritage really played out.

Dylan was only five months old when he met the Sun Dolphin. This wasn't her name yet. I don't recall what her name actually was. Jack and I had also done beau coup research on multihull sailboats - catamarans and trimarans - because we were going to purchase one so that Jack could begin a charter sailboat cruise enterprise in south Florida. We looked at so many sailboats until we found the right one: a 25 foot Jim Brown Searunner!

We had to pick the sailboat up on a lake near Orlando and sail the boat up the St. John's River which actually flows north(!) because of the terrain of inland-central Florida. Jack, Daniel, puppy-Dylan and I went to embark on this great adventure. Matt was away in Minnesota visiting his dad over the Easter holiday.

We checked with our vet about what we should do with this little dog on the boat. The vet said that we should get some doggy-sedatives for the pooch. Okay - sounded reasonable. Oy ve - did we ever learn our lesson!

We gave Dylan half of the doggy-drug and he was loopy for almost the rest of our adventure. He staggered around like a drunken pirate - poor lil thing! He slept below deck and was pretty much useless. On the night that a gale force storm kicked up behind us while we were sailing on Lake George (which is still the St. John's River but it's huge at this point, so it's called a lake), we had to throw Dan and Dylan down below! It was horrendously dangerous and we had to test the metal of the soon-to-be-named Sun Dolphin.

The Sun Dolphin performed admirably and was calm and well-behaved according to her new Captain Jack. Her crew - me, the first mate - was perhaps less stellar, or at least not as experienced as the boat. But we survived, one of many sailing survival stories.

Here I become a little stuck in how to describe what sailing means to me. Words fail - pale - even diminish the experience. Then, add to that what it means to sail with one's family - spouse, children and faithful canine and I am at a loss. All I can tell you is this: we experience some of the most exhilarating, the most harrowing, the most tranquil, the most frantic, the most beautiful and the most brutish of times on the Sun Dolphin together. If that doesn't bond a family, I don't know what will. The Sun Dolphin has been our oasis from the craziness of the world, our place of laughter and solitude; our place of community-making and one of adventure.

The Captain tells me tonight that the Sun Dolphin is over forty years old. That is a long time to transport its crew through the the trials and tribulations of life. We have sailed her for almost half of her time in the water - 18 years! He says it's amazing that we've been able to keep her afloat. The old sailor's proverb goes something like this: "A boat is a hole in the water into which you pour all of your money." We don't have that much money to pour into her, so we pour our work, blood, sweat, tears, ingenuity and creativity into to maintaining her beauty and function. Many of our family peeps and friends throughout the years have helped us keep her alive. Thanks, friends and family peeps!

So, I wanted to pay tribute to Dylan and honor his memory. I've written extensively about the things I learned from and loved about him. But I wanted to add that Dylan loved sailing! In many of the photos of Dylan, friends often commented, "He always looks so happy on the boat." That was true. If we asked Dylan if he wanted to, "Go to the boat," he'd jump, twirl and smile just like you'd asked him if he wanted to go for a walk or on a ride in the car.

Dylan loved to go anywhere with us. It really didn't matter. But I think that he felt so at home in his bones on the Sun Dolphin. They both came into our lives together and shaped our family in amazing ways. I hope that sailing with us gave Dylan a sense of freedom, clarity, purpose and joy. He seemed to relish - I mean relish - being on the boat with us. If we helped give him that sense of joy, I am so, so, so very grateful and glad.

Ahoy there Lil Skipper Dylan! Sail the Sirius Skies until we meet again!

The Camp Fire Girl Returns to Work...

Three weeks of Continuing Education after five years of ministry at University Lutheran Church of the Epiphany/Lutheran Campus Ministry...wow! I had taken five days in May 2008 at the Festival of Homiletics in Minneapolis - I loved that! But the time was long overdue...I could feel it in my bones. Pastors are granted two weeks and two Sundays each year for their Continuing Education. A pastor can roll the weeks into other years as the weeks accumulate. It was wonderful to be a student again. I love that, too.

I haven't even been back for a week. Upon my return last on June 22, I learned that there were kerfuffles at my work...interpersonal upsets. So, I set to work on trying to resolve some of the mix ups. This made me weary right away. Sigh. Too much drama is just too much, even for a Drama Therapist!

Speaking of Drama Therapists, did I mention that I was informed by my advisor and friend, Sally Bailey, that upon completion of the Creative Arts Therapies class and the Sociodrama class, I will have all the necessary requirements completed to make my application as a Registered Drama Therapist! This is amazing to me and I was thrilled to learn of this great news!

In answer to the question, What is Drama Therapy?, The FAQ page says: Drama therapy is the intentional use of drama and/or theater processes to achieve therapeutic goals. Drama therapy is active and experiential. This approach can provide the context for participants to tell their stories, set goals and solve problems, express feelings, or achieve catharsis. Through drama, the depth and breadth of inner experience can be actively explored and interpersonal relationship skills can be enhanced. Participants can expand their repertoire of dramatic roles to find that their own life roles have been strengthened.

If you're wondering what does a Drama Therapist do?, A drama therapist first assesses a client's needs and then considers approaches that might best meet those needs. Drama therapy can take many forms depending on individual and group needs, skill and ability levels, interests, and therapeutic goals. Processes and techniques may include improvisation, theater games, storytelling, and enactment. Many drama therapists make use of text, performance, or ritual to enrich the therapeutic and creative process. The theoretical foundation of drama therapy lies in drama, theater, psychology, psychotherapy, anthropology, play, and interactive and creative processes.

So, there you have it. Drama Therapy was recognized in 1979, the year I graduated from Luther College in Decorah, Iowa with degrees in Religion and Psychology. I had been doing the things that I later learned that Drama Therapists have been doing all throughout my ministry. I was inspired to do this by my Religion professor, R. Simon Hanson. He taught Introduction to the Old Testament and he sang, danced and acted out the stories of scripture in class! I had never seen anyone do that before and I loved it! To my creative mind, it seemed to make the stories easier to remember. I've used drama and creative arts in my ministry with children, youth, young adults, older adults and many other groups of people.

When I got to K-State and heard there was this professor who was teaching something called, Drama Therapy. I was intrigued. I had come to experience and create for others, healing moments and encouters in the aforementioned activities and also in worship. So, after much cajoling by my friend and professor, "Doc" Norman Fedder, I registered for the graduate program in Theater with an emphasis in Drama Therapy. I took one class a semester, as per the Lutheran Campus Ministry guidelines for staff in degree programs while working full time.

I took me five years to complete the degree and I graduated in December of 2002 with a Masters in Theatre. At the end of my program I presented my Master's project: I wrote, co-directed and performed in my one-woman show, a comedic auto-drama, called FROCKED! It was one of the hardest things I've ever done! I had to rehearse by myself in the haunted Purple Masque Theatre at K-State, reciting my lines over and over to empty chairs. I felt silly and wondered why I ever thought that this would be fun. I memorized over an hour and a half of monologue complete with movement, blocking, actions, power-point projections, music and singing.

Now, as I'm at the end of my certification for Drama Therapy and on the threshold of new adventures, I started thinking about more ways to use my gifts, skills and commitment to the healing power of drama. One of my classes requires us to write a "fictitious" grant request. I thought about the Lilly Endowment foundation that provides grants for various religious purposes so I check the site out to learn if one of their programs might work. I was amazed again.

The Lilly Endowment for Religion sponsors a National Clergy Renewal Program. This program recognizes the importance and necessity for busy pastors to have an opportunity to take an extended break for renewal and refreshment. Usually we call this a Sabbatical Time. Their description of the life and work of a pastor gave me pause for reflection:

At the center of the congregation is the pastor. Spiritual guide, scholar, counselor, preacher, administrator, confidant, teacher, pastoral visitor and friend, a pastor has a privileged position and performs many roles. In season and out, a pastor is called upon to lead communities to the life-giving waters of God.

The job is demanding, and pastors perform their duties among a dizzying array of requests and expectations. Congregations are not always easy places, and the responsibilities can sometimes wear down the best pastors. It is not a job for the faint-hearted, but requires a balance of intelligence, love, humility, compassion and endurance. Most importantly, it demands that pastors remain in touch with the source of their life and strength. Like all people of faith, good pastors need moments to renew and refresh their energies and enthusiasm to determine again "what makes their hearts sing."

As I read and reread these words, I was grateful. I was grateful that there is a group of people who named, understand and recognize the complex, demanding, dizzying array of requests and expectations that pastors live with. In my case, I serve both as a congregation pastor and as a campus pastor. This amplifies and intensifies the complexities in ways that few individuals comprehend or understand.

I'm saddened when some well-meaning (and some not-so-well-meaning) folks think that all I do is deal with a few congregation members and that the campus ministry should be kind of like dealing with a youth group. Sigh. It's frustrating when some refuse to understand that the nature of campus ministry and my work with college students is very intense, highly relational, fast-paced, full of late nights, at times grueling in its academic rhythm and sometimes walking through the deep spiritual valleys and mountains with young adults as they discern their way of faith. Because the nature of campus ministry is this way, the ELCA (and other thoughtful, wise denominations) has set apart certain pastors and ministers to do only this: campus ministry.

One of the former LCMers at SCSU from long ago returned to ULCE a few years back. She is an amazing person. Our backgrounds are nothing alike, but we share this love and esteem for LCM. She says LCM saved her life. I believe this and know that it's most certainly true. I've seen the ministry of LCM save other lives, I've been blessed to have been part of that life-saving enterprise and have celebrated with others when, once they were lost and then they were found and found themselves embraced by the abiding, enduring love of God in Christ Jesus.

This friend of mine wrote some reflections after the 15th Anniversary of ULCE in November of 2009. I thought that her words were profound since she has the broad and long ranging perspective from one who was a college student in LCM at Saint Cloud State University as well as being a "grown-up" member of what had become the LCM and ULCE community.

I had not heard the thoughts expressed by anyone else in the congregation:

But what I don't understand is the way "we" don't show respect to our pastor(s) that I see in other churches. Is it because we are small? Or is it the same in bigger churches where you just don't notice it as much because it's not so glaring? Or is it the kind of church we are or is it the town? The town people have never liked the students in general. So, when you put the two together you get dislike. ULCE appears on the outside to be a church that is accepting of everyone. But at times I see our church stuck and not knowing whether it wants to move forward or stay stuck; to move on and grow into the life force we could be...I believe in us as a church body. We, all of us, just need to figure out what direction we want our church to go. What needs to be remembered is that it is the students that have brought us together in the first place.

I have thought about this a lot since my friend wrote this and since she read it aloud at a meeting of our congregational members and students. There was this pause; this silence after she read her reflections - as if no one could think of a thing to say. People just sat there. And then the leaders of the event and process, sensing the moment and not knowing what to say either, moved the process on and that was that. But something happened that day. There was a naming and an acknowledgement in what she said. Still, since that day it doesn't seem as though folks have gotten to the place - exactly - to figure out what direction we want our church to go.

I have been in prayer about this ministry before I arrived here and ever since that time. The treatment of pastor(s) is a mystery and my guess is that it's been this way for a long time before I arrived. Why? I have no clue. All I know is that I need to stay true to my calling, what I know, what is good, right and blessed in the sight of God.

So, I am going to center on my calling and that which gives life, hope, joy, peace, healing and faith. I have no time for that which drags on my soul or the soul of others. Life is too precious. Life is too short. Life is too grand to do otherwise. So, join with me and if this is not your calling -- let go.

Blessed be!

Tap-Stompin' the Porch

Leaving the Flint Hills

When we left the Flint Hills on Saturday, it was getting ready to thunderstorm - big time! As we packed and scurried to hightail it out in the big, red truck, glimpses of my five days drifted in and out of my mind.

I had an amazingly intense week in my Sociodrama class and met some incredible people. It was a huge extra plus that I had time to practice Aikido with old friends and meet some of the new dojo members. I biked to class and I biked to Aikido in the City Park - too fun! Biking all over Manhattan was like old home week as I zoomed here and there taking all the old short cuts and alleys like it was in my DNA. Then it got HOT! Geez-louise - it was wicked hot and killer-sticky humid...sweat, sweat, sweat. Drip.

I biked most days with my backpack chocked full of my computer and lots of books. Biking back to Stacy and Jon's up the College Heights hill (sometimes several times a day) became an exercise in sheer physical endurance and peddling through the burn in my legs. Yeow. I loved it - you know, pushing the limits of training, doing it for the sake of just doing it and being able to say that you did it is especially fun when people think you're a little nuts - which I readily admit and am proud to claim. I biked during break times in the afternoon because I was so super sick of sitting in the old-school wooden classroom chairs with their groovy little paisley-shaped tops. Some of us were amused at the ancient graffiti determinedly or absentmindedly inscribed on the tops and the petrified globs of gum stuck under the chairs - ick.

I gave up trying to keep track of where I would ride each day and that became a good thing. I had been making a map of my biking every day of my independent study. If I scribbled on a map of my Manhattan biking for you, it would look all criss-crossy and scribble-scrabbled. That's how it was when I lived in Manhattan as the bike-Campus-Pastor traversing all over town. I never thought about keeping track of where I went, I just did it. It was a different time and a different place. While it was glorious to return and ride, I know that I need to go home.

I'd like to think that when I return to Saint Cloud, that I'll keep up my biking-revival. It's almost 7 miles from my house to my church. I could ride there and I have but not consistently. Perhaps my bike-buddies and you readers will chime in with encouragement to ride. That would be lovely. But much change is needed in so many ways...ways that are difficult to articulate and that have just been forming in this complex, intriguing and wacky mind of mine.

There is so much need in the world for art, creativity, beauty and delight. Simultaneously there is so much resistance to such art in a world obsessed with expediency, efficiency, logic, rationality and workaholism. This obsession spills over in the realm of the church. While church folks love music and the like, there is resistance to actually doing and participating in making art. Art has the power to heal heart, mind and body. I believe this is so because art and creativity have as their grounding source, their essence in the Creator of the universe who has created us and all that exists. Art is spiritual at its core. Art nourishes and sustains our souls. Thus, art - in all of its multitudinous facets - is essential for faith and our life as the Church.

I like the guiding principles from the Heart of the Beast Theatre in Minneapolis. Heart of the Beast Theatre centers its art in puppetry. About themselves, they say, "Puppetry’s power lies in the act of transformation - of bringing something inanimate to life. This act in itself speaks to our lives, which rise and fall and rise again."

GUIDING PRINCIPLES From Heart of the beast Theatre:

1. We believe in the transformative power of art to heal and grow individuals, communities, societies, and the world.
2. We provide a positive, creative learning environment to encourage confidence, self-esteem, and “finding your voice” through puppetry arts.
3. We listen to our youth community, respond to their needs, and involve them as decision-makers and leaders.
4. We practice, preach, and provide art that is accessible and inclusive of people of all incomes, ages, races, orientations, abilities, and cultures.
5. We honor the deep cultural, spiritual, and ritual roots of puppetry that provide youth with reflections of deep community values, personal meaning and individual identity.
6. We excel at providing opportunities for people to create and expand community through the act of making puppet theatre.
7. We empower youth to take leadership in telling their innately valuable stories through puppetry and masks.
8. We believe youth are capable of professional standards of excellence in puppet theatre and strive to create high quality processes and productions with youth.
9. We create opportunities for youth to present their creative work and educate the community about their perspectives.
10. We recognize the folk-arts apprenticeship tradition of learning that puppetry stems from, and honor the commitment to train new generations in the craft of puppetry.
11. We facilitate the creation of meaningful peer community to reduce isolation of youth from each other and their communities.

I left the Flint Hills of my beloved Manhattan, Kansas with a renewed hope and enthusiasm for engaging and inviting others into the joy of a creative life in the Church. I've been doing art in the Church since I was a wee tiny little girl. Art resides in my heart and soul and I love inviting others into this life of mystery, joy, contemplation and wonder. As I watched the lightning bolts flash across the northern sky, I was in awe. The wind buffeted the big, red truck as we crossed the Tuttle Creek Lake Dam. The reservoir was roiling and the waves rolled up in about 3-4 foot swells. It was the lake upon which I had spent over twelve years of my life sailing summer after summer. We took our kids, the LCM and Aikido students, colleagues, friends and Sea Scouts sailing on the Sun Dolphin. But, more about the sensational Sun Dolphin in another post.

I was wistful peering out my window and a bit misty-eyed as I left a place that gave me solace and freedom, one that cradled my children and nurtured all of our spirits. It was fun to be - and will always be in my heart - a K-State Wildcat.

I sometimes wonder myself how feasible it is to commit one's life of creative purpose and living a life immersed in art in the midst of our hyper-drive culture. I wonder a lot about life and the world. I wonder about my place in it and where God needs me the most. I trust and pray that all will be well and that the gifts of my life will be received in grace.

Blessed be and may grace abound!

Make New Friends...

One of our favorite camp songs that we'd sing at the beginning of our week was, Make New Friends. This little round is quite fun because - well, the words are great - the song has lots of harmony that also blends and twists and swirls in the midst of the round (which goes round and round).

Make new friends, but keep the old

One is silver and the other's gold.

There is an old church-saying that goes:

Cleanliness is next to Godliness.

I'd rather think of it this way:

Friendliness is next to Godliness.

Making new friends is so important. I've been making new friends in my class. My new friend, Pat, and I had an impromptu - or should I say - improv lunch. We laughed and laughed, told stories, shared sympathy for the heavy burdens that have weighed us down and made merry in our new friendship. While we were at lunch, I saw some of my old friends who came up to greet me as if I'd never been away. It was so heartwarming and sweet. We caught up on the news from the last five years and smiled a lot. Reconnecting with old friends and cherishing them is equally essential for spiritual cheer and health. During the evenings, I catch up with dear Aikido friends who have been significant lights along my pathway.

On the way back to class as we were getting ready to go in the door, I thanked my new friend and broke into a round of Make New Friends. By miracle and magic, she joined with my in singing! It was wondrously fun. We sang the round as we went up the stairs to class. Someone else heard us singing and joined us.

This day has been a lovely time of returning and treasuring; of delighting in the newness of the day; of feeling content and whole and of celebrating that all is well -- for this day.

The Hebrew word is Dayenu - it is enough - there is grace sufficient for each day.

Dayenu, my friends - old and new - dayenu!

Thunderstorm in Kansas

Thunderstorms

When I was very wee, Dad and I used to sit out on the front step of our little house in Naperville, Illinois and watch the thunderstorms come in. I loved sitting there with him - me so small, Dad so brave and dad-cool. I thrilled to see the lightning ricochet through the dark clouds. It was scary when the big bolts would hit the ground. But he'd sit with his arm around me while the thunder rumbled through the air and shook my innards. Then I wasn't afraid.

I guess that's might be why the storms at Camp Hitaga didn't bother me so much. They were just storms and they're beautiful. Of course, I knew that wind and tornadoes could come along with the rain, lightning and thunder, but it was just a part of the summertime. I don't recall that there was ever a time that we had to evacuate our tents and go to the dining hall for safety. We just hung out in those canvas tents and waited. Some girls would cry and I knew they were afraid, but I just tried to calm them down.

We drove through thunderstorms in Iowa and Missouri and I just - slept; had no clue it was blustery as Jack forged onward toward the Land of Kansas that claims Dorothy and all-things-Oz.

After a ten hour drive, we arrived in Manhattan, the town in which we once lived. The Flint Hills were lush and verdant green as we cruised north down Highway 177, now named the Coach Bill Snyder Highway. I scanned the horizon of the Konza Prairie for the bison that reside there on the last tall grass prairie stand that exists in the Midwest. The prairie was purchased for Kansas State University by the Nature Conservancy by funds provided by Katherine Ordway. The Ordway family was also behind the funding of the Ordway Theatre in downtown Saint Paul and oddly enough, the name of the recent Flint Hills International Children's Festival is connected to the Konza Prairie right here!

As things do, much has changed here since we moved to Minnesota. But some things never change. Manhattan is known as one of the friendliest towns of its size. People still gather all summer in the City Park for concerts every Friday evening for the Arts in the Park series. The City Pool, a central location for teens, families and students is undergoing an upgrade so it will soon have a wave pool, slides and other cool summery water fun. Any time of the day if one were to eat at a restaurant in Aggieville, the college-cool area near campus or downtown Manhattan, one would see all sorts of regular folks around town: friends, acquaintances, faculty, staff folks, city officials, attorneys, clergy, car sales people and just any ole person. Everyone fits in Manhattan. It's kind of laid back and casual. It's just fun!

Tonight after a little potluck some of our Aikido friends hosted for us, we headed back to the west side of town. The lighting in the clouds was back lighting the mountainous cloud bank. Thunderstorms in Manhattan, Kansas are spectacular. They usually roll in from the west-southwest over the Flint Hills of the Konza Prairie.

Things change and things stay the same...it's just a thing we live with yes? So, I'm thinking about my class tomorrow, going back to campus, meeting new folks, learning new names, making new friends, and feeling like - yet again - I'm on the verge of another adventure. Who knows where the learning will take me or what new discoveries lie ahead. All I know is that it's a blessing to be able to take some time away from my regular routine and harness myself to the ways of scholarship and student, if only for a week.

No biking tonight - I do draw the line when the lightning is making its presence mightily known. But tomorrow is a new biking day!

Frogs

We've had so much rain these past two weeks off and on.

I'm a bit worried.

Not about the rain, but that I haven't seen my frogs. Yes, I know they are God's but when they come and reside with me in the pine tree haven, I'd like to claim them as my neighbors. Anyway, I haven't seen nary a Leopard Frog or Green Tree Frog. I've only seen one tiny toad in my yard near the fire pit. That's it! With this amount of rain, they usually magically appear - in my yard, hanging out on my back door catching bugs - you know, doing froggy things.

The brown wood frogs usually don't appear until later in July and August, so I won't worry about them - yet. The Minnesota Pollution Control Agency has a site that has for children with photos of deformed frogs! I was dismayed!

Background Info on Deformed Frogs in Minnesota

Deformed frogs were discovered in Minnesota in 1995. The MPCA researched the problem from 1997 through 2000. As of July 2001, the MPCA is no longer funded by the Minnesota Legislature to continue deformed frog research. To learn why the funding and research was discontinued, please read the following fact sheet.

So you'll need to go to that link and read up on this! I did. This is why we need to worry:

Frog populations around the world have showed increasing signs of stress in recent years. Some species have disappeared, and others are no longer found where they used to be. An increase in deformities may be a sign that something is wrong.

Scientists are concerned about what's happening to the frogs, because the health of frogs is closely linked to the health of the environment. Frogs are sensitive to pollution, because they live at the meeting of two environments -- land and water -- and they can easily absorb pollutants through their skin. Just as miners used canaries in the mines to alert them to poisonous gases, frogs may alert us to problems in our environment.

Most of the photos are of the beloved Leopard Frog. These are the ones that my sisters, Carol and sometimes Kathy, and I would gather at Leech Lake while on vacation. They were everywhere and many of them were HUGE and they were NOT deformed! We had a "catch and release" philosophy with our frogs. Catch them all week and put them into cold water in a large cooking pot from the cabin that our mom let us keep right outside the backdoor. Then after a week of blissful and adventuresome capturing of our frogs, on the last day we'd have a ceremony of releasing them and let them go. Only to return the next summer and begin the process all over again. I like to imagine those frogs saying, "phew," and breathing a sigh of relief to each other when our parents decided that a trip to the Badlands or Colorado was in order for that year.

So, I know the frogs must be out there somewhere. I've heard them along the way on my bike rides through Quarry Park or along County Road 8. Still, I get a bit concerned about things like this and now that Minnesota has deformed frogs and we can't even find the funds to find out why, well, this is certainly not a good thing. I worry about my backyard or the world without frogs because I would miss them and also because I know that if that happens - it means bad things are happening in God's creation. I lament.

It rained a lot today. I was weary. I must say, as every writer or blogger every now and then must face human frailty. I was so weary today trying to get ready to leave for my next adventure to Kansas for my summer intensive class. My independent study time is coming to an end. This saddened me greatly. I don't know if I'll be able to continue my writing or my daily biking, In fact, I was so weary and busy getting ready with Jack, that it was too late to bike, even for night-biking-me. I run smack dab into my limitations over and over again. Everyone does...it's frustrating. At least it's frustrating for me. I lament again.

I know that I won't be able to read everything I want to in this lifetime or see every part of the world that fascinates me. I won't be able to create all the beauty I hope to. This is the lesson we all learn over time. Time is short, love is real. We are only given a little bit of time on earth and we can only do - as folks say - what we can do.

This is a lot really. We can all do and be wonderful for, with and to one another.

Tonight I lament that I may not be able to write this reflections for you, for me and for the universe longing to hear stories of healing and wonder, of lament and rejoicing.

I love writing. I love words. I love frogs and so, so, so love the world God created with you in it. I love my family and friends. So, friends, keep vigil with me and let me know what you see, notice, feel and sense.

The Camp Fire Girl has to get some shut-eye for the travels ahead.

Blessed be!

Let there be night biking, stars -- and fireflies!

In keeping with my pledge to bike every day...I went out after dark.

Now, in my neighborhood out near the Mississippi River, that means that it's super dark. So, I took a little red LED flashlight out to my bike to supplement my very cool Knog White Frog White LED Bike Light that doesn't put any light on the road.

Biking at night is amazing. The air smells different. There are different sounds and the lack of some of the day sounds: no lawn mowers, drills, saws, people yelling, children shouting (not that there's anything wrong with any of those sounds) or traffic. There are just some things that you can't see or hear until the sun sets and the evening activities are set in motion. One cannot see bats in flight busying themselves with eating about 3 times their weight in mosquitoes. One cannot witness the magnificent silent flight of owls, hear coyotes or listen to the plaintive cries of nighthawks in flight.

Certainly there are things that one can only see at dawn and throughout the day and all those are bright, beautiful and worthy of our attention. As a night-person (which suits me well in my role as a campus pastor and the students who are up at all hours of the night) I bear witness to those nighttime events. While I love sunrises, morning glories, early bird songs and I'm grateful to those who regularly bear witness to those lovely occurrences, I am a person of the night. Each of us, in honor of all of our bio-rhythms, need to keep the vigil and learn from all manner of creation's activities around the clock.

Back to night biking: in support of night-biking safety, let's have a big yes to lights - both head lights and flashing red tail lights are essential. In the remote, lonely neighborhoods where there is little traffic, I ride on the center line. I do this for several reasons:

1) I can get to either side of the rode more quickly should the need arise.

2) riding on the thin white line can be actually hazardous: there can be debris at the side of the road - cans, boards and random things, including trash cans depending on which trash night it is around town and sometimes people accidentally leave the little doors to those on the side of the road mailboxes open - argh! If you hit this, it can leave a gash in your arm and if you're lucky enough to see it in time to swerve - well, you just might crash.

3) The center line is often more reflective and clearer than that thin, white line...

Biking in the dark is fine. It's sort of akin to walking in the dark. Anyone can do it. We did this a lot at camp without our flashlights at night walking to the Theater - that's what we called the bathrooms at Camp Hitaga - just to see if we could do it. Your eyes adjust to your night vision. Human beings, awash in the light pollution of the cities and streets lights in the country, somehow forget this incredibly nifty thing about our eyes. But riding a bike does require a bit of light and this is a good thing. I like riding at night because it narrows my focus to what's right in front of me. I like not being able to see what gear I'm in because I have to shift by feel. Usually - being me and an athlete - I love to push my limits and try to ride in 3x7th gear - the hardest gear on my bike. At night, I can't see the numbers at all and it's a good and freeing thing.

So, looking at the ground slightly ahead of my flashlight, I saw an unmistakable, tiny flashing light. It was a lightning bug in the road! I stopped to talk to it, picked it up and placed it on the side of the road so it could flash merrily away and not get run over. According to certain folks, my first-found lightning bug of the summer, also known as a firefly, was probably a female flashing from the ground to the males flying in the sky trying to find a mate. This is one of the holy occurrences that one can only see at night.

The official name of this incredible beetle is Lampyridae. As far as I can tell from my research of this cool insect, it is the only flying bioluminescent bug in the world! Imagine that! Scientists are still not sure how lightning bugs regulate the process of turning their lights on and off.

At camp there always seemed to be so many more lightning bugs than in town - kind of like how it is with the stars in the country where there is little light pollution. When I was riding my bike home two days earlier at dusk (the night that the o-so-exuberant-golden-retriever wanted to bite my shoe laces while I was riding) I saw the first star of the evening, though no lightning bugs on the way home that night.

Star light, star bright - first star I see tonight

I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight...

I spoke this aloud as I rode along and then tried to sing, When You Wish Upon a Star from Pinocchio, but I couldn't quite remember all the words. Oh well, "I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish...." But I couldn't make a wish at all. I was all wished out.

I'd been immersed in a sad family situation that seems to have no solution. No wishes. I'd already wished those all before. There is was again: in the midst of sadness there was beauty and in the midst of the beauty there was a recognition of the swirled messy, complicated-ness of life. A paradox.

Then, the lightning bug appeared in my path! I paused to meet it with joy!

I rather like to think that the lightning bugs are the incarnation of starlight on earth. They remind us that, though "we are stardust" as Joni Mitchell sings and the stars seem ever-so-far-away, the twinkling and flashes of the fireflies are God's little hint in the misty, summer indigo night sky that the starlight is closer than we can imagine. All we need to do, even when we've pitched all our wishes down the abyss of the well of life, is to wait for a new star, a new day, a new light and a new hope.

So, may the lightning bugs abound in back yards and city parks, at camp grounds and fields so that I might be reminded of the simple wonder of each flit and flicker. In so doing, thereby perhaps my wishing ability might be reignited for another night and I will be able to sing with childlike wonder:

Twinkle, twinkle little star how I wonder what you are

Up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky

Twinkle, twinkle little star how I wonder what you are