What's on your mind?

That is the question asked of literally billions of people multiple times a day on facebook. What's on your mind? It's an invitation to share, vent, exclaim, announce, teach, and even grieve. Some choose to share every move they make, even change of socks, every meal, every thought. Some choose to share very little. Some, sadly, just use it to gripe and tear others down.

Social media platforms can be tools to make the world seem smaller and the people we miss feel closer. Friends and family can be reunited and loves rekindled. I love twitter mainly for connecting with people I admire and how fast news spreads. If something happens we need to know about - or even stuff that we really don't need to know about - go to twitter. You'll get information faster than cable news. Unfortunately, these platforms can reveal things about people we thought we knew and love very much that we don't agree with or like very much. It's my belief that real friends and secure people that agree to disagree and move on, but some just enjoy the luxury of hiding behind a computer screen to spew their venom.

We're entering two seasons that are ripe with opportunity to build up or tear down. One is political. One is holiday.

As the presidential election gets closer - and God help us, it's not even 2016 yet -  people seem to get meaner. Not only that but so many fail to check simple fact before posting to social media. I have no problem debating issues or or flat out disagreeing with a candidate or a party line. But one thing I strive to do is 1) never make a friend feel like they are less of a person for having a different opinion, and 2) never making racist or disparaging remarks about a candidate. Every one of the men and women running for President, for the most part, are standing for issues in which they truly believe their position is the right thing for the country they love. I may not agree with them, but I don't think that makes them a bad person. Do I  think Donald Trump is a viable candidate for the highest office in the land? No way. Do I think he's evil? Well, not yet anyway.

We the People are never going to form a more perfect union if we don't talk to each other - and more importantly - listen to one another. Forming an opinion and getting stuck there doesn't help anyone grow or learn. Being willing to open one's mind, listen to differing opinions, and perhaps learning and growing from them, is the only way we are going to continue to progress. And calling everyone from one side of the aisle or the other 'idiots' or 'morons' or 'evil' does nothing for politics, not to mention the harm it causes to relationships. Instead, why don't you ask your different thinking friends and family why they think or vote the way they do and see if you can learn something or, at least, end up in a place of understanding and not anger.

Secondly: the Holidays. This is a busy season of celebration for people of many faiths and backgrounds, and there is room for everyone. Some of this goes back to educating ourselves on the similarities as well as the differences between Christians, Jews, Muslims, and even those who choose to focus on the more secular aspects of the season. Each group has a story they follow as truth. Each group has a right - a RIGHT - to express that story as their tradition dictates. And, even some of those traditions will be open to interpretation based on family and cultural backgrounds, area of the country or the world, and simple personal preference. Real tree or fake tree or no tree at all? Menorah or Muslim prayer cloth? A star or an angel? A baby in a manger, three kings, or a jolly man in a sleigh? There's room for all of it. We all hold on to what we believe is truth and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. It should never close off your brain or your heart or your ability to listen, learn, and experience new things, or even choose a new path.

Of course, it's not just this time of year that we should try to uphold this attitude. Wouldn't it just be nice if it was the norm?  This life is too short and to scary for us to help the bad guys tear each other down. Have a different opinion or a different desire and different interest - that's great. It would be boring if we were all the same. But, encourage each other to embrace the differences, and learn from them. If you just can't do that at least be kind in your disagreement, or perhaps just be quiet.

Build up.
Don't tear down.

Work on  it. I will, too.

It's a coffee cup...

Here we go again.

The commercials have started. The music is already playing on some stations (and they really should be ashamed of themselves...it's November 9). And, now...oh Lord, now...there's a red cup with company logo on it instead of a tree or a nativity scene or a star. Christians are livid. Seriously? It's a coffee cup. 

I know the theories of the date we celebrate Christmas. I know Jesus was likely born in May or March and I know that the date is celebrated around the winter solstice. The retail season has lumped all of the expressions of faith and celebration, (Thanksgiving, Christmas, Hanukkah) together and THEY call it the "holidays"  and they have capitalized on that. As a Christian I'm not thrilled with the phrase "Happy Holidays'. I don't say it. If I know someone is Jewish, I will wish them a Happy Hanukkah. If I'm not sure of someone's affiliation I wish them the happiness of the season, or, *gasp, I just say "Merry Christmas". You know what I usually receive in return? "Merry Christmas". Shocking. Remember that phrase wasn't considered offensive until just a few years ago when someone in marketing decided it was. I will admit to getting a little miffed when I hear that a Christmas tree or a star or some other expression of the Christian season cannot be displayed or spoken of but it's acceptable and expected for another faith or no faith at all to have the same right. It's not fair, and it does make me a little bit angry from time to time. 

What it does NOT do is take away the meaning for me. None of society's and retail's so called political correctness changes the fact that what we celebrate on December 25 is Christmas and it's a Christian celebration.   

Let's see Christians get riled up about refugees or hunger or discrimination or homelessness or animal rights or being stewards of the environment or disease or maybe just not treating each other the right way and living the way Jesus expects us to. Let's get loud about things that matter. 

Here's another thought. Just slow down. If you're going to get ready for anything get ready for Thanksgiving. The smells and tastes and family time and counting your blessings. Get ready for that. And, then, take a breath. Light some candles. Embrace the anticipation and holiness and gentleness of the season. The tree really doesn't have to be up before December 1. And every gift doesn't have to come from the mall. You can avoid the parking lot and the lines. It'll be here soon enough, and I can tell you without question that whether or not you kill yourself getting ready for it, the Christ Child will be born again in the hearts of Christians the world over. Frankly, whether you keep it holy and actually enjoy the season is completely up to you. 

Or, you can gripe about a coffee cup. Your choice.

People of good will

Tomorrow we mark 14 years since the attacks. 14 years. While most of us will pause and remember, in the wake of this Syrian refugee tragedy I've been thinking about the way other countries reacted and even assisted those stranded outside the US in the days following the attack. Never in my lifetime have I know the world to feel so small. Because, it wasn't just an attack on America. It was an attack on humanity and people of good will. So when planes were diverted to Canada, the people of tiny towns and big cities came out to feed and shelter and comfort those that couldn't get home because of men and an ideology that had caused pain and fear. Whether it was a hot meal, the playing of our national anthem, the hoisting of a flag, or a place to take a shower or a nap, people came together to help however they could. Now, we are watching a mass exodus of a people who are escaping a horror that we have, thankfully, never known. All they are looking for now is a place to be safe. To know that their children and old ones are safe. And because of money and politics they are not only not being allowed in many countries, but are actually being beaten and treated like a stray dog that no one wants. I don't care about administrations and party and religious differences or ANYTHING other than the fact that these are beautiful, sacred, human lives that are asking for help and a safe place to sleep. It is horrific that this is happening, but even more shameful that the natural order is simply not to open the door and say come in. I don't care who you follow - Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed, the Great Spirit, or the gingerbread man - they are all weeping for this incredibly sad and broken world we call home. If you can do nothing else, pray - to someone or something - for these people. And tomorrow, for the love of all of those men and women of good will, at least for a second...stop...and remember.

Katrina

I love New Orleans. I always have and have loved it more since my sister moved there more than a decade ago. Every morning I put my fleur de lis around my neck - a gift from Jess a few years ago. She said it was because of my love and support of the city especially since Katrina. What a horrific day and night that was. But here's the thing...the levees and the flooding didn't happen until the next day. Meanwhile, the rest of the Gulf Coast - the entire coastline of Mississippi and some of Alabama were devastated. I was 120 miles off the coast, and it was no picnic; no power, separated from my family, dealing with my own anxiety and fear that stemmed that other hurricane: listening to trees snapping outside in the dark and having no idea what direction they were falling. A day or two later when the mall was able to get power, some friends and I went just to have a little AC for a minute. Radio Shack has all of their tv's on. We stood with people - evacuees - and watched the 9th ward fill up with water. I heard people say "i think that's my house". The friends I was with were both clergy and immediately went to work. Shortly after, I stopped by the Methodist church downtown where another friend was the youth minister and that was also a shelter. I walked into the family life center - the gym - and immediately felt like I had stepped into that military hospital scene from "Gone with the Wind" - you know -when Scarlett goes to find the doctor and the camera pans back revealing a sea of bodies. These bodies were not broken and bleeding, but it felt like the same kind of desperation. After a few days of working with the church and the Red Cross I needed to see my family. I went home to Mobile, where Jess still was obviously, and watched my baby sister weep as I stood feeling completely helpless while her city flooded and turned in on itself. A few weeks later Curt and I drove to NOLA to help gather Jess' belongings for storage in Mobile. It took a while to find a gas station with diesel fuel for the moving truck - at least one that was open and didn't have bullet holes in the windows. We were in the city long enough to load the trucks and leave before the sun went down. It took 45 minutes to get back across the twin span. The destruction was evident all the way home. When we got home and the neighbors came out to help unload and asked what it was like, all Curt and I could do was shake our heads. There were no words. The heartbreak was everywhere. Y'all know. We lived it together. And most of us were extremely lucky. But, there are still people who suffer from PTSD and anxiety and haven't regained their lives. So, beyond all the ceremonies and speeches and great things that have happened since then across the gulf coast, I guess I just hope we all remember that there are still folks that suffer. We are still rebuilding. And, it's not all about the Big Easy. It's about us all as humans and as a region. How we fail each other and how we rise up together. Turn off the drama, and hold out a hand. That's how we remember without standing still. That's how we continue to grow.

Catching up...

Well, it's been a while. I think life has been moving at such an insane pace over the last few months that I haven't been able to really settle and process everything enough to write. This post isn't on anything in particular really...just catching up on life so that maybe I will write more often that I have been.

Looking back my last post was in September, 2013. In my mind's eye that was the month before my own train sort of jumped the track and it took a while to get back on. October was a difficult month. Somewhere along the way my job fatigue, the feeling of being trapped on the island and in life in general finally caught up with me and I found myself running into a very large, very hard wall. What seemed like a night of simple sleeplessness, which I'm not completely unfamiliar with, turned into two nights, and then three. Silly, irrational fears began creeping in and taking hold. I didn't feel comfortable in my own space, Chester's presence as he tried to comfort his human was more of a nuisance than a comfort. That just made me feel guilty which piled on the rest of the crazy range of emotions that were crashing in at one time. I felt like I was a walking panic attack nearly all the time. Even Grayton and Henry's precious, happy energy was more that I could handle. The only place I felt safe was in my parent's house, so for about a week my apartment was a place I stopped by between Dauphin Island and Fairhope to change clothes and feed my little guy and then get out of there as fast as I could. It was, in a word, awful.

Have you ever been that scared? God, it's just terrible. I was so lucky that I had a small group of friends and especially my family, who saw me through these few weeks of hell, all of them with their own unique gifts and ways of pushing or pulling or talking or laughing our way through this while life went on around us. I saw my doctor and started seeing a therapist, got a double diagnosis of General Anxiety Disorder and PTSD (damn hurricane...), and a lovely little green pill that just levels everything out...that is...once the 2 weeks of feeling completely flat wares off and the goodness kicks in. The sun started coming up, and my own space wasn't so scary anymore.

But. Nothing else had changed. It was becoming more and more difficult to even tolerate my work life. But a few weeks later, in early November, that all came to an end as well. Even thought it wasn't with me finding the perfect job and walking out with a plan, the morning Dauphin Island and I parted ways was probably the most liberating of my life in recent years! I had no clue what was next or where the rent was coming from, but I knew I didn't have to go back there. ever. again. I could have thrown a parade I was so happy. I can't say that my parent's were as excited, but I think that once the shock wore off and I hit the grown running with a new lease on life and a spring in my step, even they knew it was going to be ok. The debt of gratitude I have for them is so enormous I'm not sure I'll ever be able to show them, not to mention the practical help they gave me as well. I spent the end of November thru mid January working in retail while seeing what else was out there, and after a few mis-steps, an opportunity arose in Destin.

Within a month of the first conversation with my new company, I had a job, a new apartment, was moving out of Mobile, and away from everything comfortable to work in a 3 story building, overnight, all by myself. Now, the girl that was afraid to sleep in her own apartment less than 4 months prior would have laughed in your face if you'd told her that was her next gig. Is it ideal? Not in the least. But, it's a step. And, it's not on Dauphin Island. Praise God.

Of course, in the middle of this Curt, Sellers, and family were making seminary decisions, there were other health issues and major sadness in other parts of the family. Thanksgiving. A traumatic Iron Bowl. (ugh). Christmas. Life.

So, here I am. Almost six months into a new job. Company benefits have kicked in (first time I've ever really had those). Potential is there for mobility. My space is new and fresh and mine. I'll explore Destin more in the fall when all these people go home. The Curt Kennington's move to New York City in less than a month, and there are all kinds of emotions and realities that go with that, but it's exciting and a dream come true for him, so we celebrate that.  A new little life is growing in New Orleans. More celebration. Life goes on.

If we seem a little worn out, this is part of the reason why. But this family does what we've always done, and what most of you do as well. We hang onto each other, walk through the hard stuff, celebrate the good stuff, and remember who were are and whom we represent. And, we look forward - to whatever comes next.

Love.

12 years later.

I remember.

I woke up this morning a little earlier than I did 12 years ago today. Some things are similiar. I'm alone in my apartment. I'm not working today. My family is spread out in various cities. It's a warm, sunny day. And in a little bit, I'll go to the church to do a little work. God willing, that's where the similaries end.

I remember that I feel asleep on my couch with the TV on. When I was aware of that fact it was early on September 11, 2001. I could hear Matt Lauer talking and breaking some news about an explosion in one of the towers. I sat up and rubbed my eyes and reached over to pick up my glasses. It seems as though as soon as I put them on and could see clearly that my first image of that day was the same as many others: the second plane.

I sat captivated and horrified for what seemed like forever. Suddenly, I had the need to speak to my parents, my siblings, and my then-boyfriend, who was across the country serving in the Unites States Navy.

Dad was on the road to Pensacola. Mom was in the doctor's office with my Grandmother. Jessica was at work. Curt was at home. Everyone said the same thing. "I'm ok." But we weren't. No one was ok. My brother was the first to really express this. I remember him saying that he just didn't want to be alone. Neither did I. I checked in at Trinity to see if anything needed to be done, but they were in the same shape as everyone else at that point. I forced myself to get up and get dressed, get food, and go meet Curt as he opened up the fly-fishing shop he worked in. Even that early in the day flags were flying. On every house and building. Little flags were stuck nearly any thing that would hold one. They were everywhere. I spent the next couple of hours with Curt and a few other folks that came into the shop. I don't think anyone bought anything. Just came in and talked and cried and shook their heads and watched the TV that we'd rolled into the store from the office.

After some of his fellow workers came in and we'd forced down some food, I drove to the church. By that point Dad had called and ordered the church doors open and said he was on the way back and there would be a service that evening. I went home and helped with the phone tree to get the word out. Along the way, more flags. More churches with their doors wide open and signs saying 'open for prayer'. And, later that evening, Trinity, along with every other church, synagogue, temple, and mosque were full. And it would stay that way for days.

I couldn't go to sleep that night. I think I was afraid to close my eyes. I checked in with the folks I loved one more time for the day and lay there fighting sleep, until it mercifically won and that horrible day was over.

I don't remember what I did 12 days ago. But I remember every minute this day 12 years ago. And I know my story and my memories are not unique. As I write this I can hear the names of the more than 3,000 people being read again from the site of the attacks. My parents woke up this morning in New York City. The rest of us are still spread out. In Fairhope, getting ready for a morning at pre-school, there are 2 little boys that have no idea why this day is important, and thankfully have never seen such horror. Facebook is flooded with pictures, stories, and rememberances. And there's some football and cartoons and birthday wishes thrown in as well. And that's good, because we do more forward. But, this day and those images are burned in our memories forever. It doesn't take much for the tears to flow. Emotions remain raw and at the surface. And, in my opinion, they should.

We can't forget. We just can't. 12 years ago there were words and names like Al Qaeda and Hamas and Hezbollah that we didn't know how to pronounce much less know what they are. We've seen over a decade of war. The flags went back inside. Church doors are not open day and night. We're back to fighting among ourselves. But today, somehow, even if for just a moment, we are united again. In pain. In resolve. In growth. In determination. In prayer. As humans. As Americans.

Sometime today, do something in honor of those who died and worked to save others. Take cookies to the firestation. Plant flowers in your neighborhood. Give blood. Stop work a little early and go on a picnic with your family. Laugh, alot, with children who don't know yet why today usually brings tears. Say a prayer. Light a candle. Make something beautiful. Cry. Read the names. Watch the footage.

Remember. Always remember.

 "Almighty God, who brings good out of evil and turns even the wrath of your children towards your promised peace: Hear our prayers this day as we remember those of many nations and differing faiths whose lives were cut short by the fierce flames of anger and hatred. Hasten the time when the menace of war shall be removed. Cleanse both us and those perceived to be our enemies of all hatred and distrust. Pour out the spirit of peace on all the rulers of our world that we may be brought through strife to the lasting peace of the kingdom of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord, who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen." (Collect for September 11 from the Diocese of New York)

Turning left

I was on the campus on Springhill College tonight for a program of the Christian Jewish Dialogue. Springhill is a beautiful campus at the highest point in Mobile. I was looking for Byrne Hall and entered the campus as I normally do, from the Dauphin Street side, and began to cut through the golf course. As I began to pass by familiar buildings in a direction that used to take one across campus, I discovered a parking lot and sidewalks. Hmm. I backtracked and began a journey to the other side of campus and the Avenue of Oaks where I knew that Byrne Hall was. Past the baseball field, through the dorms, past Stewardfield, and down the Avenue, where I could see the hall across the soccer field. But I couldn't get to it. So I backed up. This went on for about 20 minutes. Finally, when I found myself at my starting point, I asked a student where to get to my destination. He directed me back around the ball field and dorms and said "when you get to a point where you either have to go left or right, turn left...and then keep going." Just before I drove away, he repeated that sentence. "When you get to a point where you have to go left or right, turn left." As I drove away, I chuckled and thought to myself how many times in my life should I have just turned left?

I love being on college campuses. That strikes me as funny since college was not the greatest experience for me in the beginning.  I went away too soon to the wrong school with no clear direction. Small town. No car. Knew no one. Painfully afraid and unsure. It was a miserable year.

The rest of my undergraduate career was a series of mistakes and misturns. Two transfers, 3 major changes, and a lot of heartache. When graduation finally came I swore that was it. I was finished with school. Well, that was two Masters degrees ago. And if it didn't cost so damn much, I'd probably pick another subject and do it again.

Some of this is a love of learning. But as I was driving thru the campus tonight, I saw students playing soccer, walking to the dining hall, digging thru backpacks. I looked thru the lights of the windows covered in fraternity letters and purple Badger banners. What I realized was that I envied them. For them it's all new. All out in front of them for the first time. And I really, really wish I had the ability to go back to start college again for the first time, and get it right.

I wonder. Where would I be if I had taken my parent's advice and stayed home for a year and got my feet wet? Where would I be if I had listened to my English 101 professor's suggestion and majored in Journalism? Where would I be if I had gone to a school and experienced college and all it's supposed to be instead of taking a full load and working all the time? Would I be married or have a family? Would I have a more fulfilling career? Where would I be if I'd just closed my eyes, and turned left? 

The answer, of course, is that I don't know. And the rest of the story is that there are people and places and experiences that I would not have had if any of my life had been different.  And I know I can't live a life of regret, although I'll admit that's a tough pill to swallow when I look at my student loans and degrees that seem to be getting me no where. Of course I wish that I could quit my job and decide tomorrow that I'm just going to write, or bake, or go back to school for something really cool like historical preservation or anthropoghy or religion and start this trek all over, but unfortunately bills and responsiblity will not allow, and the department of education and South Alabama won't let me trade in the degrees I have. So I guess I just keep moving forward and try to get to that place that fulfills me, whereever that turns out to be. But oh, to have a chance for a do-over - to have it all in front of me again. To have the chance to get to that point where you have to turn right or left...

I found Byrne Hall. Once I turned left and followed the road to the end, instead of stopping when I got uncomfortable, I found I was right where I needed to be.

Newtown, CT

I have clothes that need folding. My kitchen isn't as clean as it needs to be. There are things to do. But tonight, these things just don't seem to matter very much.

It's nights like these that I hate living alone. Not because of fear. But because there's no one to talk to. Nothing to connect to except the images on a tv screen or thoughts on social media or a text. It's not the same as either coping together or at least having a distraction. So I write because it's what I can do. And of course, I pray.

I ache for the families. I ache for the community. I ache for the children that survived and pray that they can do whatever they need to do in order to heal and feel safe again. I weep for the fear that must have been felt in those classrooms. I pray the physical pain was quick. The emotional pain will not be. I grieve for the parents who got the call, went to the school, and received the most horrific news.

After the Colorado theater shooting I wrote about the need to pay closer attention to what's going on around us and perhaps stopping the next tragedy from happening. And over the next few days, we'll see the shooter's picture and find out his story. There will be people who knew things. All the same questions will be raised. And, of course, the gun control debate will rage. This guy killed with hand guns, but there were assault weapons in his car. [Editor's note: it was later confirmed that the shooter actually did use the assault weapon to kill the children and adults, shooting each one multiple times. The hand guns were in his pockets.] Why the hell anyone needs one of those is beyond me.

But today was different. Today was too much. It was in the tone of the reporters as they tried to keep up with information. It was in the faces of law enforcement. It was in the tears of our President.

They were babies, most of them. They were innocent, beautiful babies.

I am not a parent, and I doubt, at this point, that I will be. For whatever reason, God, in His infintite mystery, has not blessed me with that precious opportunity. However, one does not have to be a parent to love the children in their lives. My office and home are covered with pictures of Grayton and Henry. Parents will tell you that they never knew they could love so deeply as they do their own children. I'm here to tell you - that feeling applies to aunts as well. I never understood it until I held both of them for the first time, and I know how precious my time and relationship is with them. It was impossible to keep their faces out of my head today.  I can't imagine. I just can't imagine.

In a text exchange tonight my sister wrote this: "There is an evil in this world that makes my bones shiver...this evil that infiltrates the hearts of the most vulberable and then unspeakable things happen and the most innocent suffer. And my only comfort is that those babies are in the warm arms of God."

Indeed, the only comfort.

O merciful Father, whose face the angels of thy little ones do always behold in heaven; Grant us stedfastly to believe that these thy children hath been taken into the safe keeping of thine eternal love; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

The Measure of a Man

In so many ways were are a socitey that quits. We want instant gratification and satisfaction and we want things to be easy and if we don't get our way....we quit. It's easier than working on the hard stuff. For me, however, the satisfaction that comes from earning something is far greater than that which is just handed to me. Easier? No. But far more satisfying.

Let me tell you about someone who didn't quit.

17 years ago, my brother was doing what every other high school graduate was supposed to be doing. He visited colleges, filled out applications, experienced the disappointment of not getting into his first choice, and then experienced the fear and anxiety that comes from watching your parent drive away after helping you move into your dorm. He was 10 hours from home. No car. Only a couple of familiar faces. No real idea of what path he was on, or at least not that he revealed at the time. He did the same thing I did when I transfered to my second wrong choice of colleges. When given the chance to take the easy way out and come home, he stayed put. Even though his heart and head were both screaming 'don't leave me here.' It was a long year for Curt. A city he loved. A college he'd been excited about. Both the wrong choice. But he didn't quit.

This began a journey of college hopping, major changing, moving from house to house and roommate to roommate. It led to a long term relationship with the wrong girl. It led to heartbreak, anxiety, fear, and sadness. But he didn't quit.

I don't think Curt has never been comfortable in a classroom setting. I think he finds it's stiffling, and I can understand that. I feel that way about working 9-5 in an office. So Curt's college journey has been...well...long. I remember nights when he'd come into my room or wherever I was studying for my own finals or writing my own paper. After I watched him pace for a while, I'd finally get out of him that something was due or there was a test the next day that he wasn't perpared for. Let's just say that there have been several all night study sessions at Denny's or papers that were finished and edited in time for me to splash water on my face and get to my own class. Some problems were bigger than others, but we got thru them. And, he didn't quit.

Sure, there were disappointments. Yes, there were semesters off (for both of us). There were countless challenges and at times I'll admit that even I wondered if a college degree was really necessary or worth it. But it was his journey.

In the past 17 years, my brother has been Beckwith's more formidable 'super counselor' turned Camp Director. He's been a Youth Minister. He's traveled thru the Southwest with boys with behavioral and emotional challenges and, thru camping adventures, rock climbing, and moutain biking Moab, he helped lead them to a second chance. He's loved and taught hundreds of children and teenagers to believe in themselves. Using his God-given talents at the keyboard, he's taught children and adults to play the piano. He's started and maintained a business, even in a recession. He found the courage to approach the right girl, and ask her to a party, and then asked her to marry him. He's purchased a house. And he and Sellers have created Grayton and Henry - by far their greatest achievements yet.

Let me tell you what I see when I look at my brother. I see a man who was put on this planet to be a daddy and a husband. I see a man with more grace in his little finger than I have in my entire body. I see a man with the ability to forgive and give second and third and fourth chances, even it means his heart is broken each time. I see a man of unceasing faith. I see a man with a childlike passion for the stuff in life that is especially important: family, friends, love. I see a man that, even in our adulthood, I can laugh with at things we thought were funny when we were little, or who gets excited about a new Star Wars or Harry Potter movie. I see a man who still believes in magic - no matter what life throws at him. I see a man who works hard, and plays harder. I see a man that I am incredibly proud of, that I am inspirited by, and one that I am blessed to call my brother and best friend.

And tonight? After 17 years...

I see a college graduate.

Martin Luther King said, "The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge..."

Tonight, Curt Kennington stands victorious at the end of this part of his journey.

There's more to come, of course. But he'll do it. Because he doesn't quit.

I've been thinking of one of my favorite movies since Curt received his final grade in his final class. The movie is "With Honors", a story about life taking an unexpected path and becoming richer for it. As they graduate, a portion of the song below plays.

Curt, my brother and friend, I am so proud of you. You will truly graduate life with honor and without regret. I love you.

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young
                       - Bob Dylan

Cursillo #149 talk on study

Last weekend I had the pleasure of serving on the the staff for Cursillo #149. Specifically I was on the music team and presented a talk on study. Below is that talk. I hope it was a blessing to those who heard it, and for those who read it. It was a blessing to write and deliver it. So, thanks for reading.

Elizabeth Kennington

Cursillo Talk: Study
Cursillo #149
Nov 1-4, 2012
Beckwith Camp & Retreat Center

Blessed Lord, who caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant us so to hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Savior Jesus Christ…

As a teenager, I was very active in my parish’s EYC, or youth group. When I graduated from college I began working with the youth at Trinity, Mobile, and for the next 15 years I served as a youth minister in three parishes. One of the favorite activities of youth groups everywhere are scavenger hunts. They come in many variations: photo hunts, video hunts, ones where you have to do an action or trade for something and the list goes on. Now I’m sure all of you have been on a scavenger hunt. You are divided into groups and given your first clue or instruction. Once you figure out the clue you set off to the next spot, where you’ll find the next clue or instruction. Each one of these experiences has the potential to yield great reward – usually the satisfaction of clarification and continuing to the next step. So it is with study.  

Study is the application and use of our minds to learn. In our faith, study and piety prepare us for action guided by our Christian ideal.

I've been studying my entire life. We all have. From the moment we are born we study in order to understand. As babies, we study with eyes and ears and touch. We learn to smile and clap and eat our Cheerios by watching. We discover the feelings of love thru hugs and kisses and soft voices and laughter. We learn the feeling of safety wrapped in a warm blanket nestled in the arms of someone who loves us. In the past 4 years I have enjoyed watching my nephews, Grayton and Henry, learn what rain feels like, or how a puppy dog smells, or how a thunderstorm sounds. I have loved watching them discover music. I relish the joy in their faces when they find they can sit up, pull up, stand, walk, run, and even fall down, with the knowledge that they can get back up and run again. As we grow through the turbulent teens and rocky 20’s and into adulthood, we continue to learn what love feels like, and sometimes what real pain is and how to deal with it, and emerge stronger.

We study in order to know ourselves and the world around us. Christian study is about coming to know God. We come to know Him, not as a problem solver or prayer answerer, but as a Being that is alive and constantly moving in our lives. Christianity is a relationship that requires spiritual growth to mature and thrive even as we grow and mature in life. Through study, we make an intentional effort to come to a deeper understanding of that faith. In the words of St. Augustine, we ask "Lord Jesus, let me know myself so that I may know you."

In Matthew's Gospel, we receive the Great Commission. Jesus tell us to "...go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you." We, as Christians, are to be agents of transformation in the world. Study allows God to speak to us and help us obtain a greater understanding of who we are and what Jesus is calling us to do. Study, then, is the bridge between piety and action. We can express love, but without knowledge to accompany that love, we can neither be transformed, nor can we transform the world.

Presiding Bishop Katherine Jefferts Schori has the unique position of being both our Chief Pastor, and an accomplished Oceanographer. During her May, 2009 visit to our Diocese, while here at Beckwith, she was asked by one of our young people about the reconciliation of science and religion. She said that science explains how things happen. She went on to say that our faith, and it’s grounding in Scripture, tell us what it all means.

The Bible is our foundation. It is the foundational story of our Judeo-Christian history, and our salvation through the death and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ. Studying Scripture can be challenging, but the church can assist you in knowing which translations are trustworthy and accurate in relation to the ancient text. Speak to your clergy for help with this. My personal recommendation is the Oxford Annotated Bible with the Apocrypha, either the Revised Standard Version or the New Revised Standard Version. The language is easily accessible and the footnotes are very fine and extremely helpful. A trusted Biblical translation, as well as the use of commentaries and guides, or perhaps a study group, can assist you in your study and stretch you spiritually and intellectually. There is no better source for Christian study than the Word itself.

The language of our liturgy is a primary source of study. An old saying states ‘what we pray, we believe.” Each Sunday and Holy Day we recite the ancient words of the creeds as a proclamation of our faith. Our Episcopal services of Ordination, and Pastoral services of Marriage and the Burial of the Dead, the Daily office and all the extraordinarily beautiful services of the Book of Common Prayer inform us and remind us of our story of salvation and our connection to the scriptures, tradition, and reason of the Anglican Communion.  

The 18^th century English poet, Alexander Pope, is often quoted from his work An Essay on Criticism, saying “a little learning is a dangerous thing.” I’ve often heard people say “I know just enough to be dangerous. This can be particularly true in the study – or sometimes lack there of – of sacred texts.  Our airwaves are full of religious leaders, from the Christian faith as well as others, manipulating parts of the sacred texts in order to incite fear and promote condemnation of others. In recent years this brand of hurtful extremism has targeted the Koran, the sacred text of Islam. Many Christian fundamentalist use the text to condemn the Islamic faith, while extremist Muslims use their holy book to justify Jihad and terrorist action. It is vitally important to study well and fully. History, culture, context, accuracy are all part of the work being done in study. Some Christian fundamentalist use the words of our own sacred text, the Bible, to vilify and condemn both fellow Christians, and others. A little learning is a dangerous thing.   

Daily prayer is an important work in study. Devotions, such as Forward Day-by-Day, and the Daily Office in the Book of Common Prayer are easily accessible and decidedly Anglican resources that make spending a little quiet time with God both enriching and convenient.

Education for Ministry is a 4 year program of the School of Theology of the University of the South at Sewanee. Over the course of 4 years, students cover the Old Testament, New Testament, Church History, and Theological Choices. Let me also tell you what EfM is not: it is not a precursor to seminary (although some EfM graduates have gone on to the ordained priesthood). EfM is a survey course designed to prepare us for the ministry to which we have been called. Through weekly chapter readings, prayer, and guided reflections, students learn to think theologically, examining our own beliefs in relationship to our culture and our Christian tradition.  I am currently in my 3^rd year, and I can tell you without hesitation that EfM night is the best night of my week. If you’re really up for a challenge, and aren’t afraid of having your theological perspective shaken up a bit, I highly recommend enrolling in an EfM program.  

Of course, there are many other gifted and challenging spiritual writers who can be profound companions on the journey. Three of my favorites are C.S. Lewis, Mike Yaconelli, and Donald Miller.  Lewis, of course, is one of the 20^th century’s most influential writers. Whether addressing the central issues of Christianity in Mere Christianity, reading the humorous exchange concerning some of life’s moral questions between two of the Devil’s chief agents in the Screwtape Letters, or emerging from the wardrobe to meet the mighty Aslan, Lewis takes his readers on a magical and sometimes mystical journey toward a better understanding of a life of faith.

The late Mike Yaconelli was the godfather of modern youth ministry.  His books Dangerous Wonders  and Messy Spirituality  remind  me of the importance of keeping a childlike faith, and that no matter how badly I screw up or fall down, there is always a seat for me at the table. Donald Miller’s Blue Like Jazz, Through Painted Desserts  and  Searching for God Knows What are like talking with an old friend. He and I are the same age, and like many of my fellow “Gen-Xers” we are navigating our spiritual journeys through a cynical world, and seeking to further our connection with our brother, Jesus. These three men, and many other gifted writers challenge my mind, my beliefs, and inevitably lead me back to the Scripture, which is my foundation.

Study does not have to be from the written page. Study can, and should, include seminars, video and audio resources, poetry, art, conversation, and the observation of the people and nature around us.

We are so blessed to be at Beckwith on this beautiful October weekend. Fall is my favorite time to be here. The cool breezes, the crunch of the autumn leaves, the beauty of the stars at night so far away from the city. A couple of weeks ago I had the opportunity to be with my family and a few friends on a sail on the Schooner Joshua in Mobile Bay. We were celebrating my dad’s 70^th birthday. As we were coming in from our 2 + hours on the water, God showed off a bit with one of the most spectacular sunsets I’ve seen in recent memory. We move so quickly these days. I encourage you to slow down and reflect on the majesty that is in the beauty of creation: the first ear of Silver Queen, or a summer tomato sandwich. The power of a hurricane. The devastation of torandos and droughts. Even the excitement of a Olympic Gold medal, or SEC football game. Or maybe the moment of reflection after the cancer diagnosis. What do these things tell of God? Of life? They are all resources for study.

For me, music, whether hymns of the church, classic composers, or modern contemporary,  is a primary source of reflection and prayer and I have been blessed to have wonderful musicians in my life, including my father and brother. They are my musical companions along the way.  

As in life, there will always be obstacles to study. Most of these are self- inflicted. You may be thinking that you don’t have the self-discipline, or that you don’t understand Scripture. You might even be afraid of what you might find out about yourself or your call.  The solution?

First, start.

Begin the process of your Christian study wherever you are. Talk to your priest or spiritual director about Biblical commentaries or guides to help you begin. Then find the complementary resources in literature, devotions, music, etc. that are best for you. 

Secondly, pray for God’s wisdom and guidance as you spend time in the reflection of His word.

Next, keep moving forward. If you miss a day, or you discover something you don’t understand, don’t beat yourself up and say “I knew I’d fail”.

Continue to set individual goals, and continue to work toward them with God’s help.  

Finally, remember that you are not in charge. Come to the discipline of study with a humble heart, and trust in Him. His timing is always perfect.

Never stop learning. In the words of Proverbs 6:6:  “Go to the ant, you sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise.”

Livestrong? Or just a big lie...

Dear Lance,

I wish I could say, without question, that I believe you. I want to. So badly. But where there is smoke...

I do think you have been the victim of a witch hunt. The USADA is a seriously flawed organization and I think that Travis Tygart was definitely out to get you. Even a federal judge question the motives behind this investigation. And the list of witnesses are far from credible, since all of them have either admitted to doping or been caught by testing postive for performance enhancing drugs. Plus they have been promised immunity and allowed to continue to race so really they have nothing to lose by telling the USADA what they want to hear. Not to mention we're talking about races that were won over a decade ago. And I still have not seen proof of a failed drug test. But still. So many pointing fingers...

I'd never watched a cycling race in my life until you'd already won the Tour de France once. You sparked my attention, so I kept watching. Every pedal turn of the next 6 years. I learned the sport. I learned your story. I read your books. I shared them with friends that were fighting cancer as means of inspiration. I have yellow bands, yellow blankets, water bottles - all calling us to "Livestrong". I saw you has a fighter. A dad with an incredible story to pass on to his children. Someone to emulate. To admire. To point to as an example.

No one can deny that you can climb a mountain on your bike. Drugs or no drugs, you did that. I saw it. No one can deny that you helped and continue to help people fighing cancer, and work to find a cure. That legacy continues. I just can't help but wonder what happened to the guy who fought a cancer that gave him a 2% chance of survial and won? If you, as you say, have never doped - then why have you stopped fighting?  

If you did this thing they said you did - if you doped your way to 7 Tour wins - I wish you'd just say so. Don't you understand that to continue to lie about it just makes you look worse? Makes the fall even harder? Makes it all even more disappointing for those of us who have believed in you all this time? Just tell the truth, do the penance, and move on. Instead, you've quit fighting the legal system. Nike turned their backs. And today, you stepped away from the people you wanted to inspire the most - your cancer family. What are you hiding from? Never mind. I'm pretty sure at this point I don't want to know.

The definition of a hero is a person, typically a man, who is admired for courage or noble qualities. That's hard to come by these days. Until today, you were one of my heros. I don't think I can say that anymore. Not unless you prove these people wrong.

I don't know that stripping you of your titles and passing off the Yellow Jersey will matter. I mean, the riders behind you have all been caught or admitted doping themselves, so what's the point? Regardless of what happens next, the jersey, along with my waterbottles, blanket, and arm bands have been seriously tarnished.

I'm just so disappointed.
And very, very sad.

Pay Attention

We're 4 days removed from the Colorado movie theater shooting that took the lives of 12 people and injured 50+ others. The shooter had his first day in court yesterday, with painted red "Joker" style hair and a dazed look in his eye. We're beyond the shock...sadly. The headlines are already beginning to fade as the next big story takes over. Artists have created their tributes. Prayer vigils have been held. Those that are anti-gun are calling for tougher laws. Those that are pro-gun have changed their facebook status to remind us that guns don't kill people...people kill people. The chat rooms and blogosphere are full of people psycho-analyzing the shooter with names such as "sociopath" and "just crazy". And of course, everyone wants to know why.

I do think that some people just have a wire loose. Whether it's a psychotic break or a chemical imbalance or they witnessed something that drove them over the edge, some people just snap. The crimes that these people commit are usually called "crimes of passion" and are sometimes ragged and sloppy. But the shooting in Aurora, Colorado - just like Columbine, or Jonesboro, or Virginia Tech, or the countless other mass shootings in schools and other public arenas - was planned. Calculated. Executed to a "T" to kill as many people as possible in a manner that would cause panic and fear and would be remembered. I think that last part is probably the most significant. It will be remembered.

What we learned about the shooters in the events I named was that they were all "loners". We heard witnesses and classmates and parents and friends talk about how all of these guys were quiet, kept to themselves, but maybe dressed a little odd or seemed a little different. And then we heard about the journals and the manifestos, telling stories of bullying, or of not being understood, or feeling unloved or unwanted or insignificant.

My question is this: why was no one aware? Why was an arsenal being compiled in the apartment next door or the dorm room or under the teenager's bed? Why was no one paying attention? All of these people had parents, teachers, friends, clergy, in their lives. So why did no one see or hear or suspect anything was wrong and then do something that may have prevented Friday night's shooting or any of the ones before?

See, I don't think this has anything to do with being desensitized to violence. I don't think it has anything to do with gun laws. I don't think it has anything to do with movies or even video games. I think it has everything to do with human beings not paying attention.

One of the joys in my life is continuing to watch my nearly 4 year old nephew learn and discover new things. He becomes more and more confident in his abilities to do things himself and when he accomplishes something he is eager to share that victory. When he has a question he wants an answer. At times, I have witnessed him trying to get someones attention to show or ask that person something, and I have witnessed the frustration in his voice, expression, and mannerisms when he cannot get the adult he's speaking to to listen. Now I know that manners have to be taught and children have to learn not to interrupt or to wait their turn, but I also believe that at that moment, there is little, if anything, that is more important than stopping for a few seconds and acknowledging and being proud or answering a question.

I know what it feels like to be so excited about something that I have to find someone to share it with right at that moment, and I know the deflating feeling when I call everyone in my cell phones and no one answers. I know what it feels like to feel sad or frustrated or angry about something and either have no one to talk to or to have people simply tell me that I shouldn't feel that way - I should feel differently - and then move on. Encouraging a different perspective is one thing. Making someone feel unjustified and not validated is something else, because now, not only does that person feel frustrated or angry, now they also feel alone.

As the news broke Friday morning, I gasped in the horror of the situation. Like the rest of the nation I ached for the victims and shook my head in disbelief that this kind of thing had happened again. But as the day wore on I found myself thinking more about the shooter. Now, don't get me wrong. He is absolutely responsible for the death and pain and injury that he caused and he should be punished. But I can't help believing that something or someone could have stopped this. This kid, this 24 year old medical student, not only collected assault rifles and tactical gear, but constructed a booby-trap in his residence designed to kill anyone that walked through the door. When the media contacted his mother following his arrest, her words were "You have the right guy". I don't even know what to do with that. No question or shock in her voice. Just "You have the right guy".

Somewhere in the life of this troubled young man, someone made him feel insignificant. Someone didn't listen. Someone told him he didn't stack up. Someone made him feel invisible. Someone didn't pay attention. And at some point he felt the only thing left to do was strap on a mask, walk into a movie theater, and shoot 70 people. Now we're paying attention.

In a culture that is becoming more about mega-multi-tasking and less about human connection, ask yourself what's more important? And then...

Stop. Put the phone down. Step away from facebook. Turn off the TV. Unplug.

Now...

Play a game. Take a walk. Cook a meal. Talk to each other. Go outside. Take a road trip. Look people in the eye. Speak to the guy at the drive thru. Smile at the cashier. Go meet your neighbors. Leave an extra tip for the hotel maid. Say "thank you" to your post master or garbage collector.  Introduce yourself to the quiet guy in the corner. Celebrate your children. Celebrate every ones children. Answer the questions. Validate one another. Pray. Love.

Pay attention.
Pay attention.
Pay attention.

Chester

In November, 2005 a few days before my 34th birthday, I received a call from my dad saying he needed me to run an errand with him the next morning. He needed my help making a decision. Now, it was a month before Christmas and his and my mom's wedding anniversary, a few days before my birthday, and slightly more than a month before my brother's wedding - so this decision could have been about anything. The next morning, shortly after 8 a.m. my dad picked me up and we set off. I had no idea where we were going. Before I knew it we pulled up at the local animal shelter. We walked inside and dad announced "I'm here to see Chester".

I figured Chester was someone who worked there. We walked to the back thru the kennels and cages and out of one of the large dog runs crawls this little scrawny brown dog, looking skinny and pitiful. He walked tentatively to my dad, who scooped him up and cradled him in his arms. My father looked at me and said, "now, the decision I need you to help me make is this: is this the dog you're taking home today or do we need to pick out another one?". By this point, Chester was already licking me all over my face. The decision was made.

Chester spent the first day at the vets office just until I got off work, and then he came to his forever home.

And then I learned the rest of the story. My parents had been in kahoots with our vet and my apartment's office manager for a while it seems. The pet deposit was being paid. Our vet was on the look out for a small, apartment sized dog. Sneaky bunch.

Chester was found in the Dauphin Street area by an employee of the animal shelter. It was just weeks after Hurricane Katrina. It is believed that Chester was either left behind, dropped off, or somehow became separated from his family. He is a dachsund-chihuahua mix, and was about 8 months old when found. He had probably been on his own since the storm. He was tiny, hungry, dirty, and as most strays are, probably not treated very nicely by people or bigger dogs.

And now he was home. Safe and warm and loved. He and my parent's dog, Bela, became fast friends. When Bela died about a year later one of the most heartbreaking moments was the first time Chester went to my parent's house, and spent the entire night looking for his big, black friend.

About two years later, while at the beach, he had a seizure. It was terrifying. To see that little body twisted and stiff, with eyes begging to know what was happening. I learned quickly that epilespy, if it is going to be an issue, shows itself by the time they are 3 years old. The doctors can find no reason for the seizures, and I've learned how to treat him while they are happening and while he's recovering from them. But they are never, ever fun to watch, and always scary. Luckily, they are still sporadic enough that he doesn't need medication. I hope it stays that way. 

Chester suffers from a bit of PTSD, a few allergies, and a severe case of 'little dog syndrome". He thinks he Cujo. He's decided on about 5 people that he likes, and will settle for new people only after a lot of coaxing and even then it's on his terms or not at all. He's very protective of me. If there's a strange noise or anything unsettling, he'll come sit in front of me staring in the direction of the noise with this "don't worry, Mom. I got this" attitude. He always looks concerned. He is stubborn and willful. He loves to burrough under the covers or a blanket to sleep, and spends whatever time he can sitting in the sun gazing out the window making sure everything is ok. And like all dogs, he's glad to see me whether I'm gone 5 minutes or 5 days.

I wanted a lab. Or a springer spaniel. Or a basset hound. He's not a social, go anywhere dog like Max or Saint or Lucy. My nephews know him only thru pictures and by name, but they haven't met him yet because of Chester's anxiety issues - and maybe because of mine.

But I think God knew we needed each other. Sometimes we all feel like we've been left behind after the storm passes. We all feel like a bit of a mis-fit. I certainly have. And I'm sure that on the streets after a hurricane this little life felt fear, hunger, cold, loneliness, and possibly abuse. All our dogs want in life is to please us and be loved and protected. Isn't that really what we all want?

Chester turned 7 today. Now, we don't know exactly when his birthday is but the shelter and the vets believed he would be a year old in March after I got him. One day I started asking Chester what day he wanted to be his birthday. I just started saying numbers and he just started at me. When I said "the 22nd?" he literally started licking my face. I said a few more numbers and then the 22nd again and the same thing happened. After the third time I said, "well - March 22nd it is". He chose his birthday.

As I write this he's curled up in a ball on the bed  next to me, sound asleep. I can't imagine coming home without that face waiting on me. When I have to kennel him for trips, and occassionally spend a night at home without him, this place feels quiet and lonely.

No - he isn't what I thought I wanted. But he's exactly what I needed. Forever home.

Happy Birthday, my sweet Chester. I love you.

All downhill from here?

Did you ever have a grown up in your life tell you, after graduation or a significant birthday, that it was all down hill from here? I mean, what is that? What kind of message is that to give someone during a moment of celebration?

Celebrations need to be savored. Those are moments we don't get back. Whether it's graduation, a new baby, a wedding, a holiday, your birthday, or just Tuesday with your family, we don't get that time back - ever. And yet, the older we get, the less we celebrate. Hmm. Seems kind of backwards to me.

Let's think about this. A baby's first birthday is a big deal. Of course it is. Parents have a special cake for the baby to literally dig into, and probably spend too much money on a bigger cake for everyone else that no one eats because they don't need the calories. They invite all of their friends over who stand around and watch the baby tear into this aptly named 'smash cake' and coo and gurgle and speak infant. All the while, the child has no clue what's going on. This pattern gets repeated for years until the entire 5th grade ends up having a slumber party at your house complete with a space walk in the back yard and pancakes for 30 the next morning. And on it goes until one day you turn around and YOU are the one that's 30. Or 40. Or 65. And the last thing you believe you want to do is celebrate with your friends and/or family. A quiet evening at home will do just fine.

What?

We finally have a clue and we quit. It's not convenient. It takes up too much time. We don't want to put anyone out. It's just another day.

Well, I don't know about you but I think that's just nuts. Have you watched the news lately? As I write this another round of killer tornadoes are ripping apart lives and property in parts of Oklahoma and Missouri, as a chunk of the Deep South is still sifting thru debris from the last bunch. Hurricane season starts in 10 days, and frankly, the idea of that already makes my stomach hurt. A mother is finally on trial for allegedly killing her 2 year old. There are lives that are in turmoil because they honestly thought the world was ending last Saturday and they walked away from family and jobs at the direction of a radio engineer who is beginning to sound like a GPS after a wrong turn (re-calculating, re-calculating...).

Ladies and gentleman - we may not get another day. It simply is not a guarantee. The time to celebrate is now. Now that we are old enough to appreciate what it is that we're celebrating.

Now don't get me wrong. I do believe we should celebrate our children's birthdays. Those rituals are important and necessary. And there is absolutely nothing wrong with a quiet evening at home or making adjustments in holidays as families change and friends drop in and out of our lives. Believe me, no one contemplates where their life is, has been, or is going to more than I do. God-willing, in few months, I'll hit that 40 number. Single, living in apartment, and sitting behind a desk on Dauphin Island is certainly not where I expected to be at this point. If nothing changes between now and then (and we make it past the new projected end of the world...re-calculating...) - I'll probably contemplate and deal with a range of emotion leading up to November 18, and more on November 19 - but ON that day I hope to be celebrating with the people I love the most.  At least celebrating making it to 40 and having a new chance and a new decade to make changes where needed and appreciate even more the blessings I have in my life.

This week two of my cousins graduated from high school. One of them wrote a note describing his day as the 'end of the introduction of (their) story'. I kinda love that. The end of the introduction. Which means Chapter 1 is about to start. Definitely a time to celebrate, and I hope both Drew and Will blow the roof off their respective towns. Tomorrow is my brother's 34th birthday. He's spending a quiet night at home. And that's ok - it's been a very busy month. But first, some of us will gather for lunch and some fun and a little celebration of the day this remarkable young man came into our lives and made it richer and more beautiful than we could have ever imagined.

You see, it's never inconvenient to celebrate. It isn't just another day. It doesn't take too much time. You aren't putting anyone out. And it is NOT downhill from here. It's a starting point. Everytime. Take the joy and energy of each celebration and use it to walk forward, looking back only when needed, taking what we've learned and experienced and making it to the next celebration stronger, more able to handle the down times in between, and able to recognize that no celebration is a small one - not even if it's just Tuesday with the family. Each one becomes more precious as life gets busier, we get older, and the world gets scarier. They are not to be taken for granted.

And for heaven's sake...don't quit.

"The more you praise and celebrate your life, the more there is in life to celebrate."
                                                                      - Oprah Winfrey

Magic

It's 10:30 a.m. on a Friday. I'm on vacation. I've been basically awake since 4 a.m. Reason? To witness the wedding of Prince William of Wales and his bride, Catherine Middleton. The dress was stunning, the bride was beautiful, the groom handsome as ever. The trumpets sounded. The music was spectacular. Even the sun came out - and if you've ever been to London you know that's a fairly rare occurance. Now, why did I and millions of others wake up before the sun to witness the wedding of a young couple whom we do not know and will probably never meet? Well, I can't speak for the millions, but I can speak for me.

Part of it is because I, along with the world, have watched William grow up. I rose early to watch his parents marry. I wept with him when his mother died. I watched him become a man and take on more and more responsibility as the man who will be King. I smile when he smiles because he looks so much like Diana and has so many of her traits and passions. Today, I admire the fact that with all of the nods to tradition and order and responsibility that they did this their way, down to leaving the palace driving themselves - in a decorated convertible with balloons waving off the back and a sign that read "Just Wed" over the license plate. It completely took the crowd and the media off guard. Kind of reminds me of a young princess that died to soon.

But here's the real reason. I still need to believe in magic. I don't think I'm alone in this. The world is a dark, scary place and if we allow ourselves to get bogged down in nothing but dark and scary we become cynical and mean.

Wednesday of this week was a simply awful day in the state of Alabama and across the South. Over 120 tornadoes touched down in the worst outbreak this country has seen in 30 years. In Tuscaloosa and Birmingham twisters the size of those we see in the Plains ripped a destructive path thru highly populated areas. Neighborhoods are gone. People are dead. It's dark and sad and just horrible. Across this country and around the world people are struggling to make ends meet. Gas prices are too high. Unemployment is rampant. Weather related destruction and death are seemingly more common, or at least more widely reported. Nothing's easy. It would be so simple to pull the shades down at the end of the day and crawl into bed believing in nothing and expecting nothing to ever change. But if that's what we allow ourselves to believe, honestly, why get up the next day at all?

When times are tough, it's not the time to stop believing in magic - it's the time to start looking for it. Whether it's the baptism of a baby, or the laughter of a 2 year old during his first real Easter egg hunt, or the helping hand of a stranger when you've lost everything. Maybe it's your family around the dinner table. Maybe it's a sunrise. Maybe it's an empty tomb. Maybe - just maybe - it's in the faces of two young people as they take vows to love, honor, and cherish  - and then turn and face forever with hope and excitement and a few nerves.

Some are already tearing them down. Some are only talking about how much it cost. Some are already making bets about how long it will last. How ugly. How sad. I can't walk thru life that way, and I don't know why anyone would want to.

So, I'm going to start my day. I'm going to get in my currently un-air conditioned car and pay entirely too much to fill it up and then I'm going to drive 2+ hours in that very hot car. But at the end of that journey, I'll be sitting on the front porch of my sister's house, probably with a cold drink in my hand, and that makes all of the other stuff worth it.

My wish, on this day when a young woman married her handsome Prince and became a Princess, is that we all stop focusing on the dark and start recognizing and rejoicing in the magic that surrounds us daily. It's the thing that gives us hope, and makes the dark not so scary.

No matter how your heart is grieving
If you keep on believing
the dream that you wish will come true

Paper Clips

We are so busy with our lives and so inundated with bad news these days that most moments simply pass right by without a thought or a notice.  This fact makes the moments that are so unexpected and so powerful  they stick that much more precious. And you just never know what shape they will take.

A few months ago my dad introduced me to a documentary called "Paper Clips". Since that introduction, I've watched the film twice and been in several conversations about it. The story is of  a small Tennessee coal mining town that underwent a sort of awakening about 10 years ago and has been forever changed. Whitwell, Tennessee is a town of about 1600 hundred people. They are mostly white, mostly protestant, and until this project, most likely set in their ways without much thought of the diversity of the world around them. Following a teacher's conference, the assistant principal of the middle school came back with an idea that the students in the 8th grade should have an opportunity to study the Holocaust, believing that it would be the ideal way to introduce them to a different culture and faith, one that none of them had ever been exposed to. When the students began learning about the 6 million Jews that were killed in the concentration camps during WWII, one student wondered aloud about what 6 million looked like - what did such a large number actually look like. The principal encouraged the kids to find something they could collect 6 million of so they could have an idea of the magnitude of such a number. As you've probably guessed, the item was paper clips. Now, I'm not going to tell you what happens from here (get the film - watch it - and then watch it again) except to say that the project took on a life of it's own, and 10 years later a permanent memorial to the project still stands at the new Whitwell Middle School and has forever changed the attitudes and opened the eyes of this little backroads, coal mining, Tennessee town.

My mom and dad recently had an opportunity to visit the memorial during a trip to Sewanee, which is not far up the road from Whitwell. They did not get up to it as it's on the grounds of the new school, which was closed for Spring Break., but dad said that even the sight of it from a distance was moving. But perhaps more moving was his description of the woman from Whitwell who met him on the street near the old middle school, the original location of the memorial. I bet you have a picture of her in your mind already - and you'd be right - driving an old pickup that was splattered with the dirt of honest country roads,  - but bright eyes and a smile that said 'welcome' - a startling gesture in a world when where most strangers are met with caution. She updated my parents on the new school and the new location for the memorial and all the teachers and community leaders that spearheaded the original project. Dad shared with her that he's involved with a Jewish - Christian dialogue group in Mobile. She responded, with tears in her eyes, "that must be so wonderful." That's how deeply this project has changed this town - and it all started with a question - and an opportunity.

I wonder what would happen if everytime we saw a need or an opportunity to make things better - we took it head on like the community of Whitwell, Tennessee did with this project.  Can you imagine? What if all of the abandoned buildings became community centers with job skills training and after school programs. All the vacant lots became basketball courts for pickup games and a volunteer gave his or her time to kids with nothing to do between the hours of 3-6, which is when most kids get into trouble.  What if all the land and subdivision developers set aside two lots in each neighborhood and instead of building houses, they built a playground and installed picnic tables, so that people came out of their houses and got to know their neighbors - and the idea of neighbors helping raise the children came back into vogue - and crime went down because we were are looking out for each other. What if, instead of walking over the empty can on the street, we picked it up and found a trash can, or better yet, a recycling bin. What if, instead of giving into to hate and cynism and apathy, we educated ourselves on our differences, and discovered just how many similarities actually exist between different cultures, different races, different faiths. What if, no matter who told you not to speak the truth, or told you to be quiet unless given permission to talk, that you just kept getting louder until you made a difference? What if everytime a spark was created, we grabbed the billow to make it burn hotter instead of putting it out? That's how moments happen. It's how change is created. It's how a difference is made in the way we live our lives for the better. We never know where these opportunities are going to go if we don't give them a chance to take root and grow. Some will falter - and others will forever change a community, or a nation, or a world.

For more information on Whitwell, Tennessee and the Paper Clips Project go to http://www.whitwellmiddleschool.org/ and look for the Holocaust project link. The memorial is available for viewing year round. If school isn't open, just stop by the police station. They'll let you in.

Watching the world wake up from history

The world changed today.

For the last 18 days the world has watched as the people of Egypt, mostly young folks, have flowed into the streets in mostly peaceful demonstrations calling for the resignation of their President. For many of the protestors, President Mubarak is the only leader they have ever known. That's hard to fathom for us as Americans. Watching this whole experinence has made me even more grateful that we have a peaceful transfer of power between our Presidents and other public officials. Despite our differences, we rarely feel the need to take to the streets in order to be heard. We simply cast a different ballot at the next election.

I was a freshman in college in the fall of 1989 when the Berlin Wall came down. I remember watching with awe and excitement as the people of a divided nation walked across thru the gate without fear of arrest or death. Some of them saw family for the first time. Some scaled the wall and popped champagne. Some started playing music on top of the wall. All over Berlin people took to the streets in celebration. I also remember a generation or two older than I worried about what a unified Germany would mean. Their memories of that single country included the rise of Hitler and the horrors that followed and the rule of Communism. Suddenly, as we watched on network and some cable television, we saw a revolution of sorts and rejoiced with cautious optisim. Tonight we watch again, on television, the internet, facebook, and Twitter, with the same questions of what this means for Egypt, the Middle East, the United States, and the rest of the world. As I write this, some 12+ hours since the announcement that Mubarak had resigned, the celebration continues in the streets of Cairo and Alexandria.

So, why do we 'take to the streets'? In good times and bad, people seem to go outside. It's interesting. I've grown up hearing stories of sit-ins and peace rallies during the 60s. During the build-up to the war in Iraq, people gathered to protest the war or support the troops. In 1992, when a judge acquited police officers in the Rodney King trial, the streets of LA errupted in violence and flames as the citizens of South Central expressed their rage in the only way they knew how. After 9/11 there was a night when everyone was asked to go out on their porches and light a candle. When our favorite team wins a championship, we gather for celebration, usually with a parade or pep-rally. I remember the night the New Orleans Saints won the Super Bowl. I called my sister in New Orleans who said that block parties were spontaneously breaking out all over the place. The French Quarter was teaming with people. I could hear fireworks, yells, and honking horns in the background. I also remember the night President Obama was elected. I called my brother who told me he and a group of friends were standing outside drinking champage and celebrating. And for the last 18 days, the people of Egypt have gone outside and said in one voice that they were staying as long as it took. Yesterday, when it looked as if Mubarak was digging in and not leaving, even more people came out to join the throng of people already at Liberation Square. And finally, this morning when the resignation was announced, I think all of Cairo went outside.

I asked myself 'why do we do this?". Tonight, on CNN, I think I heard the answer. I mean, I get the whole being together, thing. But I heard a young Egyptian being interviewed as the sun rose over Cairo, and he talked about walking across the bridge that leads into the city. He described the scene and the people and the noise. He then got a little choked up as he described the children dancing in the street and chanting "hold your head up - we are Egyptians". He walked along that bridge in his country - now changed forever - and observed his human family celebrating together. That's what it comes down to. The human family celebrating, protesting, raging, exisiting - together.

The scenes of the dancing, the bumper-to-bumper traffic, the make-shift food tents, the flags and banners -are all stunning images of a people who, yesterday, felt that they had no voice, and today, have finally been heard. May God be with them as they rejoice and move carefully into the future.

Jesus Christ is raging,
Raging in the streets,
Where injustice spirals
And real hope retreats.
Listen, Lord Jesus,
I am angry too.
In the Kingdom’s causes
Let me rage with you.

Jesus Christ is healing,
Healing in the streets;
Curing those who suffer,
Touching those he greets.
Listen, Lord Jesus,
I have pity too.
Let my care be active,
Healing just like you.

Jesus Christ is dancing,
Dancing in the streets,
Where each sign of hatred
He, with love, defeats.
Listen, Lord Jesus,
I should triumph too.
On suspicion’s graveyard
Let me dance with you.