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.