Imagine my dismay to go to my library, here in Michigan, today and discover that we have all of three Ernest Hemingway books on the shelves, none of which are the Nick Adams stories.
Oh, well.
I came home with two books by Jim Harrison, Hemingway's regional heir apparent.
And my copy of Sleeping With Bread, a book that's been recommended to me by three different people in different life contexts, arrived from Amazon.
And -- there's Amish rhubarb pie in the fridge. As Garrison Keillor sings, "Mama's little baby got rhubarb, rhubarb..."
Things could be worse.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Compassion, or...Whatever
Ever feel you've been had?
As frequent visitors may remember, earlier this year Fellow Traveler and I attended a Lost and Found concert at our church which featured an informational table for Compassion International, an organization that promotes sponsorship of needy children overseas. Despite some real reservations about this organization -- its fundamentalist agenda, homophobic content in its literature -- we made a decision that helping a kid is more important than contending with whatever institutional bull doody is trying to keep us from doing so, and that if a couple of musicians we respected supported the organization we'd give it the benefit of the doubt.
So we signed up. We signed up for an automatic payment plan right out of the bank account.
And then we waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Compassion International has never followed up. When I e-mailed them, a couple of months after the concert, to inquire why no money was taken out of the designated account to help our kid, there was initially no response; then I got an e-mail saying that there was some sort of bureaucratic issue with the automatic payment. I responded.
And then we waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Well, we've had it with these people -- not only for their hateful attitude toward gay people but for their seemingly lackadaisical followup on behalf of a kid they claim they want to help. Could have fooled us.
A photo of Vijoy, the child we wished to sponsor, is still on the refrigerator. He's still in our prayers. I pray that someday the quality of his life will improve because of people who actually care about his wellbeing as a fellow human created in imago Dei and deserving of nurture and respect, more than they care about promoting their own religious agenda.
As frequent visitors may remember, earlier this year Fellow Traveler and I attended a Lost and Found concert at our church which featured an informational table for Compassion International, an organization that promotes sponsorship of needy children overseas. Despite some real reservations about this organization -- its fundamentalist agenda, homophobic content in its literature -- we made a decision that helping a kid is more important than contending with whatever institutional bull doody is trying to keep us from doing so, and that if a couple of musicians we respected supported the organization we'd give it the benefit of the doubt.
So we signed up. We signed up for an automatic payment plan right out of the bank account.
And then we waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Compassion International has never followed up. When I e-mailed them, a couple of months after the concert, to inquire why no money was taken out of the designated account to help our kid, there was initially no response; then I got an e-mail saying that there was some sort of bureaucratic issue with the automatic payment. I responded.
And then we waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Well, we've had it with these people -- not only for their hateful attitude toward gay people but for their seemingly lackadaisical followup on behalf of a kid they claim they want to help. Could have fooled us.
A photo of Vijoy, the child we wished to sponsor, is still on the refrigerator. He's still in our prayers. I pray that someday the quality of his life will improve because of people who actually care about his wellbeing as a fellow human created in imago Dei and deserving of nurture and respect, more than they care about promoting their own religious agenda.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Friday Five: Book 'Em
This week's RevGalBlogPals Friday Five is about one of my favorite subjects: books.1.Do you think of summer as a particularly good season for reading? Why or why not?
For the past couple of years we have been so busy every summer that I find it difficult to take book breaks the way I would, say, on a blizzardy winter weekend.
2) Have you ever fallen asleep reading on the beach?
I can honestly say I've never fallen asleep on the beach, period...although I did recently fall asleep in a lawn swing outside a friend's lakeside cottage.
3) Can you recall a favorite childhood book read in the summertime?
When I was a kid I devoured books from the public library. One year I read every Thornton Burgess animal book on the library shelf; another year it was the Laura Ingalls Wilder books; another year I was fascinated by mythology and read every book the librarian could find on that subject. I loved books about science and animals. When I was a very small child, a neighbor lent me several Flower Fairies books, and I hoped against hope that fairies also lived in my back yard, and even set food out for them in hopes of getting on their good sides.
4) Do you have a favorite genre for light or relaxing reading?
Detective novels and humorous essays, definitely.
5) What is the next book on your reading list?
Funny you should ask. Several weeks ago I read about how Hemingway's The Nick Adams Stories had been the focus of a statewide reading program last year, and my reaction was, "Hmmm...well...better late than never." I'm waiting for an uneventful weekend to begin this project. And I do have Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential on my roundtuit list as well.
Our Parish Anchoress
One of the lay ministers present at our lay ministry meeting last night is struggling with MS. Formerly a very active woman, and one of the real matriarchs of our congregation, over the past year or so her health and mobility have noticeably declined; this spring she fell and broke her ankle, so now she's further impeded by a walker and walking cast.
During our discussion, she spoke very passionately about her love of preaching and her enjoyment of mentoring within our synod's lay ministry program, a job she had to give up after losing the ability to drive. She talked of her frustration at not being physically able to participate in worship leadership the way she had previously.
But then she added that she believes God closes one door in order to open a new door, and told us about her prayer ministry -- how she engages in a daily discipline of praying for every single person (and there are many) on our congregational prayer list, as well as for the concerns of people who contact her directly. One person noted, when asking her for prayers, "I'm asking you because I know you'll pray."
As she was speaking, I thought about Julian of Norwich, physically constrained both by the discipline of her calling as an anchoress and by her own health problems, who became a beloved spiritual counselor and pray-er for the people of her community.
So I told my friend about Julian. "I think you're our parish anchoress," I said.
It's a wonderful thing to have.
During our discussion, she spoke very passionately about her love of preaching and her enjoyment of mentoring within our synod's lay ministry program, a job she had to give up after losing the ability to drive. She talked of her frustration at not being physically able to participate in worship leadership the way she had previously.
But then she added that she believes God closes one door in order to open a new door, and told us about her prayer ministry -- how she engages in a daily discipline of praying for every single person (and there are many) on our congregational prayer list, as well as for the concerns of people who contact her directly. One person noted, when asking her for prayers, "I'm asking you because I know you'll pray."
As she was speaking, I thought about Julian of Norwich, physically constrained both by the discipline of her calling as an anchoress and by her own health problems, who became a beloved spiritual counselor and pray-er for the people of her community.
So I told my friend about Julian. "I think you're our parish anchoress," I said.
It's a wonderful thing to have.
The Thing That Ate Our Church
At our lay ministry meeting last night I found out that our synod wants to collect comments from members of our congregation concerning the in-process ELCA statement on human sexuality, which can be found here .
I find it interesting that, to my knowledge, we're never asked to practice similar group discernment with ELCA statements regarding, say, peace in the Middle East or a Christian response to the environmental crisis or any of the other social issues the church has addressed over the years.
I am so tired of the church being constantly distracted by what a friend of mine calls The Troubles. (Yes, I'm aware that the proposed statement covers many aspects of human sexuality, but we all know the direction this discussion will be headed, really, in most congregations.) I'm reminded of that classic West Wing line: "Why do you have to turn everything into a thing?"
I read the report. It's fine, as institutional reports go. Now, let's, for the love of God, move on, before this thing turns into a thing in our parish.
I find it interesting that, to my knowledge, we're never asked to practice similar group discernment with ELCA statements regarding, say, peace in the Middle East or a Christian response to the environmental crisis or any of the other social issues the church has addressed over the years.
I am so tired of the church being constantly distracted by what a friend of mine calls The Troubles. (Yes, I'm aware that the proposed statement covers many aspects of human sexuality, but we all know the direction this discussion will be headed, really, in most congregations.) I'm reminded of that classic West Wing line: "Why do you have to turn everything into a thing?"
I read the report. It's fine, as institutional reports go. Now, let's, for the love of God, move on, before this thing turns into a thing in our parish.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Where Sheep May...Um...Safely Graze
Fellow Traveler's and my adventures in locovoria continued today after church when we drove to Midland to pick up a delivery of freshly butchered lamb from a farm that raises Icelandic sheep.
These beasties are a wild-looking lot, in a variety of woolly colors, with sickle horns and narrow-pupiled, goatlike eyes; anyone squeamish about purchasing meat directly from the farmer while looking into the faces of future dinner entrees still on the hoof in the field need not worry, I don't think, about emotionally bonding with these particular sheep. We did, however, find the Icelandic sheepdogs the family also raises quite a lot of fun -- very curious, friendly dogs, two of whom happily hopped into our Jeep.
Anyway -- we came home with 40 pounds of chops, steaks,roasts, stew meat and ground lamb. (Three steaks are currently marinating in some Smoking Loon cabernet mixed with garlic, olive oil and rosemary.) We also got a tip from the farmers about their neighbors who raise natural pork, and about their farm open house coming up this fall, where they plan to invite other local farmers and food processors who sell directly to consumers -- including a mill in a neighboring county that still grinds locally grown grain.
Is dis a movement?
P.S. It's now nearly 9 pm, and we are luxuriating in happy food comas after enjoying our marinated, charcoal-grilled lamb steaks with authentic pita and grilled leeks from the food coop (I split the leeks lengthwise and nuked them for a few minutes, then finished them on the grill), garbanzo bean salad and cucumber-yogurt salad. The lamb was rich...mild...tender.
These beasties are a wild-looking lot, in a variety of woolly colors, with sickle horns and narrow-pupiled, goatlike eyes; anyone squeamish about purchasing meat directly from the farmer while looking into the faces of future dinner entrees still on the hoof in the field need not worry, I don't think, about emotionally bonding with these particular sheep. We did, however, find the Icelandic sheepdogs the family also raises quite a lot of fun -- very curious, friendly dogs, two of whom happily hopped into our Jeep.
Anyway -- we came home with 40 pounds of chops, steaks,roasts, stew meat and ground lamb. (Three steaks are currently marinating in some Smoking Loon cabernet mixed with garlic, olive oil and rosemary.) We also got a tip from the farmers about their neighbors who raise natural pork, and about their farm open house coming up this fall, where they plan to invite other local farmers and food processors who sell directly to consumers -- including a mill in a neighboring county that still grinds locally grown grain.
Is dis a movement?
P.S. It's now nearly 9 pm, and we are luxuriating in happy food comas after enjoying our marinated, charcoal-grilled lamb steaks with authentic pita and grilled leeks from the food coop (I split the leeks lengthwise and nuked them for a few minutes, then finished them on the grill), garbanzo bean salad and cucumber-yogurt salad. The lamb was rich...mild...tender.
Waiting at Table
Well, readers, today was the day I presided over the Eucharist for the first time, in the absence of our pastor.
Unlike preaching, a task that normally causes me some major anxiety both in terms of preparation and execution, I was remarkably calm during this portion of the worship service; by God's grace I was able to get out of my own way and enter, first into the ancient rhythm of the liturgy, and then into the eyes of my fellow parishoners -- some of whom come to the altar burdened in heart-rending ways -- as they came up with outstretched hands. What a gift to be able to offer one another when we are weak; hurting; seeking; sad.
I was smiling all the way home.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Blinded By Science
Our church's Vacation Bible School, slated for next month, was originally going to be themed around Augsburg-Fortress' "Rainforest Adventure" curriculum. That has since been nixed, because the material was deemed too challenging.Not for the kids. For the teacher.
This poor young mom was in a major state of freak-out, at the last committee-of-committees meeting I attended, because she was afraid of the science aspect of "Rainforest Adventure." Assurances from others that she was fully capable of handling the class didn't help.
I am trying to maintain some sense of sympathy here, but -- this curriculum isn't rocket science, folks.
There is something about women who model learned helplessness about science that just drives me crazy -- you know, who go all Lucy Ricardo/Nathan-Lane-in-"The-Birdcage" when asked to interact with nature or otherwise think seriously about the physical world.
So...our kids are doing "Veggie Tales" for VBS this year. Sigh.
"Hot Town" Friday Five
This week's RevGalBlogPals Friday Five is a word-association paen to the Lovin' Spoonful's "Summer in the City":1. rooftop The house of my childhood -- a fieldstone farmhouse that used to be my paternal grandparents' -- had a hip roof. Most of the houses in our neighborhood did. I like them. Although when I was small I had a fascination with A-frames and desperately wanted to live in one. That's about all I have to say about rooftops. Sorry.
2. gritty I associate grit, not with summers in the city, but summers in the country. It's chaff, actually -- when you make hay, even if your role is driving tractor, you get covered in chaff; it goes down your throat and down your shirt collar and gets up your pantlegs. I remember the relief with which I'd head to our shower in the basement and wash off after a day of baling. Oh...and remember Lava soap? Another gritty memory of summers on the farm.
3. hot town(yeah, I know, it's two words) Again, I have associations, not of living in the city, but of my childhood in the country. During the dog days, when the mercury crested above 90, we often fled to our mostly-unfinished, so-called Michigan basement. I also actually enjoyed staying there during heat-generated summer thunderstorms.
4. night One of my favorite things to do on a summer evening is sit on my front porch, or on my back stoop. I love it when darkness falls, where you can actually feel the texture of it against your skin. And I enjoy the sounds and sights of nighttime -- flittering bats and nighthawks and owls and crickets.
5. dance At the risk of saccharine gag inducement out there, I have to share yet another Cute Pet anecdote: Gertie loves to dance. FT dances with her every day; gets her up on her hind legs and waltzes her around to the tune of "Can I Have This Dance (For the Rest of My Life)?" The late Codeman also used to enjoy dog-dancing.
To see a very young John Sebastian singing "Summer in the City," you can go to the RevGalBlogPals website.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Dinner, Michigan Style
I tried a new trick on the grill today -- I made planked whitefish.
I soaked a couple of cedar planks -- back in the day I understand that the pioneers just used cedar shakes, the same things you roof your house with, but I bought some thin one-use planks specifically made for the grill -- for several hours, then oiled them. Then I placed whitefish filets skin-side down on them. I rubbed them with half olive oil, half butter, sprinkled them with kosher salt, and then added some fresh herbs from the herb garden -- lemon thyme on both pieces; dillweed on one and a mixture of fennel, chervil and tarragon on the other. I placed these over direct charcoal heat, closed the grill and cooked them for about 20 minutes.
Absolutely outstanding. We had them with steamed spinach, tossed salad and Three-Buck-Chuch sauvignon blanc from Trader Joe's.
I just love charcoal grilling out on the front porch. My favorite weekday evenings are spent there.
I soaked a couple of cedar planks -- back in the day I understand that the pioneers just used cedar shakes, the same things you roof your house with, but I bought some thin one-use planks specifically made for the grill -- for several hours, then oiled them. Then I placed whitefish filets skin-side down on them. I rubbed them with half olive oil, half butter, sprinkled them with kosher salt, and then added some fresh herbs from the herb garden -- lemon thyme on both pieces; dillweed on one and a mixture of fennel, chervil and tarragon on the other. I placed these over direct charcoal heat, closed the grill and cooked them for about 20 minutes.
Absolutely outstanding. We had them with steamed spinach, tossed salad and Three-Buck-Chuch sauvignon blanc from Trader Joe's.
I just love charcoal grilling out on the front porch. My favorite weekday evenings are spent there.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Is This Really Necessary?
Candidates' Wives' Cookie Recipes.
It's Two-Thousand-Freakin'-Eight people...are we not over this sort of trivializing nonsense?
It's Two-Thousand-Freakin'-Eight people...are we not over this sort of trivializing nonsense?
Monday, June 16, 2008
Foodie Fun
We're sitting in the living room in happy food comas after a fabulous dinner. I marinated some chicken breasts in a mixture of olive oil, Three-Buck-Chuck sauvignon blanc, minced garlic, scallions, salt, pepper, lemon juice and zest and a handful of fresh herbs from my rain-drenched and burgeoning new herb garden -- sage, basil, marjoram, rosemary and summer savory. Then I grilled these over apple-chip-infused lump charcoal. Yum; good stuff.
Another happy discovery: I microwaved a few small Yukon gold potatoes until not quite done, tossed them with kosher salt, olive oil and rosemary and placed them, with a couple of garlic cloves, in some perforated aluminum foil. These I placed on the top shelf of the grill while the chicken cooked underneath. To my delight, the potatoes absorbed some of that great applewood flavor. There's an ice cream/barbecue joint in a neighboring city that serves delicious smoked potato salad; I've tried to replicate this flavor with minimal success; now I think I know the trick.
And -- calloo, callay -- I got an e-mail from a farmer in the next county, someone who raises heritage-breed Icelandic sheep and other small stock, saying that she's about to take a couple of lambs to market; would I like to buy some lamb? Visions of shashlik and Irish stew and curry and chops dancing in my head, I said, oh, yes.
Another happy discovery: I microwaved a few small Yukon gold potatoes until not quite done, tossed them with kosher salt, olive oil and rosemary and placed them, with a couple of garlic cloves, in some perforated aluminum foil. These I placed on the top shelf of the grill while the chicken cooked underneath. To my delight, the potatoes absorbed some of that great applewood flavor. There's an ice cream/barbecue joint in a neighboring city that serves delicious smoked potato salad; I've tried to replicate this flavor with minimal success; now I think I know the trick.
And -- calloo, callay -- I got an e-mail from a farmer in the next county, someone who raises heritage-breed Icelandic sheep and other small stock, saying that she's about to take a couple of lambs to market; would I like to buy some lamb? Visions of shashlik and Irish stew and curry and chops dancing in my head, I said, oh, yes.
It Preached...All of It
I honestly had fun preaching yesterday -- even though (like many of you, I suspect), it didn't come together entirely until about 6:00 in the morning. And unbeknownst to me our organist came up with just the right combination of hymns to touch on the same points I was making...I love that sense of synergy.
And -- remarkably -- my nascent food-share plan made a huge hit with the congregation; as I explained my idea during the announcements, you could almost see lightbulbs going off in people's heads. One of our newer members cornered me after the service, a huge smile on her face, and said, "I have got to talk to you." Turns out she's another one of those people who feels sorry for orphaned vegetable starts in late-spring nurseries; she has over 40 tomato plants and pepper plants she rescued from garden-department oblivion this year, and is rarin' to both give her surplus away and organize a canning/freezing bee. Wow.
Our pastor is at confirmation camp next Sunday, so I'm preaching again. And...the designated AM has a family commitment, so I will be literally ministering "the full meal deal" for the first time. (For those of you outside the ELCA, or at least my synod, we lay ministers can receive a special, case-by-case dispensation from the bishop's office to celebrate the Eucharist.)
Nervous? A little. But just a little. Now.
And -- remarkably -- my nascent food-share plan made a huge hit with the congregation; as I explained my idea during the announcements, you could almost see lightbulbs going off in people's heads. One of our newer members cornered me after the service, a huge smile on her face, and said, "I have got to talk to you." Turns out she's another one of those people who feels sorry for orphaned vegetable starts in late-spring nurseries; she has over 40 tomato plants and pepper plants she rescued from garden-department oblivion this year, and is rarin' to both give her surplus away and organize a canning/freezing bee. Wow.
Our pastor is at confirmation camp next Sunday, so I'm preaching again. And...the designated AM has a family commitment, so I will be literally ministering "the full meal deal" for the first time. (For those of you outside the ELCA, or at least my synod, we lay ministers can receive a special, case-by-case dispensation from the bishop's office to celebrate the Eucharist.)
Nervous? A little. But just a little. Now.
Time For Wining
Michigan merlot?
Am I serious?
Oh, yes.
Michigan is not noted for red wine -- the climate, I'm told, doesn't always support the grape varieties best suited for good reds -- but Black Star Farms in Suttons Bay has come out with an absolutely fabulous merlot.
I had some 2006 Black Star Farms Arcturos Merlot yesterday with our Greek-seasoned buffalo burgers in pita. (About once a month we head about 25 miles down the road to the town of Standish, on M-23, which among other things boasts a great fruit-and-meat market selling locally raised buffalo meat for cheap.) Outstanding; that's all I can say. Smooth; rich but not heavy on the palate; flavors of berry, raisin and clove, maybe a touch of pipe tobacco. Two thumbs up for this wine, outstaters. And Black Star Farms is also investing heavily in sustainable/organic farming methods and eco-tourism (their vineyard includes a bed-and-breakfast), and promoting local organic farming by hosting an ongoing farmers' market on premises. It's a company doing a lot of good, innovative things here in Michigan; if you're a wineac or Upper-Midwest-bound tourist, definitely check them out, online or on the road.
Am I serious?
Oh, yes.
Michigan is not noted for red wine -- the climate, I'm told, doesn't always support the grape varieties best suited for good reds -- but Black Star Farms in Suttons Bay has come out with an absolutely fabulous merlot.
I had some 2006 Black Star Farms Arcturos Merlot yesterday with our Greek-seasoned buffalo burgers in pita. (About once a month we head about 25 miles down the road to the town of Standish, on M-23, which among other things boasts a great fruit-and-meat market selling locally raised buffalo meat for cheap.) Outstanding; that's all I can say. Smooth; rich but not heavy on the palate; flavors of berry, raisin and clove, maybe a touch of pipe tobacco. Two thumbs up for this wine, outstaters. And Black Star Farms is also investing heavily in sustainable/organic farming methods and eco-tourism (their vineyard includes a bed-and-breakfast), and promoting local organic farming by hosting an ongoing farmers' market on premises. It's a company doing a lot of good, innovative things here in Michigan; if you're a wineac or Upper-Midwest-bound tourist, definitely check them out, online or on the road.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Good Summertime Gifts of God
Strawberries...rhubarb...asparagus...and Great Lakes Tea and Spice Company's wild rose white tea. If you like jasmine tea, you will love white tea infused with real rose petals. The fragrance is out of this world too.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Proclaimin'
I'm preaching this coming Sunday -- our pastor has us lay ministers on a monthly rotation now, in addition to our filling in if he's away. I'm looking forward to it.
After mulling over the Sunday texts a bit, I think I will be tackling the topic of Lutheran evangelism -- which reminds me of the joke about the old German who loved his wife so much that one day he almost told her.
Seriously -- I think that we often get a bad rap for not being more "out there" about our faith; that it's seen as a sign of lukewarm spirituality or theological ignorance. After pondering this perception for awhile, I've come to the conclusion that it's really more about our history -- our relatively late entry as a faith tradition into a multicultural milieu where religious doctrine is a commodity in the marketplace of ideas rather than part of a shared cultural heritage -- and our discomfort/distaste toward what has constituted "evangelism" in our interactions with other flavors of Christians.
But be that as it may, we do have a particular ray of theological light, we Lutherans, that is sometimes obscured by a bushel -- and that's our understanding of grace; of God "always coming down." And many of our Christian neighbors are in as much, or even more, desperate need of this insight than the increasing pool of completely irreligious Americans. As I blogged earlier this month, I recently came upon an online correspondent desperately worried about the state of grace of a young autistic relative who, the person noted, couldn't comprehend or vocalize the Baptifundigelical "sinner's prayer" in a meaningful way. For this person, God apparently is the bridgekeeper in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, demanding a password in order for us to cross over to the "saved" side of God's equation. Now, I know that this individual is misunderstanding his own tradition's ideas about salvation and accountability, which grants a kind of dispensation to the mentally disabled; but still...what a sad and anxious way to go through life.
We Lutheran Christians have some real good news to share in these situations. So let's do it.
That's the gist of my sermon, anyhow.
After mulling over the Sunday texts a bit, I think I will be tackling the topic of Lutheran evangelism -- which reminds me of the joke about the old German who loved his wife so much that one day he almost told her.
Seriously -- I think that we often get a bad rap for not being more "out there" about our faith; that it's seen as a sign of lukewarm spirituality or theological ignorance. After pondering this perception for awhile, I've come to the conclusion that it's really more about our history -- our relatively late entry as a faith tradition into a multicultural milieu where religious doctrine is a commodity in the marketplace of ideas rather than part of a shared cultural heritage -- and our discomfort/distaste toward what has constituted "evangelism" in our interactions with other flavors of Christians.
But be that as it may, we do have a particular ray of theological light, we Lutherans, that is sometimes obscured by a bushel -- and that's our understanding of grace; of God "always coming down." And many of our Christian neighbors are in as much, or even more, desperate need of this insight than the increasing pool of completely irreligious Americans. As I blogged earlier this month, I recently came upon an online correspondent desperately worried about the state of grace of a young autistic relative who, the person noted, couldn't comprehend or vocalize the Baptifundigelical "sinner's prayer" in a meaningful way. For this person, God apparently is the bridgekeeper in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, demanding a password in order for us to cross over to the "saved" side of God's equation. Now, I know that this individual is misunderstanding his own tradition's ideas about salvation and accountability, which grants a kind of dispensation to the mentally disabled; but still...what a sad and anxious way to go through life.
We Lutheran Christians have some real good news to share in these situations. So let's do it.
That's the gist of my sermon, anyhow.
Friday Five: Life's a Beach
. This week's Friday Five is on "beachfront property":
1. Ocean rocks, lake limps? Vice versa? Or "it's all beautiful in its own way"?
Being a native Michiganian, and having very little exposure to ocean beaches, I have to vote for lakeshore life. Although I'm sure that all of you who live near the ocean love your beaches too.
2. Year-round beach living: Heaven...or the Other Place?
Oh, it's definitely God's country, even in the wintertime. Although I've never taken much of a shine to ice fishing -- too cold on the feet.
3. Any beach plans for this summer?
Well, we already had our annual springtime Leelanau Peninsula excursion, which included some lovely sightseeing along Lake Michigan (those of you contemplating a visit to these shores will want to visit the old fishing village of Glen Haven, north of Empire, which is now an historical site -- you can visit an old cannery-turned-boat garage/museum where the Park Service and friends restore old lake ships, buy tourist gewgaws at a restored general store, picnic on the grounds and take a lovely stroll through the dune grass and along the beach.
4. Best beach memory ever?
When I was a kid I loved going still fishing with my dad on the shores of our community's many small lakes. One of my fondest recent memories is of FT and my first trip up to northwest Michigan -- back before we were calling our outings "dates." We visited the Lake Michigan beach at Frankfort, then went up M-22 to Empire and checked out the lakeshore there.
5. Fantasy beach trip?
Believe it or not, I enjoy the idea of rocky northern beaches to warm southern ones. We want to visit Prince Edward Island and Maine one of these years, and will definitely be walking the beaches there.
Bonus Points: Art/Music/etc. that speaks to your experience of beaches:
Even though it's a ways inland, the snippet of Howard Hanson's "Symphony No. 2" with which the Interlochen Arts Academy ends each of its concerts says "Lake Country" to me.
Do What You Love...
I realize that I'm having a kind of slow-motion revelation about vocation.
Last night, as an exercise in cheering myself up, I thought about the activities of the week that brought me pleasure and a sense of accomplishment and a feeling of engagement in something meaningful. What came to mind were planning my sermon for this coming Sunday; getting in touch with some organic farmfolk in -- I can't believe it -- my own county, who are trying to organize a CSA and otherwise promote their products; and working on my own little project for connecting church members with one another and church neighbors who grow food.
What I'm feeling right now is a gentle urge to follow my heart and my interests where they lead, and concentrate my energies there -- something that I've never felt the freedom to do because of my blue-collar family's assumption that real work is by definition hard and unpleasant, and something you do because you have to and not because you want to.
Last night, as an exercise in cheering myself up, I thought about the activities of the week that brought me pleasure and a sense of accomplishment and a feeling of engagement in something meaningful. What came to mind were planning my sermon for this coming Sunday; getting in touch with some organic farmfolk in -- I can't believe it -- my own county, who are trying to organize a CSA and otherwise promote their products; and working on my own little project for connecting church members with one another and church neighbors who grow food.
What I'm feeling right now is a gentle urge to follow my heart and my interests where they lead, and concentrate my energies there -- something that I've never felt the freedom to do because of my blue-collar family's assumption that real work is by definition hard and unpleasant, and something you do because you have to and not because you want to.
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