dual personalities

Category: Spirituality

Lord hear our prayer and be our guide

by chuckofish

We had more lovely warm weather this weekend and everyone was out and about. I even got the OM moving. (He usually hibernates in January.)

53750312710__1C7039FE-0470-4BA3-B72C-4B6E22044873.JPG

I also went to the church annual meeting…

IMG_3052.JPG

…and the dedication of our new labyrinth in Albright Hall. The labyrinth is pretty cool. You will recall that the labyrinth in Christian parlance is a spiritual tool for prayer, a metaphor for your own spiritual journey–taking the next step with God. There is a famous one at Chartres Cathedral in France and they have one at Grace Episcopal Cathedral in San Francisco.

Labyrinth.JPG

We used to have a portable labyrinth on a large piece of fabric which we would haul out from time to time. It finally wore out and, when we needed to renovate the floor in Albright Hall, someone had the bright idea of building a permanent one. Pretty clever.

Speaking of floor coverings, I rescued an amazing handmade needlepoint rug at the most recent Link Auction–for $10!

IMG_3054.JPG

How great is that? The amount of work that goes into a needlepoint rug is beyond, you know, my comprehension. I also picked up a copy of the Women’s Exchange cookbook (Memphis, TN) from 1966 in my travels this weekend. What a classic! The recipes are all like: “Punch (My Mother’s)” with the notation that “one quart of champagne may be used instead of ginger ale.” My kind of ladies. Plus they all have names like Mrs. Stovall Jeter and Mary Chism Roberts and Mrs. Shelby Foote. There are also quotes sprinkled throughout (“Coquetry whets the appetite, flirtation depraves it” in the appetizer section). Fun to read and who knows, maybe I’ll make some of Mrs. Lucius McGehee’s Rum Mousse. I will not, however, try Mr. Johnny Jacobs’ recipe for Barbequed Raccoon.

The wee babes came over for dinner with their parents on Sunday night and we had tortellini–always a popular choice–although the wee laddie preferred the organic cheese ducks (like Pepperidge Farm Gold Fish).

I had cleaned up an old Fisher-Price horsie we found in the basement (from the 1980s) and the wee babes loved it.

IMG_1695.jpegIMG_1697.jpeg

Good times. (Thanks to the boy, once again, for the pictures of the babes.)

Have a good week!

Let angels prostrate fall*

by chuckofish

Friday at last–what a long week it has been! The highlight of mine was when daughter #1 came home Wednesday night because she had business in town on Thursday.

Screen Shot 2018-01-25 at 10.27.31 AM.png

That was a fun, but short, diversion for me! Nothing like a mid-week wine & gab session.

A quiet weekend of puttering is fine with me. Hopefully we will see the wee babes for our usual Sunday night family dinner.

Unknown-3.jpeg

Miss Lottie looks so grown up with her four teeth!

Unknown-2.jpeg

The wee bud says, “I have a tooth too!”

I will note one historical milestone happening this weekend: Saturday is the anniversary of the dedication ceremonies of the New County Meeting House of the Ethical Society of St. Louis (designed by Harris Armstrong) in 1965.

ethic4.jpgThe Ethical Society of St. Louis was organized in 1886 under the leadership of Walter L. Sheldon. Meetings, services and Sunday School were conducted in the Museum of Fine Arts at Nineteenth and Locust streets, where social and settlement work projects were also instituted. Under Sheldon’s direction the Self-Culture Hall Association came into being. (“Self-Culture”?) After his death, members of the Ethical Society erected the Sheldon Memorial in his name in 1912 and it served as the society’s meeting place until the move to the new Mid-Century Modern structure. In its heyday speakers such as Margaret Mead, Thurgood Marshall, R. Buckminster Fuller, Norman Cousins and Martha Gellhorn spoke from its stage and the St. Louis Chapter of the League of Women Voters was founded in The Sheldon’s Green Room. The Sheldon is now a concert venue and art gallery.1200px-Sheldonconcerthall.jpgToday the Ethical Society, located in an upscale neighborhood in west county, offers “Sunday School” and nursery school for children and adult education classes on various topics including a book of the month club, chorus, discussion on current events, ethical circles, ethical mindfulness meditation and other discussion groups. A Humanist congregation, they “affirm human dignity, celebrate reason, and work together for social change.” It is a “place where people come together to explore the biggest questions of life without reference to scripture, religion, or God.”

Screen Shot 2018-01-25 at 11.10.26 AM.png

I see from their Instagram that their congregation appears to be as old and gray as any mainline Christian group. LOL.

IMG_1575.jpeg

Phooey!

Well, in honor of the ethical humanists, I will go to church on Sunday and to our Annual Meeting.

(It is interesting to note that the Church of the Immacolata, located across the street from the Ethical Society and built two years later, chose this scripture for their cornerstone:

church-of-immacolata13.jpg

In your face, ethical humanists!

Have a great weekend!

*”All Hail the Power of Jesus Name” by Edward Perronet (1779)

No ironic laughter

by chuckofish

“Have no anxiety about anything,” Paul writes to the Philippians. In one sense it is like telling a woman with a bad head cold not to sniffle and sneeze so much or a lame man to stop dragging his feet. Or maybe it is more like telling a wino to lay off the booze or a compulsive gambler to stay away from the track.

Is anxiety a disease or an addiction? Perhaps it is something of both. Partly, perhaps, because you can’t help it, and partly because for some dark reason you choose not to help it, you torment yourself with detailed visions of the worst that can possibly happen. The nagging headache turns out to be a malignant brain tumor. When your teenage son fails to get off the plane you’ve gone to meet, you see his picture being tacked up in the post office among the missing and his disappearance never accounted for. As the latest mid-East crisis boils, you wait for the TV game show to be interrupted by a special bulletin to the effect that major cities all over the country are being evacuated in anticipation of nuclear attack. If Woody Allen were to play your part on the screen, you would roll in the aisles with the rest of them, but you’re not so much as cracking a smile at the screen inside your own head.

Does the terrible fear of disaster conceal an even more terrible hankering for it? Do the accelerated pulse and the knot in the stomach mean that, beneath whatever their immediate cause, you are acting out some ancient and unresolved drama of childhood? Since the worst things that happen are apt to be the things you don’t see coming, do you think there is a kind of magic whereby, if you only can see them coming, you will be able somehow to prevent them from happening? Who knows the answer? In addition to Novocain and indoor plumbing, one of the few advantages of living in the twentieth century is the existence of psychotherapists, and if you can locate a good one, maybe one day you will manage to dig up an answer that helps.

But answer or no answer, the worst things will happen at last even so. “All life is suffering” says the first and truest of the Buddha’s Four Noble Truths, by which he means that sorrow, loss, death await us all and everybody we love. Yet “the Lord is at hand. Have no anxiety about anything,” Paul writes, who was evidently in prison at the time and with good reason to be anxious about everything, “but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.”

He does not deny that the worst things will happen finally to all of us, as indeed he must have had a strong suspicion they were soon to happen to him. He does not try to minimize them. He does not try to explain them away as God’s will or God’s judgment or God’s method of testing our spiritual fiber. He simply tells the Philippians that in spite of them-even in the thick of them-they are to keep in constant touch with the One who unimaginably transcends the worst things as he also unimaginably transcends the best.

“In everything,” Paul says, they are to keep on praying. Come Hell or high water, they are to keep on asking, keep on thanking, above all keep on making themselves known. He does not promise them that as a result they will be delivered from the worst things any more than Jesus himself was delivered from them. What he promises them instead is that “the peace of God, which passes all understanding, will keep your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

The worst things will surely happen no matter what-that is to be understood-but beyond all our power to understand, he writes, we will have peace both in heart and in mind. We are as sure to be in trouble as the sparks fly upward, but we will also be “in Christ,” as he puts it. Ultimately not even sorrow, loss, death can get at us there.

That is the sense in which he dares say without risk of occasioning ironic laughter, “Have no anxiety about anything.” Or, as he puts it a few lines earlier, “Rejoice in the Lord always. Again I will say, Rejoice!”

(Philippians: 4:4-7)

–Frederick Buechner, Whistling in the Dark

I had another post ready to go last night, but I decided, after thinking about it, that it wasn’t ready to go quite yet. So Fred Buechner to the rescue. He’s just the best.

Have a good Wednesday and have no anxiety about anything.

Back to the salt mine musings

by chuckofish

IMG_2356 2.JPG

There was a lot of coming and going during this long weekend, and sometimes this old lady could barely keep track of who was here and who wasn’t.

C’est la vie and I am not complaining. I am rejoicing.

It even snowed a little, just a dusting, but enough so we could see red fox tracks zipping through our yard.

03e3fdf15fb34435c0dc98f0d4bef3d0.jpg

Life is full of wonder.

Although it was only four o’clock, the winter day was fading. The road led southwest, toward the streak of pale, watery light that glimmered in the leaden sky. The light fell upon the two sad young faces that were turned mutely toward it: upon the eyes of the girl, who seemed to be looking with such anguished perplexity into the future; upon the somber eyes of the boy, who seemed already to be looking into the past. The little town behind them had vanished as if it had never been, had fallen behind the swell of the prairie, and the stern frozen country received them into its bosom. The homesteads were few and far apart; here and there a windmill gaunt against the sky, a sod house crouching in a hollow. But the great fact was the land itself, which seemed to overwhelm the little beginnings of human society that struggled in its somber wastes.

–Willa Cather, O Pioneers!

Albert-Bierstadt-Clouds-Coming-Over-the-Plains-MONA-Kearney-1.jpg

“Clouds Coming Over the Plains” by Albert Bierstadt

“Speak, for your servant is listening.”*

by chuckofish

Visit then this soul of mine, pierce the gloom of sin and grief!

Fill me, radiancy divine; scatter all my unbelief;

More and more thyself display, shining to the perfect day.

–Charles Wesley, hymn #7

Boy, do I love a three-day weekend! Don’t you? Daughter #1 stopped overnight Friday on her way to Indianapolis to meet up with some old college friends who also had had exciting careers in NYC and then moved back to the midwest. Then she stopped last night on her way back to central Missouri. How fun is that? We watched The World of Henry Orient (1964)–“an Upper East Side” movie and one of our faves. It is by far my favorite Peter Sellers movie and the girls in this film are dear to my heart.

(Like all trailers, this one does not quite convey the true idea/flavor of the movie.)

In between I met with my girlfriends to plan a bridal shower in March. Bells are ringing (again)! I puttered around the house putting stuff away. This is what I do and this is what brings me joy.

We had a guest preacher at church on Sunday–the Bishop’s Deputy for Gun Violence Prevention. I thought, oh brother, are we in for it, but he actually preached on MLK (his feast day is April 4, whatever) and tied it into the OT reading. Okay, then.

The wee babes came over on Sunday night for dinner and to show us their new haircuts.

IMG_1150

That face!

Their mother loves to take them to have their locks shorn–I’m not sure why and neither are they.

IMG_1847.jpg

But mine is not to reason why. They are adorable regardless.

IMG_1217.jpeg

Here are a few things from the internet:

This was interesting. #6 is particularly true–especially for those of us with scary RBF**: “Remember to smile. It will brighten your aspect and your voice, and serve as a corrective to the inevitable facial droop.”

I couldn’t agree more with this. Bravo.

Have a great week.

Thanks be to Thee, my Lord Jesus Christ, for all the benefits which Thou has given me, for all the pains and insults which Thou hast borne for me, O most merciful Redeemer, Friend and brother, may I know Thee more clearly, love Thee more dearly, and follow Thee more nearly, day by day.

–St. Richard of Chichester

*I Samuel 3:10

**Resting Bitch Face

Thou wouldst have us learn this day

by chuckofish

Screen Shot 2017-11-10 at 8.32.08 AM.png

They say we are in for some wintery weather this weekend.

Screen Shot 2018-01-11 at 3.39.32 PM.png

Well, it’s winter. The chill is on, as the meteorologists are fond of saying.

It has been a hard week and I am ready for some down time. And some baby time.

IMG_1842.jpg

IMG_1841.jpg

Have a good weekend.

“The real things haven’t changed. It is still best to be honest and truthful; to make the most of what we have; to be happy with simple pleasures; and have courage when things go wrong.”

–Laura Ingalls Wilder

I will follow you into the dark*

by chuckofish

 

464cf46d0c5e6b4bca2c43a3ab0e229c--rosh-hashanah-marc-chagall.jpg

I went to the funeral of another Jewish friend yesterday. It was at a very large Reform congregation; the service was minimal. We said the 23rd Psalm and the rabbi read the Mourner’s Kaddish. In between, members of her family gave eulogies for their beloved mother and grandmother, who was an accomplished and much admired lady. Her 96 years by all accounts were happy ones. The message, however, was life is a journey and the journey ends at death.

A funeral like this always leaves me feeling empty and kind of sad. Reading some Frederick Buechner puts things in perspective for me.

When it comes to the mystery of death, like the mystery of life, how can any of us know anything? If there is a realm of being beyond where we now are that has to do somehow with who Jesus is, and is for us, and is for all the world, then how can we know the way that will take us there?

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life,” is how he answers. He does not say the church is the way. He does not say his teachings are the way, or what people for centuries have taught about him. He does not say religion is the way, not even the religion that bears his name. He says he himself is the way. And he says that the truth is not words, neither his words nor anyone else’s words. It is the truth of being truly human as he was truly human and thus at the same time truly God’s. And the life we are dazzled by in him, haunted by in him, nourished by in him is a life so full of aliveness and light that not even the darkness of death could prevail against it.

How do we go where he is? How do we who have a hard enough time just finding our way home in the night find the way that is his way, the way that is he? Who of us can say, and yet who of us doesn’t search for the answer in our deepest places?

As for me, I think what we are to do is to keep on ringing and ringing and ringing, because that ringing – and the longing, the faith, the intuition that keeps us at it – is the music of the truth trying to come true even in us. I think that what we are to do is to try to draw near to him and to each other any way we can because that is the last thing he asked of us. “Love one another as I have loved you” John 15:12) is the way he said it… By believing against all odds and loving against all odds, that is how we are to let Jesus show in the world and to transform the world.

– from Secrets in the Dark

*Death Cab For Cutie

So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God.*

by chuckofish

The boy pointed out to me that freshman quarterback Tua Tagovailoa gave all the glory to God in the CFP National Championship post-game interview:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ScjOGjaKWDM

There are still some fine young men out there. Roll Tide.

Speaking of fine young people, here is a new picture of the wee babes entertaining themselves.

Unknown-1.jpeg

The wee laddie is quite adept at pushing that little wagon around…with his sister in it!

soli_deo_gloria.png

Soli Deo Gloria.

*I Corinthians 10:31

“O Comforter draw near, within my heart appear”*

by chuckofish

Here is a photo I found of one happy DP on Christmas morning circa 1972 or 1973 with our pater who looks slightly annoyed per usual.

katie_anc.jpg

It struck me that we were still sitting on the same loveseat this Christmas.

Screen Shot 2018-01-07 at 12.51.24 PM.png

It has been in our family for nearly 200 years. I had it re-covered several years ago, horsehair stuffing and everything. The wee laddie has already spit up on it, so it has been baptized. I do not get upset about such things. We do not live in a museum. C’est la vie, right?

It also struck me that back in the day I was no doubt foolishly critical and hard on my 17-year old self in that picture, thinking I didn’t look like I thought I should look. Good grief, what is wrong with teenage girls? The thing is– I still do this, and I am going to resolve to stop doing it in 2018.

Good luck to me!

Well, we had a busy weekend. I wrapped all my Christmas decorations, which I had taken down last week, and put them away–even the outdoor lights! Our neighbors across the street have not turned off their outdoor Christmas lights since they put them up in November! Their inflated Santa in a trailer decoration stayed inflated and plugged in night and day throughout December, and when I would get up at 3:00 a.m., Santa would still be opening the door and closing it. Finally the snow and ice did him in and he got stuck…IMG_1857.JPG

…and then he died.

IMG_3041.JPG

He will probably be there ’til the spring thaw. Neighbors.

The OM and I babysat the wee babes on Saturday night while their parents went out to celebrate daughter #3’s birthday. The babes were tired and so it wasn’t difficult to get them to bed.  The wee laddie even let me change his diaper without much of a struggle–a sure sign of exhaustion. The OM went to sleep on the couch shortly after and I scanned Netflix for something/anything to watch–quelle wasteland. I watched the Tin-Tin movie which was not great.

IMG_3039.JPG

Oli kept me company in Lottie’s chair. The cats appear to have seized ownership. Big surprise.

I read in church on Sunday and then went home and finished putting away Christmas stuff. In the afternoon I took a break and treated myself to 3 Godfathers (1948).

wayne508.jpg

Just a perfect movie. I also watched Logan Lucky (2017) with my fave Channing Tatum. I think it kind of bombed at the box office, but I can’t imagine why. I liked it and recommend it. Kind of a hillbilly Oceans 11, the hero is smart and sweet. Daniel Craig plays against type. It was even rated PG-13 (no violence, no bad language!)

maxresdefault.jpg

I have a super busy week ahead. Have a good one!

*Hymn #516

Come to rifle Satan’s fold

by chuckofish

NCwyeth.jpg

Twas much,
that man was
made like God before,
But that God should
be like man
much more

–John Donne (1572-1631)

Lest we forget.

This little babe, so few days old,
Is come to rifle Satan’s fold;
All hell doth at his presence quake.
Though he himself for cold do shake,
For in this weak unarmèd wise
The gates of hell he will surprise. 

With tears he fights and wins the field;
His naked breast stands for a shield;
His battering shot are babish cries,
His arrows looks of weeping eyes,
His martial ensigns cold and need,
And feeble flesh his warrior’s steed. 

His camp is pitchèd in a stall,
His bulwark but a broken wall,
The crib his trench, hay stalks his stakes,
Of shepherds he his muster makes;
And thus, as sure his foe to wound,
The angels’ trumps alarum sound. 

My soul, with Christ join thou in fight;
Stick to the tents that he hath pight;
Within his crib is surest ward,
This little babe will be thy guard.
If thou wilt foil thy foes with joy,
Then flit not from this heavenly boy.

Christmas vacation is coming to an end. Sigh. It’s back to work on Tuesday. Still can’t believe how 2017 raced by. Here’s hoping you foil thy foes with joy in 2018.