Settling In

Having grown up in the land-locked Midwest, I didn't feel very attracted to the oceans. I visited the Pacific only a few times when I lived in Claremont, CA for three years (graduate school). I enjoyed it, but it wasn't the thrill I had imagined it would be. I found myself longing for smaller waterways--streams, rivers and waterfalls, like the ones I grew up visiting in the Indiana State Parks. The largest bodies of water I saw growing up were the Great Lakes, especially Lake Michigan, where we often went camping in the summer.

There was this great campground called Orchard Beach. It was simple set of camp sites and a bath house. But if you went into the woods at its edge and walked a few feet, you would encounter Lake Michigan in full fury! The shore is filled with huge, jagged rocks and the waves crash against them constantly.

My mom loved this place, and insisted we camp there whenever we went through Michigan. The first thing we'd do when we arrived was don our swimsuits, pick up our towels and slip on our flip-flops. Away we'd go in eager anticipation. I never told my mom, or anyone else, for that matter, but I always felt a mixture of fear with our collective excitement.

Would this be the time I'd be swept off the rock into the deep abyss of the lake?

We'd climb up on the rocks and brace ourselves against one. I'd choose the biggest, sturdiest one I could find. I also made sure I could see my mom at her perch. She'd yell, "Here it comes!" and a wave would crash against our bodies...I can still feel the mild sting against my skin. I can smell the water in my hair

We'd laugh and giggle, shake off the water and wait for the next one. You have no idea how rare it was to see my mom laugh and smile and just be silly. I guess that's why the excitement always overcame the fear, and I always looked forward to the next time.

And the deep never got me.

Now I am living two blocks from the Atlantic. I walk there at least once a day. Yesterday, it rained, and the beach was deserted in the afternoon, when I was able to take a break and walk down there. I sat and looked out over the water. The air was wet, and the waves crashed onto the shore a little more fiercely than they had the day before. I wanted to go out in it and feel the waves lap at my feet. But alas, my feet have succumbed to that dreaded side effect from diabetes--dry, cracked skin. I didn't dare.

So again today, I sat for awhile on the boardwalk and looked out into the sea, with all the little bodies splashing around while their parents sat beneath the relative anonymity of beach hats and umbrellas. It was so calm today, hardly a wave mustering up enough energy to reach up the shore to where I would have stood, had my feet been well enough.

A few more days of bandages and Neosporin and I will wade out again, daring the waves to knock me off my feet. No rocks to cling to this time, and my mother's voice--even her laughter--is too far away to hear. I guess I'll have to stand on my own.

Blessings,
Arlene

By the Beach!

I just found out I am going to spend the summer at the beach! I accepted a position as manager of the Bethany Beach (Delaware) Camp and Conference Center. It's a church camp about two blocks from the ocean. Since I am moving this weekend, I won't be posting for a few days, but I will tell you all about it soon. I plan to work, write and hang out at the beach...

Here's the website.



Blessings,

Arlene

Other perspectives on prayer

Prayer is the exercise of drawing on the grace of God.
—Oswald Chambers

Prayer is the place where burdens change shoulders.

In prayer it is better to have a heart without words than words without a heart. —Mohandas Gandhi

Any concern too small to be turned into a prayer Is too small to be made into a burden.
—Corrie ten Boom

Prayer is not asking for what you think you want, but asking to be changed in ways you can't imagine.
—Kathleen Norris

Prayer cannot bring water to a parched field, nor mend a broken bridge, nor rebuild a ruined city; but prayer can water an arid soul, mend a broken heart and rebuild a weakened will.
—"Gates of Prayer," the Reform prayer book

Pray as if everything depended on God; act as if everything depended on you.
—Gates of Prayer

Gratitude is the highest form of prayer. It opens the door from the inside, so that we may receive the abundance which is waiting for us.
—Laurel Keyes

Faith is like a muscle, and prayer is the exercise that helps it grow.

A perspective on prayer

Prayer is meaningless unless it is subversive, unless it seeks to overthrow and to ruin the pyramids of callousness, hatred, opportunism and falsehood. The liturgical movement must become a revolutionary movement, seeking to overthrow the forces that continue to destroy the promise, the hope, the vision.

—Abraham Joshua Heschel

A laugh and a triumph!

I finally figured out how to share a You Tube video in a post!! I'm so excited...and it only took me half a day.

This video is called, "Kitten and his box," and I share it because it made me laugh on a day when I had not intended to even smile. So, if you don't like cats...well, there's something wrong with you, but also, you don't have to watch it.

No cat-hating comments, please...I don't want to have to hurt you.

Blessings,
Arlene

The War Prayer

My friend, Brian, posted this powerful video on the spiritual impact of war on his blog. Mark Twain wrote the poem, "The War Prayer," after the Spanish-American War, but it was published posthumously after the first World War. He agreed to not publish it until after his death because his advisors and family thougt it was too controversial.

I guess some things never change. We still can't talk about the evils of war in open public discourse. We still label war protestors, and even those who question the legitimacy of any particular war, as disloyal to the country, and worse, as standing 'against the troops. '

That's why this video* makes such a crucial statement now. Even a century later, Twains elequent words still reveal a deeply imbedded truth about us...this insidious fear of being pegged as an outsider, a troublemaker, a traitor, simply by hating a war and it's massive destruction.

As Twain said, "None but the dead are permitted to tell the truth."

I especially like what Twain does with the implications of praying that our side 'win'...what it means for the 'other side.' I believe we can support our troops and pray for their safety without villifying the 'enemy.' The Iraqui soldiers are sons and loved ones, too. The Iraqui civilians who live in constant mortal danger, have dreams and lives and families, too.

I pray for more diplomacy and compromise in the world...more conversations and fewer debates, more compassion and less competition, more courage to speak the truth in love and less fear of those we don't know and refuse to understand. I pray our law makers do the right thing and find a way to withdraw...for everyone's sake.

God bless the universe, and everyone in it.

Blessings,
Arlene

*(I told Brian my only complaint about the video is that the voices and illustrations are decidely 'white male'-esque. It could use some diversity in culture and gender.)

An Open letter to Rosie

Dear Rosie,

I know this letter would have been more timely had I written it last week. After all, the pundits have run out of things to say about your big fight with Elizabeth last Wednesday. (That doesn’t keep them from repeating themselves, of course.) I thought about posting a comment on your blog…but the space didn’t allow for everything I wanted to say.

To be truthful, I have been thinking about writing you a letter for years. I loved you on Star Search, in Sleepless in Seattle and in A League Of Their Own. I loved your talk show, and your crush on Tom Cruise, which I shared until he slammed Brooke Shields for taking care of herself. I loved your standup routine, your honesty about depression and your willingness to come out, even though you valued the privacy of your private life.

It’s weird how celebrity works. We think we know people we’ve never met. I feel like we might have gone to high school or college together. We’re even the same age, born exactly a month apart (my DOB = 2/21/62; your DOB = 3/21/62). We have a lot of other things in common, too—weight issues, depression, an artsy-craftsy side, and I think I could go toe to toe with you on knowing all the TV theme songs and commercial jingles of the past 40 years.

Another thing we have in common is our passion for social justice that is forged from our compassion for people. We share an ability and willingness to speak for others who cannot speak. We also have a similar penchant for getting in trouble for speaking the truth, for ‘not knowing when to shut-up.’ And while I have regretted the way I have handled some heated encounters over the years, I count it as a gift that I refuse to shut up and sit down. You, me, the Dixie Chicks, Gloria Steinhem, and many other uppity women through the centuries—we are in good company. Uppity Women Unite!

You know, I was actually there when it happened, this latest fight. I was sitting in my big chair by the TV, with The View on in the background while I worked on a freelance project that was due that day. Joy was saying something about Bush, and Elizabeth was interrupting, and all of a sudden, you asked her a question, and the two of you were into it.

I gave you my full attention, then, and I noticed something that few people are talking about. There was a lot of pain in your eyes. You were really hurt. And I don’t think it was just because Elizabeth hadn’t backed you up on Monday. I think you were hurt because you had really tried to be her friend, and you had thought friendship meant the same thing to her as it does to you. There’s another similar trait—fierce loyalty to our friends. I always have my friends’ backs, but if I can’t stand behind a friend’s actions or words, I say so, and so would you.

It was painful to watch, not because of the argument, but because of what was happening behind it. A friendship was dissolving before our eyes. I could even see pain in Elizabeth’s eyes. I’d like to dismiss her as insignificant, to put her in the same category as Ann Coulter, behind whose eyes I’ve never seen anything but ice and steel. But Elizabeth is not the enemy. She’s young and naïve and loyal to her party…so are a lot of people. But she has the potential to move beyond that and be multi-dimensional. I think you saw that, and I think part of the pain on Wednesday was realizing she wasn’t there, yet, and that you couldn’t help her achieve it without denying who you are.

So I’m sorry, Rosie…sorry you had to go through that; sorry it had to be on national TV; sorry we live in the age of You Tube, where we can see it over and over again. But I am grateful, too…grateful you had the dignity to say ‘enough is enough;’ that you had the spiritual and artistic integrity to create the video “True Colors” with your collages and Cyndi Lauper’s song; and grateful that you are surrounded by a wonderful support system of friends and loved ones—another thing we have I common—that can hold you up and carry you through to the next leg of your journey.

Blessings,
Arlene