working in the space between the actual words.....

Right....so.....I've got to finish up my summer of reading James Loder.....and all the other dudes that Loder mentions....that I just had to read...because I just wanted to have to...and now I'm putting it all together in this watercolour poster type thing full of song lyrics and Shakespeare and puppy dog tails....oh yeah....and a very disjointed paper....man! I sometimes think it would be a lot easier if I was normal. Oh...wait....I always think that!

My hope is that the space between the words will help hold the words together....hmmm...

I'm getting happy that summer is nearly over and feeling some guilt over that. I can hear my sainted mother saying, "You'll wish your life away!" But.....this has just been a weird summer. A summer of wrestling with angels, jumping on trampolines with demons, peering into the void, finding the face of God in the craziest of places....not bad.....just hard work. The autumn might not be easier, but for the now, I'm just going to think towards the discipline and schedules with a cleansing breath. Discipline can be a very calming force in the chaos.

In the Celtic year, this is Lughnasa...Christianized to Lammas, or Loaf Mass...the first harvest...not summer any longer even though it still feels quite summery. There is a shift. It slows, you can hear it in the cicadas and the crickets. You see the first tinge of yellow to the leaf. It might be hotter 'n blazes during the day, but there's a tension in it. At night, you might be glad of a blanket! In the old religion, the god of the sun, of craft and poetry, the god Lugh, dies in his prime....I don't really remember why or how....I think it was heroic and unexpected, but the year dies with him. Then he gets reborn at the winter solstice....which is nice....because we get Jesus doing that, too. A convenient way to all celebrate together!
I didn't really mean to talk about Christmas...see how haphazard I am!
I meant to talk of the death of the summer. The death in the prime. The slowing of the system for a new system to be initiated.....

After this project, I'll wake up Thursday and, God willing, start to get my ducks in a row for the school year....I won't rush the season though....I'll appreciate the beauty in Lugh's death throes, the abundance of the harvest....although not in my garden...which ran out of cash and water weeks ago! I'll put in place what needs to happen for the nights to start drawin' in! I'll call on whatever it is that inspires craft and poetry... I'll work in the space between the seasons to draw the seasons together! Or something to that effect.....

synchronicity and all that.....

OK....this'll be a quick blog as I'm ditching Cub Scout camp to get to an air-conditioned haven with wifi....and a latte...and that means Doylestown, Pennsylvania!
Yes, I ditched for completely selfish reasons, but considering the rocky shape I've been in since my visit to Iona....I'm cutting myself some slack!

Bizarrely, or not really, Bucks County was once my home; For nine, long months, five long, long years ago. It was here that I got a job for myself at United Friends' School in Quakertown, and Russell a job at George School in Newtown. This was the nine month stopping off point on our return from the ill fated Scottish Parent/Macaulay Institute endeavour.
We licked our wounds and received other, new wounds. It was a year of hell for me here in Bucks; Too much commuting.....too many round holes into which my square peg jammed....I was evading the inevitable and I knew it.

As I drove down through Bucks County today, I passed through the idyllic, little towns I'd spent driving through that school year...the faces of the folk I knew who lived in them, surfacing in my memory... although the names mostly did not.....a collection of souls who touched me, supported me, inspired me, or kicked me when I was down....all there....such a short time in my life yet such an important one.

It was at a "meeting" at the Friends School, about half the way through my Bucks County stay, that Coll felt moved by the Spirit to speak, and spoke so eloquently for an eight year old on his petrifying fears (mostly stemming from the Egyptian god Enubis, for some reason....the jackal dude....creepy!)....on how Jesus put an arm around him, and stayed with him until the fears passed. As a mother, I was blown away by his honesty, by his faith, by the concise way in which he laid it all on the line, by him. Following this meeting, I was met with laughter and the politically correct ridicule that is allowed to occur towards Christians in this culture. My colleagues never realized I was such a "Bible Pounder", that I was such a "fundamentalist", that I was so "Right-wing", even though I didn't look it! How I had indoctrinated my child with such an outdated belief system. Worst though, was how patronizing they were towards Coll....how sweet they thought it was that he concocted such a cute "coping mechanism".
I was speechless....for like... a micro-second! Because...this was the first time I was really demanded to claim "THIS IS MY GOD!" I stopped them. I told them. This is not a fairytale, coping mechanism, or magical superpower that I or Coll has concocted or bought into.....this is our deity. They could believe what they wanted, worship what they wanted, but it was not ok for them to poke fun at what I in that moment realized, was quite central to how we function.I knew that had my son said Buddha, or Mohammed, or Great Chief Eagle-Feather, they all would be like "Right on! Brother!" By saying Jesus, he was NOT cool.

For us, without God we are without purpose....scared, useless, bits of joined up carbon in a dusty carbon-filled universe.

I didn't quit or anything, and I have no issue with the Society of Friends on the whole, or that tiny collection of Friends/friends, but at that moment we became a little bit more simply Christian. I actually really can think fondly on everyone there....their reality is for them. I needed that nine months. I needed the confrontation. I don't need to be cool in anyone's eyes.

That story now told, as I worked that through my memory I thought on all the great kids I had the pleasure of teaching at UFS.....despite my Waldorfy/Spirit-led style that often rocked the boat. I walk into the bookshop to blog and run straight into Sadie....one of my awesome 5th graders, now a beautiful, strong, confident George School sophomore! Syncronicity......transforming moment......Spirit amongst us.....because that's the lesson in all this really. My time in Bucks was a gift, difficult as it was....and the people I had the pleasure of knowing and working with are still, very much a part of who I am now. Bless them all!

I will celebrate all the way back up Route 611 and join the cubs....who probably haven't even missed me!

A true Star of the County Down

Well....it's only been a month and three days since my last post! Quite sadly, nothing at all exciting has happened in that time...really. You see, blogging on Scotland and the General Assembly is so much more exciting than blogging from home....unless, of course, you live in Scotland, when hearing about the Jersey Shore and the crazy antics and freak-show behaviour that goes with that becomes rather interesting.

I have been reading James Loder, T.F. Torrance, and Soren Kierkegaard all summer...in my typical Attention Deficit Disorder fashion, I don't stick with one book....I jump from one to the other when they refer to each other or when I sit down with a tea and the book is beside me. Clearly, this makes for a stressful time in writing a paper on my reading and pondering....paper due on Wednesday.....and between today (a Wednesday) and the due date, I have Webelo Camp in Bucks County, practice with Nae Breeks....packing Coll for Boy Scout camp in Maryland. (He should be old enough to do this himself......but if left to his own devices he would be in big trouble!)I'm thinking I should panic.....but what would that get me? Probably not a better paper.

Yesterday, I heard the sad news that a colleague of Russell's....who I really barely know...is struggling with an inoperable tumour. Never a thing anyone wants to hear. He always seemed a nice guy. A prof at Glasgow Uni. He had a party one Christmas....must have been 1992 or so. It was fun. We had a meal with him at a conference in San Francisco....must have been 1997 or so....really, for me, he was just an acquaintance, for my husband perhaps a bit of a mentor. He is witty enough, clever and impressive enough. The few times I was with him I thought he was a nice guy. Only when we got the news, and in trying to google him to find a contact, did we come across his blog and see a bit more of what he's like. His blog was created to comment on his Bible reading. I was not aware how involved he was in his church....most Scottish folk being a bit pagan really. Well....he's actually from Northern Ireland...County Down, I think. After his recent diagnosis, the blog became both a commentary on his faith journey...and a commentary on his illness. We see clearly now what an amazing individual this bloke is. He is not only confronting the void, staring death in the face, but finding in his own weakness, the strength to encourage the faith of his readers. Simply. Concisely. Without any pretense of knowing anything but his own experience.
I sat in my sunroom of disarray... sweating... disorganized... unbalanced..par for the Jeanie course, and saw what effect a man in rainy Glasgow.....with hardly any life left in him.....young still, but ravaged with an illness that will be his earthly undoing....encouraging me in my faith. Encouraging me to put God first in my thinking and doing. I had no idea that Alan was so wise.....nor did I really think how much one person's story could reflect God's face so clearly. Yay for Alan....this situation stinks....yet he will not die... really. He died a long time ago with Christ, and his writing proves that he knows that.....beyond the pain he's in, the weakness he feels, the sorrow at leaving his wife and kid and friends.....Alan's in the best of hands. Pray for this Alan guy...this person you will probably never meet, whose research and writings, though pertinent enough, will probably never amount to anything other than effecting the circle of academics with whom he had contact, and the folk in his community that have always loved him. This is a sucky thing that's happening to him... but he is inspired. As I read his blog yesterday, I was so strengthened. We are nothing, yet in God we are everything.
For me.....more coffee....more Kierkegaard.....more Loder....more prayers for Alan. I hope that from his window in Glasgow he sees a rainbow today.

Seeking "the face".....

So....
I'm home and all the realities of the place have slithered back into position.
This is not necessarily a bad thing really....reality is what it is, and isn't what it isn't!
Poverty both sucks and forces us to think creatively. Minding children makes me both incredibly witchy, and beautifully disciplined in the way that i am normally not....well....I'm still not disciplined enough, it maybe just makes me think how fabulous discipline really is. And wouldn't it be nice to have more of it. Gosh. I'll save that for another blog.

I'm thinking a lot on THE FACE. The face that comforts us. The face of God in the face of a loved one....the face of God that we seek and it doesn't go away.
This is all inspired by reading so much James Loder, in case you were wondering.

So...here's today's imaginative leap!
I, ever struggling with my lack of VonWillebrand protein and thereby thin blood, am extra conscious of anything that's going to cause me to bruise or bleed. I worry about my dad, too. He bruises like a banana due to medications....sometimes he has bruises on the back of his hand that look so grisly that my knees go weak. I digress.....anyhow, I try not to bleed. I try not to let him bleed. Stay with me here....
This, in case you are not from The Shore,is "greenhead season". Now, a greenhead (in Scotland, incidentally, it's called a clegg...not a statement on Nick Clegg...I'm prepared to give him a chance), is a horrible, evil, nasty fly that doesn't just bite, it takes a nasty hunk of flesh out of you! And you bleed! Horrible. They're bigger than a house fly, more grey, delta shaped, and rather slow...they land softly, so they can usually bite you before you realize they are on you. Like most biting insects, they have a way of thinning the blood at the site of the bite...Horrible. For most of my life I have thought of these creatures as, well, a mistake of creation....what could they possibly be doing that benefits anything?!
So, the other day, I'm sitting at the table on the porch under the crazy tiki umbrella my dad got me for my birthday... with my dad and a few others who happened by.... and I see a little, greenhead, b*****d land on my dad's elbow! I, with my famed Ninja-like reflexes, whack the little s.o.b. off his elbow, it falls to the floor, on its back. My dad thanks me. The crowd cheers. With exaggerated energy, I raise my foot (sandalled in my lovely, beaded flip-flops) to put the miserable thing out its...well... misery. It sensed my approach, flipped upright, skittered to the crack between the redwood boards. It didn't get there in time. I squished it. Nobody noticed that part but me....and the greenhead.
It's been with me ever since. I'm aware that this might make me seem rather Buddhist or Hindu, but in that micro-second when the greenhead sensed its mortal danger and attempted to save him/herself, I wondered what the Face of God looks like for a clegg. Is it a clegg face? Is the face of God for us a...well....face as we imagine a face to be. What makes a face a face? Why is a face such a comfort? It is. It is the ultimate comfort. To gaze at a loving face that gazes at us lovingly is what makes us tick. It's what makes us try to be funny or clever or industrious....do greenheads seek a face?
There's a chance that greenheads don't think that much....but who am I to say? I squished first and thought on the face after. My scientist friends would/will laugh at this.....but the thinking that went behind the greenhead's attempt to save itself felt familiar. It felt like how I am when protecting myself or my family....and how present the seeking of FACE is in the nurturing act. To nurture is, in a sense, to be nurtured. To create is to sort of be a part of creation.
To seek the face is to look for God......

Weirdly....I'd probably kill the greenhead if the situation happened again. Do I sense a sad face?

Indulge me whilst I have a wee moan.....

This is (hopefully) my only really dreadfully boring posting. The plan to blog from the General Assembly in Minneapolis has bitten the dust. They are happy to have me there blogging....but I have no money to get there. Sadly, were money to magically appear, I also have no baby-sitter...R in North Jersey, Dad in Philly at the Barbershop Convention, Wendy picking up her new camper....reading the signs tells me it's just now going to happen. As Granny might've said, "What's for you, won't go past you!" So, there you go! I'll spend some time with the live feed...but it won't be the same. There's no fire in that. Blah.

Due to my sad financial state I'm watching some of my cub scout buddies for the summer...sounds worse than it is....actually, having other boys at the house keeps my own boys a little busier. And having non-family there makes me less likely to blow my top and be really, really mean. Sad to admit, but at least I'm conscious of it! "Miss Jeanie" is a lot sweeter than "Mum"! Mum can be a right witch!

On a happy note, Hammonton is "Blueberry Central" these days...which doesn't suck!
I'll head out today with the boys to get some organic berries and get the oil changed in the van...in Hammonton you still get a free car wash with it. FREE! I love FREE!

Onward and upward....literally!

I'm sleepy, but just so happy with the time I've had! Will miss the family and friends here....and the great northern light and fresh breezes, but am looking forward to the boardwalk, waves, lightning bugs, Luath, friends, and Daddy!

Verily, verily I say unto you...there is NOTHING new under the sun...

And so it is with the beautiful, beautiful Isle of Iona.

This morning started with a dreich rain. We left the Bunessan guest house in wellies and raingear, fully prepared to freeze during the Sunday service in the Abbey. We got to Fionnphort really quite early, and stood around looking at the ferry and the water and just talking for about an hour, and in that time, the sun broke through...first, quite poetically, over the Abbey on the opposite shore...which was weird. I tried to capture it on film, but that is one of the things about Iona, and indeed the whole West of Scotland, the light...well....the light is like a spirit, or an eccentric character that is part of the community...it is thin and thick, dark and bright, moving and still......sensed and at the same time very intangible. This, as one would suspect, effects the colours, which on Iona are all the blues and greens....with splashes of pink and orange, yellow and white....it is indeed a thin, thin place between heaven and earth.
George McLeod told me that...I didn't make it up...much as I'd like to claim it.

Today was a day when the island was laughing, and the water was dancing, and the sky was singing, and the flowers were clapping their hands!
Creation was in full-on praise!

I really didn't know what to expect today. It's been 11 years since I was last on the island, 20 years since I crossed the thresh-hold of the Abbey, and thought at the time that I would never return. Ever. Ever.
But, as Eileen believes (and has been bugging me about for the last 19 years) all circles must be completed. Today I did just that.

I was warned by Iona friends that I would see so many changes.....I did see changes, but none that were upsetting or unusual. There are a few more houses on the island, but they are tasteful and in keeping with the place. The pub has another wing added to it, again...change that works. The Abbey was the same, but with much less staff than I remember....The morning worship was much the same as it ever was when I was there as the Childrens' Programme Worker. It seemed a little bizarre that it was lead completely by women. Whatever. I think it was more about staff shortage than emasculation. I think. They announced that communion would be taken by a woman who is a minister in the Reformed Church in America. I wondered if she was a graduate from NBTS. When she began the speak, she sounded young and American, then got more and more Scotchy as she went.....I understand this....it happens to me. It either means you have a good ear...or you're a phony. Or both.

I had the post-service cup of tea in the cloisters..talked to some folk...
Bought stuff in the shop and saw one of the Island girls that was a such a sweet kid back in the day! It was lovely to see her....she hadn't changed much! Lovely girl!
Went to the other shop and bought quite a lot of books...Eileen paid....yikes.
Then, I thought I should go up Dun I....that big lump of land on the North End. From Dun I, you can see the whole island, and many other islands, and way out to sea. Standing on Dun I, I think I first accepted that my mother was both very much "on the other side", and very much always with me. Thin place. A mighty thin place, the top of Dun I.
I harkened back to the days when I would run up it after tea..yes, run!..When the charges were all sent happily back to their parents, it was a way to shake the food down and have a stretch of the legs....oh boy.... were the 20 years evident here! I attempted my mountain goat ascent....but it just was nowhere near as fast and strong as it once was...not even a shadow! I couldn't even blame my shoes, because I realized I'm still wearing the same wellies I bought back in 1979! (Way to go L.L. Bean!)
No, it was me...I'm a lot older and chunkier! The view was spectacular. The thinness and the light so present. I could feel my pounding heart and my insufficient clotting factor tying me to the rock and grass and water, and my spirit away up in the thinness and the light. Quite exhilerating to straddle two realms in such a way.
I thought of my studies...my call...my future....the Iona Parish without a minister...the whole of Mull without a minister. As much as I'm not so keen on being a parish minister, maybe I am meant to come back here. Maybe I'm meant to return to the Community...after all this time, and all the pain I've gone through....When the kids are older....was this a possibility? I heard barely discernable, magical music and birdsong.....what was God saying?!

On my descent, I met a lovely couple from Devon. They told me I looked like a mountain goat running up the hill....I instantly loved them. We talked about the island and the Community. They said they were glad to meet someone so friendly...I silently hoped the Community folk were nice to them....English, Yanks, Germans....sometimes not treated so nicely.

I thought before lunch I should go and meet the Reformed woman...thank her for the lovely service, ask if we had any shared acquaintences. I was thinking that the combination of female, Reformed Church, US, Iona responsibilities would make for a great interview.
The Abbey staff said she was up at the MacLeod Centre, at the Mac, they told me she was in the kitchen....at the kitchen door, I was directed to the sinks, where she was helping with the washing up....as you do on Iona...it's all about living in community! I queried whether I should wait, and the bloke said....no, no, go on in. So I did.
Big mistake.
She was not only affronted that I introduce myself over a sudsy sink, but that I insinuate that she was American, she has lived in Scotland for 5 years. She is an ordained minister in the RCA, but is not American! I apologized for the mistake. I asked her surname...I thought I might send her a card to apologize for upsetting her. She FREAKED OUT! She said her surname was none of my business.....so, I left.

I walked out into the sheep bleating, oyster-catcher screeching, blue-green dazzle of lovely Iona, and knew that, indeed, there is nothing new under the sun! No magical music or birdsong...just the barely discernable, omnipotent's.... laughter! God does have such a fabulous sense of humour!!!!

The Reformed Church minister currently acting as Island Warden (yes, that's the title)does not!.... reformed, she believes, from American to Scot...but no sense of humour at all.

Nor was she aware that as busy as she was, the island was laughing, and the water was dancing, the sky was singing, and the flowers were clapping their hands!!! Shame really.
She was missing out on a fabulously praise-tastic day! With a giggling God enjoying the show at its edges!

Iona, it's amazing worship...so inspiring (especially the stuff by John Bell) ....
Iona, the ancient, holy, thin place...
Iona, of Druids and Columba, Benedictine monks and Augustinian nuns...
Iona, of Viking raids and the stormy winter sea taking back its own...
Iona, the inspired project of George MacLeod's to bring the worker and the clergy together...
Iona, of colours, light...many, many sheep...

Iona, the 'Parnassus Hill' of Scotland.....muse-central for artists, poets, priests....

...is ALWAYS going to draw the incredibly gifted and spiritual...

and the wannabe, freak-show, immature, sanctimonious prats who feel awesome about themselves by exiting the real world, and judging it most cruelly from atop a jewel in the sea!

Deny it they may, but there is truth in it.

Iona is what it is.
Worship God... not an island
Worship God... not a community.
I love the island and the community.....it's a large part of who I am now, and after closing the circle....I'm fine. I am really, actually, quite fine.

There is nothing new under the sun! This circle is complete!