When avocados were new.

. 

Driving home from church last Sunday afternoon, I decided to call Dad.  

I recently got a new car with one of those phones where you can call people from the steering wheel.  It took me awhile to get the hang of it at first.  I kept accidentally calling my minister and hanging up.  Probably imagining me teetering on the edge of a roof somewhere, she called me back.   I assured her that I was fine, just technically challenged.

So, having mastered the car-phone, I reached Dad without incident.  He lives 80 miles away in an assisted living home and I imagined he would be finished with lunch and having a quiet Sunday afternoon. 

Sure enough, he answered with his customary “Hello, hello!” 

We chatted awhile about this and that.  He was enjoying a favorite pastime, watching the golf tournament.  

Dad came to golf rather late in life.  But once he found it, he made up for lost time and spent many a happy hour on the course.  Now it had become a spectator sport.  This particular tournament was being played in San Diego, which stirred some memories for Dad. 

“I was in San Diego,” he reminisced, “after the war.  For about six months.”  He began to describe it; breezy and  warm with lots of palm trees.   It sounded lovely.  I'm a sucker for palm trees.

“I remember a girl I met at a bus stop,” he said.  He was alone, waiting for a bus back to the base, and she asked him to ride the bus with her on her way home.  They talked a few minutes and he decided to accompany her.  They rode about ten minutes to her stop.  She got off and he rode back to town to wait for his bus.   

“Maybe somebody had been bothering her, and she didn’t want to ride by herself,” he mused.  I think he was right.  My dad was a comforting, stable presence, even at his young age, and handsome in his uniform.  She trusted him.   Although with the Bing Crosby smirk displayed in this picture, I'm not sure I would have!

“One day we were hitching a ride into town,” he said.  “Me and a couple of buddies.   A man in a big new Pontiac stopped and asked if we would like to earn a little extra money.” 

Turns out the man and his family owned a lime orchard, and he put Dad and his friends to work harvesting limes.  Dad remembered the orchard was on a hill, and the ground had been leveled wherever there was a tree.  It was nice.  They worked a few days and were treated very well, Dad said. 

Along with lime trees, the man was growing avocados.   

“Avocados were new to the country.  They were experimenting with them.”  The guys were given long poles with clippers and a bag on the end.  They learned to snip the fruit and catch it in the bag so it didn’t hit the ground and bruise. 

Out of curiosity, I googled “Avocado harvesting stick” and they still have them.  You can buy one at Walmart for $250. 

The man was nice, Dad remembers.  “He told us if we ever wanted to come back with our families for a vacation, we were welcome to come and stay.  I'll never forget it."  

We were quiet for a moment.  By now I had pulled into my driveway.  Winter had found Lexington at last and snow was falling.  Dad was sitting in his apartment.  I knew his walker was at hand and his motorized wheelchair was nearby.  Even with these helpful devices, getting around was slow and painful at 97.

But I think each of us were mentally in California over 70 years ago.  

Before wife and family.  

Before becoming a successful merchant and leader of his church and community.

Way before you could accidentally call people from your car or watch movies on a tiny phone you carry with you.

Back when a young solder was strong and ready to tackle the world.

When decades and decades of life stretched ahead of him.  

When avocados were new.

...in the name of the Lord

In the last year or so, my church has embraced the sacrament of anointing for healing purposes. 

This practice is derived from James 5:14.   Is anyone of you sick?  He should call the elders of the church to pray over him and anoint him with oil in the name of the Lord.

I am still getting used to this.  

This tradition wasn't practiced in the Independent Christian Church where I grew up.  

Well, except for once that I know of. 

I don't remember the circumstances, but some adventuresome soul read the Bible and asked for the elders of the church to come and anoint him (her?) with oil for healing.  To their credit, although I am sure it put them way out of their comfort zone, these lovely men agreed to do it.  That's really all I remember about that situation other than a phone call or two about whether the occasion called for suits and ties, or would sports coats suffice?  What does one wear to an anointing, after all?

In fact, the whole concept, for me, conjured up images of early Christians draped in tunics and robes. People of the first century who actually believed that a simple drop of oil given and received in the name of God, caused some mystical, sacred and loving healing from the God of the universe and the Lord of all creation.  

In the last few months, I have found myself in the roles of both the anointee and the anointer.  (These are highly technical terms not necessarily found in a dictionary).  

And it's interesting.  Once a month, at the end of both services, people are invited to come to the front for anointing.  

And we come. 

We come for ourselves.  We are broken in body or spirit or soul.  

We come for a loved one who needs healing.  

We come seeking wholeness, strength, comfort and guidance.

We come believing.   

Believing that a simple drop of oil given and received in the name of God, causes some mystical, sacred and loving healing from the God of the universe and the Lord of all creation.  

My view for the day

I came home from a lovely vacation in Vermont a couple of weeks ago.  My husband, daughter and I spent several days visiting my brother-in-law and sister-in-law at their lake house on Lake Champlain. It was positively the perfect vacation.  

This is the view from their back deck.  I settled there with my coffee most mornings.

 

Sometimes I had company.  This is Blue.  

Our first night, while we ate steaks and corn on the cob on that same deck, we enjoyed a show put on by the moon through the tree.

We took leisurely walks. This is my sister-in-law, Lorie, along with Blue and his sister, Belle.  What is it about vacation that slows time, that feels spacious and enables us to breathe more deeply?

Well, the lake house was lovely.  

Many of the glasses and dishes even had fish on them, to go with the lake house theme.   How neat is that?

During our visit we sampled wine,

and ice cream.

We visited Cold Hollow Cider Mill and Cabot Cheese outlet, bringing home happy hour treats.

We took a pirate themed cruise

   

And visited a local farmers market where Bernie Sanders is sometimes sighted.  But not today.  Still, we made it home with a raspberry pie to die for.

One day, we were touring the island and my daughter snapped a picture of the lake at its finest, She sent it to one of her friends with the caption "My view for the day."

Her friend immediately responded by sending a picture she had snapped of a surly coworker looking into the camera and making an obscene gesture.  "My view for the day."

It was pretty funny.  

But it got me to thinking.  Why don't we see the world as the marvelous, wondrous adventure it is while living our daily lives?  Why is it so hard to wake each morning with the sense of awe that we are alive and living in such a marvelous time?  We carry tiny computers in our pockets - practically unlimited information available 24 hours a day, for instance.

So, I am trying really hard to appreciate my "view for the day" and find the everyday sacred in life.

Coming home after our restful break and remembering how much we really love it here.

Enjoying my favorite pastime.  This book is Absalom's Daughters, and I recommend it.

Making coffee.

Working in a school library so that children will have books to read.

And this view, especially.  The one that comforts me, sustains me, and inspires me week by week.  This is the view that helps me see beyond myself and remember that I am a child of God.  My home church.

I keep this flower on my desk at work because it makes me feel good.   It reminds me to smile and embrace my view for the day.  Everyday.

The Empty Kitchen

Until three days ago I had a morning routine with my Pomeranian, Zuzu.  I came downstairs around 6:30 am, dressed and ready for work and there she would be.  She was confined to the kitchen at night and would be standing at the barrier looking for me.

The kitchen would have that wonderful smell of fresh coffee which I had made the night before and set the timer for 6:00 a.m.  But each morning when I picked up Z and cuddled her, I always thanked her for making the coffee.  Then I would carry her outside to do her business.

During the months of June and July she got carried a lot.  Breathing was labored for her, due to a tumor the vet found in her chest shortly after we adopted her in January.  She was expected to live less than a month    I had asked for an older dog from the Humane Society since I didn't want to housebreak a puppy.  Be careful what you wish for!

Where she came from, no one knew. She was a stray.  But she walked into the house and claimed our family as her own.

While we were waiting for her to die, she was occupied with the business of living.  

Here she is charming my dad on a visit to his home.  She visited him three times in all, which was fun for everyone. She loved to ride in the car and he enjoyed spending time with her.   When I carried her around the assisted living facility, we were met with many smiles and petting  hands.

This past winter, spring and summer, my family and I had the pleasure of an adorable little Valentine...

a shamrock cutie for St. Patrick's Day...

and a really sweet Easter Bunny.

Zu went to Pine Mountain State Park with us in May along with a group from the Audubon Society of Kentucky.  She dressed in red roses for the Derby Party.  

Sadly, her horse did not win.

We lost Zuzu three days ago.  Last week we bought her some diapers because she was becoming incontinent.  Then she began to have trouble walking.  It was time.

We had her for a little less than 8 months.  But she was funny, smart and so much fun, we feel blessed.

Such a lot of life in such a little body.  Such a lot of heart. Such a joy.

Such a lesson to us all.

Painting My Prayer

It happens every January.  Magazines, TV shows, Facebook posts - everywhere you look.  Resolutions!  Diets, gym memberships, and various self-help programs galore.  That's OK.  It is never wrong to take stock of where you are in relation to where you want to be, and the road you need to travel to arrive there.  I got a Fitbit in December and it encourages me to walk a little more, drink more water, etc.  It's a good thing.

But more and more, I believe people are rethinking how they view the year ahead.  At least, some of us are.  We have come to realize that we really don't want to fill the blank pages of days, weeks and months to come, with lists of dos and don'ts.  Instead, we choose a word of the year.  Or maybe words of the year.  Perhaps a prayer of the year. 

Since this is the start of a new decade for me, having turned 60 in December (choke), I really wanted a good word.  Something to help me be a little less set in my ways.  I chose Unfamiliar.  Nothing big, no skydiving or legally changing my name - although I think people are really brave who do that - just a word to help me remember to look at things with fresh eyes.  Take a different way to work.  Go to a new coffee shop instead of my old favorite.  Listen to different artists on Pandora. Try more foreign foods. That type of thing. 

Still, something didn't feel right about my word.  After a little more contemplation, I added a word.  Gracefully.  Because I wanted to reminded that all I do, I do by the grace of God.  Gracefully Unfamiliar.  I liked it!

Coincidentally (?) an opportunity presented itself in the way of a online painting experience aptly called "Paint Your Prayer for 2016."  It was a four week class done in your home, AND focusing on your Word of the Year.  The class was offered through Wild Sacred Heart Studios at Lorilynhurley.com.  I have known Lori-Lyn for years and felt no hesitation at all in signing on.

It turned out to be a wonderful, sacred, and introspective experience.  The other members of the class and I never met, but we developed a warm and supportive online community.  Each week we received videos with instructions on the next step.  We worked at our own comfortable speed.

Our prayer would be done in layers, and emerge as we worked and prayed our way though several steps.  As we painted, the painting itself would show us what we needed to see.  I am posting my different layers. 

We began by gathering our supplies and making our work area a sacred place, lighting candles or incense, playing music, maybe smudging with sage for purification.  This is my "beginning" photo.  A canvas left over from a prior project and a sweet, pretty easel.

Before I picked up the first brush, something became clear.  I needed a larger canvas. I sensed that I wanted more room for God to move.   Back to Michaels where I bought a bigger canvas and a real easel to support it.  OK. Now I was ready.

We began by literally painting our prayer on our blank canvases.

Then we added our first layer.  Some of us painted portals through which the Spirit would speak to us.



We continued to paint,  adding more and more images and colors as we felt led.

I ordered the wing stencils online.  They were perfect.

She began to emerge.  My spirit guide.  I really wanted her in a knee length blue dress, but the idea of painting legs and feet scared me.  So I put her in a long skirt.

 Then another one.

And another one.  Also, I wanted her to have white hair.  No way was my spirit guide going to be younger than me!

And glitter!  It is my personal philosophy that everything is better with glitter.

When we felt that our painting was complete, we added our prayer words back in.

I love her!

The paintings of my fellow classmates aren't mine to share, but believe me when I say that our finished prayers were all very different and all uniquely beautiful.

Wild Sacred Hearts Studios is offering a new class Paint Your Self-Love beginning now and I have already signed up for it. If this is your type of thing, you can learn about it here

lorilynhurley.com