Waiting

Waiting.  I have never been patient when it comes to waiting.  Since seminary, however, I have tried to catch myself when I've become impatient. "Wait.  Breathe.  Be in the moment."  Surprisingly, that little mantra helps more often than not.  Somewhere along the way, someone must have gotten through to me that there are graces in the waiting.  Feeling the presence of the Holy who is waiting patiently with you.  In the moment, I am able to observe people around me - not just take attendance - but notice their expressions, how they are holding their bodies, when they smile.  Consciously saying "no" to the tapping foot and not giving credence to the feelings of wanting to "jump out of your skin" actually does make a difference.

When I remember Wait. Breathe. Be. I experience the world in suspended peacefulness.  Like the time when I couldn't climb the trail with Tim because of my asthma.  I sent him on his way, laid back on the ground, and waited.  I focused on slowing my breathing.  I watched the leaves moving gently on the breeze.  I smiled at the confused ants making their way around me.  I was able to see God.

This week, I don't believe I was as successful.  Too bad, as I really needed my waiting skills.  Waiting for Tim during his colonoscopy was not difficult.  I busied myself with some chaplain duties until I was paged.  Shortly after I entered the room, Dr. Coffman appeared.  Feeling pleased with myself for being calm, collected, and in control soon vanished as he began to show me colored images, and I heard the word "mass."  The room was spinning and my brain struggled to grasp that this was reality and not a dream.

Providence Hood River Memorial

Waiting from Wednesday afternoon to Friday was not accompanied by a lot of people-watching or insect-investigation.  I frantically disentangled myself from work duties for a leave of absence. Tim drove to Portland to pick up Isaac whose presence was reassuring and much welcomed.  Overnight Tim kept saying "I just want to get this over with."  He was not doing overly well on the waiting thing either.

Watching Tim be rolled down the hall by the anesthesiologist for his surgery left a large pit in my stomach.  Isaac redirected us to get food and settle into a place in the waiting area.  We say quietly next to each other: he worked on school work and I fiddled with Facebook games.  A colleague at the admissions desk called me over to help with a spiritual care call and later with a Spanish speaking caller. I forgot to Wait.  I forgot to Breathe.  I forgot to Be.  I was using all of my energy praying and trying not to cry.

The nurse came to report that they were closing.  Tim did well.  We went back to wait for the doctor.  Impatience took control again as 15 minutes became 45. When Dr. Coffman appeared, Isaac and I listened intently as he described the extent of the surgery.  "Removed the right colon" seemed to blanket my vision, and I felt increasingly tunneled.  The doctor was compassionate, caring, and did not sugar-coat the range of possibilities.

Now there was more waiting.  Waiting for Tim to come to his room upstairs.  Waiting for a week for final pathology to know with certainty if there was cancer.  Waiting.

But being able to see Tim, to watch his breathing and listen to the IV machine click and whirl, is calming.  I look out  of the immense windows facing north.  While Mt. Adams is still shrouded in cloud, the sun is shining on wet streets and the peaceful Columbia.  As I wait during Tim's hospital recovery, I see the Holy hugging the mountains in fluffy circles of cloud.  I see the Holy in the rising and falling of his chest.  I see the Holy in the gentle touch of Nurse Danyelle.  I see the Holy in Isaac's presence as he types his paper.  I remember - Wait. Breathe. Be with God.

Friday Night Reflection

I commute 90 miles from home to work every day.  At the end of the day, I commute 90 miles from work to home.  It is not as arduous as it sounds.  As demonstrated in previous posts, there is much to see and appreciate about Creation and Eastern Oregon in particular.  However, at this time of the year, both ends of my commute are in darkness.

My extreme commute means developing some creative solutions at times.  Friday night on-call demands that I am within 20 minutes of the hospital at all times.  Hardly something I am able to accomplish from Condon.  The room I rented in Hood River has given way to a weekly motel stay at the Vagabond Lodge for a variety of reasons.  This past Friday night stay, I "lucked out."  Because of a miscommunication, I was bumped from my cheapie room near the highway, to a room with a "partial view" in the back.

The abbreviated commute (a mere 6 minutes), allowed me to arrive in sunlight.  When I walked into my room, the view that greeted me from the opposite window was  . . . well . . . wow.  The Columbia Gorge with its pines, river, and rock caused a chain reaction throughout my body.  Tension left each muscle in quick succession.  Shalom.  More than peace - peace in my very soul.  I don't like being away from Tim.  I don't like being away from my own bed.  But in the moments I spend in my motel, I am able to experience shalom.  Be still.  Know God.

Sick and Crabby

The sun is shining brilliantly, casting playful shadows across Coyote Wall.  The California  Poppies, Bachelor Buttons and other wildflowers dot the ridge in startling oranges, blues, purples, and the occasional red.  And the lavender is full and round and dressed in fragrant blooms.  The wind is strong making robust white caps crash against the banks of the Columbia.  Soon wind surfers will appear and compete with the eagles dancing on the air currents.

And I want to hide under twelve inches of blanketing and wake up sometime in the distant future. F-- this.

I have been sick and that tends to skew my mood and my thinking.  Don’t know if it was food poisoning or a dose of whatever people in the ED had, but my intestinal track has been in revolt.  On the silver lining side, I am back down to 110 pounds, but I would not recommend this as a form of dieting.  Rice and applesauce only satisfy the pallet for so long.

But it’s more than that.  I would like to blame my mood and my circumstance on God.  “If I was still at the State Museum I would be making about 75 grand by now.”  Never mind that working for the State of New York I probably would have gone ballistic long ago and would be serving 15-life at Riker’s Island. That is all beside the point in my Sad Sack Story.  Following God’s call requires sacrifices, but come on already!  Oh, and I don’t want any rational interjection about possible erroneous or poor choices on my part along the way.  I am having a pity party and that’s that.

Where are my pajamas?

When do we get to NOT struggle with money? I’m 52 freaking years old! I already gave away most of my stuff and I miss it.  I miss my pink sweater with the hood and the mixing bowls.  Actually Tim misses the mixing bowls since he is the one who cooks. So I  guess I only miss one thing I gave away. That doesn’t seem to support my whole argument here. Damn. Strike the above paragraph from the record. 

I have a wonderful job that pays well with decent benefits and yet  . . . and yet.  We were trying to remember a time when we were both making a professional wage at the same time.  I think it was 1999 before I walked away from the museum for seminary.

This sucks.  

Ugh. And then there’s West Virginia where Tim was not able to find a professional job no matter what.  An eminently qualified educator that no one would hire because .  . . because he wasn’t from around there?  because he was a man and there were antiquated ideas about men in early childhood?  because he was meant for another path? Blah blah blah.  I know. Tim would not have heard his call to ministry if we weren’t in West Virginia. Whoop tee do.  I told you, no cogent feedback, just “oh you poor dear.”  Got it?

I wonder where I can get lactose-free, no sugar added chocolate that will not upset my stomach?

I am supposed to be at an age and in a place where I can help my young adult children as they are starting out.  It kills me to see them struggling and not able to help.  That’s what I’m supposed to be doing - helping them but I can barely help myself.  They are part of this generation where college degrees don’t necessarily get you well paying jobs and school debts (for which you can no longer declare bankruptcy) keep you in poverty.

This is total crap, and I think I am going to blame God after all.  Tim followed a distinct call from God to move to Portland, and what happened? We wound up in Hood River/Mosier.  What up God?  Trying to figure out what God is about in this place is hard and there is not one damn thing I can do help Tim.  It’s between him and God.  See, I knew it.  It is God’s fault.

Did I mention I swear a lot when I’m in a shitty mood?

Well life marches on.  Good things are happening for Jess’ school where she works.  Isaac is crazy in love and together they will figure out this next phase in their lives.  Tim has some ministry prospects, is writing more than ever, and cooks wonderful dinners for me. 

Which reminds me, I think I’m getting hungry. 

God is abundant.  God is gracious.  God is an extravagant lover.  God is good - even if God has a warped sense of humor.

A Walk Bewildered

Chill breezes whirl around bare legs

Unprepared for Pacific mists

Into this ethereal place I wander

Unsure of climes foreign to my senses

Tides mysteriously run away from me

Leaving pristine sands in hypnotic patterns

The very clouds have ventured down

To dance among unsuspecting mortals

In and out figures move, ghost-like and distant

Oh that I might hide amidst this vapor

Speech is sacrilege yet voices filter to me

I choose to hear nothing but the waves

Could God’s embrace be so transparent 

As fog hugging the shore

Could God’s embrace be a comforting blanket

Made of mystery and doubt and grey days

Rhythm beats wet over unshod feet

Shivering arms hold me

Musings go unanswered yet reassure

My toes dig in the sand 

My soul lifts

Rock Hunting

We left Hays, Kansas yesterday knowing that we did not have as long of drive as our two previous days - only 350 miles or so to Isaac’s as opposed to 550.  In exploring sight-seeing possibilities, Tim found some geological formations that I thought would be worth visiting.

Not too far west on I 70 was the exit to see Castle Rock.  Once at the bottom of the ramp, the sign indicated that Castle Rock Road went in both directions.  Very helpful.  Wave and Google Maps were also less than helpful being totally stumped by Tim’s entry.  In our confusion and misdirections, we confirmed that we can argue under any circumstance, including being in two different vehicles talking over bluetooth.

Eventually we found a tourist sign stating that Castle Rock was 15 miles south of the town but failed to mention that most of that was on dirt roads.  You’d think that on such flat ground a “stand-alone” geological feature would be easy to find. Not so much. Eventually we could spot, in the far distance, something rising from the flatness.

Last night, in reviewing information on the internet, I am not sure that we saw the specific feature called Castle Rock.  We were at the geological site, but I don’t think we viewed that exact formation. Without clear directions, we drove on a rutted path up the elevation and stopped when there was a place to pull over.

It was so very quite.  No road sounds, no air traffic, no human noise in any way.  Much to the nervousness of my husband, who knows my propensity for falling, sliding, and bumping, I carefully worked my way down to a ledge in the midst of the chalky remnants of a prehistoric age.  

These striated cliffs and pillars are the reminders of a time when Kansas was part of the sea. 80 million years ago in the Cretaceous Period Kansas seas held plesiosaurs and a host of other life. Water and later wind worked together to make these formations.  The wind continues its work. Castle Rock itself had several feet of its original spire broken in a storm ten years ago.  

I sat on my outcropping - closed my eyes and allowed the sun to warm my face.  The strong breeze cooled me even as the day heated to the 90’s.  So quite.  So lovely.  The details.  The fossilized  shell and tiny creatures strewn all around.  Nooks and crannies hollowed out by badland winds.  Another time and yet our time.  Here for our awe - to realize how amazingly complex and long our Creator has been creating, is still creating.  

I don’t have much patience for folks who want to put God in a box and say that creation happened 6,000 years ago “according to the Bible.”  What a simplistic and erroneous interpretation of Divine power.  I don’t have much patience for folks who want to rely on scientific hypothesis, ignoring the Divine Will in big bangs, black holes, and colliding planets.

Ancient sea and centuries of wind.  Sculptures of the most exquisite sort, holy and sacred.

Getting off the top of this thing was something of a Laurel and Hardy move.  We realized that the ruts were getting too deep for our XB and Corolla so we had to back down the road with only our mirrors in our over-loaded vehicles.  Once the ruts were not so deep we did snappy 3-point turns and headed back, calmer than we came. Richer for our experience.

Farming in Kansas

From my own historical readings, I know that Kansas raises some corn, a lot of cattle, maize, and a few other things. Until yesterday,  I forgot that Kansas also raises electricity at its wind farms.

We passed by the largest wind farm in Kansas just outside of Salina on our #PDXbound trek.  Turbine after turbine on top of small rolling hills for miles.  Facing not in uniform direction, some of the turbines looked as if they were grouped in conversation. Massive, we could see them for miles before we were actually near.

We did not have much wind yesterday (thankfully for our traveling in overloaded vehicles), so the blades turned lazily in whatever drafts exist that far off the ground.  I couldn't stop thinking that it looked like a giant child had planted a cluster of pinwheels in the sand and had run off to tell Mommy or Daddy of their great work.  (read "The Food of the Gods and How it Came to Earth," by H. G. Wells)


For years while in West Virginia, I had watched as one at a time these huge blades were transported west on I70 on elongated tractor trailer trucks. One at a time, "Oversided Load" posted on their bumpers, westward ho went the turbine blades.  I marveled at their size and wondered at engineers who designed and contractors who built such big machines.

Now I know where the blades went.  Over 150 wind turbines (of two makes) sprinkle 25,000 acres here in the middle of Kansas, providing lots of electricity. (I don't understand electrical units.)  The Smoky Hills project allows the landowners to collect royalties, the utility companies to collect payments for electricity provided, and for us to gain a little less dependence on fossil fuels.

When Tim connected our electricity for the apartment in Portland, he had a choice of paying a tiny bit more to make sure our electricity comes - as much as possible -  from wind farms such as these.  As I gaped in awe driving past these elegant, giant pinwheels, I thanked God for wind.  I gave thanks for the very breath of God that blows over creation giving us all that we need.