A New Year

I like moving into a new year. A new year is like a fresh start, a blank slate. I like leaving the old year with everything orderly.

That is probably why I make it standard practice to take down the Christmas tree before the new year begins. It belongs to the outgoing year instead of the incoming one. We got our tree weeks ago, and by now it is beginning to drop needles. And the process of removing it generates an unwelcome host of green needles on the white carpet. All of this takes takes some effort. Things need to be tidy and put back in order.

The fresh new calendar on the refrigerator will have lots of things written on it over time. There are infinite possibilities. I like to leave old baggage behind, whenever possible, and move ahead toward new opportunities.

I do not do new year's resolutions, however. I like to think of possibilities instead, surprises yet to happen, goals to be fulfilled, new people to meet, dreams to come true.

There are some new things I am looking forward to in 2010; hopefully a new work opportunity.
A couple of family weddings. Good health. The pleasures of daily life.

And I'm sure, blessings galore!

The Universe is Speaking to Me

When I use that phrase, "the universe is speaking to me", of course I am referring to God. But not necessarily God in the ordinary sense, some religious image of ruler, triune, person, all being, creator. The phrase does speak to me of that One, plus many other possibilities. For example, the universe can speak to me when my unconscious mind breaks through into my conscious mind and I have some much needed insight, wisdom. The universe can and does speak to me through situations, scenes, and most of all, people. A beautiful rainbow or sunset that triggers a sense of wonder and mystery can bring that feeling of being spoken to. So also can being surrounded by loved ones laughing and enjoying one another.

Even when I am feeling my least worthy, which I confess is way too often, the universe breaks through to speak to me in unexpected ways, sometimes the least expected of all.

For example, I got a card in the mail today. It is from a former parishioner. Let me say that my experience of her was that she was the most demanding and difficult of them all. What I always thought was that when I was her pastor, I could never really quite please her, never do enough, never succeed enough. Of course, ninety percent of that was my own internal dialogue I am sure. And no doubt I projected that mightily onto her, but she surely projected some of those expectations onto me.

I have retired. She and her husband have moved to another state and are living close to children, and receiving care for diminishing abilities, including her husband's severe dementia. Her kind and sweet note spoke of their appreciation of my years of ministry in their church, how special those years were for them, and how much they enjoyed me and my husband Gerry. I would never have guessed that at the time. But I do recognize that the universe is speaking to me through her words, giving me a boost when I need it, an affirmation, a word of encouragement.

I try to listen when I am being spoken to.

Almost Christmas

It is almost Christmas. There is a bit of blustery snow blowing about today, and it's about eighteen degrees. Soon I'll start cooking preparations. I guess preparations are much of what Christmas is all about. Preparing for company. Preparing presents. Preparing for something special to happen.

I do not have many, or perhaps any memories from my childhood about Christmases past. I don't know exactly why that is. Most of my adult memories have to do with preparing the church for Christmas worshippers, preparing the very best message I could muster. I do vividly remember the special moment of the first Christmas Eve service with Gerry, back before I became a pastor. We got caught up in the most magical gaze, newly in love, full of hope for our future, suspended there looking into each others' eyes for what seemed like a long time. I remember that moment for sure. Not that we were young kids, by any means. We were well into middle adulthood, both of us. Still, we were overwhelmed by love and Christmas magic.

For many years, Christmas was mostly about preparing Christmas for others, both a lovely service for parishioners and occasional worshippers, and a lovely feast for family. I still do the family meal. I have the time, the space, the desire, so the family comes to our house. For the candlelight service, I'm back to sitting in the pew next to Gerry.

We're still preparing---for whatever comes. Light, love, friends, laughter, good times, bad times. We are as prepared as one can be. We can get through it, because we have each other.

A Daily Task

It is enjoyable for me to have the daily task of blogging. One starts to think about what they might write about next. One begins to think of the blog as a place to go, an old friend to visit. Not a task at all, but a daily delight. Just me and my blog!

Actually, it reminds me of how I felt when I took a Creative Writing course at the University of Maryland in 1977. Or that's my best guess at the year. I was in my glory going to that class, participating, doing my weekly assignments. Of course, at least partly, that might be because it was my only foray into the real, adult world. I had three small children at the time. Creative Writing was my intellectual occupation for a few hours a week. I remember vividly when it was over. I remember saying to my mother back then....'now if I only had a weekly assignment like that from now on!'

One has to be careful what they say, what they offer up to the universe, to the great Creator. That statement of longing must have brewed a while, a dozen years or so. In 1987 I wrote a collection of short stories, which turned out to be very mystical, spiritual, based on biblical images and stories. That was honestly the first clue that I had, letting me know my most basic, internal nature. They were stories that seemed to originate from somewhere other than me. And perhaps they did.

In 1989 I felt called to the ministry, strongly, irresistably. I would have resisted if I could have. I knew better, having lived that life as a child. I figure that some powerful angel heard my longing for a 'weekly assignment'. And for the next twenty years, I had it! I wrote sermons. Always, the sermon-writing part was the easiest part of ministry for me. The part I loved the most. In time, I began to love the preaching, delivery, part as much as the writing part.

Now, I have a daily writing assignment! Can't beat that!

Health and Wellness

Gerry goes skiing every day, now that it is winter. I walk, weather permitting. In nice weather, we play tennis. Since I'm not a winter person, I resort to my treadmill in very cold weather. I do try to get exercise regularly, though I'm not nearly as good at that as my husband. He absolutely requires physical activity in order to be well and in good health.

Good health is, of course, something one aspires to, being sixty plus. I do try. I avoid prescription medications. That is actually pretty easy if one avoids doctors. My theory is that what is undiagnosed is unprescribed. Or more seriously, I don't go to the doctor when I am well, only when I am sick. I am extremely grateful that so far, I have had no major illnesses. Gerry has beat cancer twice! In both cases, his cancer was surgically removed, requiring no chemo or radiation. And he returned to health and fitness in pretty short order, at least after he was able to be physical again.

My good health aspirations are predictably about weight. I hope not to gain any weight. I hope to lose weight. I hope not to be struck with cancer or some other deadly disease. I am deeply grateful and humble to have been this healthy for this long. And while I do not expect it to be any time soon, perhaps my greatest wish is a good death. (meaning quickly). Having been part of so many funerals, speaking about death is a natural thing for me, in no way morbid.

My mother died the long death of alzheimers. I was a witness and loved one. It is the last thing I would choose for myself. If I am struck with it, however, at least there are some things I have learned from my personal expeience. There are other parts to being human besides memory. One can live in the present painlessly. One still has will, imagination, humor, relationships.

It's funny how health and wellness become a top priority as you age. And when you are young, you take it all for granted.

I guess we get what we get. And the point is not what we get, but how we respond, manage, cope, live with it. That's the journey.

And in the end, the journey is spiritual. Keeping the faith.

Identity

December 20, 2009

It is the Sunday before Christmas. We attended church and enjoyed a marvelous cantata. We actually attended the church I hope to serve next year, as interim associate pastor. That is in process, though not yet confirmed. I am a retired pastor, clergy, preacher. That is not exactly like leaving a job, or I suspect like retiring from most professions. When being a pastor is what one does, it absolutely requires that one assume that identity, take on that role. Along the way, would-be-pastors have to convince a lot of people that they are indeed worthy of the title, office. It takes a long time to assume the identity of pastor and all that goes with it. Or at least it did for me. Of course, I was resistant, having grown up as the preacher's kid, never imagining my later clergy-hood.

The truth is, church has always been my homeplace. I have had many major changes in my life, and lived in a great variety of different places, but no matter what stage I was in or place I might have lived, I found my homeplace in church. And since I have lived far from my biological family all of my adult life, the congregation substituted as my 'family.' At one church where we were active, we even gathered with the 'congregational relatives' for dinner on Christmas day, having no other place to go.

So for any "strangers" who might be out there reading this one day, (which I doubt) that is basically who I am. Mother, first and foremost. Wife, daughter, friend. Later in life, one who is called. I am who I am. And even retirement doesn't change that. Pastor.

Being A Writer

December 19, 2009

I retired eighteen months ago, though I worked part time for the first year. It has only been the past six months that I have had to face what retirement might actually be like. I think I am still avoiding it. (since I am waiting to hear when I am supposed to start my next assignment). Too much time on my hands.
I am fulfilling my retirement goals, which were very specific. For one thing, I wanted to focus on family and friends for a change, and I have definitely been doing that. On a good week, I might have three things on my calendar during the week. A couple of lunches with friends, and one with family. And even though I love that, I discover that it is nothing at all like a full time job. Still lots of time left over. More than I can fill up with household chores, grocery shopping, cooking.
During the winter months last year, between October and February, I fulfilled another of my retirement goals. I wrote a novel. I think it is an excellent novel, though not one that is likely to have much of a readership. It's probably too spiritual, though I did not intend to write a religious book. In fact, I specifically set out to write a secular book, but found that true to my nature, whatever I wrote, was inevitably going to have spiritual, mystical leanings. A couple of my daughters read the book and enjoyed it. The oldest daughter told the youngest one that the novel had sexual content and the youngest daughter, now twenty four, said she just couldn't read anything her mother wrote that had sexual content. To me, that was funny, predictable, sad, and disappointing all at the same time.
After attending a writer's conference in New York City, to learn about the profession, I definitely decided that "being a writer" was no longer going to be my primary undertaking, and no longer my heart's desire. Being sixty plus, I'm not inclined to beat the bushes and deal with the rejection of finding a publisher.....not even that.....an agent. First one has to have an agent. Publishers don't read manuscripts from unpublished writers. Agents tend to prefer writers who are already famous for one reason or another. I simply do not have the fire in my belly for all of that. But I do have the longing in my soul to express myself through writing.
Thus, my blog. Just me and my blog. We'll be a team, have fun together, share our innermost thoughts.
Nancy

A Blogging Beginning

My daughter suggested to me today that a blog might be a good outlet for my writing. I thank her for that suggestion. She just might be right. I recently watched Julia and Julie and saw the value of Julie's blogging, a frustrated writer looking for something to do that she loved, and something to write about. She chose Julia Child's recipes. I choose to reflect upon, write about, and share experienes and thoughts about this particular stage of my life.

There must be millions of retired baby boomers like me who have similar concerns and fears and hopes and dreams. Maybe I will manage, eventually, to connect with a few.

I've given up my dream of publishing a novel. I always wanted to be a writer, and actually, I now realize, always have been, throughout my career, in a variety of ways. Now I've decided that the joy is in the writing itself, the process, and not the publishing.

So this is a new writing adventure, a blogging beginning.