Fast Forward

Twelve months seemed to disappear as we flew home from Scotland. Our memories are rich and strong and we miss the simple life and deep fellowship that we shared during our “gap” year in St Andrews. We have been back almost two and a half months. For both of us, we hit the ground running.

John’s work with Somersault Group continues with an exciting project for Compassion International. Next month he travels to the Dominican Republic to experience their ministry to children in poverty and work on a curriculum for pairing North American families with families in other parts of the world–for mutual benefit and blessing.

I’ve been having fun on two fronts. Church of the Servant in Grand Rapids invited me to exhibit my paintings in a one person show from October through December.

A print of my newest painting: Before: the two accounts of creation

Their ARTery is a wonderful, naturally lit space that makes my paintings glow.

Entrance to the ARTery at Church of the Servant where I have 16 paintings of display

When I told them that I am more of a teacher than an artist, they invited me to lead an intergenerational Sunday School project on Visual Lectio Divina (Visual Bible Study).

Last Sunday, with the help of many hands, we completed a 4′ x 8′ diorama of several scenes from the Gospel of Mark: the Parable of the Sower, Jesus calming the storm, the encounter with Legion in the Decapolis, and the Feeding the the 4000 in the Decapolis.

Jesus, in the boat, teaching the Parable of the Sower to the crowds

Placing 4000 “people pins” for the Feeding of the 4000.

Jesus meeting Legion and casting out 2000 demons into colorful pigs!

Back home I’ve been spending many hours in the woods creating a sassafras and moss labyrinth.

Clearing the land and laying out the pattern with lengths of sassafras

All the materials come right from the land–it just takes some brain power and a lot of physical energy. When you arrive in the center of the labyrinth you face into the woods. As you turn to go out,

you look out over the wetlands into the light-filled ravine.

Burying the sassafras and filing the pathway with transplanted moss

As much as I enjoyed an intense and stimulating year of study, it has been fun to make paper mache caves and cliffs and spend hours in solitude digging moss and listening to the subtle teachings of the birds and squirrels. How wonderful is our God. He speaks in Words and wind. The stars sing his songs. He is invisible yet seen everywhere by those who have eyes to see. May you continue on your journey with courage and joy. May your life not be a dead end maze, but let him lead you on a labyrinth of life.

Going Home

We are in our last month of living in St Andrews and a heaviness settles over me when I think of leaving. This has been an extraordinary year for John and me. We’ve had a break from the status quo but now the new world we’ve entered into feels like normal.

We visited some friends from our seminary days who live in Berlin. I painted the life of Abraham for their ministry center and we delivered it a couple of weeks ago. It was a joy to hear my simple explanation of our father of faith translated into German.

They took us sightseeing and we visited the first church Dietrich Bonhoeffer pastored. The joy Bonhoeffer expressed while in a Nazi prison contributed powerfully to John’s step of faith in embracing the God of all hope. This is a memorial sculpture to his martyrdom–you can see the wounds on his body as he kneels in strength, opposing evil.

Outside the Pergamon Museum (where the actual Gate of Ishtar is installed–built by Nebuchadnezzar when he was king of Babylon, where Daniel was fed to the lions) I noticed this graceful statue and immediately thought it depicted The Sower from Jesus’ parable. The seed is scattered widely, yet only some soil bears fruit.

Just around the corner from Haus Nazareth where our friends live is a statue that speaks volumes about the city of Berlin, the country of Germany, and the state of our world: we need help to get over the walls that divide us.

These statues of bronze and stone symbolize some of the ways I feel about this past year–and the one to come. Being part of this special community of academic and faith-related friends, where we live close together in a setting rich with natural beauty and deep history, where our paths cross often and naturally, has been a privilege. I’ve been able to study and learn, to paint and exhibit my work, to teach classes on essential oils and share in intimate prayer with friends. I feel like my seeds have fallen on much good soil.

I don’t want to grow weary like the man at the wall who looks like he will fail unless someone helps him. I want to be brave like Bonhoeffer and face with hope whatever the future holds.

I finished my exam early

Two weeks ago we invited friends over for an open house/ open studio. (Hidden agenda: to celebrate my 64th birthday.) I love how one tulip took on this wayward course. Just like me. In the process of returning to Scotland after Christmas, I decided that one semester of academic life was sufficient for me and that my call to integrate theology and art would be better served through self-directed study and not hours and hours of intense study of philosophy. So I stepped off the race track and back into the pasture. Ahhhhhh……..

After waking up the following morning laughing, an idea popped into my head: I would like to study and paint the life of Abraham. So far most of my work has centered in the New Testament. While my classmates pursued more book learning, I started exploring the early chapters of Genesis.

Without knowing my plans, one of my professor friends, Scott Hafemann, invited me to audit his Scripture and Theology class where they were studying–guess what?–Abraham (and other biblical covenants). So I got the best of both worlds plus time to enjoy the beautiful country of Scotland and our lovely new friends.

Next week my classmates will be taking their exam, but today I put the finishing touches on my new painting.

It’s hard to see it in this post; actual size is 4′ x 5′. I hope to write some posts to share individual scenes and point out some of the things I’ve learned through this process. It’s been amazing.

You may notice the title of the painting is “Der Herr sieht.” That’s German for The Lord sees. Which is the German translation of the original Hebrew of Genesis 22:14. John and I have seminary friends from 40 years ago who run a ministry in Berlin. We are planning to visit them this summer. When I told Clark I was studying Abraham, he asked  if I would consider painting a mural for their Haus Nazareth project. So my painting already has a home. One more confirmation that my change in course–my slightly wayward direction–is on track. I don’t have to run on the academic racetrack to get to the finish line.

God calls us to make sacrifices, but sometimes it turns out differently than we supposed. He sees. He provides. Everything.

A crooked path?

We left Scotland on the shortest day of the year with a complicated itinerary and a clear plan of visiting, working, and relaxing before returning in January. But the shortest day is also the longest night. Due to technical difficulties, our flight across the Atlantic felt like the longest plane ride. One incident piled on another and I felt trapped in a marathon of sleeplessness and missed meals, disappointment in myself, and exhaustion. I lost my bearings and nearly lost my mind. It was a dark night of the sleepless soul. Plan A was not working so we switched to Plan B. I returned to Michigan with John, unable to stay by myself and useless as a support to my daughter and her new baby in Florida. Challenges continued to meet us at every turn as we abandoned Plan B to C to D and so forth.

I found my handheld labyrinth in a drawer at home and saw immediately that this ancient practice, this symbol of our walk with God, was a perfect description of my recent life. I want to follow God, I ask for guidance, I set out in the best direction I can fathom, but eventually I’m forced to make an about face and wander back and forth, wondering if I’m making progress, if I’m going anywhere.But the labyrinth is not a maze; you can’t get lost, though you can get discouraged and lose heart. But if you continue forward, you will reach your goal. You are always safe, encircled by the boundaries of God’s love.

John and I, along with our aging Border Terrier (Scottish by descent), return to St Andrews this Thursday, a month later than planned. The fragments of our life have been puzzled back together and we are looking forward to rejoining our community of friends and to lengthening days for exploring Scotland and beyond. Psalm 23 was my mantra during these trials and I can affirm both God’s faithfulness and provision for all our needs, but also the insightful ending: Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. We can’t always see goodness and mercy when we look ahead into darkness. But when we look back, there they are, our close and ever present companions. God’s love never leaves us.

Falling in love with the wrong side

Last Saturday John and I headed into town for coffee, croissants, and Christmas shopping. It’s too slippery and cold to ride bikes so we decided to use our free over-60’s bus pass. When the bus failed to  stop and the driver threw an annoyed look at my waving, we realized we were on the wrong side of the road….

So we walked, not on our usual route through the lade braes, but down the Canongate and past the Botanic Gardens where a handmade sign announced a “one-off” sale. Even before we went into the gift shop I fell in love with this sculpture. We bought it for our Christmas gift to each other. It sits next to my desk and I find new symbolism every time I look at it. I want to be the child lifted off the earth, trusting his mother, dizzy with joy, feeling the tug and balance of connection.

I’m grateful I brought this wool afghan with me from home. I thought I’d have time to tuck in the strands of yarn at the corners of the squares, but I’m doing well if I have time to wash my hair once a week. Some of you won’t be surprised that I am the type of person who likes to see the right side, not the wrong. I have often pestered John to turn the afghan over–what? so my peculiarities won’t be offended?

A subtle shift has been happening in me. Maybe it’s the reading I’ve done on humor and leisure (Did you know Reinhold Niebuhr sees humor as the vestibule of faith and a no man’s land between faith and despair? I did, but forgot it on my exam yesterday). Or maybe it’s the time I’ve spent in front of my SAD lamp to make up for only 7 hours of daylight (8:30-3:30). But I am falling in love with the wrong side.

His or Hers?

This Tuesday marks our ninth week in St Andrews. This afternoon I finished my first essay and am feeling enough wiggle room to consider writing a blog. The first five weeks were all about adjusting: furnishing our “furnished” house, cleaning and cleaning, setting up wifi, bank account, telephones, walking everywhere, wool sweaters and boots, hats and scarves, hanging laundry on the line, taking it before the rain, putting together our bicycles, choosing between the “chocolate biscuits” on the right side of the aisle at Morrison’s and the “healthier biscuits” on the left, feeling our jeans loosen despite right side choices and ChockaBlok ice cream bars marketed to serious chocolate fanatics, getting lost on the lanes between our house and Morrison’s, applying for free senior bus passes to go anywhere in Scotland.

My classmates at the Bar-B-Q, except 2 in upper right. Missing: Emma & Jin. Can you spot the grandmother?

Since classes began I have been in warp speed, choking down philosophy, ancient theology,  and the history of art, subjects I flew over in college and grad school but now have to discuss for four hours in a room with two professors and six other students. I’ve been spoiled for the last 40 years, only reading what I want, returning to the library what I found the least bit boring. Not so here. But now that the foundations stones have been laid–still slippery in the wet cement of my brain–we’re moving on to more interesting subjects. (Did I mention everyone else is in their 20s?)

Back to the mugs. On our first free bus ride, sitting in the top front of a double-decker, marveling at the driver’s maneuvering through the narrow coastline roads of Fife, passing golf courses and cabbage fields, sheep and cows, we went to the seaside village of Crail and bought American-size mugs at the pottery shop, then visited a prof and his wife (a lovely sea glass artist).

I call this post His or Hers? because our lives have become topsy-turvy. John, while still keeping up with his Somersault business via Skype, cooks and cleans, shops and does the laundry, entertains guests, mows the lawn…and I study. It’s taken time to get the kinks out, but we are enjoying the role reversal. It’s as if we have the chance to live second lives. John has played golf 5 times so far–a resident’s yearly pass to play anytime, every day on some of the most famous courses in the world is $150.

Enough words for tonight. A few photos:

Our house: # 8 Priory Gardens

Our street–19 others almost like ours!

Our private back garden

Conservatory on the right, off the kitchen

Pansies I planted that never wilt, never change

Serious Scottish sorting and recyling

Ancient “doocot” (dove coat) up the Lade Braes.

What I found under my bed

We absolutely LOVE our new home at #8 Priory Gardens: our cul de sac leads right to the Lade Braes (walking path by creek), we have a private back yard with conservatory (sun room) facing south, our neighbors are friendly and very helpful, we are close to grocery, hospital, bus route, and only 1 mile from my school (St Mary’s). BUT we spent 20 hours deep cleaning. Here’s what I found under my bed: a magnetic alien toy, a stainless steel kitchen timer, and a heart-shaped box covered with sea shells.

I gave the first item to Sam Brewer, our adopted 4-year-old American friend. The second we are using to adjust to our very quick oven. But the box, a bit tired and bruised (what heart isn’t?), I was going to drop in the trash, but instead stashed it out of the way on the windowsill of the conservatory.

As a mother and grandmother, as a friend who loves many souls, as a co-citizen of a world in turmoil and suffering, I often worry. My wise husband says: pray, turn it over to God, then put it in a box. Perhaps because he’s a man, though I hesitate to categorize, he finds it easier to compartmentalize than I do. The lid of my heart doesn’t fit all that well and my aches seep out and trouble my mind, especially when I’m tired and wanting to sleep.

So last night after he told me to put my concerns in a box, I did just that. I went downstairs and retrieved the tiny box, found some paper, and wrote down the things (well, actually people) who I was worrying about.

Then I closed the lid.

If you put your hands together, palms facing, and draw out your knuckles as if you are holding a moth, your hands look something like an upside down heart. Think of God’s hands–with you and all you love safe inside.

Or think of the game I like to play with my grandchildren: here is the church (the body of Christ), here is the steeple, open the doors, and see all the people.

The Vision Continues

In the middle of the night 40 years ago–it was our first year of marriage–I woke up with an image so vivid in my mind that I got up and went to the garage-sale desk in our small upstairs apartment and sketched it out on paper. A tree, a river, a rainbow, the sun. A safe boundary, an open access. A picture of my life.

Two years later when John and I graduated from seminary and formed an intentional Christian community with two other couples from school, my sketch became the logo of Menominee River Fellowship. Ten years after that, as I lay in bed grieving our departure from the community, the vision came back to me. But this time I saw myself as a ripening fruit hanging on the far right branch; God dropped me into the river to carry me into the world.

My spiritual journey began in 1970 in a tiny village high in the Swiss Alps, at a Sunday night prayer meeting of L’Abri Fellowship. (L’Abri means shelter in French.) Not long afterwards, I enrolled in seminary to find out who was this Christian God who put put fire in my bones. Then Menominee to Ann Arbor to San Francisco to New York, and back to Michigan. Now, on the downward arc of my life, I’m going back across the Atlantic to another seminary. This time, as I study at the Institute of Theology, Imagination and the Arts, I hope to reflect on all I’ve experienced on these subjects and distill it into a form I can pass on to others.

Here are the lyrics of a song I wrote in Menominee,  good song for the journey.

River of Tears                                

If you harden, dam up the river                   

Don’t let the water flow                    

You’ll never find the secret places        

Where the river goes

                                    

So let the river flow through you

Move with its bend

Some days will be wide and warm

But those days will end

 

The river flows deep and narrow

Swift and cold

Plunge into the moving current

Before you get too old

 

In one week we leave for Scotland. I look forward to the secret places I’ll find in St Andrews.

getting ready to go

Spending time with Amelia, one of the grandchildren, before we leave for Scotland. Only four more weeks! Seems like a dream.