Forty-Five

Forty-five years ago, in a small ceremony in my parents' backyard, I said "I do" because I couldn't bear to part with my unborn child. (So much is said of the woman who "trapped" the guy, but I was the one caught in a trap.) In 1981 "Christian" girls didn't birth and keep children born out of wedlock. They either quietly terminated a pregnancy, or disappeared for a few months and secretly released their child into the arms of complete strangers. I took what felt like the "easy path," although it was far from simple or painless. I gave up my childhood sweetheart, high school graduation, college, and my reputation. Maybe he felt trapped too, but he had been taken in a snare of his own making, one which he would bemoan on and off throughout the years. I was caught because there was little room for escape and only two choices, marry him or sacrifice my child. I don't say it to make anyone sorry. It is what it is, and I loved him deeply for many, many years. On the outside it looked as though we'd made it, and most days I sincerely believed it myself. I put every ounce of energy into making it so, but grasping the wind or holding water in one's hands is impossible...

Sometimes the broken cannot be repaired or reconciled no matter how much we wish it to be so. Sometimes a break is desperately needed. Even life saving surgeries do not come without pain. Open wounds heal with time. Broken bones mend. Scars, numb and tender all at once, remain. Divorce, even necessary ones, leave scars.

Today, instead of a wedding anniversary, my kids and I will celebrate, in our traditional manner, the birth of my fifth child. There will be love, laughter, and strawberry shortcake. (He turned 36 yesterday.) I have wiped away the tears, gently soothed the ache inside, and counted not the losses, but the blessings. He is just one of many.

A Post From Jim Palmer

I'm reposting this here because I want to come back later and read it again. To be clear, I haven't left Christianity, although I haven't been going to church lately either. The shift in perspective, "seeing things differently," or feeling like my eyes were opened to something completely new... All of that was completely involuntary. I've been feeling alone in a crowd of those who used to be "my people." They look at me with sad eyes, as though I woke up one day and made the brash decision to cast aside everything I had been taught for the first 50 plus years of my life. Nothing could be farther from the truth. The reality is more like realizing so many in my former circle don't believe the teachings of Jesus at all. They just think they do. "The blind leading the blind," has never been so clear in a world filled with racism, hate, and injustice. I am honestly heartbroken.

Jim Palmer

Just because a pastor preaches something does not mean it is true.

In many cases, what people are taught the Bible means is simply what their pastor was taught it means. Religious traditions often pass interpretations from one generation to the next with surprisingly little examination of whether those interpretations are actually justified by the text itself.

As a general rule, it is unwise to accept any religious or spiritual teaching solely because of the authority of the person speaking it. This includes pastors, theologians, gurus, spiritual teachers, and certainly includes me.

A good example is Matthew 3:2: "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand."

This may be one of the most misunderstood statements in the entire New Testament. For many Christians, the verse is understood to mean something like, "Judgment is coming. Get right with God before it is too late." The message becomes one of moral urgency, spiritual anxiety, and preparation for a future reckoning. Yet this interpretation rests heavily upon the English word repent, which may be one of the most unfortunate translations in the Bible.

In contemporary religious language, repentance usually means feeling sorry for one's sins, confessing wrongdoing, turning away from sinful behavior, and seeking forgiveness from God. It is a word saturated with guilt, shame, condemnation, and self-reproach.

For many people, the word evokes images of preachers warning about hell, demanding contrition, and insisting that human beings are fundamentally flawed creatures in need of divine rescue. Entire religious systems have been constructed around the assumption that repentance begins with recognizing one's depravity and pleading for mercy.

But this understanding misses something important. The Greek word translated as repent is metanoia. Literally, metanoia means a going beyond the mind. It refers to a radical shift in perception, a transformation in awareness, a reorientation of consciousness itself. It is less about feeling bad and more about seeing differently.

Metanoia is what happens when a framework collapses and reality suddenly appears in a new light. It is the moment when an inherited way of understanding the world can no longer contain what is being seen. It is the experience of awakening from a trance one did not know one was living inside. The emphasis is not on self-condemnation but on revelation. Not on becoming worthy, but on becoming able to see.

This understanding sheds light on why the Gospel narratives place such emphasis on sight. Again and again, Jesus restores vision to the blind. Whatever historical events may stand behind these stories, their symbolic significance is difficult to ignore.

Human beings do not suffer primarily because they lack information. They suffer because they mistake their interpretations for reality. They mistake inherited stories for truth, conditioning for wisdom, and survival strategies for identity. The blindness Jesus confronts is not merely physical blindness. It is perceptual blindness. It is the inability to see reality clearly because one's vision has become obscured by fear, ideology, certainty, religious systems, and borrowed beliefs.

Seen this way, metanoia is not about adopting a new doctrine. It is about recovering the capacity to see. It is a profound turning at the deepest level of consciousness. Not simply changing one's thoughts, but changing one's relationship to thought itself. Not merely believing something different, but perceiving from an entirely different place. Repentance, in this sense, is not a moral event but a perceptual event. It is the collapse of one way of seeing and the emergence of another.

This brings us to the second half of the statement: "For the kingdom of heaven is at hand."

Modern readers often hear the phrase "kingdom of heaven" and immediately think of heaven after death, divine government, or some future supernatural event. Yet throughout Jesus' teaching, the kingdom is consistently described as something strangely present and immediately available. It is near. Already here. Hidden in plain sight.

People continually asked Jesus where this kingdom could be found. His responses were often perplexing because they violated the assumptions behind the question itself. They were looking for a location, an institution, a future event, or an external authority. Jesus pointed elsewhere.

According to Luke's Gospel, Jesus declared that the kingdom of God is within you. Whether one interprets this psychologically, spiritually, existentially, or mystically, the point remains striking. The reality people seek cannot be found where they have been conditioned to look. The kingdom is not a reward waiting at the end of obedience. It is not something earned through moral perfection. It is not hidden behind religious achievement. Nor is it located in some distant future. The kingdom represents a dimension of reality characterized by freedom, peace, aliveness, wholeness, participation, harmony, and profound connectedness to what is.

What prevents people from experiencing this kingdom is not distance but perception. The kingdom is near because reality is already here. What is missing is not proximity but awareness. This is why metanoia comes first. One must see differently before one can experience differently. One must awaken from inherited ways of perceiving before one can recognize what has been present all along.

The problem is not that the kingdom is absent. The problem is that we are looking for it through frameworks that make it impossible to recognize.

From this perspective, Matthew 3:2 is not a warning about divine judgment. It is an invitation into a different way of seeing. The message is not, "You are in danger." The message is, "You are asleep." It is not, "Become worthy." It is, "Wake up." It is not, "God is far away and you must find your way back." It is, "What you seek is already closer than your own breath."

A contemporary rendering of Jesus' words might sound something like this:

"The peace, freedom, joy, wholeness, and aliveness you have been searching for are not somewhere else. They are not waiting in the future. They are not hidden behind religious achievement, spiritual advancement, or moral perfection. What you seek is already present. The obstacle is not distance but perception. Wake up. See differently. Look beyond the assumptions, identities, beliefs, and inherited frameworks that have shaped your vision. What you have been seeking has never been absent. It is here. It is now. It has always been nearer than you imagined."

Jim Palmer

Still Here

I'm still here.

Last Wednesday's sunshine and warmish weather beckoned me into the out of doors after work. It was Earth Day. The Webster Arboretum isn't far from home, but the trees and flowers were not in full bloom, so I drove on. The lake, choppy and rough, provided no beach on which to search pebbles and bits of glass. I drove farther down Lake Road. The Webster Park Campground is not yet open for the season, but the road to the woods called my name and I thought I might take a step or two down one of the muddy, sunlit trails... 

Fresh, bright green leaves tinged the trees. Miniature carpets of moss made patchwork carpets on fallen logs. Birds twittered. Squirrels chirped. I stepped over sticks, stones and puddles, capturing photos along the way.

The hidden path, skirting the gulley's rim, was more difficult to discern last week, but having walked this way on autumn days, its invisibility only served to draw me in. Tension melted from my body as the fresh, cool smell of woodsy moss and pine filled each breath. 

Early spring. Too soon for the buzz and bite of deer flies and mosquitoes. Each blade of grass and tree branch born anew. I hadn't intended to walk the hidden trail but was grateful for each step and every sign of growth.

Just before the crest of the hill, a fairy house appeared. The door stood somewhat ajar. I smiled to myself and imagined fairy children hiding in the shadows, shushed by a wary, fairy mother. Not wanting to terrify the tiny creatures, I snapped a picture and hurried on, almost certain I'd heard them breathe a sigh of relief.

Behind the park maintenance buildings, I broke from the path and made my way toward the park road where my sisters and I, in days of childhood, ran ahead of our parents on our way back to the campsite. 

Some of my favorite memories are the afternoon walks we took with Mom and Dad when we camped at the little park back in the 1970s. The woods have changed since then. Many old pine trees, planted in long straight rows by boy scouts many years before I was born, lay fallen on the forest floor. The ground is no longer an open carpet of pine needles, and the tall pines that once created a shadowy, forest canopy are few. Smaller trees have taken their place, and the underbrush has filled in much of the open spaces where we ran and played, but it's still the woods and it still whispers my name.

What Are You Doing Here?

 "What are you doing here?" That's what they ask when they see me in the Penfield Dunkin instead of Webster. "Are you here all the time?" and I tell them I transferred because I wasn't getting enough hours at the other location. My hours had been slashed from 37 1/2 a week down to less than 20, and sometimes closer to 10. It wasn't sustainable. No matter how much I liked the customers and the location, I couldn't stay there. I smile every time one of my old customers comes in. It's nice to know I was making a difference.

Of course, there are cantankerous customers... Like my "not so" favorite one who never fails to tell my coworkers how bad I am at the job and shouldn't be working there. LOL! I'm not sure what her problem is, and although she causes my blood pressure to rise slightly so that I avoid her if at all possible, I still find her grouchy, grudge bearing, grumpiness somewhat amusing in a sad sort of way. 

And then there is Penfield Dunkin's own regular "no so easy to get along with" everyday customer. Today she returned to the counter and informed me she wanted "two shots." Her normal order is an easy extra large with cream, but she'd already taken that to her table. I hadn't a clue what she was talking about. "Two shots of espresso?" I asked her, and she rolled her eyes as if I was the stupidest thing on two legs, mumbled something almost incoherent, and turned to one of my coworkers. Ha ha! She wanted two creams in a separate cup, but it could have been "two shots" of anything. We certainly have plenty of choices.

Yesterday was my birthday. I went out to breakfast with my friend Ruth, and in the afternoon my kids threw me a fabulous party complete with Rueben sandwiches and cake. Such fun! I'm still counting down and had a wonderful cake to show it. Ha ha!

Identification, Please

If you know me well, you will understand (or notice) that the past 10 years have brought about a profound change in how I see the world, especially through the lenses of religion and politics. It's been, in so many ways, an arduous journey, one I would not have chosen, but I was not given a choice.

I was born into a church going family, baptized as an infant into the Christian Reformed Church, and later baptized again into a small Southern Baptist Church not far from the church wherein I was baptized as a baby. I did not, at the time, notice a gaping chasm between the two belief systems, choosing instead to focus on the similarities, a trait I most likely picked up from my parents whose only stressor for choosing a church was that it was "Bible believing." 

I married at the tender age of seventeen, pregnant by the boy who my parents had taken into out home a year and half previous. We had a tumultuous beginning with enough love to provide us with seven beautiful children by the time we were 31 years old. "By the grace of God" I forgave time and time again, overlooked what should have been glaring, and did everything in my power to be the submissive wife God had surely called me to become. When my children were mistreated, I bit my tongue and held in my rage and heartache because intervening only escalated the situation. I "protected" my children by being silent. Or so I thought. And I was bound to my husband because of premarital sex. 

My identity as a wife and mother was wrapped in fundamental, evangelicalism. We went to church every Sunday, sometimes twice, and often on Wednesday evenings as well. I loved my Tuesday morning Ladies' Bible Study. I voted republican because,... well,... you know,... abortion. I believed being gay was unnatural and abhorrent, although I loved people who were... I prayed for friends and family to get "saved." I did everything in my power to make our little family as perfect as humanly possible, or at least appear that way. Halfway through raising them, we decided to homeschool our kids. My friends were either family, church people, or fellow homeschooling moms. This was my identity. I wasn't making things up, it was who I was.

When dark secrets came to light, sucking all the breath out of my lungs and leaving me groping through a strange and unknown landscape, the identity I once held dear began to slip through my fingers. No matter how tightly I held on, it was like grasping running water... In the years since then the old identity has continued to seep away. It has been replaced by new understandings, (hopefully) clearer perspectives, and a strength I didn't previously possess. I had to watch a lifetime of ideas slip away, and while some remain I no longer hold them in my fists as tightly as before. 

I learned to let go. He once said to me, "I've cost you everything you loved and held dear." At the time he was correct. I walked away from possessions, my home, my church, friends, family, some of my children for a period of time, my reputation, security, and the man I had learned to love. It was agonizing. I did it for my children, although they didn't necessarily understand in the moment, and I did it for myself, because holding a boundary is more important than covering sin. I clawed my way forward an inch at a time, isolating in the attic bedroom of my childhood home after work for two years. (I later learned that my youngest daughter was worried about me...)

Of all the things I left behind I miss him the most. I miss the way he used to smile and wink at me... I miss his arms around me, the warmth of his body next to me in bed at night, and the closeness of sitting on the couch together. I miss the rides we took through the countryside, lunches out together, and huge family gatherings with all of our kids in one spot. I miss watching him work in the garden and seeing the crop of vegetables he grew. I miss the meals we made together and our walks in the orchard. I miss witnessing his completed projects. I miss his generosity. I miss his voice. Although there has been, and sometimes still is anger, there has never been hatred, and I don't pretend to understand forgiveness. There will always be a hole in my heart and there will always be an ache because I truly loved him.

The crisis of identity comes when a life is turned upside down and everything we know is shaken out onto the ground where we are forced to sort through the rubble of what was and what lies before us. We can toss everything back into the box, attempt to straighten the sides, then set it right side up, and go on as though nothing has changed, or we can take a closer look at the box and its contents, along with our new understanding. For a time I tied a string around the box and attempted to reload the contents, but there was a gaping hole in the underside and the entire box needed to be replaced. So I acquired a new box, not so very different from the old box, but I found not everything would fit inside. Some of the items and ideas had been rendered obsolete, and there were other things I now needed that I hadn't needed previous. What I'm trying to say is throughout the past several years I have needed to change out both the containers (boxes if you will), along with the contents (ideas, perspectives, and beliefs).

I am still me. But different too. My identity has been altered.

All Those Grands

 I looked for my grandkids first birthday pictures and found I was missing a few, so I searched the archives, improvised on a few, and came up with two collages. 

One through Nine who are now 18, 17, 15, 14, 13, 10, and 9....

...and Ten through Eighteen who are 9, 7, 6, 5, 5, 4, 4, and 1.

Today was Emiliano's first birthday. 
Happy Birthday, Number 18!

The March

 * There is nothing more wonderful than a sister breakfast. We have decided to make this more than an annual occurrence. No food pictures, Just the three of us.

* The Connecticut trip was fun. Since Priscilla was taking one, I bought an air mattress to sleep on too. I figured it would come in handy down the road and couldn't possibly be a waste of money. I was right. It cost much less than a night in a hotel and at 18 inches thick, was very comfy. I was more than pleased with my purchase. My niece, who was moving out of a furnished apartment, did not yet have a bed, and so I told her she could use my comfy air mattress until she procured a regular bed. And then, before we left, I told her not to worry about bringing it back to me but to keep it for when her sister came to visit. It's already been put to good use there as well and I am very happy. (Also, I like it so much that I purchased another! LOL!)

* Work has been going mostly well. There are always the spills, mistakes, and mishaps, but all in all it's been a good move. The other day I inadvertently typed in 66 coffees and put the sticker machine into overdrive. Ha ha! Most days I come home thoroughly exhausted and often find myself taking a nap.

*Our baby (He's "ours" because I live here...) is turning one tomorrow. I don't know where the year has gone, or any of the past 60 for that matter. Little Em is on the verge of walking independently and hate going to bed at night. He is no longer a good sleeper but he's cute and that mostly makes up for it.

* I am checking boxes lately. Finishing (or starting) tasks long put off, like taking my sister off the deed to my house. It wasn't near as complicated as I made it out to be. I'm also looking into having something done about the extra eye lids that have become not just "curtains" but draperies around my eyes. When I mentioned it to my eye doctor, she immediately called in the referral. I have an appointment with the surgeon in May. Maybe one day opening my eyes won't take so much effort. That is my hope.

* Beautiful weather the past few days. I made a quick lake stop this evening. Winter makes a comeback tomorrow and over the weekend. This is March.

Bits and Pieces

 * February is one very cold month. We are past the days of sub zero temperatures/wind chills. (Rachel and I took a winter walk one frigid Sunday afternoon.) Possibly a March blizzard, because that normally happens, and then we can begin to hope for warmer days and increasing sunshine.

* My new job has been going well. I'm settling in, I think, although there are still days when I feel strangely out of place. I felt like that on Monday a little while before my boss told me, "You're a rock star!" I also saw a few familiar customer faces and found a friend's daughter smiling at me through the drive up window. It's been a good change.

* This month marks 43 years since my brother's passing, and today is the 12th anniversary of my mom's graduation to heaven's shore. Time doesn't slow down at all. It just keep gaining momentum. It really is a long strange trip...

* I had some fun felting a sleeping mouse a couple of weeks ago. I put it to bed in a piece of China on a ball of upholstery stuffing. It makes me smile but I haven't bothered to make him any friends. (I have an ample supply of upholstery fuzz due to having my new loveseat repaired... More mice are sure to arrive in the future and they'll all have soft nests.)

* I am headed out of town tomorrow. Going out to breakfast with my sisters, and then on to Connecticut overnight. I'll be back again on Sunday. A rather whirlwind trip. Maybe I'll take a picture or two. 

Transfer

It's been a rough couple of months at work. I haven't worked a full week since the first one in December, This week I was scheduled for just 9 hours, but have been assured "it's nothing personal." Okay. Well, thanks a lot, I guess... I've been tossing applications out into the atmosphere for several weeks. A couple weeks ago I found an area Dunkin looking for a team member and decided to apply. LOL! (All the area Dunkins save one or two are owned by the same three individuals, a brother and sister, and her husband.) Well, I got a response and Monday I transferred to one that will give me more hours and a more regular schedule. I'm exhausted. Ha ha! Partly from working, and partly from getting so little sleep over the weekend because there wasn't a whole lot of communication throughout the process. On Thursday I was transferring to 4 Corners and on Friday I was told Rt 250 in Penfield. Nobody wanted to confirm the location with me and so I got up at 5am Monday hoping to be accepted at the new store. So far so good. I think I'm going to like it.

We've been getting some terribly cold weather. Not quite as cold as Minnesota, but Minnesota like. Frigid. Unbearable, unless one is a Minnesotan. Speaking of Minnesota, I am so proud of them. 

Pippy, my cat has been naughty lately. last week he peed on my bed twice. One night I was up doing laundry at 10:30pm. Two loads, with steam coming out of my ears... And then again two days later.  I'd even bought him a littler box. He didn't like the first one. The litter was too fancy... And the second one I brought in a little too late. Waaahhh! Needless to say, he was banished to the garage during the cold snap and did use the box out there. Hannah build him a nice little insulated box to sleep in, and I took him to the vet on Monday afternoon. He does not have a urinary tract infection, but he did have a check up and got caught up on his vaccines. I'm watching him like a hawk lately and can scarcely wait for the next cold spell. Here's hoping he just uses the box.

Also, my sister and I went out for a winter walk on Sunday afternoon. The walk through the woods was amazing, the temperature was brutal down at the lake, and it was just what I needed. 

Because

 I am tired.

Kickin' It In the Goal

The little calendar/planner I bought last year is coming in handy. With my hours at work drastically reduced (I have just 11 this week, down from 37 1/2 from May through November), I have purposed to set simple weekly goals. Things like "update my resume," "fill out an application," and "deposit all the cash hidden in mugs on my dresser."

I saw my primary care physician yesterday and can check my "not so yearly" physical off my list. I made Dr. M. happy by keeping up with the dentist, the eye doctor, and having had the shingles vaccine. I also accepted the flu shot. I could see him smiling behind the mask. Tomorrow I'll have the "not so yearly" mammogram, and next week the DEXO scan that measures bone density. Add a visit to my favorite chiropractor and an allergy shot and who has time for work? 

I've had two interviews this month. One at Panera Bread last week, which I thought went well, but the only response I received was an email saying "Thank you for taking the time to complete your application with Panera Bread. We truly appreciate your interest in joining our team and the effort you put into the interview process..." 

Yesterday morning I had a phone interview with Wegmans, the fabulous, local grocery store. They ask all kinds of prying questions and afterward I just wanted to cry. I can do the job and do it well, but I'm not good at interviews and I can't lie when they ask hard questions.  Dunkin has me scheduled for 15 hours next week so it's taking me two weeks to make less than I previously earned in one. Tonight I'll be filling out the paper Hobby Lobby application I picked up a few weeks back.

I spent Sunday with my friend Ruth who helped me figure out how to put a boarder on an afghan I started back in September of 2015. I'm feeling accomplished even if it did take ten years to finish. Ha ha!

Maybe tomorrow I will start weeding through my clothing collection I have enough clothes to dress several women, as long as they wash them weekly. (They will need extra underwear though.) I'm not necessarily a clothes horse, but I could definitely whittle down my supply. That's all for now as I'd prefer not to mention the chaos that is currently overtaking my eldest son's former home state and the city of several good friends. My heart is broken.