Spreading Crazy Beauty

Alice Rumphius entered the world scene in 1982, through the creativity of author, Barbara Cooney.  In this story for children of all ages, we're told that, as a child, Miss Rumphius listens to her seafaring grandfather’s tales. She decides that she, too, will travel the world and, when she's old, will live next to the sea. Her grandfather reminds her that as a human being, she would do well to include in her list of life-goals helping to make the world more beautiful.

Miss Rumphius chooses not to marry or have children, nor does she cook, sew, or worry about how she looks. Instead she travels widely, taking in the experience of diverse cultures and environments. Eventually, she settles down to live next to the sea. She discovers that her final goal in life, making the world more beautiful, is harder to achieve than she'd anticipated. By accident, she notices that lupines which she has planted scatter their seeds and they beautify her neighborhood. She realizes that spreading lupine flowers might be the perfect way by which she can spread more beauty wherever she goes around world.

I was introduced to Miss Rumphius, the Lupine Lady, only yesterday through an article in our local North Bay Bohemian newspaper, entitled Crazy Beauty, and written by Juliane Poirier Locke.  After beginning to spread her lupine seeds around, Alice earns the name of "Crazy Lady".  But after awhile, when lupines begin sprouting all over the neighborhood and beyond, she earns new respect and admiration and is thereafter tagged as the "Lupine Lady".  

There are so many folks who wander the planet doing what are familiarly known as "random acts of kindness".  We've all met some of them, perhaps have even engaged in such actions ourselves.  One of my favorites is occasionally paying the toll fee for the car in line behind me.  The unexpectedness and amazement of it for the recipient is cause for sheer delight.  Crazy?? Absolutely, and, at the same time, crazily beautiful!

Ms. Locke concludes her article:  "Miss Rumphius the Lupine Lady is a role model for our era.  Perhaps sometime this week,...we can make some unique effort to make the world more beautiful.  I know it's a crazy idea, but think of all the fun we could cause."  

From Slave to Servant of God

The Episcopal Church commemorates its first African-American priest, Absalom Jones, on this day.  Absalom was born a house slave in 1746 in Delaware.  He taught himself to read out of the New Testament, among other books.  At age 16 he was sold to a store owner in Philadelphia.  Here he worked as a clerk and handyman in a retail store, and attended a night school for black people, operated by the Quakers.  In 1766, when he was 20, he married a young woman whose freedom, along with his own, he purchased with his own earnings by 1784.

Absalom served as a lay minister for his people at St. George's Methodist Church in Philadelphia.  Built in 1763, the church is the oldest Methodist church in continuous use in the U.S., and is considered the "cradle" of American Methodism.  Black members, though given a place at the church, had to hold their services at 5:00 AM.  During this time Absalom met and befriended Richard Allen, and the two worked hard at evangelizing people in the African-American community. Richard, later the founder of the African Methodist Episcopal Church (A.M.E.), was the first black person licensed to preach Methodism at St. George's in 1784.  However, in a disgraceful move one Sabbath in 1787, the all-white vestry insisted that the black members use only an upstairs balcony in the church as their prayer area. A row ensued and the African-American members walked out of the service in a body. 

In 1787, under the leadership of Jones and Allen, the first Afro-American society, called the Free African Society, was founded as a non-denominational community, both religious and benevolent, combining church, government, and charity. Members paid monthly dues which were used to help those in need. It was the only church organization to volunteer during the Yellow Fever Epidemic in Philadephia in 1793, receiving praise from Philadelphia's mayor for their valiant service.   

 In 1794 "The African Church" building was erected with the help of Episcopalians and Quakers.  Even after their shameful treatment at St. George's, both Jones and Allen wanted to affiliate with the Methodist Church, but the majority of the congregation favored the Episcopal Church.  Because of this, Richard Allen, along with a remnant of the congregation, regretfully left and established the Mother Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church in 1794. Absalom and the majority of the congregation remained at The African Church. In the same year Absalom applied for, and received from Bishop William White, recognition in the Episcopal Diocese of Pennsylvania.  The agreement was made only under certain conditions which the petitioners set: 1) that they be received as an organized body; 2) that they have control over their local affairs; and 3) that Absalom Jones be licensed as a layreader, and, if qualified, be ordained.  

In 1795 the Diocesan Convention approved the affiliation, and St. Thomas African Episcopal Church came into being. Jones was dispensed from Latin and Greek as required for ordination,  was ordained a deacon in 1795, and as an Episcopal priest in 1804.

It is said that Absalom Jones was a good preacher.  Firmly convinced that religious and social action worked hand in hand, he denounced slavery and oppression.  He believed in God as a Father who acted on behalf of the poor and distressed.  He founded schools for African-Americans, and even an insurance company and a society devoted to eliminating vice and immorality.  Because of his constant visitations and gentle manner, Absalom Jones was so beloved by the church and the community that he was known as "the Black Bishop of the Episcopal Church", though he was never ordained a bishop.  The first African-American bishop, also from Philadelphia, was Bishop Barbara Harris, ordained 20 years ago this year.  As a deputy to the General Convention in Indianapolis in 1994, I believe, I had the privilege of sitting beside Bishop Harris in our morning Bible study group.

In the Episcopal Church today clergy of African-American descent number approximately 7.7% of the bishops, 3.4% of the priests, and 3.9% of the deacons.   

Set us free, heavenly Father, from every bond of prejudice and fear;

that, honoring the steadfast courage of your servant Absalom Jones,

we may show forth in our lives the reconciling love and true freedom of the children of God,

which you have given us in your Son our Savior Jesus Christ.  Amen.

  

Reflections on Clergy Conference

This week, Monday through noon today, the Bishop and clergy of the Diocese of Northern California had their annual conference.  I've been to 27 of them so far.  Each year I feel the same exhilaration at being there.  An immense gratitude for the privilege of having such dedicated, good women and men as sisters and brothers in ministry.  I find myself relieved that I never acted on past impulses, at times, to transfer to the "greener" pasture of another diocese.  Over time I've come to realize that the greenest pasture for me has always been right here.  

The most moving part of the annual conference for me is always our Eucharist together on the last morning, when the Bishop, deacons, and priests, according to order, renew their ordination vows.  This year there was the lovely added touch of adding the renewal of religious vows for Sister Alice and Sister Diana, of the Community of the Transfiguration, who minister in our diocese, and for Fr. Leo Joseph, OSF, our local Franciscan friar and my best clergy friend.  Not that I don't have many other ordained friends; it's just that Leo and I have significant "history": he knows all my skeletons, and I have a fair handle on his! In this yearly liturgy there's a sense of connection which is almost palpable, yet very hard to put into words.  In this ritual moment I become so aware of the selfless givingness and caring embodied in the Bishop and in each of the priests and deacons with whom I stand around the altar, and it reaffirms for me how right I was 45 years ago to respond to God's call to ministry, though I could never have imagined then what that would involve.  

When I say the word “priest”, my strongest image is of Monsignor Anthony J. Mentink, late pastor of St. Patrick’s Catholic Church, Troy, OH, during the time I went to school there. I remember the distinguished, woody fragrance of cigar smoke on his crimson-piped cassock or his clerical suit when he’d come close to us. Monsignor Mentink was an imposing figure with a gravelly voice, but a very kind and venerable man. We looked up to him and admired him as our pastor.  Monsignor Mentink became for me the first model of what a priest was. There was nothing specific that he did, other than to say Mass for us each Sunday. I don’t recall anything striking he ever said in his sermons, though I listened to many of them. I never actually spoke to him about being a priest. Yet, I have this recollection from age 5 or 6 during Mass one Sunday: I was watching Monsignor Mentink distribute the Sacred Host from the ciborium at Communion, not knowing exactly what he was doing, since this was before my first Communion. But I recall thinking that whatever it was that he was doing, I wanted to do that, too. And that was all. From the time I entered grade school at St. Patrick’s in the fall of 1943, and from then on, it never occurred to me that I would do anything else but become a priest.

When our seminary class was approaching the “end of the road” of our seminary training, Fr. William Crenner, S.M., then Director at the Marianist Retreat House, Dayton, OH, preached our ordination retreat, on “LIVING the Sacrament of Holy Orders”, May 24-31, 1964. Two brief comments of his stood out for me and became guides for how I wanted to be a priest in the years following:

“Those who make the best priests are those who would have made the best fathers of families.”

“The goal of the apostolate is not a conquest; it is a service. 

The  fundamental attitude of an apostle toward the world is loving it.”

Sunday, May 31, 1964, the day I’d longed for since childhood finally dawned. I was 27 years old.  Vivid and treasured memories of that day still come to mind. Bishop Paul Francis Leibold, Auxiliary Bishop, and later, Archbishop, of Cincinnati, a quiet, soft-spoken man, moved through the ordination service very deliberately.  His ordaining me to the orders of subdeacon and deacon previously, and now as priest, was extra special in that he, my mother, and my godmother, Aunt Florence, were classmates at their local parish school.  Ten of us deacons knelt in a semi-circle, priestly vestments folded neatly over our arms. As the Litany of the Saints began, we stretched out on the marble floor, face down in a sign of humility.  Later, we extended our hands, palms up, to be consecrated by the Bishop who traced a diagonal cross over them using Sacred Chrism.  Finally, Bishop Leibold layed his hands upon our heads, followed by a cadre of priests, many of whom had been our professors. 

Jump ahead 18 years, from 1964, to June 2, 1982 -- after I had lived for 13 years outside of active ministry. Family, friends, and fellow clergy, again gathered: this time at St. Matthew’s Church, Sacramento, for the Celebration of a New Ministry, with Bishop John L. Thompson presiding, as I was received as a priest of the Episcopal Church.  Among those participating in the ceremony were: Fr. Gordon Cross, retired Rector and my mentor, who had built and furnished St. Matthew’s some 30 years before; Fr. Zealand Hillsdon-Hutton, then Rector of St. Matthew's, serving as Master of Ceremonies, who had championed my cause through the difficulties of the reception process; and Fr. Bob Gould, parish Associate, serving as the Bishop’s Chaplain.  Fr. Doug Thompson, then rector of St. Paul’s, Klamath Falls, OR, preached.  Doug, besides being a very close friend, had received me into the Episcopal Church at St. Anne’s, Stockton, five years earlier, during a very difficult time in my life.

That day my family presented me with my very own “priest kit”: a box of various items which, they said, a priest might need, including a miniature Bible which they had tagged “Company Policy”, and an Episcopal lapel pin labelled “your very own Anglican ethos”. That is an especially fond memory.

Later, in a letter to friends I wrote: “Resuming the ordained ministry again has been an exhilarating, as well as humbling experience. The Lord has been full of surprises in the way He’s guided my life...Even now I don’t fully understand how or why He’s led me to this point...It will be my joy to bring whomever I can closer to Him and to minister to their needs...”  As a young seminarian I used to frequently look through the table of feasts listed in my prayer book and wonder where I’d be serving as a priest in any given year in the future. What I envisioned for my life then is unimaginably far from the actual reality as it has played out.

But if I had it to do all over again as a priest, recalling all the pluses and minuses, I can surely visualize some things I would do differently, most of which have been inspired by my observing them in many of my priestly colleagues in the diocese.  For one thing, I’d spend a lot more time connecting with people, really getting to know them, and sharing their stories. Too many times, after a parishioner died, I’d discover the most interesting things about them which I wish I’d known and shared with them while they were still alive.  I think I’d listen more intently to pick up on the sometimes deep and, perhaps, embarrassing personal and family struggles which parishioners so often carry around, “skeletons” which they feel they can never unload unless given a safe zone where they might do so.

I’d more boldly share God’s Word with others, as expressed in the Scriptures and the sacraments. I’d dare to share more openly with them my own experiences of the spiritual journey in order to help them develop their unique spiritual gifts and a closer relationship with God.  I’d proclaim more clearly that there is no “We” vs. “Them”, but only “Us”; that we need to accept one another regardless of any difference, to truly live the baptismal covenant. I’d be more adamant in encouraging resistance to attempts by anyone to exclude or marginalize any person because of their racial, creedal, or sexual differences; in guiding folks to focus outwardly on their local community and on not only people’s spiritual needs, but also on the day-to-day realities of their emotional, social, and physical needs.  I’d hope to be more sensitive and honest in pointing out to people their rich God-given gifts, and to overcome laziness and fear in understanding our faith more fully.

I’d surely spend a whole lot less time bestowing negative attention on those who thrive on conflict within a parish, the chronic complainers who, regardless of the issue of the moment, are never satisfied, who show little willingness to sacrifice their own desires for the common good, and who get stuck in old ways, solutions, and vested interests out of fear, resentment or the insecurity of losing their control. I’d turn my energies toward encouraging and fostering those who have a vision of building their community and Church, who’ve begun to capture what can be. I’d want to help us to see that we’re all holy partners: equals despite our different roles, learners as well as teachers, healers as well as broken ones.

I’d make more effort to nurture and support young people of all ages, to really listen to their questions and insights, and to foster in them an “outside-the-box” Christian vision of what is possible as they begin to takes their places in the leadership of the Church and the world.

Nevertheless, for what is past, I say “Thanks be to God!” For the journey still ahead: “Yes!”  And one of the greatest joys is the anticipation of many more annual get-togethers, God willing, with my sister and brother clergy.

Seriously, now

My son, Andrew, was supposed to be transferred back to California on Tuesday to seek further care at UC San Francisco Hospital .  It didn't happen. Probably just as well, considering all the risks.  His breathing took a step backward, and he's back in ICU for precautionary care.  Still, it was a bitter pill of disappointment for me and for his sister, Nicole.  

We've had a long time: the year and a half of Andrew's last illness, eight years since then, and the last two months, especially, to reflect a bit on matters medical.  Both experiences have carried a price tag (and the meter's still ticking on this one) of a quarter of a million dollars plus -- each! So, when I read Nicole's blog today, I knew I wanted to share it with as many folks as possible.  Here it is, with her gracious permission:

   

"Seriously, now.

I'm going, for a minute, to put aside any niceties and updates because I am not doing anyone any favors by not just saying what is on my mind today.

As you all can imagine, this experience with my brother's illness has shocked me out of the apathetic daze I had been in, in regard to the healthcare situation in our country. I am completely serious, when I tell you right now, that if you haven't seen Michael Moore's movie Sicko, you owe it to yourself, your family, and, frankly, your country to see it. I am not personally endorsing or promoting Michael or the film, but what I am doing is asking you all to seriously examine the healthcare situation here. Ask yourself questions. Compare it to the systems they have in place in other countries. Formulate an educated opinion on it, and based on what you've seen in this instance with Andrew, decide to do something more than just accept that our healthcare system is just "the way it is." Hot news flash: The thousands of dollars you are paying in insurance will probably not wind up helping you at all, should you become as ill as Andrew has. It's all about money. Ask someone who has been through it. What will you do then?

Our country's healthcare situation is based on private ownership vs. a socialist system is because of capitalism. It's because of greed for money, in a nutshell, because the rich in America and the Government profit GREATLY from the monetary funding from big drug companies and insurance companies. If the government mandates that these companies are in charge of the way healthcare system is run, those companies make astronomically insane amounts of money and then they, in turn give a bunch of it to the government officials as a "thank you for scratching my back, here's your bonus" type of deal. A socialist system means everyone pays a nominal amount monthly or yearly to the government, and then ALL PEOPLE whether they have jobs, pre-existing ailments, whatever, ALL PEOPLE receive healthcare and they don't walk out with thousands of dollars of bills. All people: Bums. Unemployed. Foreigners. HUMAN BEINGS.

THE REASON OUR COUNTRY HAS THE KIND OF HEALTHCARE "SYSTEM" IT DOES IS BECAUSE WE -- WHICH MEANS ME AND -- YOU -- ARE ACCEPTING IT, ALLOWING IT TO HAPPEN.

Yes, I really did just say that. Why are you not outraged? If you are, help me do something about it. I can assure you, you don't want to go through something like what my family has had to go through TWICE. That is how long it took me to get a grip on the reality of it, and get freaking pissed off enough to actually realize how evil and wrong it is to quantify proper medical care and human life with dollars. If you have already or are currently going through something similar, what more is it going to take to make you understand that the system here is simply humanly WRONG? There is a reason why other countries do it differently. It's called more respect for human life than the dollar, plain and simple. Obama's plan says it's headed in the right direction, but in my opinion, as long as big drug and insurance are allowed to dictate how healthcare is run here, and until ALL citizens can receive decent healthcare at a low cost, there is no improvement, there's just the exchange of life for money. What pisses me off the most is that EXCELLENT government run healthcare systems are successfully being run all over the world, and have been for years and years. When are we going to DEMAND this for ourselves?

http://change.gov/agenda/health_care_agenda/

http://www.michaelmoore.com/sicko/what-can-i-do/

^Go to those websites. Look at them. DO SOMETHING. It is clear that there is power in numbers. Our country has displayed more hope & aspiration for change recently than it has since the 70s. I beg you to approach this subject I am talking about right now with the same fervor that motivated you to vote in the Presidential Election.

xo Nic"

Do We Get It?

The context of Isaiah 40:21-31 is about the Israelites who are in exile in Babylon. God is about to liberate them through an unlikely figure: Cyrus II of Persia. This reading, appointed for today's liturgy, comes just after the section in Chapter 40 where: 1) God has announced a new beginning, a new epoch; 2) God prods the people to begin preparing to return from their long exile, and also for God’s coming in glory; 3) God’s incomparability as Creator of all is highlighted and emphasized against merely human nations and empires who, compared to God, are nothing.  

God begins by asking rhetorically: “Do you all get it yet??” God is the origin, and the in-between, and the end of everything in our lives.

“Who created these?”, God asks, pointing at the magnificent and vast created world. It’s only in the first lines of Genesis and in this passage that the Hebrew word bara = created is used. It is God who is the Source of beginnings in our lives, God who is the Source sustaining us, and God who is the Source bringing everything to completion, i.e., in LOVE. “The Lord is the everlasting God.” And God emphasizes this so much because we forget it so much, especially when preoccupied with the pain and suffering and loss in which we frequently find ourselves.

In v. 27 Israel is on the “pity pot” because of such narrow vision: after all of God’s demonstrated promises and proofs throughout their past history, they’re frustrated, fearful that God has forgotten them and left them alone. If they could look long enough at the big picture, they’d see that human suffering is only temporary, and more, that it’s even a necessary part of God’s bigger design. “God gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless...those who wait for the Lord [and not for the “good old days” or “what might have been”] shall renew their strength...”

We can look at Mark’s portion of the Gospel for today (1:29-39) as having two parts. Part 1 takes place at Capernaum. Jesus is “on the road” which will eventually lead to Jerusalem and to his death. Hints of Lent, soon to come! There’s a progression from his Baptism, then being led into the desert to be tested, then on to his call of those who would take up his cause, and finally his being on the road to his ministry. Mark’s message is that Jesus’ agenda is that of his Father and of the Spirit: namely, to bring God’s reign to reality.

You’ll notice some similarities to last week’s Gospel: 1) Jesus, acting on his own, heals someone (the demon-possessed man/Peter’s mother-in-law); and 2) Demons are present. They mess up human lives and they fear Jesus. The reason is because they “know” who Jesus is and that they are incompatible with him in our lives. Though many of the afflicted and of those standing around don’t understand, the demons know who’s in charge.

As Jesus finishes a teaching session in the synagogue, he’s invited to Peter’s house where Peter’s mother-in-law presumably lives with him and his wife. Though Peter’s wife isn’t mentioned specifically here, Paul later [in 1 Corinthians] very clearly refers to her as possibly accompanying Peter on his mission. Perhaps the mother-in-law had the flu -- “she was in bed with a fever”, always risky for an older person. In his quiet, gentle way Jesus comes to her and takes her hand. The fever subsides; she gets up out of the bed, and heads for the kitchen to get them all something to eat! Perhaps Mark puts this little detail in his Gospel to show that the mother-in-law is an example to us in looking beyond her own ills to the needs of others.

As so often in Jesus’ ministry, it doesn’t take long for the news to get around that he’s done something dramatic, even though he tries so hard to keep a lid on it [what the scholars call the “Messianic Secret”]. By sundown sick and possessed people are standing and taking numbers at the home in order to take advantage of a free healing by the Rabbi. And Jesus responds tirelessly, healing those with “various diseases” and casting out “many demons”, whom Jesus doesn’t permit to speak.

Mark shifts immediately to Part 2 of the reading which takes place the following morning. It represents Mark’s conception of Jesus’ goals and objectives in proclaiming God’s reign as Jesus himself models them.

First, Jesus is up very early, before dawn, and he prays. You get the feeling, reading this, that it was part of Jesus’ regular routine. He goes to a “deserted place”, though obviously not a desert, a place of silence. He communes with the Holy Source of his healing ministry and of his preaching power. But his peace is short-lived, because Peter and the gang come hunting for him, and loudly announce that EVERYONE is looking for Jesus! [Very much like a parish rector on Sunday morning!] It’s not that they’ve suddenly gotten inspired by his preaching about God’s coming reign. They’re focussed on “getting healed”, getting a hand-out, preoccupied with their frustrations, their lack and their emptiness.

Jesus stops the disciples in their tracks by announcing: “We’re moving on, to the neighboring towns, so that I can get on with preaching the message, the Good News: “for that is what I came to do.” And Mark notes that he did just that: preached “throughout Galilee” in the synagogues and cast out demons. Now think about this a minute. Suppose you’d brought yourself, or perhaps your spouse or your child to Capernaum, in an impossible physical or mental or spiritual condition, for healing or at least for advice or a kind word -- and the healer says he’s moving on! What feelings would be running through your mind as you watched him and his band trudge down the road, away from your village?? What do you do now?? Where do you go?? Who will help?? And how, at that moment, would you be feeling toward God?? The fact is that we’ve all been there at that place.

Our lives are constantly full of new beginnings, both in happy times and ironically in the midst of suffering and difficulty. A friend of mine just recently split up with her partner, and I reminded her that she could bet that some sort of new call from God was probably in that situation.

Our whole task as human beings and as Christian human beings is to prepare for return from our exiles and to prepare for God’s coming in glory in our lives. That won’t necessarily be a dramatic end-time event, but rather the coming of God’s reign which, through our simple ministries, we help bring about in our own and others’ lives.

We need to continually check on ourselves: “Do we really get it??” -- the vision of Christ to bring all together in God who is Love through Jesus. Even when we feel left out, frustrated, fearful, angry, God sustains us and renews our strength. Perhaps the best way to know and to recognize that is in and through our demonstrated love of one another.
The Spirit of Love enables us to do this through prayer; through proclaiming the Good News of Love; through speaking the truth to power, when necessary, whether in political or religious realms; through healing others by our thoughts, words, and deeds.

The past almost two months I’ve been feeling a bit like those Israelites whom God addresses today: on my “pity pot”, bemoaning “My way is hidden from the Lord...”, as I watched the progression of my son’s illness and almost his death at one point. I, too, have felt left behind in frustration, anxiety, agitation. But prayer has become very important during this time, and I’ve uncomfortably felt God confronting me, as he did the Israelites, with his questions: “Have you not known; have you not heard...God gives power to the faint and strengthens the powerless...” But God really got through to me through my own dear son, in the midst of his daily struggle to keep alive, who, last Sunday, sent me this poem which he wrote:

In all of us there is a meadow that exists. 
It is the place where God exists.
The harsh weather dries the meadow out 
to the point where there is no growth.
How can it be a meadow still? 
No green, no moisture, nothing that one can walk through 
feeling the soft tickle of spires of thin grass on the legs.

God lives in the deep cracks of the earth. 
God lives in the constant, cool breeze 
that flows through the vast and expansive land we travel.

Gently touch the cracks of the earth -- the dry cold earth -- 
and God will always grow the green soft grace that soothes the soul. 
You just don't need to see it or smell it 
to know that it will grow.

Brigid - "Mary of the Gael"

St. Brigid (Bride)

mid-5th cent. - c. 523

[Brigid's Well and Statue

Sculptor, Annette McCormack

Photo, Mario Corrigan]

Brigid's Feast

I should like a great lake of finest ale

For the Kings of kings.

I should like a table of the choicest food

For the family of heaven.

Let the ale be made from the fruits of faith, 

And the food be forgiving love.

I should welcome the poor to my feast,

For they are God's children.

I should welcome the sick to my feast, 

For they are God's joy.

Let the poor sit with Jesus at the highest place,

And the sick dance with the angels.

God bless the poor,

God bless the sick,

And bless our human race.

God bless our food, 

God bless our drink, 

All homes, O God, embrace.

[From Celtic Fire, edited by Robert Van de Weyer, pp. 39-40] 

Thoughts On A Bud and A Sock

What is going on?!

I walked out this morning to retrieve the daily newspaper and noticed that the saucer magnolia (?) in my patio has a huge flower and another on the way, and it's only February 4! It just doesn't seem right. Feeling that the bud must feel confused in this crazy back-and-forth weather we've been having, I confess to a pang of pity as I looked up at it.  

Though it kills me to admit it, I like order in the universe.  I can fairly readily adapt to change, if necessary, but I like the regular rhythm of things.  I'm comforted by knowing what to expect, what I can count on (which seems less and less these days).  So, you can imagine that I feel solidarity with a lot of other folks who are going bonkers with the current status of just about everything in the surrounding society, around the globe actually, in nature, in politics, etc.  Amidst all this my son, Andrew's prolonged illness and the uncertainty of its resolution has knocked me for a loop.

Then, last Friday, which is my laundry day (remember, I like order!), I came up one sock short.  It always drives me to distraction, though it's not unusual for a sock to get stuck inside the washer or dryer, or to fall to some place in the closet, usually in some unreachable place which tests my "senior" ability of coordination to retrieve it.  Anyway, I'm a sock short;  so for the past four days my Inner Calming Spirit: you know, the one that's always whispering things in your ear, says to me: "Just be cool.  It's here somewhere and it'll show up.  Did you shake out the clothes from the 

dryer?"  "Yeah, I did, piece by piece," I reply in frustration.  "Well, be cool: it'll show up sooner or later."  And past experience, I admit, has proven that to be generally true.

It was cold this morning, so I wore one of my warm plaid shirts, one which I had thoroughly checked for the sock last Friday.  I'm standing at the kitchen sink, washing out the coffee pot.  I look down, and there's the sock!  "Feel better?" smirks the ICS.  "You had to ask, didn't you?", I sputter.

Then something came to mind which Jesus already told us a long time ago: "I tell you, don't worry about your life...Isn't the body more than clothing [including socks]?...Look at the flowers...how they grow...So don't worry...Today's trouble is enough for today..."

OK, once again I get it!