Where does God live?

God’s abode

Where do you live, God?

Where can I find you abiding?

I find you in moments of awe – breathing in the odor of lavender

I find you in moments of wonder – looking across the icy waters toward the snow-covered hills

I find you in moments of anxiety—lighting the flame of a devotional candle

I find you in  moments of searching– inspired by a preacher’s words

I find you in moments of connectedness  -- walking over worn steps of an abbey

I find you in moments of delight—dancing a reel on a straw-strewn barn floor

I find you in moments of assurance – singing ancient melodies in worship

I find you in moments of seeking--sitting in prayer in the dark recesses of an ancient cathedral

I find you in moments of risk—witnessing for justice at the feet of power

I find you in moments of sorrow—words of memory flowing over me at a funeral

I find you in moments of insecurity—reciting memorized words of ancient prayers …I shall not want

Where do you live, God?

Where can I find you abiding?

Your house is my house. 

Your world is my world. 

Your being abides in me and my being abides in you.

Open my heart to find you everywhere I find myself.

Written while on retreat at the Windermere Centre of the United Reformed Church in Windermere, Cumbria

Musings on Home

"Home is where the heart is." 
Home is where I lay my head at night.
Home is the hotel midway between here and there.
Home is the household where we have been welcomed as missionaries on deputation.
Home is the terrace house on the curve of Crescent Way.
Home is the cabin constant in summers.
Home is my son's flat in Los Angeles where two kitties greet me.
Home is my daughter-in-law's welcome.
Home is my daughter's new flat in Longmont when I will go and visit.
Home is my son-in-law's hug.
Home is where Tod is. 
Home is where the heart is.

My daughter's musings on "home" as she unpacks boxes and settles in to her new flat got me thinking.  How grateful I am for roots that travel and take hold in fresh soil.

My daughter inspires me.  She writes:
"...how big a part of home and home-making trust is: learning to trust others, learning to trust a place, a community and perhaps most importantly practicing day in and day out trust of oneself. The latter is, certainly for me but perhaps for many of us, one of the hardest parts of making home and being at home. And then trusting or having faith (perhaps in others, perhaps in ourselves, perhaps in something greater than us, the divine, perhaps in all of the above) to share ourselves, our strengths and our vulnerabilities with others. Not because we think they will necessarily be loved, accepted or even agreed with but because it is in this authenticity, in this vulnerable being in the world that allows us to grow into and be our best and truest selves."

Respect for speed & simplicity -- remembering my father

I grew up in the seat of a Morgan -- the Roadster, 4x4 and Super 8. My father's second love, after my Mom, was the English Morgan, its speed and simplicity.  And one of my delights was to slump down on the leather passenger seat with him behind the wheel. The  engine would ignite with thunder and the exhaust pipes tremble.  And we'd be off.  It might be merely a trip to the hardware store or an excursion along winding mountain roads, but it was always an adventure.  My long hair would whip across my face adding thrill to the escapade.  

One of my father's hobbies was making car trades and getting a good deal on a second hand British car. Following our annual trips to Vancouver, Canada, we'd often return home with new wheels. We had Triumphs, a Lotus Cortina, Morris Minors, even a Sunbeam--the first British car to win the Grand Prix! (though our Sunbeam was a tiny coupe).   And then there were the Morgans -- green, white, yellow, 2 seaters, a 4 seater,  left-hand and right-hand drive.  

I remember...squeezing into the front  passenger seat with my good friend Kathy for a weekend excursion accompanying my father on a student retreat in the mountains of California.  That was before the days of compulsory seatbelts...were there even seatbelts?!  The sun set, the shadows lengthened and darkness descended upon us, the world, and the Morgan.  The top was up.  The headlamps shot beams out piercing through the trees lining the road -- we sat too low to see the road ahead; even the bonnet was above our view. Out the side window, only inches, it seemed, above the ground, road surface whizzed past and disappeared into a trail of darkness.  Then...the lights on the dashboard cut out! Kathy and I gasped.  Now my dad, unencumbered by dials, could speed through the night.  The simplicity of raw power bursting through the night -- exhilarating to an eleven year old.  How lucky I was to have such a cool Dad!   (43 years later when I mentioned this memory to my father he explained that he turned off the dashboard lights to minimize glare on the windscreen! Funny thing about a Morgan, you can be going the speed limit and feel like you're about to break the sound barrier!)

I remember... heading out with the family (five of us and a dog) for a holiday, loaded to the gills. The food cooler in front of my mother's feet in the long deep space stretching out in front of the passenger seat.  A large military canvas bag bulging with shoes tied to the wing (front fender), and bags piled on a roof luggage rack.  I sat between my two big brothers in the back seat, sunken deep down into the black leather.  Mitty, our dachshund, sat on my lap.  I think the top was down for my long hair flew uncontrolled around my face blocking any view of the surely dramatic California coastline.  Finally realizing my predicament, my father pulled over and we organized a rubber band for my hair.  

I'm thinking of my father this week, and his transition a year ago into eternal simplicity.

I remember...when my brothers and I were teenagers my father brought us to Great Britain for a whirlwind holiday. Two hightlights of the trip for me were a visit to the Methodist Hall standing proudly opposite Westminster Abbey (proud of my Methodist roots) and visiting the Morgan factory in Malvern.  This visit to the factory of his beloved Morgan was, I think, the highlight for my father.  He wanted us to witness the craftmanship, the love, the tradition, the art, the care.

A full page article about the Morgan appeared recently in the Evening Standard.  http://www.standard.co.uk/lifestyle/london-life/capturing-the-morgan-spirit-and-character-10073537.html

I’d seen an Aero Coupe on the street recently, but wasn’t sure what it was, no recognizable logo – quite sleek and James-Bond-looking – beautiful – simplicity at its finest. http://londonmorgan.co.uk

To top off  the Morgan-memory- lane, here’s a video of the factory, still cutting the bonnet with a pair of shears!  I so well remember the factory visit with Al. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p4c9i250pc4  Never knew the fenders are called “wings” – so now my story can be that we tied a bag of shoes to one of the wings for our family road trip.  And so we flew through the night with my Dad at the helm!

The treasure of enough

I believe that one of the most important treasures God entrusts to me is the gift of “enough.”   When I was young I wanted more -- a persistent insistent unquenched desire. I expended energy and precious time in the pursuit of  accumulating earthly things.  But then God gave me the treasure of “enough” -- not wanting more, having enough already, contentment.  Not needing to eat too much food, buy too many shoes, accumulate too many gold stars.  All things in… moderation.  The treasure of “enough.” 

Mystery of matrimony - a daughter marries

The mystery of matrimony

"Who brings this woman to be married?"

We do.

To be married

To be coupled

To be knotted, twisted together

Today tomorrow to death

Joining a heritage of still-married

Great grands through alcoholism and a debilitating stroke 

The hospital bed at living room centre

Year after year

Today tomorrow to death

Grands joined at the soul for six decades

Parents still holding hands

Taking dates

Today tomorrow to death
Others broken unfulfilled
But ever hope soars

Today two slide into one

Yet two stand strong

Different Same

New names

Great and grand shes took his

Swirled into the family of him

Closer, the names coupled

Collide

Integrate

Two join making one

Today a new family births

Overlapping with previous identities

Two souls unite in name in love

Joined today tomorrow to death

The mystery of matrimony

Divine Human

A friend to touch

A lover to hold

A comrade to clasp and stride alongside

Today tomorrow to death

Thandiwe & Darryl Dale-Ferguson -- I love you both and wish you days of joy and years of union.

Reflecting on my daughter's recent wedding while gazing at the sunset's illumination of the interior dome of St. Paul's Cathedral and listening to the voices of Rohan Williams and poet, Wendy Cope, swirl through the vastness.

"Ferguson, MO" written and performed by Mandla Gobledale (Ugly Sweaters)

Walking with Death

"Until we meet again; don't know where, don't know when."

Death accompanies us all.  Waiting silently for acceptance.  Not frightening, except for those who fear shadows.  Peaceful.  I'm grateful for those who show me how to transition from the life we know into this unknowable mystery.  So many names and angles of understanding: eternity, resurrection, dust-to-dust, forever, eternal peace, walking with the ancestors.  Death opens the door for so many possibilities.

I love being alive.  Yet, I do not fear death any more than I fear going to sleep at night.  I just don't like the idea of not waking up.  I will miss my husband, my children, the sunshine, the sound of the city moving around me.

Someone once suggested I live each day as if it were my last.  Good advice.  Remembering this not only helps me try to live a decent life today, it keeps me close to death, close to my humanity.  It helps me remember to write that thank you letter to a good friend, so that I don't go without having let her know how much she has meant to me these past 50 years. It helps me show up when it's important, because there may not be a next time.
 
Walking in the valley of the shadow of death -- a peaceful lush valley abounding in magnificence and life. That's where I plan to stroll today.

Thank you for your prayers and thoughts during my father's last days.  We will celebrate his life at a memorial service on Saturday.