The seasons of our lives truly dictate "For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven."Ecc 3:1 This month I change direction because my life has changed direction.This piece might be called, "Intermezzo."I did not expect to be plunged to the depths of human experience but because I have been, I can do nothing but write in bits and pieces of this time.
Part Two of "Purple Cows"from the previous issue will continue sometime in the future.Please be with me in the in-between times as I try to live in the present moment.
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When the psalmist said, "Out of the depths I cry; I finally understood. On September 29, 2006, my dear love, Sam, died. It was totally unexpected. He had the flu but it was his heart that gave out. I went to check on him when he didn’t answer the phone and my emails were left unanswered. We were to teach a class. I found him, sleeping, I thought. He would not wake up.
This is not about Sam. To write about him just now is too raw. What I’d like to share is what happens sometimes when you find yourself as a pastor, lost.
A woman at work, an acquaintance, wrote an email and said she left a package in Studio 1 for me. Studio 1 is the place I work with individuals through art as a process to reach into those places of their spirit which hunger for a relationship with Mystery.
I found the package. I was stunned. I was flooded with warmth and tears and a sense of peace as I read her note and the brochure that explained the gift.
In 1998, Janet Bristow and Victoria Gale were two graduates of the 1997 Women’s Leadership Institute at The Hartford Seminary in Hartford, Connecticut. A ministry developed out of their experience in this program of applied Feminist Spirituality under the direction of Professor Miriam Therese Winter, MMS.
The brochure says, "Compassion and the love of knitting/crocheting have been combined into a prayerful ministry and spiritual practice which reaches out to those in need of comfort and solace as well as in celebration and joy. Many blessings are prayed into every shawl; the shawl maker begins with prayers and blessings for the recipient. The intentions are continued throughout the creation of the shawl. Upon completion, a final blessing is offered before the shawl is sent on its way. Some recipients have continued this kindness by making a shawl and passing it onto someone in need. Thus, the blessing ripples from person to person, with both the giver and receiver feeling the unconditional embrace of a sheltering mothering God!"
What is the likelihood of a Protestant Speech Pathologist knitting a comfort shawl for a Protestant minister in Tennessee when this practice began under the leadership of a Roman Catholic woman religious teaching at a Protestant seminary in Connecticut? Just what are the odds? Incredible, that’s what. BUT, the work of MTW and her students did ripple to this outpost and the blessings can only be described as life giving. Who pastors the pastor?
In my case, the church and people I serve is unique in that many of them are non-verbal. Many do not understand loss. I was expected to be "Pat" no matter how much I was falling apart inside. I no longer wanted to believe anything. I raged at God. I cried out like the psalmist; screamed in the pasture at my farm. "Haven’t I had enough? Okay, I don’t believe in you anymore; you don’t exist."
And then, the shawl. I will not pretend that I am completely at peace and healed. That will take months, if not years. But I can sit here wrapped in my shawl as I write and feel not so abandoned; not so alone; there are others, other women who care and reach out beyond their own world of children and family and work and the mundane, their own sorrows and joys, their full lives to say, "sister, I send you blessings."
Yesterday was a difficult day. It was Friday, the fourth Friday since Sam died. The sky was racing. There was rain and then sun. Wind and more rain. I went outside. There was a triple rainbow. I’ve only seen that one other time in my life. Was that God? Sam? Was it a reflection of the blessing threads of my shawl? I will leave you to ponder the answer.
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Yesterday was a difficult day. It was Friday, the fourth Friday since Sam died. The sky was racing. There was rain and then sun. Wind and more rain. I went outside. There was a triple rainbow. I’ve only seen that one other time in my life. Was that God? Sam? Was it a reflection of the blessing threads of my shawl? I will leave you to ponder the answer.
