Confession.

It's Halloween and I don't have to walk in the cold and rain with any little ones and that makes me VERY happy.

I have NOTHING against Halloween.

I have done countless costumes and celebrations.

I am a mom and grandmom and great-grandmom.

I spent most of my adult working life with kids and teens in schools and communities and churches.

Done Trick or Treat and Haunted Houses and Trunk or Treats and Costume Parties at my house and in barns and in churches.

Only in one church we had to call it a Fall Festival so that people would know that  "the devil didn't do it"!

Whatever.

I thought of that this morning when I saw a snippet of a LIVE exorcism last night. These guys were going through a house looking for ghosts. One guy crawled in a cage and asked the ghost if he was gonna' join him in there?

I gotta' admit, I got tickled watching it.  Wondered why the ghost would climb in there with that fella' who clearly wasn't his friend.

But then I am not real up on ghosts or exorcisms.

And I do laugh very easily.

Ask Joe.

He loves that about me.

Which reminded me of one of his "favorite?!?" costumes.

He and I went as a clothes line. I bought a rope and looped it around each of our necks and pinned the biggest bra and panties I could find on the line.

Fast, easy, clever.

Until we had to drag each other around all night.

He really loved that.

But I digress.

I started with a confession.

I LOVE that I don't HAVE to wear a costume tonight or go out in the cold and walk door to door.

But, I still want to be supportive of kids and plain ol' fashioned fun.

So I will put the little sign on our door that the complex gives for those of us who are OPEN to Trick or Treaters and l will again listen to Joe try to scare the little buggers.

 I will also hope that there are some York Peppermint Patties left for us.

PS

"Confession IS good for the soul"!

I feel lots better.

Thanks.

I read an essay by someone about 10 years ago that resonated with me so powerfully that it moved me to begin my 'retirement' ministry.  Today as I explore possibilities in our new place, I am reminded of it.

It was entitled Encounter in the Desert by Linda Douty.  She spoke of when she sat in the desert looking at a giant saguaro cactus sitting amidst a host of others.  She saw it's wounds, where it had been eaten away through the years and how it just stood there, plain and barren and "ugly".

I remember sitting reading this with a lump in my throat.  She was describing me.

But, then, she said she realized that where the wounds were exposed and it was eaten away, the birds had built nests.  She also realized that this saguaro (who was referred to as SHE) was always pointing UP!

Now,  tears did come.

SHE had a purpose 'in the midst'.

And. So. Could. I.

WE could always point UP...

...and WE could LET OTHERS BUILD NESTS IN OUR WOUNDS!

It is at that moment that I felt the gentle nudge to begin a modest ministry to persons who needed a 'safe place to reflect.'  It is also when I knew I wanted to try to keep on pointing UP no matter where I was standing...whether in a little blog, at home. at a mall, in the grocery line, at the airport, wherever however whoever whenever.

Point up....let others' build nests in your wounds.  Point up....let others' build nests in your wounds.  Point up....let others' build nests in your wounds.

This became my mantra...

...and this little cactus (thank you, Nancy) reminds me each day to NOT let that go.

At almost 68,  I continue to be blessed by standing in the midst of many but, nonetheless,  one can wonder just how much there is to offer in a new place;  those old feelings of just 'standing' there, plain, barren and "ugly" can peek through.

BUT, I will be damned if I let myself pay heed to them!

So, I am putting this in writing to hold myself accountable as I go into this new land, wounds and all (world whisperers feel free to join me).

Everyone's journey can feel like a desert sometimes but this ol' saguaro reminds herself that tears mean there is life and "ugly" is in the eye of the beholder so...

...NEST BUILDERS, here I am!

Look for the ol' "ugly" one pointing UP!

ps
private message if you're a nest-needer

"GOTCHA'!"

My friend, Carol, gave me this picture.  Great, eh?  Makes one feel good.

As a Grandma and Great-Grandma, it is what I want for the children I love....and ALL children...to feel THAT kind of nurturing.

I know, however, that all children do NOT feel this.

They do not have ANYONE to grab them and tickle them and hold them and help them to know that they are safe.

Just. Safe.

Of course, we all have different definitions of what 'safe' means.

I just read an article by a woman here in Detroit that argues for ALL people, children included, to carry a gun.

She believes this would make us all safe.

The article and her stance reminded me of another picture of Jesus with children.

.

It is from a book entitled Raising Righteous and Rowdy Girls by Doug Giles.

Giles believes that Jesus would teach children how to USE A GUN.

Carrying the gun is scripturally correct, he says.

Jesus would do the same and would want our children to do the same so that they could be safe.

Just. Safe.

I absolutely cannot process this.

Too many children that I have worked with who have been orphaned or killed or jailed because of GUNS for me to believe that.

Guns did not make them safe.

Jesus with a gun would take ANY sense of safety away.

For me anyway.

But, I have said before that I believe I am in the minority.

So, I shall cling to that first picture and pray that there are a few folk out there who believe Jesus would NOT pick up a gun but WOULD pick up a child and say,

"GOTCHA!"

   

pssssst....if you agree, here is a good opportunity to be a 'world whisperer'...just sayin'...

I recently had a 'moment' that has stayed with me so I decided to share it.

As you have probably gathered from my meanderings, I am one who has HUGE hang ups about wasting ANYTHING.

I am certain that it is rooted in my upbringing.  We never went totally without but we did have to really watch what we spent and how we spent it and we never wasted anything....food wise or money wise or clothes wise or ANYTHING WISE!

I took that into adulthood in a way that I am attempting to NOT completely drive those unfortunate enough to be around me with now!

I mean, I KNOW that the food HERE is not going to go THERE and that no matter how many pennies I save, there will still be penniless people and I KNOW that my only buying sale items does not clothe others....

...BUT, something deep seated and emotional happens within me when I waste ANYTHING.

Which brings me to my 'moment'.

Recently, I had to leave the cottage and not come back for awhile.  We were not going to be where there was refrigeration so I had to get rid of food and there was a gallon milk jug with plenty milk in it.

I tried to get ANYONE to take it but they wouldn't so I had to dump it down the drain.

When I did that (it sounds crazy, I know), I honestly had to swallow back tears.

 I realized that I was, indeed, crying over spilled milk!

The old saying said that there is no sense in it but there I was crying?!?

And ever since then I have tried to make sense of it.

So I looked up the origin of the phrase, "No sense crying over spilled milk".

In the days when people believed strongly in fairies, it was common to lay out a shrine for them, consisting of small quantities of food and drink; particularly of their favorite drink, milk. Whenever milk was spilled, it was considered to be nothing more than a little extra offering to the fairies, and nothing to worry about.

Interesting, eh?  I don't believe in real fairies but I believe in real children and I sure like the concept of spilled milk being a little extra offering;  as I pondered that, for whatever reason, an image came to mind...or many images.

The 100 plus fairies in the refugee camp in Zaire who surrounded me with empty tin cups/bowls/anything because ONLY if they had cups/bowls/ANYTHING could they receive milk.

But I did not HAVE milk.

I went behind a hut then and cried.

Over NO milk to spill.

Of all the little fairies of Africa and Haiti and Nicaragua and Grand Rapids and Dominican Republic who have surrounded my heart and deserve to have a shrine built for them and who deserve that special offering of a little spilled milk.

But don't get it.

Instead, this is their 'shrine' and their 'offering'.

Instead...look closely at the little fairy in the front... this is their 'milk'.

 THATS why I cry over spilled milk.

Now it makes sense to me.

Even though it makes no sense at all.

Someone asked me what my Jiminy Cricket thingie was all about.

I guess I have never described it here.

I shall do so for those who have not heard it.  For those of you who have, I shall try to be brief (or you can stop reading now).

When I was 7 years old, my mother was sick.  She had what was referred to then as a 'nervous breakdown'.  I had no idea what that was; all I knew was that my mother was not there and I didn't know where she was.

Someone kind took me to see the movie Pinocchio. In it, there is a cricket named Jiminy who gives Pinocchio advice and listens and is ALWAYS, well, just THERE!

I remember sitting in that theatre as a frightened and confused little 7 year old and thinking that I wished that I had a Jiminy...

...and THEN I remember thinking (in my 7 year old way) that I DID have Someone with me all the time.

I had God.

At that very moment, my faith was born.

It remains today.

Not childish but childlike.

Oh, that Presence has not kept me from pain or hurt or death or LIFE but it has always been, well, just THERE.

In later years when studying for a workshop on faith that I was leading, I read a quote by Leslie Weatherhead that took me back to that frightened and confused 7 year old.

"Faith is imagination grown up."

How about that?

From Jiminy to God.

As a 7 year old, my imagination began the journey.

As a 67 year old, my faith continues that journey.

60 years of KNOWING that SOMEONE is ALWAYS, well, just THERE.

It's made all the difference.

THAT is what my Jiminy Cricket thingie is all about.