California Dreamin 7

A Determined Woman

2006-12-30T21:31:00.000-08:00

There was a time in history when a woman had to use some real ingenuity or creativity in order to achieve what they really wanted. Some would probably call it manipulation, but I don't!

There was once a woman, living in the late 1800's, in a far away country, who wanted to come to the United States, but her husband said no. He didn't want to leave his home country. The woman was disappointed, but didn't give up on her dream. She was the mother of 7 children, some of whom were approaching adulthood soon.

So, as her eldest son returned from WWI, she said, " Hugh, have you ever thought about what you want to do with your life?" He answered his mother, "Well, I guess work in the shipyards, like dad." She responded, "If I were a young man starting out, I think I would go to the United States." He thought about it for a few months, and eventually decided he would go to the US. He told his fiance, he would be there for a short time, work and earn enough money to send for her, which he did. He arrived at Ellis Island, and stayed with an aunt and uncle. His aunt and uncle said, "Do you know where in the US you would like to settle?" He said he wasn't sure. They said, "If I were a young man starting out, I would go to California, that is where all the new opportunities are." Soon after, he left for California. He worked hard for a year, and saved his money. Soon after, he sent for Sarah, to be escorted over by one of his brothers. They married in LA and settled down.

Hugh and Sam then worked and saved, and one by one brought all of their siblings over to the United States. Their mother then said to her husband, "All of our children are now in the US. What are we doing staying here?" The next 40 years or more, they lived in the United States with all their children and grandchildren around them.

Now, that's what I call a very smart woman!

Heritage

2006-12-28T21:19:00.000-08:00

What is it about our heritage, that is so important to defining who we are, in ways that are so innate that we cannot even pinpoint specifics until we go to the country where our ancestors came from, and feel a sense of "coming home" that is so strong, and yet so nebulous? My dad's side of our family came from Northern Ireland. The men were all finish carpenters/ cabinet makers. My great great grandfather worked in all of the old manor houses of England. My great grandfather worked in the shipyards of Belfast, and we learned a few years ago, that he did the internal woodwork on the Titanic. My grandfather and his brothers also worked in the shipyards of Belfast. My grandfather was the first of his family to immigrate to the US, through Ellis Island. He eventually began working for an interior designer in the Los Angeles area, and made custom furniture for many of the prominant movie stars. My parents' whole house is filled with his furniture, which will eventually be mine to pass on down to my son and his family. All cherished possessions.

But I am also a Scotch Irish Presbyterian. And I never quite understood quite how imbedded that is until my parents took my son and I to Northern Ireland this last summer. Just spending time with my cousins, driving around the countryside, driving by the home where my grandmother was born, and see it still standing, painted in yellow just like their home in LA that I remember; it made me have this strong sense of "being home" in ways that are hard to articulate, but it was there. Also, driving around Northern Ireland with Presbyterian Churches in every small town, and yet these are Presbyterian Churches who will not ordain women., reminding me that this is where I am from, but not sure whether I could live there;the romanticized dreams would cause a rude awakening, when I would be confronted of the the Reading the history of Northern Ireland, and learning of all of the Scotch Irish Presbyterians who were part of the formation of the United States.

So this year, for Christmas, as I thought of what to give my parents, especially my dad, I felt like it needed to be something of meaning, and definitely more than just a shirt, or sweater, or tie! So, a placque is being made with my grandfather's name and Northern Ireland on it, to be placed on the Memorial Wall at Ellis Island. A certificate with his name, place of origin, name of ship and date of arrival will be placed in our home, somewhere near the furniture grandpa made, and in this home where the past is meeting the future, carrying with us the parts of our history, our story, with a few steps farther into the future. . .

You Go "Bo"

2006-04-23T23:04:00.000-07:00

His name is Bo. Bo is Chinese and is an amazing young man, in any terms. When Bo was about 10, he was hit by a train, and lost his left arm below the elbow, and his whole left leg. He has never let that hold him back. He came to the US about 5 years ago in order to receive prosthetics to enable his life to be easier. But when this 10 year old boy got on the airplane that day, he boarded a plane he not only had never ridden, but one he had never seen. He boarded that plane with 11 people he didn't really know, and left his parents, brother and everything he ever knew. His adoptive mother asked him one day how he had the courage to leave everything he knew, and his response was a simple response of faith of a child. He said, "The Lord gave me a vision of a woman from the west who would come to save me. When I saw you, I knew you were her."

This young man has endured painful surgeries, to extend his bone in order to fit the prosthetic leg. He has endured painful infections, that left him sweating, but he never complained. He has simultaneously had the fun loving shenanegans of a child, and the seriousness and maturity of someone far older than himself. One day during the coffee hour at his church, I found Bo riding his wheelchair at the top speeds down the handicapped ramp, coming down from the sanctuary. When it was suggested to him that he could really get hurt doing that, he just smiled. I am sure as soon as I turned my back to leave him, he took one more ride. Who needs Disneyland?

Oh and speaking of Disneyland, my son and I took Bo and his adoptive mom to Disneyland. Because they are not from LA, I drove us there. Unbeknownst to me, Bo was watching my speedometer on the trip down. He was overheard telling one of his friends, "Pastor Sue was going 80 on the freeway. She had to get us to Disneyland FAST!" You have to love him!

As an 8th grader, a little over a year ago, Bo was given a special award for academics. It was the highest academic award for all of the Junior Highers in the community where he lives. He wanted so desperately to walk down on his new leg to accept the award, but was not able to because it was too painful. He went down on crutches, with great pride and great humility. He walked down the aisle as the whole auditorium stood in applause. Peers and parents, teachers, administrators, and community representatives. Throughout all of these surgeries, challenges, and even learning a second language, this young man has always had straight A's. He is aiming for MIT for college.

I had the honor to be this young man's Associate Pastor, and now our families are family to each other. I consider it an amazing honor to know him, and I just sit with great expectation to see what the Lord will do in and with this young man. I have a feeling we will all be reading about him in the years to come. You go Bo!

Be At Peace, My friend.

2006-04-03T22:24:00.000-07:00

His life has been tragic. Filled with lost hopes, unfulfilled dreams, and very little love experienced, and now he is dying. In and out of mental hospitals, no defined faith because his family never really practiced. His brother feels bad about the life his brother has had, and in his own way he has tried to do the best he could to make it as easy as possible. I would imagine he has felt helpless.

Tonight, Stephen is dying. He is wide awake and aware of the fact that he's dying. His brother came to see him and stayed for awhile, but then not knowing what to do, he left, to go home and have a glass of wine with his wife. He says he will come back tomorrow IF he's still with us. So, in his helplessness, he has left his brother alone, grateful that the hospice staff is there, to do what he is unable to do.

So his nurse sat at his bedside, quietly watching him, and being attentive to whatever he might need. She said, "He has been alone his entire life. He is not going to die alone. " As his chaplain, I spoke words to him of blessing and assurance that God does love him, even if he had never realized it, and encourged him to reach out for God.

Is it possible to feel so empty for someone, and yet so full for your own life? I think so. Even with the failures, pain and disappointments in my own life, I am rich, with a family that not only loves me but shows it to me in tangible ways. I have a wonderful circle of friends, a calling on my life that gives me fulfillment, and also hope.

May the Lord bless you and keep you,
May the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you.
May the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.

Be at peace, Stephen. A peace that passes all understanding and a peace you have never felt before.

A Kind of Smile

2006-03-01T22:06:00.000-08:00

There once was a brother and sister who were 4 and 5 when their mother left them. They were the youngest in their family and had 1/2 brothers and sisters. Their dad married again, to a woman who was not very loving to these children. Eventually, that relationship also didn't last and this time Dad left. But dad left these children with a stepmom who didn't love them, and who treated them horribly.

The boy grew up and went to Vietnam, probably to get away from home; scared, confused, and intensely angry, which was the beginning of 35+ years of alcohol anddrugs. Maybe it was to numb the pain, or maybe to avoid the truth of his life. He died tonight. With a sister, a half sister and some friends from work surrounding him. They told him of their love for him. They told him that it was o.k. to go, to a place where he could be at peace, and have no more pain. He tried to speak back to them. Although his words could not be understood, his attempts were so sweet. He received the sacrament of the sick, and ashes for Ash Wednesday. He died with a kind of smile. Somehow the anger had dissipated, at least a little.

Once there was a young man, a new creation. He has arrived in a new and different place. It is strange, because he has no semblance of fear, anger, sadness, pain, abandonment, or confusion. He is surrounded by love, welcomed and doted upon; his mere presence is celebrated. He has clarity of thought, he has a happiness unlike anything he has ever known. And he wonders what he was ever so afraid of. He has a kind of smile. It's a smile of peace.

Perspective

2006-02-24T18:27:00.000-08:00

First of all, I am back after a long hiatus. One of my DPS friends challenged me and so I got on the stick. Thanks, OMG.

So, lately has been challenging at work. Our management is rather chaotic, and everyone on the team are doing 3 jobs at once, thus doing none of them well. Today, I was going to do an inservice on Death and Dying for the staff of a facility over an hour from our office.I set out and hit massive traffic. . . it is LA afterall! I had given myself enough time to get there, but also had times where I was sitting still on the "Freeway." I call the facility to let them know I am going to be about 15 minutes late, and was informed that we weren't scheduled for another couple of weeks. She had another group there who had already begun another inservice. At the time I was 1 and 1/2 hours into the trip, and 15 minutes away from the destination. I am not sure whether the staff development director double scheduled herself, or whether our marketing people messed up, or a combo of both, but I was really mad. So I fussed and fumed and vented to a friend, and went home to do some paperwork, not being in a frame of mind to be pastoral.

But then, when I arrived home, and vented a bit more, I called a friend whose father was dying to see how they were all doing. I spoke to Pete who told me about his dad's death, and how peaceful it was, but more than that, were his other comments to me helped me to get things in the right perspective.

You see years ago, when I was first beginning in Hospital Chaplaincy, Pete and his family lived across the street from me. I was in my last year of seminary, and I would often go over to visit and discuss life with Pete and Sue. One day, Sue called me and asked me if I could come over to talk to Pete. His best friend had died in his arms. I was finishing a term paper that was due the next day. I wrestled with what to do, and decided that if I ever let a term paper overrule the need of a brother or sister, that I should give up ministry now. I went and spent about 5 hours, that moved as if we were in some kind of a time machine. It was a profound time for all of us, discussing faith, life, death and dying, grief, . . .

Well the years passed and we have both moved, and keep in touch through Christmas letters and occasional phone calls. One of which was last night, when I called to say hello and learned Pete's father was dying, and that Pete had actually almost died last year, and went through this amazing renewal of faith. So Pete says, " I cannot tell you how much it amazes me that you were the only one there for me when my best friend died. And now, we haven't talked for so long and yet you call, when my dad is dying." He went on to express love and appreciation, and told me he had so much to share. We committed to get together soon for one of our soul talks that happens once every 15 years or so!

But suddenly, perspective came back, that the little pieces of life and work that bring annoyances; the traffic jams and spending 2 1/2 hours in the LA traffic for no purpose, the management team that is fragmented, etc. doesn't hold a candle to having been able to touch another's soul. So, I am grateful.

A Cardboard Box

2005-06-26T23:04:00.000-07:00

Lest anyone worry about the youth of today and how they are going to turn out, let me assure you, that there are at least two 11 year old boys with good heads on their shoulders. While on our way for a weekend at our cabin in the mountains, my son and his friend began talking about the things that were important to them. Since sports are their passion, they began talking about the values held by so many of the professional athletes that somehow 89 million over 5 years isn't enough.

But then my son's friend began to tell the story of a little boy in his class at school, that made this whole "Money is everything" perspective more personal. It seems that the boy in his class comes from one of the wealthiest families in our community, but his parents are never at the school for his special events, because they are always working. One of the projects for his class was to make a family crest. This rich young boy did the assignment, but his parents were the only parents in the room that couldn't recognize their own son's family crest. I had a deep sadness for that boy, and for his parents, and the lonliness they must feel. Maybe a lonliness that they don't even recognize yet. But then my son's friend said: "I would rather live in a cardboard box and know that I have a loving family around me, than to have all the money in the world." I told my son's friend to remember that lesson, because it would most likely become one of the most important lessons of his life.

The Rich Young Ruler asked Jesus, "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" And Jesus asked him to go out and sell all he has and give it to the poor." The rich young ruler walked away sad, because he was very wealthy." Jesus said, "How hard it is for those who have wealth to enter the Kingdom of God." Luke 18

Sculpting Souls

2005-06-19T16:49:00.000-07:00

In College, I used to love to listen to Dan Fogelberg. But one song always stuck out to me because it seemed to be written about my dad. It was called "Leader of the Band." The song is about a guy who is a cabinet maker's son, who goes his own way and becomes a musician. That too is my dad's history. His Great Grandfather, Grandfather, Father, and Uncles were all cabinet makers. His Great Grandfather worked in the old Manor Houses in England. His Grandfather did the internal woodwork on the Titanic. His Father was the first to come to the US from Ireland, and he made custom furniture for the likes if Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Phyllis Diller, Fred McMurray, and many others. My parents whole house is made up of his furniture, that will someday be mine.

But, Dad was always the musician. He began playing the clarinet in elementary school. He played in the Police Boys' Band in Pasadena, was always first chair in school bands, was in the Navy Band and played in the Honolulu Symphony during WWll, and came back to be first chair in the USC band. But he always chose to be the music educator. He could have played in professional Symphonies, but he chose to be an educator. He could have taken his bands to all the huge parade competitions, but he chose not to, because he didn't want to be away from his family every weekend.

But, back to the song. There is a line in the song, "Leader of the Band" that says, "He had a gentle means of sculpting souls that took me years to understand," that so describes this man, who I am honored to call my dad. He was the teacher who would stay after school to talk to a student having problems at home. It was so much more important to him to teach to the person, not just notes on the page. He was the Mr. Holland's Opus, in many ways. At the 20th reunion for the class of 75 at the High School where he taught, he had many students who came up and introduced their husbands and wives to him, prefaced with, "This is the man I have told you about for years." That night, he learned about a girl whose parents were going through a bitter divorce, who was going to take her own life, but something my dad said changed her mind. He learned about another young man, whose family never supported him, who went on to become a great dad, very involved with his kids, because of my dad's influence.

He never made a huge amount of money. He never became famous, but because of his gentle means of sculpting Souls, he has left an impact on more than my family. And he didn't sculpt souls by long speeches, or lessons, but by who he is. His laughter, his smile, his loving nature, the gentleness in his eyes. He is retired, and still teaching private lessons to young people. And the best part is the information he gives them, not through words, but through his gentle spirit, that will have an impact of these people. It may take them years to recognize it, but it is there all the same.

So, on this Father's day, I solute this man. I will say here what I told him this morning, "If I could clone you, I would."

Only The Good Die Young

2005-05-01T15:08:00.000-07:00

Two young men grew up in the same town, but never really knew each other well. Both were brilliant, but never knew it, struggling to make it through High School. Both had a love of animals and the outdoors. Both came from a family of woodworkers, and swore they were going to do something different, and yet it was in their blood, and actually their passion. Both had a special quality with the people who knew and loved them, an integrity, loyalty, and honesty that drew people to them. Both left a legacy of beautiful furniture and homes to the many people who hired them, and one thing was for sure, if another project was projected, the builder was known for sure. Both of these men were called back.

The sad thing is both died way too early; long before anyone who loved them were ready to let go. One from a rare form of blood cancer, and the other from a massive heart attack. The former at 51 and the latter at 46.

Both of these men come together in that the latter was my brother and the former, the man I officiated his memorial service. What a privilege to speak at a service for this man who was so much like my brother, and to both offer to his family a comfort and yet receive so much myself. To speak for Boyd in a way I was unable to for my own brother, with grief too unbearable. But yesterday with tears that were strangely cleansing, mixed with grief for Boyd and Tom's (my) family. What a privilege. "Only the good die young"

In The World of Dementia

2005-04-21T09:22:00.000-07:00

For the last month, I have been serving as a full time Chaplain for a Hospice organization in Southern Calif. where many of my patients are Dementia patients. It is this very interesting place of being out of touch with the world and reality, and yet having a different reality all their own. It makes me wonder what causes this condition, whether it is a condition of purely biological happenings in our brains, or a condition brought on by other factors, like possibly not being able to handle parts of our own reality; the choices we've made in our lives. I wonder this because at least two of my patients are women who abandoned their children as younger women. One of them hears voices, and becomes possessed by a fear of being alone in her room, believing that these voices are threatening harm to her. As a Chaplain and pastor, it becomes an interesting challenge in knowing exactly how to minister to their spirits, being that we depend so much on rational thought processes, conversation, and asking questions. For a Dementia patient, we can ask questions and the response will most likely be "I don't know" or "I can't remember."But somewhere in the lack of awareness, the loss of memory, or the confusion, is a reality all their own, and very real emotions that are all in the moment, and if we can offer them grace and forgiveness, and the reality of someone who expresses a type of love for them in the midst of their confusion, lack of memory, or their tormented conditions. I want to believe that we are ministering to them effectively. I think it is the only thing we can give them.

One man held a position of great power in his lifetime and now stands in his home in diapers, facing a wall, and having to be helped to a chair by his home health aide. He is angry, and expresses emotions reminiscent of his days of power as he kicks me out of his house for asking a stupid question. As I leave, a little stunned, I thought, "Yeah it was a stupid question, 'How are you today?' " And I can enter his pain, of having his reality cruely stolen from him, and I will go back to see him another day and phrase my questions differently. The good news for me is he won't remember my stupid questions of the past visit. It is a place of grace that my dementia patient offers to me.

Carpe Diem

2005-03-17T22:07:00.000-08:00

Carpe Diem, is the fine science or art of siezing the opportunities that come to you. It is when we very spontaneously realize that if we don't jump at the opportunity, we will lose it, possibly never to return again, and we say, "You bet, let's go!"

It happened one crisp Christmas eve night following our Christmas eve service at the church I was serving as an Assoc. Pastor. A friend of mine from the congregation who had just gone through a messy divorce told me what he had just done. This friend happens to be a real bonafide Rocket scientist. He has a t-shirt that says, "Yes, as a matter of fact, I AM a rocket scientist!" He told me he had just wired his wedding ring into the rocket and it was shot into space, just before Christmas. It seemed like such an awesome idea, and being a divorced person myself, I could totally understand the principal of catharsis that might happen in watching a rocket blast into space knowing that a particular piece of round gold was going with it. All the anger from our hearts could be removed in a matter of seconds just watching the force of the rocket!

It was one of those moments for me, a Carpe Diem moment, just in listening to him. So I posed what I thought was a very appropriate question: "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME? WE COULD HAVE HAD A DOUBLE RING CEREMONY!" He then informed me of the launch date of the next rocket and promised me passage of my cheap, white gold band, purchased at JC Penney approximately 7 years prior to that evening.

In the wonderful month of February, the month of love and romance, chocolate, and. . . rockets?, I was given a special pass to go watch the launch. It was a clear evening, cool, but the skies were clear for miles. It was wonderful! We stood in the sand and looked over a few hundred yards at the launch pad. We had a radio turned to a particular station so we could hear all the communication from the command center. And then suddenly, we could hear the roar of the engines igniting, and the force was felt through the ground all the way over to where we were standing, and then WOW! There it went!

It was the smile that came over my face that was so special to me. It would always be this wonderful little secret that I would hold every time I looked at my ex! I could smile at him knowing that the cheap band of white gold that he bought at that exclusive jeweler, Jacque Penne', was rotating the earth even at that very moment! He would just think I was smiling because I had come to my senses and thought he was a nice guy. But, I would know the truth, that I was smiling because I had a achieved an act beyond even his imagination, and sent his ring into space, and thus brought a type of healing to myself that I really couldn't explain. I am not really sure that I can even now.

Well, I needed to understand some more about this particular rocket, and the contents within. So, I asked my friend about which section of the rocket my ring was held in. Whether it was in the part that dropped into the deepest depths of the ocean, or the part that circulated the earth until it re-entered the atmosphere and disintegrated, really didn't matter to me. Afterall, they both held equally appealing aspects of their final end of the journey. But somehow it was a special answer I received. My cheap little white gold band, would circulate the earth for 50 years, and then re-enter the atmosphere and disintegrate.

My exclamation of praise lifted to the heavens as I said, "HOT DAMN! I WILL HAVE A GOLDEN ANNIVERSARY AFTERALL!

Lent

2005-03-11T10:08:00.000-08:00

A lenten devotional by Sister Joan Chittister, entitled,"In the Light of the Messengers," discusses the Lenten journey in a new way that I love. She says,

"Lent is not a 'penetential season.' It is a growing season. It requires us to determine what is worth dying for in our own lives and what it may be necessary for us to become if we really want to live." She goes on to say, "Lent brings to mind the range of our own roaming, it makes us assess the heights to which we've climbed, the risks we've taken, the expense of the journey in energy and gain, and the value of growth for which we have expended ourselves."

I love thinking about Lent as a 'growing season' as opposed to a 'penetential season.' It changes the focus from a need to suffer, to a desire to grow closer to God, which always means leaving behind the parts of ourselves that stand in the way. It means moving towards God, and letting go of the harmful things in our lives. It means moving towards life and away from the things that might harm us.

Thank you, Sister Joan Chittister.

Territorialism

2005-03-09T08:45:00.000-08:00

Since we just moved into a home where another cat already existed, we have learned the fine art of territorialism. At first the cats were closed off in their respective rooms. Then they moved into following each other around the house, and the best we can describe it, they were on hissing, spitting and growling terms. However, the younger of the two, the invader of territory was also rather presumptuous. She would lay on the ground and roll over and taunt her enemy as if to say, " Ha Ha Ha, I'm in your territory." She even did her job in her enemies kitty box! Now if that isn't presumptuous, I don't know what is!

But it seems, there was a communication beyond our understanding. Because it seems that their growling, hissing and spitting terms has been transformed into playing. They are now chasing one another around the house, first the younger chasing the older, and then they come back with the older chasing the younger. It's brought a certain new life, and more relaxed attitude to the older cat, whose nick name I gave as "bitch kitty." She now seems to have a newer spring in her step, a playfulness that we haven't seen before.

If only this could happen in the world's international struggles. That somehow the territorialism can be transformed into a playfulness, instead of guns, wars, etc. Maybe there is something we can learn from the catworld. I wonder what their secret truly is. I wonder what was said that changed them from hissing, growling and spitting to playing with each other. If we could know, it would be a true treasure.

A New friend

2005-03-06T14:31:00.000-08:00

My son has a new friend at school and on his baseball team. We all went to see the movie Pacifier last night and in talking with his mom, we talked about church. I invited her to our church this morning because she is new to the community. She was so grateful to be invited, and was there this morning. After the service she was asking questions, so confused about all the different churches and wondering why. Since the whole theme of the service was forgiveness this morning, we talked about how so many churches developed because of differences of opinion on various aspects of the faith. Whether it was how the church is run, or how we believe about baptism or communion, etc. Formal or informal worship, etc. She just wants to go to church somewhere where her children can have lots of opportunities for spiritual growth. That is what it is about. To love and worship God, to grow in faith, and to hopefully love each other in the process, no matter what our differences may be.

I was struck though at how easy it was to talk to her about faith, and how graciously she responded. And I wonder how many people are just waiting for an invitation.

Silent Retreats

2005-03-06T09:45:00.000-08:00

I'm a blogger! Or at least I think I am. We will see. I tried once and was a different number for California Dreamin. Now, I am California Dreamin 7 which is a complete number. We will see how complete of a blogger I am in a few minutes!!

A few days ago, I went on a silent Lenten retreat. It was a great day of silence in community, in t he foothills of Southern California; the part not sliding down the hill! We used a model called Lectio Divina, and then went into a 4 hour time of silence for prayer, meditation, journaling, and reflection on the passage for the day.

It just reminded me of the importance for me personally, but I would say all of us, to take that time out to be quiet, even in the midst of a very busy, loud and chaotic world that we all live in. It helps give us perspective. It helps us to be clear on decisions we need to make, and to be true to ourselves and who we are called to be by God.