Evening Prayer

What wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul!
What wondrous love is this, O my soul!
What wondrous love is this that caused the Lord of bliss
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul, for my soul,
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul.

To God and to the Lamb, I will sing, I will sing;
To God and to the Lamb, I will sing.
To God and to the Lamb Who is the great “I Am”;
While millions join the theme, I will sing, I will sing;
While millions join the theme, I will sing.

Have mercy on me, O God, according to your loving-kindness;
in your great compassion blot out my offenses.
Wash me through and through from my wickedness
and cleanse me from my sin.
For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is ever before me.
Against you only have I sinned
and done what is evil in your sight.
And so you are justified when you speak
and upright in your judgment.
Indeed, I have been wicked from my birth,
a sinner from my mother's womb.
For behold, you look for truth deep within me,
and will make me understand wisdom secretly.
Purge me from my sin, and I shall be pure;
wash me, and I shall be clean indeed.

Dearest God,
Your Son took on the form of a human and became humble
for our sake. He became a servant
for our sake. He humbled Himself even unto death
for our sake. He went not onto joy, but first suffered pain
for our sake. He walked the way of the cross
for our sake. He bears the dreadful curse
for our sake. He took on death just
for our sake.

God help me walk the way of the cross
Help me be a witness to the light
Help me speak of Your glory
Help me serve Your people
Help me live as you would have me to live.

Purge me of sin. Wash me and make me clean as snow.
For You. Amen.

Death and Taxes in Carlton, GA

Fiona kicked open the kitchen door and flung the grocery bags onto the kitchen counter.  Dripping with sweat, she wiped her hot sticky hair out of her face with the crook of her elbow, closed the door and sat with an audible “hff” in her desk chair. Her open computer jeered at her.  The letter she had to write … well, she wasn’t looking forward to it.

Dear Steve,

Let me follow up the phone calls this afternoon with a note.  

And tell you my side of the story, she thought.

I don’t think that anything is going to appear on the nightly news and the newspaper lady lost interest when she was able to call it “domestic unrest.” As I was not arrested for assault,  I think all will be well.

It started with a phone call this morning from Teena Davey when she called to tell me her grandmother had been shot in the hip with a waffle iron.

Pictures of a Chaotic Life!

The shredded red chair is now blue!

The horrible ottoman is now a nice brown swirly.

Brass bells I rescued from the garage and my grandmother's nut bowl.

Half the garage, straighted.

Easter Sunday dinner at the parsonage.

Watching TV and Sorting My Life: Project Order from Chaos

I've been watching four different shows on my computer: "How Clean Is Your House?" from BBC, "Clean House" from Style, "Hoarders" from A&E and "Hoarding: Buried Alive" from TLC. I began watching them about a year ago, as I was thinking about my "Theology of Space" and how what dwells within is outwardly expressed. Since then, I've been deliberately cleaning up my space. Oddly enough, as I clean up the chaos that surrounds me, I have lost more weight. The "heaviness" of my possessions was (and is) being played out in my physical being.

There are certain things that strike me. First, my private areas are not necessairly the most cluttered areas. My bedroom remains pretty orderly (except for the overstuffed closets). I have no problem with too many shoes; I own a half dozen pair. I probably don't own enough shoes as I don't have enough fancy dress shoes. I just don't find them comfortable, so I don't have any. I don't own excessive amounts of makeup or clothing. And I will soon own less; I am paring down what is in my closet. I have excessive amounts of costume (and real) jewlery. I've been thinking about this; I believe I own it merely because I inheirted it from people that meant something to me. It's not taking up a horrible amount of space, so it's sorting and removal has not yet hit the "A" priority list.

The parsonage remains pretty tidy, as well. I believe everything in the parsonage remains tidy because each and everything in the parsonage was hand selected for it's purpose. Everything is in place and everything stays in place because everything in there just makes sense. It's not overcrowded, nothing there is "wasted" material. Everything is used.

The girls' rooms remain pretty tidy (in both houses) for the same reasons: everything is used, there is no space is wasted. They have been very good at eliminating excess - maybe too good. They have probably disposed of things that I may have kept, but it is their space and it is their decision to dispose of unnecessary items.

The public areas in the Loganville house remain moderately messy. I think it's an indication of things moving in and then moving out. The dining room and kitchen areas especially show this. Waves of material comes in, is sorted, cleaned, mended, discarded and then flow out to their designated places. These rooms never look the same from day to day.

The largest areas that remain unsorted, cluttered and just chaotic are 1) the sewing room, 2) the garage and 3) the basement. The sewing room contains all the stuff I have left over from my embroidery business. I have not been successful in getting rid of all it of because there is this lingering feeling that by disposing of it, I have admitted defeat - that my business endeavor was a failure. Objectively, this might or might not be true; that is how it feels. Also, there is years of accumulation from a series of sewing projects: cases of fabric, thread, old jeans to cut up, half done quilts and the assorted paraphernalia that goes with sewing. I have been collecting fabric probably for the large majority of my life. It needs to be culled down. There is also in the sewing room a large amount of paper that needs to be sorted and either filed or disposed of.

The garage also contains a lot of paper: financial records of people long dead, my mother’s genealogy work, and box after box of photographs and letters. This stash is what I have been tackling most currently. There is a lot of “grief work” that I have been doing with all this. I miss most of these people more than I can even express. I mourn them and at the same time I resent them for leaving it all for me to sort. Grief and anger; anger then grief again.

The basement contains some of the furniture that was in my parent’s house. The ottoman I recently had recovered is from the basement. The sectional sofa from my grandparent’s house (Heywood Wakefield) is in the basement as well. I purchased more material from OCHO (OHCO??) at $.75 a pound to have it recovered. As soon as we have the money, I will have the reupholsters come pick it up. I want to place it in my “new” sewing room – Kate’s room. I have a plan and I really want to stick to it. I will have to dispose of the majority of the stuff in the sewing room and mentally and emotionally, I am ready.

There are also some of my dad’s tools in the basement. These also will take time to look at, feel, sort and dispose of. I have my big desk in the basement; I haven’t had a place to put it since I was married. It is huge 6 foot by 6 foot square; the desktop alone is 36 square feet. Maybe I can put it in the garage when the garage is cleaned out. My glass working tools are in the basement, along with my glass – it has not been touched in 17 years. I want to do glass again. Perhaps there will be room for it again soon.

However the majority of the stuff in the basement is Bill’s responsibility. Things from his grandfather’s estate (mostly papers) that must be sorted and disposed of correctly. Other items that need to be evaluated and distributed between the three brothers. I know how stuck I have felt with my parent’s estate; I have tremendous empathy for him. This is not an easy journey. The emotional baggage can be so overwhelming.

I am planning on making sure my kids don’t have to do this. I know some has to remain, but I don’t have to burden them with tons of material. It’s going to take time, but I am going to pare down again and again until there is very little left.

This year, I have called my efforts “Project Order from Chaos.” May it be indeed so.

Termites and Old Letters

Since the discovery of termites has necessitated the removal of all the stuff from the right garage wall, we’ve been shuffling boxes around -- before I have had the opportunity to sort them. Bill dumped several in the Dining Room. They were mostly photographs, old tax returns, checks and registers, files from my Fernbank days and clothing.

Bill helped me move the shredder into the Dining Room and I have been happily shredding. I shredded all the unused checkbooks from four different accounts that have been closed for at least a decade, as well as all my parent’s tax records and returns from 1983 to 1990. I did find out that my sister had at least 5 jobs in those years. Del Taco, a travel agency, a gourmet food distributor, Rich’s (now Macy’s) and National Fundraisers. I had one -- the one at Fernbank Science Center. My “multiple job” stage was about 5 years before Amy had hers.

The next box contained all sorts of useful education material, however most (if not all) was woefully out of date. I removed all the paper from the file folders and made stacks of empty folders to use later.

The third box was much harder. I thought it contained photographs and there were a few there, but there was mostly correspondence from many years ago. I found my mother’s college diploma with her tassel. She had packed the folder full of all sorts of cards and the program from the graduation ceremony. It was dated May 28, 1961. She died exactly 40 years later on May 28, 2001. Soon she will have been gone for 10 years. The girls want me to take them to her grave on that date. We miss her horribly. My grandmother died in 2000 and so my mother never knew the pain of raising children without having access to abundant motherly advice. And my sister and I always had a Grandmama to go visit and to love on us. My children don’t know what it is like to have a grandmother. This makes me very sad.

The next layer down, I found a few pictures from very early in the 20th century. Only one was marked -- it was my grandmother Ruth Hilburn as a 7 year old child playing with a baby. I don’t know who that baby was; all the other pictures are just as mysterious.

Digging deeper in the box, I found correspondence of my Dad’s from the late 1940’s to 1950. He was out of the army by 1946 and had begun attending the University of Arizona in Tuscon. I found a letter to my Dad from his mother which I found amusing. She scolded him for spending money and encouraged him to find cheaper ways to travel from Tuscon to Atlanta. I also found papers from where he went back into the Army in 1950 (at age 31) to train ambulance crews for the Korean conflict. While he was teaching in California, he contracted San Joaquin Valley Fever. Most people suffer some flu like symptoms, but he was one of the few that had a severe case. He didn’t get any better.

After a few weeks, the Army doctors made the decision to operate and remove the infected lung. Daddy used to tell me that it was one of the first Thoracic surgeries attempted of this type. The doctors did not expect him to get better. He was shipped off to Atlanta to either to heal up or to die. I found dozens of cards that my Dad received the 9 months he was at Lawson Veteran’s Hospital in Chamblee. But what was heartbreaking was a paper bag and a large white envelope that he had scratched out some notes on. He was keeping a log of how he felt; how much pain he was in and what the doctors were doing. The pencil is fading and my father’s handwriting waxed and waned with his pain. I wondered why he kept the notes and if it was because he was lonely.

My father died in 1995 from complications of San Joaquin Valley Fever. He developed pneumonia and just didn’t have anything to fight the infection with. The doctors had expected him to die of the infection; I don’t think they expected it to take 45 years.

After I found his notes, I had to stop for a while. I get blue in the Spring of the year anyhow and this is not making things better. There is a part of me that wants to push on and finish what I have started; to get out the scanner and scan some of the pictures in, to design some scrapbook pages and preserve all this stuff. And there is a part of me that just wants to ignore it all (like I’ve been doing for about 10 years now.) I know what’s next is a box that contains all my Dad’s letters from WWII. I find myself simultaneously fascinated and reluctant.

So I’m shuffling boxes around. I have wanted to do this for years now. I suppose I should thank the termites for getting me started.

Lawson Veteran's Hospital in Chamblee, GA around 1945

Chickens

I think I have five friends raising chickens this year. Not for show, but for the eggs and the chickens to eat. Most of these friends are living in very suburban areas and most are also raising vegetables in raised gardens. I’m all into fresh vegetables; but because of various and sundry reasons, I’m not growing a garden this year (mostly because I can’t get rid of the deer who eat my tasty little vegetable plants!) I am participating in a CSA box again, and we’ve been eating tender and delicious lettuce this month.

All this “back to Mother Nature” reminds me so very vividly of my mother. When she was a little girl, from age 4 up, she was responsible for the family’s chickens. She would tend to the chickens every day. My grandfather had a coop in the backyard of their very urban house in West End Atlanta. In fact, a lot of the people in the 1930’s in Atlanta had both chickens and what would later be called (during WWII) a ‘Victory Garden’ in their backyards.

They did it because food was expensive and labor was cheap. Food was hard to come by. My grandmother was a woman who never turned away anyone hungry. She prided herself on her cooking and on the bounty of her table. We had a running joke in the family about “eat aplenty!” because of cousins who would come and eat with my grandmother’s family and the dad would say “eat aplenty!” to his children. The unsaid part was “because we don’t know when we are eating next.”

When my great grandfather died in 1936, my great-grandmother moved in with my grandparents in a tiny little house off of Elizabeth Street. My grandmother was the oldest child of 9. Well, actually Gilbert was the oldest, but he died during WWI from Spanish Influenza. My grandmother Gladys and next oldest boy GT were the only ones who were married and independent. The house had 3 bedrooms, a dining room and a living room. My great grandmother slept with my mother and her younger sister. My mother’s three unmarried aunts slept in the second bedroom, my grandparents in the third and my three uncles slept in the living room. I don’t think the house had more than 1000 square feet. It had one bathroom but it was on a huge corner lot, so there was enough room for a large garden and the chickens.

One day an older and indigent black woman came to the house asking for food. She was all alone in the world, with no children and no family left. My grandmother fed her, gave her clothing and when she found out Vassie had no place to go, she made up the daybed in the Dining Room. Vassie lived with my family from 1938 until 1959. When my aunts and uncles married or joined the army and the house emptied out, Vassie got the third bedroom and my grandfather remodeled the bathrooms so that Vassie could have her own. I understand that my great-grand mother and Vassie were “as thick as thieves” and would sit elbow to elbow shucking corn or shelling peas. Vassie help keep the house, but as she grew older and her arthritis grew worse, she became my great-grandmother’s companion. Vassie died before my great-grandmother Belva and when she died, I think it broke Belva’s heart. Belva died less than a year later.

My grandfather worked for Southern Bell. He was a line-man and he help manage crews all over Georgia. There were times that my grandparents would leave the larger family in that house off of Elizabeth Street and travel to other parts of Georgia for a few months at a time. Exotic places like Moutrie and Macon. My grandfather would install long lines, test them and then come home. At one point, the line crews were going to be forced to lay men off. When the economy slowed down, there just wasn’t enough money. Men like my grandfather decided to take one furlough day a week to keep the 20 percent of their workforce who were targeted to be laid off working. That meant of course a 20 percent decrease in pay for everyone. It was a huge hit for my family. This was the reason for the vegetable garden and the chicken coop.

At one point, my grandfather chased a job all the way to the Sopchoppy river – to Apalachicola in Florida. There were some relative down there that they stayed with for a while, but when other jobs became available my cousins moved leaving my grandparents and my mother and aunt with no place to stay. My grandfather was sending home more money than he really could afford. They ended up living out of the Model T on the beach with no food, until my grandfather could be paid again. They lived on the beach for about a month. My mother would dig for periwinkles, my grandmother would search for cat-tails and daylilies. They caught hermit crabs and fiddler crabs. They survived until that paycheck. When there was money, they feasted and filled the Model T with gas and came home to Atlanta.

My mother never had a birthday party. There just wasn’t money. She never had birthday presents, new clothing or new shoes. She never could join Girl Scouts because there just wasn’t the money for the uniform or dues. She kept chickens and studied. When she was in High School at West Fulton High, she was not allowed to graduate with an academic diploma, but a “technical diploma.” She learned shorthand, accounting and typing. She had a piano she would play around on, but there was not money for lessons. When she graduated at age 18, she got her first job at Southern Bell. It was 1948. After a year of working as the secretary for the Engineering Department at Southern Bell, she applied at Georgia State College (now Georgia State University). It was known colloquially as “Lucky Street University” because it was located off of Lucky Street, not too far from where Martin Luther King Jr. was born.

Southern Bell was very forward thinking. They provided money for her to go to school. It took her 13 years to get her diploma, taking one class at a time at night. She graduated May 28, 1961. In 1964, my grandparents built their dream home in Marietta, Georgia on the land that had been in my grandmother’s family for generations. It had originally been deeded to Archibald McGarity as a part of the land taken from the Cherokee in the 1830’s. When I was a child, you could still see the remains of the log cabin that had been built by a Cherokee family and added onto by my family. My grandfather retired in 1964. He planted a huge garden for my grandmother, but they didn’t raise any chickens. He did raise some hogs and gave my dog Bear a good home. He died of a heart attack in December of 1968, as Apollo 8 was on its way to the moon.

I think of these things as I go through box after box of detritus from my grandparent’s house and my parent’s house. I found a box of cancelled checks from 1947 and I find myself unable to shred them. I don’t think I should keep them, but I can’t shred them. I have no idea what to do with them. I found checks where they paid on the mortgage for that house on Elizabeth Street. I found checks where my grandmother got cash to pay Vassie. I found checks where my grandparents tithed to their church – a real tithe of 10 percent of the gross. Even though they were not financially stable, they never stopped giving to the church. I found checks where they gave money to some of their brothers and sisters. Somehow shredding those checks seems like erasing all of them from my memory. I don’t want to forget their love and their generosity. I don't’ want to forget their struggle to survive in a world that looks much like the world looks today.

I think of the song “Big Rock Candy Mountain” and I think of the Great Depression. And I think I want to raise chickens.

Maundy Thursday Service

Full script with Director's notes here.


Invocation
John 1:1-18
“Once upon a Tree” by Pepper Chopin -- Choir

John 12:1-4
“My Jesus I Love Thee” UMH 172 – Ist verse woman’s solo joined by choir rest of verses and congregation

John 12:4-8
Luke 22:7-14
“What Wonderous Love is This” UMH 292

John 13:2-17
Invitation to Footwashing
“Jesu, Jesu” UMH 432
“O Master, Let Me Walk with Thee” UMH 430

John 13:21-35
“Gift of love” UMH 408
Luke 22:15-20

Words of Invitation to Table and Consecration
Solo- “Remember Me” by Mark Schultz
“Be Thou My Vision” UMH 451

Matthew 26:30-44
Solo – “Into the Woods” lyrics by Sidney Lanier
Words of Dismissal
“A Wind Blew Over Calvary” by Greg Sewell – Choir

Random Things That I Usually Don't Bother To Blog

Interesting that CPR continues to evolve over the years.


And HERE is a posting where my husband explains what "Worked All States" really means.

Prayer of St. Teresa

May today there be peace within. May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith. May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.... May you be content knowing you are a child of God. Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us.

Afternoon Prayer

We are too well pleased with ourselves,

When our dreams have come true

Because we have dreamed too little,

When we arrived safely

Because we sailed too close to the shore.
Disturb us, Lord, when
With the abundance of things we possess

We have lost our thirst
For the waters of life;

Having fallen in love with life,
We have ceased to dream of eternity

And in our efforts to build a new earth,

We have allowed our vision
Of the new Heaven to dim.
Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,
To venture on wider seas

Where storms will show your mastery;
Where losing sight of land,

We shall find the stars.
We ask You to push back

The horizons of our hopes;
And to push into the future

In strength, courage, hope, and love.
(Prayer of Sir Francis Drake)

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I bind unto myself today
The strong Name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same,
The Three in One and One in Three.

I bind this day to me for ever.
By power of faith, Christ's incarnation;
His baptism in the Jordan river;
His death on Cross for my salvation;
His bursting from the spicèd tomb;
His riding up the heavenly way;
His coming at the day of doom;*
I bind unto myself today.

I bind unto myself the power
Of the great love of the cherubim;
The sweet 'well done' in judgment hour,
The service of the seraphim,
Confessors' faith, Apostles' word,
The Patriarchs' prayers, the Prophets' scrolls,
All good deeds done unto the Lord,
And purity of virgin souls.

I bind unto myself today
The virtues of the starlit heaven,
The glorious sun's life-giving ray,
The whiteness of the moon at even,
The flashing of the lightning free,
The whirling wind's tempestuous shocks,
The stable earth, the deep salt sea,
Around the old eternal rocks.

I bind unto myself today
The power of God to hold and lead,
His eye to watch, His might to stay,
His ear to hearken to my need.
The wisdom of my God to teach,
His hand to guide, His shield to ward,
The word of God to give me speech,
His heavenly host to be my guard.

Against the demon snares of sin,
The vice that gives temptation force,
The natural lusts that war within,
The hostile men that mar my course;
Or few or many, far or nigh,
In every place and in all hours,
Against their fierce hostility,
I bind to me these holy powers.

Against all Satan's spells and wiles,
Against false words of heresy,
Against the knowledge that defiles,
Against the heart's idolatry,
Against the wizard's evil craft,
Against the death wound and the burning,
The choking wave and the poisoned shaft,
Protect me, Christ, till Thy returning.

Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me.
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.

I bind unto myself the Name,
The strong Name of the Trinity;
By invocation of the same.
The Three in One, and One in Three,
Of Whom all nature hath creation,
Eternal Father, Spirit, Word:
Praise to the Lord of my salvation,
Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

I have discovered Scrap-booking

and I am having fun with it! Digital scrap-booking is probably going to be my norm, however, I am also dealing with the boxes and bags full of photographs that I have floating around the house -- as well as the "non-archival" photo albums that I stopped building about 10 years ago. I am going to redo most of those photo-albums, as I get time. I'm in a "working backwards" sort of mood; I'm starting with the youngest pictures in iPhoto and trying to do one year at a time. I've purchased four 12 by 12 inch scrapbooks and will add the two 8.5 by 11 scrapbooks I purchased today to the collection.

Of course, this has all been a result of my "Project Order from Chaos" that I started at the beginning of the year. I've not posted any lists or photos since the end of January; I may do that in a few minutes, but that does not mean that I am not going ahead with the project. In a way, I realized that the documentation of the journey is important, but I have been concentrating on the DOING and the BEING of it rather than the recording of it.

I have been in this process for quite a while. I wrote about it back in 2004. It's been more than 6 years since I started this reforming/transforming/reshaping of self. I've lost the ability to use words about the whole thing; I find myself steeped in a sort of silence.

The scrap-booking is another form of self-therapy; it helps me form tangible items to represent memory. The further back I go, the deeper I go, the more unveiled the purpose seems to be. One day maybe I'll have words for all this.

Thoughts for a Monday; Project Order from Chaos.

Items not used - clothing still with tags, gifts given and never opened, junk mail, stacks of paper on desks, unused kitchen gadget, tchotchkes, gewgaws, knickknacks, and trinkets - all add to our mental clutter . Not only do they weigh us down, they drain our energy by overwhelming us with feelings of shame and dread. We are beloved Children of God made to love. Why love things that can't love us back?

Here's a thought -- Donald Winnicott theorized that we need transitional objects to move from one phase to another. Most of the time it's a kid's lovey: a teddy bear, a blanket. Do adults need these transitional objects as well to move from one point in their lives to another? Is that one of the reasons we clutter up our lives?

Also from Winnicott -- according to Wikipedia -- "When the person has to comply with external rules, such as being polite or following social codes, then a False self is used. The False self is a mask of the false persona that constantly seeks to anticipate demands of others in order to maintain the relationship." Do we use our 'stuff' and excess of possessions to create that false self? What would happen if we stripped away all that was unnecessary in our lives? Could we then be our true self that God intended us to be?

Kitty Midnight Madness!

Happy Birthday, Bill! (One candle for each decade. Seemed easier and less likely to cause a massive house fire -- or at least set off the fire alarm.)

Project Order from Chaos, Day 35.

Organized the office supply cabinet. It still looks a little messy, but it's much better than it was! I took out a stack of old, yellowed or crumpled paper to use a scratch paper for homeschooling. I also weeded out some binders and thermofax paper and made labels for the shelves. I'm slowing down. I need something for a shot in the arm, as this is beginning to get old...

Project Order from Chaos, Day 34.

This is the reason I made Cumin Coffee the other day rather than Cinnamon Coffee.  The cinnamon is on the left and the cumin is on the right.  Easy mistake to make.

Items given away --
(135) skirt

(136) 3 skirts
(137) one blouse
(138) one knit top
(139) sweater
(140) green pant

(141) skirt
(142) two green sweaters

(143) 3 skirts

(144) one green very small terrycloth robe, new with tags

Items given away

(134) Two organizer thingys I don't need.

Project Order from Chaos, Day 33.

Items given away
(129) White Girl's Shirt
(130) Green Corduroy Jacket
(131) Brown Party Dress

(132) Sparkly sweater

(133) 11 pairs of kid's jeans.

My first digital scrapbook page.

This is fun.  That is all.