We went to 8 o’clock Mass this morning and Sister Karen did the Homily. It was short and as always makes one think. She talked a lot about how we are all in such a rush we feel frazzled and how we often lose sight of God in the middle of all that. Boy, after the last two weeks, that certainly hits home with me. Then at the end she read a paraphrasing one of her sisters in Japan had written. I copy it below:
The Lord is my Pace Setter,
I shall not rush.
He makes me stop and rest for quiet intervals.
He provides for me with images of stillness
Which restore my serenity
He leads me in ways of efficiency
Through calmness of mind,
And His guidance is Peace.
Even though I have a great many things
To accomplish each day
I will not fret
For His presence is here.
His timelessness,
His all-importance,
Will keep me in balance.
He prepares refreshment and renewal
In the midst of my activity
By anointing my head
With his oils of tranquility.
My cup of joyous energy overflows.
Surely harmony and effectiveness
Shall be the fruits of my hours
For I shall walk
In the place of my Lord
And dwell in His house
For ever.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
COMPASSION
Last Lent, I spent the time reading and meditating on Forgiveness. This year, I decided to follow up with Compassion, at least partly because the book club we belong to at St. Francis, had done several books on compassion, so I had a good start even before Lent. On the surface, it seemed like it would be pretty clear cut. Compassion is about empathy, the ability to feel “sorry” for someone. We all can work up compassion for an injured animal, a suffering mother, even if that mother belongs to an “enemy” group.
Well, surprise, surprise!! Compassion is about power. More specifically, how we use power. As we tread through this life we leave our footprints everywhere, wanted and unwanted. The careless word, the impatient moment all affect others. Often, we are so involved in our own needs and wants, we don’t even notice.
Compassion is about the conscious decision to tread softly, with awareness. We will guard our words, our actions so as to lift and complete those around us. We will subvert our own pressing needs to spend an extra second listening. Being heard is less important than hearing.
And the best news is that Compassion is not something you have or don’t have. It is developed. C. S. Lewis writes about putting on the cloak of Christ. He says (paraphrased badly) that on a bright, glorious morning the cloak slips on easily and you are ready to embrace the world. The struggle comes on those mornings when you are tired, your knees hurt and the last thing you want to do is greet anyone. But you make a decision to put the cloak on and greet the world with faked joy and a forced smile. You do that morning after morning, until one morning you can’t put the cloak of Christ on, because it never came off. It is now a part of you, and the faked joy has become real joy and the forced smile is genuine. And in the process you have become a compassionate human being.
Last Lent, I spent the time reading and meditating on Forgiveness. This year, I decided to follow up with Compassion, at least partly because the book club we belong to at St. Francis, had done several books on compassion, so I had a good start even before Lent. On the surface, it seemed like it would be pretty clear cut. Compassion is about empathy, the ability to feel “sorry” for someone. We all can work up compassion for an injured animal, a suffering mother, even if that mother belongs to an “enemy” group.
Well, surprise, surprise!! Compassion is about power. More specifically, how we use power. As we tread through this life we leave our footprints everywhere, wanted and unwanted. The careless word, the impatient moment all affect others. Often, we are so involved in our own needs and wants, we don’t even notice.
Compassion is about the conscious decision to tread softly, with awareness. We will guard our words, our actions so as to lift and complete those around us. We will subvert our own pressing needs to spend an extra second listening. Being heard is less important than hearing.
And the best news is that Compassion is not something you have or don’t have. It is developed. C. S. Lewis writes about putting on the cloak of Christ. He says (paraphrased badly) that on a bright, glorious morning the cloak slips on easily and you are ready to embrace the world. The struggle comes on those mornings when you are tired, your knees hurt and the last thing you want to do is greet anyone. But you make a decision to put the cloak on and greet the world with faked joy and a forced smile. You do that morning after morning, until one morning you can’t put the cloak of Christ on, because it never came off. It is now a part of you, and the faked joy has become real joy and the forced smile is genuine. And in the process you have become a compassionate human being.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Dr. Hall
It certainly is no secret that I spent several years in a condition frequently and lovingly referred to as “Nuts”. Now, I don’t feel badly about that because in true Christian Philosophy we are all nuts and salvation comes with the realization of how insane we are and then admitting we can’t fix it ourselves. We need a higher power. Once we are ready to search for that power, God will provide all the guidance we need, in spite of the fact we are usually too blind to see or too deaf to hear.
In my case, the day I snapped for good, I was smart enough to call a person I had been told about by dear friends who saw how badly I needed help. In our first phone conversation, Dr. Hall told me he was not taking any new patients but he could spare a few moments to talk on the phone. After five minutes he told me to show up that Friday at 9 AM. Since then we have had some great “disagreements”. At our very first session, he told me I would come to see Cancer as a blessing from God. I now agree with that completely, but at the time I thought he was crazier than I was. I have to say that after four years, I am healthier than I ever have been in my entire life. I never felt that I was smart enough, funny enough, kind enough. I spent most of my life thinking I was responsible for all the problems around me, that if I just planned harder, or worked harder or somehow was better, everything would be fine. When something inevitably went wrong, I took all the blame. I was terrified of not being good enough. Well, for better or worse, that is all gone. I knew I was truly cured last year when Kay and I went on vacation and I got blessedly lost because I had not obsessively planned the route with three alternative ways of getting there. And it didn’t bother me a bit. I knew it would work out, and in the end we had a great time.
Below is an address to Dr. Hall's Web sight. I tried to embed it in this writing, but if it can be done, I don't know how to do it.
www.awakentotruth.com
It certainly is no secret that I spent several years in a condition frequently and lovingly referred to as “Nuts”. Now, I don’t feel badly about that because in true Christian Philosophy we are all nuts and salvation comes with the realization of how insane we are and then admitting we can’t fix it ourselves. We need a higher power. Once we are ready to search for that power, God will provide all the guidance we need, in spite of the fact we are usually too blind to see or too deaf to hear.
In my case, the day I snapped for good, I was smart enough to call a person I had been told about by dear friends who saw how badly I needed help. In our first phone conversation, Dr. Hall told me he was not taking any new patients but he could spare a few moments to talk on the phone. After five minutes he told me to show up that Friday at 9 AM. Since then we have had some great “disagreements”. At our very first session, he told me I would come to see Cancer as a blessing from God. I now agree with that completely, but at the time I thought he was crazier than I was. I have to say that after four years, I am healthier than I ever have been in my entire life. I never felt that I was smart enough, funny enough, kind enough. I spent most of my life thinking I was responsible for all the problems around me, that if I just planned harder, or worked harder or somehow was better, everything would be fine. When something inevitably went wrong, I took all the blame. I was terrified of not being good enough. Well, for better or worse, that is all gone. I knew I was truly cured last year when Kay and I went on vacation and I got blessedly lost because I had not obsessively planned the route with three alternative ways of getting there. And it didn’t bother me a bit. I knew it would work out, and in the end we had a great time.
Below is an address to Dr. Hall's Web sight. I tried to embed it in this writing, but if it can be done, I don't know how to do it.
www.awakentotruth.com
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Perfect Spring Day
Last Tuesday was nearly a perfect day. Now the truth is I played hooky from the job I was supposed to be doing. I promised to finish Zoey’s changing table by Saturday. I finished it Saturday on time, but Tuesday that was not a sure thing. And still it was just to perfect outside to stay in the shop and cut wood.
So, we went to work opening the pond and stream. Last Spring, a dear friend gave me five little gold fish that were destined for sad endings if I didn’t take them. I figured we would throw them in the pond and they would have a good last summer. Despite assurances they would make it through the winter, last fall I gave the three surviving fish a ceremonial kiss good by (metaphorically speaking) and closed the pond. Winter was winter, so the pond froze, yuck blew in and I expected to find fish bones on opening day. To my vast surprise, I was greeted with three little fishy smiles.
We pumped about 30 gallons of pond water into a gigantic container, netted the fish and added them to the container, then pumped the remaining 700 gallons onto the lawn, pulled the plants from the pond and cleaned them. Then - the dredging of dead leaves, pine needles, enough algae to power the car for a year and a lot of unidentifiable yuck. While I slaved over the pump, Kay scrubbed and cleaned the stream. Within an hour, we were able to install the pumps, reinstate the plants, refill the pond with clean water, add organic yuck remover and chuck the fish back in. Once the statuary and lights were back in place, we added chairs to the patio, wine to our stomachs and joy to our hearts. April 6th seems pretty early to be soaking up the sun and relaxing around the pond, but it makes for a near perfect day.
Last Tuesday was nearly a perfect day. Now the truth is I played hooky from the job I was supposed to be doing. I promised to finish Zoey’s changing table by Saturday. I finished it Saturday on time, but Tuesday that was not a sure thing. And still it was just to perfect outside to stay in the shop and cut wood.
So, we went to work opening the pond and stream. Last Spring, a dear friend gave me five little gold fish that were destined for sad endings if I didn’t take them. I figured we would throw them in the pond and they would have a good last summer. Despite assurances they would make it through the winter, last fall I gave the three surviving fish a ceremonial kiss good by (metaphorically speaking) and closed the pond. Winter was winter, so the pond froze, yuck blew in and I expected to find fish bones on opening day. To my vast surprise, I was greeted with three little fishy smiles.
We pumped about 30 gallons of pond water into a gigantic container, netted the fish and added them to the container, then pumped the remaining 700 gallons onto the lawn, pulled the plants from the pond and cleaned them. Then - the dredging of dead leaves, pine needles, enough algae to power the car for a year and a lot of unidentifiable yuck. While I slaved over the pump, Kay scrubbed and cleaned the stream. Within an hour, we were able to install the pumps, reinstate the plants, refill the pond with clean water, add organic yuck remover and chuck the fish back in. Once the statuary and lights were back in place, we added chairs to the patio, wine to our stomachs and joy to our hearts. April 6th seems pretty early to be soaking up the sun and relaxing around the pond, but it makes for a near perfect day.
Friday, April 2, 2010
As a Franciscan, I am somewhat ashamed to admit that each year we rent a spectacular condo at the ocean. But I defy anyone to sit in the predawn darkness surrounding “my” chair and not feel God sitting in the chair next to me. And, as a Franciscan, I am supposed to see the Gospels all around. What better place?
Each morning, at first light, a flight of Pelicans drops over the roof of this building. I sit less than ten feet from their passing, and then as they glide in perfect beauty, Like Peter and the boat, they seem to remember they can’t really fly, and they plummet into the water, much as I envision Peter hitting the drink when he realized he couldn’t walk on water.
The last morning we were there, I arose even earlier than usual. As I settled myself to await the rising of the sun, three or four miles up the beach, a lone automobile drove up and down the beach, showing first his headlights and then his taillights. I thought about how that person, whatever his mission, had no idea that miles away he was being watched. How often do we pass unknowingly through someone else’s life, with no idea what effect we have on them? A smile, a kind word or conversely, a dismissal or an impatient moment all have effects. I have come to believe that in the end, those things matter. So, I said a silent prayer that my mystery person would have a safe day and would discover a moment of joy that day.
When the sun finally did appear, when the pelicans performed their morning ritual, when the outside world could no longer be ignored, I rose from my window chair for the last time this year and prepared for the return to home and all the joys that brings.
Each morning, at first light, a flight of Pelicans drops over the roof of this building. I sit less than ten feet from their passing, and then as they glide in perfect beauty, Like Peter and the boat, they seem to remember they can’t really fly, and they plummet into the water, much as I envision Peter hitting the drink when he realized he couldn’t walk on water.
The last morning we were there, I arose even earlier than usual. As I settled myself to await the rising of the sun, three or four miles up the beach, a lone automobile drove up and down the beach, showing first his headlights and then his taillights. I thought about how that person, whatever his mission, had no idea that miles away he was being watched. How often do we pass unknowingly through someone else’s life, with no idea what effect we have on them? A smile, a kind word or conversely, a dismissal or an impatient moment all have effects. I have come to believe that in the end, those things matter. So, I said a silent prayer that my mystery person would have a safe day and would discover a moment of joy that day.
When the sun finally did appear, when the pelicans performed their morning ritual, when the outside world could no longer be ignored, I rose from my window chair for the last time this year and prepared for the return to home and all the joys that brings.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Biltmore
We came to Asheville to see the Biltmore Estate. We had gone to Newport several years ago and toured those homes. I use the word homes in a ridiculous sense; because nothing about them was “homey” They were ostentatious, cold and just silly, especially as summer “cottages”. I expected Biltmore to be more of the same. Something to be seen, more as a museum, than a home. Oddly, I found it quite different.
Not that the place is particularly nice. It is gigantic, spectacular and well worth seeing, but not at all a comfortable place. But – the story is really compelling.
George Vanderbilt was the youngest of three sons born into a very, very wealthy family. Apparently the older boys went into the family business of getting richer. George took his 10 million ( in 1895 dollars) and built a house. He hired the best people to design it and the gardens, and the best craftsmen to complete the job. On the surface, it is about the power of money. But as the story unfolds, something else emerges. George first built homes for all the workers to live in during the construction. Then every detail was aimed at making Biltmore a place where visitors would have every need met quickly and without fuss.
Biltmore had not only an indoor swimming pool of great size, at a time few homes in America had electric lights, the swimming pool had underwater electric lights. It had a full gym in case his guests wished to exercise, stables, tennis, indoor bowling alleys and a kitchen area that would put most major hotels to shame.
The establishment employed about 30 people at all times. And here in lies a real look at George Vanderbilt's soul. A young girl, who had recently lost both Mother and Father, was hired. Barely 15, she found herself carrying a large tray of food, all on very expensive china, to the formal dining room. Young and terrified, she dropped the tray, smashing china, scattering food all over. George leaped to his feet and ------ helped the young girl pick up the pieces. For many years there after he gently teased her about their first meeting.
When the house was built, George was a bachelor, but he shortly found someone willing to marry one of the richest men in America. Yet, despite all the tendencies to make fun, the marriage was deliriously happy. Within a few years, Biltmore had a little girl, 5 St. Bernard’s and up to 30 guests any time the Vanderbilts were in residence.
George was generous to a fault. For example, the local minister would be invited to Biltmore for Lunch once a year. He would write up an account of all the expenses the parish had incurred during the year in an account book and would leave the book on the seat of his carriage. When he returned from a lovely Lunch, at which no money was discussed, he would find the book contained a check that covered all the years’ expenses.
George was considered one of the best read men in America and he constantly shared his space with men of words. In the entire house, I found only two rooms I loved. One was a central sun room that was open and bright and filled with life, and the other was the library. This room is two stories tall, with floor to ceiling bookcases surrounding the room. A circular stair takes you to the second tier balcony that surrounds the room and gives access to the second floor shelves. What I found remarkable was a comment George once made. “ There should always be books and a comfortable chair to read it in.” Well, he made the books available, but I could not see a comfortable chair anywhere in the house.
Which made me think. With all his money and effort, in 1895, George was unable to build a “comfortable” home. Biltmore was notoriously hard to heat. Winter guests would wear woolen everything under their formal attire and still have trouble manipulating forks with frozen hands. The furniture was torturous by our standards. While the food was excellent it took a gigantic staff working from 6AM until 9PM everyday to produce it.
I think about my home. We take the heat for granted, of the 8 chairs in our living rooms, 7 are guaranteed to lull you asleep within 10 minutes and modern cooking appliances make gourmet cooking within the reach of even – well, me.
We came to Asheville to see the Biltmore Estate. We had gone to Newport several years ago and toured those homes. I use the word homes in a ridiculous sense; because nothing about them was “homey” They were ostentatious, cold and just silly, especially as summer “cottages”. I expected Biltmore to be more of the same. Something to be seen, more as a museum, than a home. Oddly, I found it quite different.
Not that the place is particularly nice. It is gigantic, spectacular and well worth seeing, but not at all a comfortable place. But – the story is really compelling.
George Vanderbilt was the youngest of three sons born into a very, very wealthy family. Apparently the older boys went into the family business of getting richer. George took his 10 million ( in 1895 dollars) and built a house. He hired the best people to design it and the gardens, and the best craftsmen to complete the job. On the surface, it is about the power of money. But as the story unfolds, something else emerges. George first built homes for all the workers to live in during the construction. Then every detail was aimed at making Biltmore a place where visitors would have every need met quickly and without fuss.
Biltmore had not only an indoor swimming pool of great size, at a time few homes in America had electric lights, the swimming pool had underwater electric lights. It had a full gym in case his guests wished to exercise, stables, tennis, indoor bowling alleys and a kitchen area that would put most major hotels to shame.
The establishment employed about 30 people at all times. And here in lies a real look at George Vanderbilt's soul. A young girl, who had recently lost both Mother and Father, was hired. Barely 15, she found herself carrying a large tray of food, all on very expensive china, to the formal dining room. Young and terrified, she dropped the tray, smashing china, scattering food all over. George leaped to his feet and ------ helped the young girl pick up the pieces. For many years there after he gently teased her about their first meeting.
When the house was built, George was a bachelor, but he shortly found someone willing to marry one of the richest men in America. Yet, despite all the tendencies to make fun, the marriage was deliriously happy. Within a few years, Biltmore had a little girl, 5 St. Bernard’s and up to 30 guests any time the Vanderbilts were in residence.
George was generous to a fault. For example, the local minister would be invited to Biltmore for Lunch once a year. He would write up an account of all the expenses the parish had incurred during the year in an account book and would leave the book on the seat of his carriage. When he returned from a lovely Lunch, at which no money was discussed, he would find the book contained a check that covered all the years’ expenses.
George was considered one of the best read men in America and he constantly shared his space with men of words. In the entire house, I found only two rooms I loved. One was a central sun room that was open and bright and filled with life, and the other was the library. This room is two stories tall, with floor to ceiling bookcases surrounding the room. A circular stair takes you to the second tier balcony that surrounds the room and gives access to the second floor shelves. What I found remarkable was a comment George once made. “ There should always be books and a comfortable chair to read it in.” Well, he made the books available, but I could not see a comfortable chair anywhere in the house.
Which made me think. With all his money and effort, in 1895, George was unable to build a “comfortable” home. Biltmore was notoriously hard to heat. Winter guests would wear woolen everything under their formal attire and still have trouble manipulating forks with frozen hands. The furniture was torturous by our standards. While the food was excellent it took a gigantic staff working from 6AM until 9PM everyday to produce it.
I think about my home. We take the heat for granted, of the 8 chairs in our living rooms, 7 are guaranteed to lull you asleep within 10 minutes and modern cooking appliances make gourmet cooking within the reach of even – well, me.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
What could go wrong??
This was the easy week. Before we left for South Carolina, we made a list of things that needed doing. Nothing big. The computer security program needed updating, the ceiling molding in the upstairs needed to be finished and the downstairs bathtub and sink were draining slowly, but the pipes are all exposed and easy to get to. In addition we had the regular run of the mill jobs. The Toyota needed to be defused so it won’t go into overdrive, stop the mail, pay the bills, and exchange books at the Library. Time was not an issue. We were tied up with Retired Teacher’s Monday, The car needed to be repaired Tuesday morning, but I would have the rest of Tuesday, most of Wednesday and all of Thursday. That would give me Friday free for fun and Rotary. (Not that the two are not one and the same!)
I finished with the car around 11 on Tuesday, headed home and started putting in molding. Only molding requires something to attach it to. Normally you would find one stud and measure 16 inches and you would find another. In some early construction they used 12 inches or 18 inches. In our 17 foot hallway the studs are – 10, 13, 9, 21, 17 , 18, 12, 15, 11, 16, 20, 12, and 14. Note this does not add up to 204 inches because of course there are no studs at the ends of the hallway. For many years, these irregularities bothered me, now I just figure it is part of the charm of owning an old house that had previously been remodeled by a “creative” person. But it turned a simple job into a simple but long job. So most of Tuesday disappeared. But I still had time to do that short plumbing job. I pulled the pipes apart, cleaned out the drain, put it all back together, turned on the sink and found it drained easily and quickly ----- into the bathtub.
So ok, I would call the plumber, not an unusual event.
At least I could update the computer security. By the time I went to bed, our computer was completely unsecured, none of the USB ports would work , we could not download any pictures from our cameras and the mouse no longer functioned. Not a bad day in the world of disasters.
Wednesday we drove to Scoharie to attend the funeral of a dear friend’s father. He was in his nineties and had lived life exactly the way I would like to. At age 85, the family felt they needed to take his motorcycle keys away, because he was still riding it regularly. Three weeks before he died he was on a ladder with a drill repairing something. Way to go!!
So Thursday was spent getting the plumbing cleared up, the computer up and running, so that Friday morning could be spent finishing the hallway.
We leave Tuesday for the Biltmore Estate and Kiawah Island, South Carolina. We now have a laptop computer and the plan is to keep everyone informed of our travels while staying in touch. After all, What could go Wrong???
This was the easy week. Before we left for South Carolina, we made a list of things that needed doing. Nothing big. The computer security program needed updating, the ceiling molding in the upstairs needed to be finished and the downstairs bathtub and sink were draining slowly, but the pipes are all exposed and easy to get to. In addition we had the regular run of the mill jobs. The Toyota needed to be defused so it won’t go into overdrive, stop the mail, pay the bills, and exchange books at the Library. Time was not an issue. We were tied up with Retired Teacher’s Monday, The car needed to be repaired Tuesday morning, but I would have the rest of Tuesday, most of Wednesday and all of Thursday. That would give me Friday free for fun and Rotary. (Not that the two are not one and the same!)
I finished with the car around 11 on Tuesday, headed home and started putting in molding. Only molding requires something to attach it to. Normally you would find one stud and measure 16 inches and you would find another. In some early construction they used 12 inches or 18 inches. In our 17 foot hallway the studs are – 10, 13, 9, 21, 17 , 18, 12, 15, 11, 16, 20, 12, and 14. Note this does not add up to 204 inches because of course there are no studs at the ends of the hallway. For many years, these irregularities bothered me, now I just figure it is part of the charm of owning an old house that had previously been remodeled by a “creative” person. But it turned a simple job into a simple but long job. So most of Tuesday disappeared. But I still had time to do that short plumbing job. I pulled the pipes apart, cleaned out the drain, put it all back together, turned on the sink and found it drained easily and quickly ----- into the bathtub.
So ok, I would call the plumber, not an unusual event.
At least I could update the computer security. By the time I went to bed, our computer was completely unsecured, none of the USB ports would work , we could not download any pictures from our cameras and the mouse no longer functioned. Not a bad day in the world of disasters.
Wednesday we drove to Scoharie to attend the funeral of a dear friend’s father. He was in his nineties and had lived life exactly the way I would like to. At age 85, the family felt they needed to take his motorcycle keys away, because he was still riding it regularly. Three weeks before he died he was on a ladder with a drill repairing something. Way to go!!
So Thursday was spent getting the plumbing cleared up, the computer up and running, so that Friday morning could be spent finishing the hallway.
We leave Tuesday for the Biltmore Estate and Kiawah Island, South Carolina. We now have a laptop computer and the plan is to keep everyone informed of our travels while staying in touch. After all, What could go Wrong???
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