An Opportunity
We celebrated Martin Luther King Jr. this past week. Or did we? That day comes and goes every year and each time I feel a twinge of guilt. I never really feel like I “celebrate” as I should because I don’t know what to celebrate. In fact, it reminds me of just how far I am from a deep understanding of African American history and a deep understanding of what it’s like to be a woman of color in our world today. I would venture to guess that most of you reading my blog right now look a lot like me. No, it’s not the unruly, dyed blonde hair, grey-blue eyes, and furrowed brow (see past blog) that binds us; it’s the fact that most of us are of European descent, don’t know soul food from fillet of sole, and at one time or another, most likely in our teens, suffered from a severe sunburn that left us looking red as a lobster. In short, our skin is white. It seems unbelievable, but I went sixty-three years without knowing, let alone befriending, a black or brown skinned person. I didn’t purposely try to avoid it; the opportunity just never presented itself. Or maybe I never put myself in situations where the opportunity would present itself. Three years ago, following the death of George Floyd, and the race issues that it raised in its wake, I felt God calling me to a new awareness. I wanted to learn. I wanted to listen. I wanted God to present me with the opportunity to know women who didn’t look like me. And He did. I personally have been blessed and Firstfruits, collectively has been blessed, with two women of color that have come into my life and onto the board of Firstfruits two years ago. They have taught me, and personally shown me, how much work needs to be done before all of God’s children are one. They have pointed out that it’s really only by God’s grace and the power of the Holy Spirit that the unity we all desire can truly happen. It won’t happen overnight. It takes the building of a foundation of trust. It takes a lot of honest talk. It takes a strong sense of humor. It takes a lot of love. But it can be done. We just need to want it. I want it. How about you? Joan Firstfruits is committed to the work of listening to and...
The Secret
I was reading a reflection from Richard Rohr recently and in it he said, “Saints are those who wake up while in this world, instead of waiting for the next one. Francis of Assisi, William Wilberforce, Therese of Lisieux, and Harriet Tubman didn’t feel superior to anyone else, they just knew they had been let in on a big divine secret, and they wanted to do their part in revealing it.” Well, I don’t consider myself a saint, but I do know I have been let in on a big divine secret and I really want to do my part to reveal it. The secret I was let in on came from a comment in response to my Christmas Miracle blog on Facebook. You remember that blog about my lost and found wedding rings? I don’t often get comments on the Facebook postings of the blogs, so this really stood out to me. It came from Jamee and it said, “Joan, God takes such good care of you.” That simple comment hit me like a ton of bricks. It became my mantra for days after. I pondered it a lot. I tried to let it really sink in and not let the truth of it be washed away by the tide of unbelief, unworthiness, worry, and fear that seem to really keep this simple statement a secret in my life instead of a salve. As I pondered the magnitude of being taken good care of by God, I immediately thought of last Monday. It’s hard to put into words just what a perfect day it was. I got to clear my calendar, stay in my comfy pants all day, and hang out with June, our eight-month-old granddaughter. It was all very spontaneous which made it even more fun. I sat on the floor and just took in every move and every smile with such delight. I got to feed her bananas and watch them stick to everything but her mouth. I got to rock her before nap time, and watch as the death grip she had on her bottle softened and she fell fast asleep. Then I lingered with her buried in my chest to just take in her softness and her beauty. Such a precious gift I was given that day. God took such good care of me. But when it was my turn to fall fast asleep that night, my thoughts weren’t of...
A Christmas Miracle
I believe that miracles happen all around us, every day. Especially last Wednesday. In the afterglow of our two-day pseudo-Hallmark Christmas with our kids, their spouses, and the seven grandkids, my husband and I were headed to Madison on Christmas Day to spend the day with his mom and siblings. On the way there I was enjoying the quiet and the calmness, when I glanced down and saw that my hands were really dry and chapped. Must have been from doing all those dishes for the Hallmark Christmas. So, I decided to treat myself to some lotion and a hand massage. I removed my wedding rings, carefully set them in the soft fold of my new Christmas sweater, and proceeded to massage hand lotion in every crack and cuticle. It felt heavenly. In fact, so heavenly I lost track of time and before I knew it, we were at our destination. I immediately snapped back to reality, threw the lotion in my purse, grabbed my obligatory dip and chips and the annual Amaryllis bulb I buy my mother-in-law and exited the vehicle. We headed home early evening so I could get over to my sister’s house to dog sit overnight. (Bear with me, the ending of this story is well worth the tedium of the details. And I am warning you, it gets worse before it gets better.) I woke around 3am to a raging headache and a not so happy stomach. I tried to wish it away but soon realized this wasn’t going to be good. Turns out, the stomach flu hit the family hard. One of the results of a Hallmark Christmas that they don’t talk about in the movies. For the next two days I was in bed. But come Wednesday morning I was among the living again. I was sitting at my desk typing when I looked down and realized my wedding rings weren’t on my finger. I panicked because I never take them off. My anxiety was cresting as I tried to retrace my activities the last few days. My first thought was that one of the grandkids picked up the rings from wherever I laid them down and now they are in the Fisher Price Farm silo in the basement or who knows where. All of a sudden, a memory calmly rose above the anxiety. My heavenly hand massage. I ran out to my husband’s car so full of hope. They...
Down TIme
Well, it found me. I thought I was flying under the Covid radar. Two years, two vaccines, and three boosters later and I was killing it. Sneaking in and out of crowded stores, theaters, churches, and restaurants unscathed. Cohabitating with a Covid positive husband and still untouched. I was feeling invincible, until I started feeling miserable. Darn it. And of course, my symptoms began the day after I had been snuggling, smooching, and spending a lot of time with most of the grandkids. So not only was I physically miserable, I was emotionally miserable as I catastrophized about all of them getting sick because of me. So far so good though. Knock on wood. I have been quarantining for the last six days and truth be told, I kind of like it. I am doing things at a slower pace which feels really good. One load of laundry, nap, address some Christmas cards, nap, wrap a couple presents, nap. I have been eating when I’m hungry, sleeping when I’m tired, and just taking good care of me, and not once have I felt a pang of guilt. I could get used to this. I’m praying a lot more than usual throughout the day. People will pop into my head and I pray for them. Situations and challenges pop into my head that usually start me spiraling into all kinds of crazy self-talk but instead I start praying about them. Handing them over to God. My one-week-before-Christmas angst is gone. I have surrendered. I’m not sure when my energy will be back to 100% so I’m lowering my expectations and enjoying the thought of not having everything perfect for our family gathering next week. So what if Santa forgot to fill the stockings at Num Num and Papa’s this year. Big deal. And who needs pecan crusted salmon when you can have mac and cheese or make-your-own pizza? Seems that Covid down time brings with it some blessings I never would have suspected. As my nose became more congested my ears opened up to God’s promptings. As choices of how to spend my day were taken away with my lack of energy, I was given an opportunity to just be with God. As these seemingly unproductive days right before a huge holiday stared me in the face, I was given a glimpse of the peace that comes from simplicity, humility, and surrender. Those are the side effects that I...
Joy
There is that saying that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results. That is exactly what I do with Christmas lights. Every year I think I should be able to just put the same icicle lights on the outside of the house and not have half of the string burnt out. Why don’t I just buy new ones each year when the shelves are newly stocked and full? Instead, I think all will be well, and end up scrambling to find them amidst the empty shelves a few weeks before Christmas. So, you can understand how joyful I was when I walked into the third Home Depot and there was one box left, with my name on it. But wait, was I joyful or happy? This third Sunday of Advent is called Gaudete Sunday. In Latin, Gaudete means “rejoice.” We are supposed to be joyful. I find that easier said than done sometimes. How about you? The challenge to “be” joyful arises when we confuse happiness with joy. Happiness comes and goes. It’s very dependent on situations, attitudes, expectations, and availability of Christmas lights. Joy is a gift from God. It’s a response that is solidly planted in our souls that finds expression when we experience the Divine. It shouldn’t be work. Joyful isn’t something to “be”, it’s something to recognize and allow. It’s a gift to accept. Joy is God’s fingerprint in our everyday lives. When we feel that joy bubble up from deep within, we can be assured that God is near. The mysterious part of it all is that you can feel joy even when you aren’t happy. Even in very challenging times, joy can sneak in. Joy doesn’t make a grand entrance, often it slips in very unexpectedly. For me, joy often slips in when I quiet the voices of self-pity, selfishness, and discontent and am focused on the good around me. When I’m surrendered to what is, with acceptance and gratitude, I am more able to recognize the presence of God. I’m more apt to feel that joy lump in my throat. I love the picture of Mary and Elizabeth that is above. The joy on their faces and in their body language is infectious. And think what challenges Mary was facing, yet the joy is undeniable. The source of that joy was the baby in her womb. The source of our...
The Power of An Invitation
I can’t seem to stop thinking about that invitation we received last week. If you don’t know what I’m talking about check out last week’s blog. That’s the thing about invitations, they have a kind of power over us. Think about it. We receive an invitation; we have to respond, in one way or another. We can’t, or should I say, shouldn’t just ignore it. It worms its way onto our calendar. Sometimes we have to rearrange things to accommodate it. And that’s the good news about invitations. How about the bad news? How many times have we been upset by the fact that we didn’t get an invitation to something? Or been on the opposite side where we were made to feel bad for not inviting someone. This invitation angst starts young. I remember it causing all kinds of stress when our kids were in grade school and had to decide who was invited to the birthday parties and when was the appropriate time to invite both the boys and girls. See the power an invitation has to impact our lives? This time of Advent, we are to spend time waiting and preparing for new birth, both outwardl, as we recall the birth of Jesus, and inwardly as we open ourselves to new life in our relationship with Jesus. We’ve been given an invitation to do just that. How will you respond this Advent? Will you respond with confusion? What exactly does this mean? Will you respond with indifference? Will the invite get buried under life’s cluttered desktop? It doesn’t matter, as long as you respond. God can work with any RSVP we send His way and is always there with second chances. The hope is that maybe this year we can respond with enthusiasm and joyful anticipation knowing that we have received the greatest invitation of all; to be a recipient of the abundant life and endless love this new baby promises. You don’t want to miss out on that. Joan...
RSVP
Happy New Year! We begin a new liturgical year today as we begin Advent. The next four weeks we have the opportunity to prepare, with great anticipation, for the birth of the baby whose life brought us an invitation to eternal life. It’s a time of preparation and invitation which is why I was so excited to receive an email that I want to share with you. I was told to spread the word. Anyone want to go? I’ll drive. Joan...
Holy Botox
As these first real bursts of winter weather have descended upon us so rapidly, I noticed my body going into its hibernation mode. My skin and nails are dry as a bone. Not to mention my lips. I can’t apply enough Chap Stick to give them any relief. Any hint of that kiss of sunshine face has long ago faded. These signs are our bodies’ attempt to convince us to cover up and stay indoors. No one wants to see this. As I was surveying the damage the other day, I was stopped in my tracks by another sign on my body. This one hit me right between the eyes. Literally. I have quite the furrowed brow. It’s my badge of honor, or should I say dishonor, for all the many years I have spent worrying, needlessly. I don’t like to think of myself as a worrier but I seem to be giving off that vibe. I’ve had a few people in the last week or so tell me to stop worrying. At Firstfruits last week we were praying for each other as we ended the Many Faces of Prayer series. One of the participants said that as we were praying for me, she had this vision of Jesus with His hand gently placed on my forehead. Smoothing and soothing my furrowed brow. I like to think about that. Sounds better than Botox and more permanent. Fr. Richard Rohr is quoted as saying that what isn’t transformed is transmitted. Since I haven’t yet completely transformed my worry habit, it appears to be transmitting through my thoughts, words, and my forehead. I know that if we want to feel lasting peace from whatever it is we struggle with, we need to spend more time in quiet communion with God. The surrender and trust that is the daily treatment we need to apply doesn’t come in a shot or a lotion; it only comes from knowing the God who wants nothing more than for us to know how much we are loved. As we celebrate Thanksgiving this week, let’s open ourselves up to really see that love in the big and small blessings all around us. I promise I will try. Once all the family makes it to my mother-in-law’s. It is a two-hour drive and you know there are so many deer darting across the highway. Hopelessly furrowed, Joan...
HOORAY!
One of my grandkids’ favorite silly songs is the one that goes: If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands. If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands. If you’re happy and you know it, then your face will really show it, If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands. The next verse tells us to stomp our feet if we’re happy and we know it. The last verse tells us to shout “HOORAY!” What do you do when you are happy and you know it? If you are like me, you don’t clap, stomp, or shout “HOORAY.” You remain even keeled. You downplay the good in front of others because so many are struggling and you don’t want to appear as if things are wonderful. And, you fear that close on the heels of all that clapping, shouting, and stomping will be something to take away the happiness. The catastrophizer in me kicks into gear. I don’t do happy well. And I am feeling a bit ashamed about that. Our faith tells us that the spiritual life is a series of times of consolation and times of desolation. If we are aware and believe it, we see God’s gift of those grace-filled moments where love and goodness overwhelm us. Give us cause for clapping, stomping, and shouting. Consolation. Life also provides us with many times when through our own fault or not, we are faced with moments that bring us to our knees. Times when we feel very alone. When the connection to God’s love and goodness seems to fade or disappear altogether. Desolation. The good and bad news is that these cycles follow each other. When we feel the joy of consolation, we need to accept the reality that it won’t last forever, but while it does, we should allow ourselves the freedom to revel in it and let others see how amazing it is. When you’re happy and you know it, that is you know from where it comes, clap, stomp, and shout! Let your face show it. If more of us did, maybe it would be contagious. Instead of harming others, it might just heal others. It might just give others hope. Because just as we need to be aware that consolation won’t last forever, we also need to know that desolation won’t either. Those times when life brings us to our knees and we feel disconnected are times of powerful growth....
Time To Move
In the Old Testament book of Exodus God sent a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night to guide the Israelites as they fled their bondage in Egypt. It was a sign of God’s faithfulness and care in providing a resting place along the way and a lesson then and now that God never forsakes us. When that pillar of cloud appeared, it was time to move. Being in the throes of moving this weekend, I really sympathize with those Israelite women. Just when they had the last basket of clay pots unpacked and neatly arranged in just the right spot in the kitchen, someone would shout, the cloud has moved. And off they go again. Yikes! They knew their God and trusted that when He said to move, they moved. As long as they had their trust in this loving God, their every move was promised to be best and blessed. Most of our moves over the forty plus years my husband and I have been married have centered around what was best for our growing family. We didn’t move often. Only three times in 39 years. But the cloud has moved twice now in just three years. With each move I find myself reflecting on just what was best and blessed about the place I am leaving This time, even though the stay was short, there was much to ponder and learn. The memories in this most recent resting place won’t be filled with Kodak moments of bringing home a newborn, first days of school, or sleepless nights before the weddings. This latest temporary resting place brought with it lessons. Valuable, hard lessons that I have come to realize are truly best for me and a blessing. In these last three years I experienced a pandemic that hit very close to home. I faced mortality, my own and that of my loved ones and come out the other side with a calmness. It took me a couple years but I made progress. I learned to trust God with my fears. In the last three years my husband had cancer surgery, retired from his fast-paced career in the corporate world, and continued to suffer from the effects of chronic back pain. All this puts a strain on these golden years. I learned, kicking and screaming (literally), a deeper sense of empathy and compassion. I faced a selfishness in me and did some...