Author: alwaysbridging

I am on a bus riding along, crossing soon from Georgia into Alabama. I’m one of 37 on a Civil Rights Pilgrimage from the Episcopal Diocese of Olympia in Washington State. We are following the life of Martin Luther King, Jr from his birthplace in Atlanta, through Selma, Montgomery, and Birmingham to Memphis where he was assassinated.

Yesterday, while at MLK National Park, I found myself watching a video of King’s daughter interviewing Jimmy Carter. I berated myself a bit at the time. Why was I drawn to listen to another white man, when surrounded by incredible stories of great African Americans? Maybe, because it was actually his 100th birthday?

Today though, it occurred to me: I’m white. This work of healing racism is hard. Sometimes I get discouraged in the face of it. Seeing how another white person like me, of the utmost privilege, lived his faith balls-out lovingly…it’s downright encouraging.

I am reminded how important it is for my Black brothers and sisters to see themselves in leadership. This is the impact a diverse team can have because…

Sometimes we get discouraged and think our life’s in vain. And then the Holy Spirit revives our souls again.

After a spectacular week in Richmond, Virginia, one of reunions with cousins and high school chums and even a seminarian, I am feeling overwhelmed.

As I reconnect with family and friends here as well as try to continue the relationships I touched in Virginia, I am reminded of Dunbar’s number, that we humans are really only capable of maintaining 150 relationships. Have I exceeded my limit? As an extrovert and Child of God, I hate to think my capacity for others has been reached.

Eventually as I ponder, I recognize my appreciation for the expansiveness of prayer. And thankfully, I too have had a Thomas Merton experience. Once at the cathedral when 200 or so of us were gathered for worship, I looked around and realized I knew the stories of joy and sorrow of about half those around me. I bathed in the deep loving care I felt for these dear ones. Then in a mere blink of an eye, I noticed the others and knew their stories were similar. I was absolutely flooded with warmth and intense love for all of them too. Time stood still.

Perhaps, as Dunbar suggests, in my human-ness I am only capable of maintaining 150 relationships, even with the help of social media. But in God-space with a wide-open heart, my fond connections are limitless and I can love billions.

We were invited to a wonderful 40th anniversary party last weekend. Our friend, Marc, has been practicing Buddhism for four decades. He decided to gather his family and friends from childhood on, from Chicago, Los Angeles, and Seattle, to chant and feast in celebration. We were happy to be among the lucky revelers.

Even though dinner was generously catered, we didn’t want to arrive empty-handed. What could we bring to an auspicious event like this one?

Years ago, Chef Carolina gave me a set of pastry bags and tips to be used for decorating. She never gives up on my potential cooking prowess, that daughter of mine. Finally, just hours before the party she instructed me. What a fun project! We assembled the most delicious and gorgeous deviled eggs. Complete with truffle powder and fresh chive garnish.

Indeed, Marc is encouraging in the faith department. And he had no idea the edible delicacy he had inspired.

I saw this post yesterday shortly after learning Trump had been shot. It helped. This is an example of the reason we have common prayers; for use when we don’t know how to pray, the Holy Spirit intercedes.

Today as I reread it, I’m tearing. What a rough time in history this is. I hope it brings you some peace this Sabbath day too. Please call me if you like. Phone tag could be just the degree of gaming I seek on this lazy day at the beach.

I had barely finished putting the pork into the crock pot when the caregiver at Mom’s adult family home called to say she had fallen. She needed to be seen by a doctor for the injury to her head. Yes, of course, I could drop everything and transport her.

After all, my immediate chores for celebrating my sister Susan’s birthday were complete. She and her wife CrisMarie had a layover in Seattle and were stopping by for the evening. Our son Clarke had already arrived for a week’s visit. The chance to see Grandma and be together for a little party was brewing. Wonder what lacerations on a 96-year-old would add to the anticipation?

But first, six straight hours of being very present. Watching the nurse set an IV just in case. And the EMT clean and bandage the skin flap wound on her leg. Oh yeah, and witnessing the physician staple the cut behind her ear. All while I caressed her hand and sang, “You are my Sunshine.” During the long waits between procedures, we listened to beeps from the machine about her vital signs while I read magazine stories out loud.

When Dr. Stephanie gave me the tool for removing staples, I gasped first, thinking she wanted me to do the deed myself in 5 to 7 days. Then I realized that the doctor was graciously supplying the equipment to make things easier for me. I could take the clippers to the closer outpatient clinic and have the removal done by someone else when the time came. I tell you; I was so touched by her kindness especially when I realized we were starting to talk about stability and discharge. Great words to hear in an ER. I felt relieved.

Once we were in the car, my mind shifted. How might we finagle a family visit for this beloved matriarch and her dear ones who had assembled from afar? Maybe it could still happen? If I spun by our house to pick them up, we could go for the proverbial ice cream cones en route to Mom’s house. Believe me, this is a family meme from way back.

Instead, we arrived at our house at 6, exactly when the food was ready and the others were assembling from three different places. We had a lovely dinner together before it was time to take Mom home.

When the two of us settled into the car, as par for the course, Mom exclaimed, “What a wonderful weekend. Best Christmas ever!” And CrisMarie—bless her!—even remembered to take a photo.