Stuff

by Julia Graves

I heard on the news the other day that stores are going to be marketing their Christmas merchandise earlier than usual this year in the hopes of stimulating people to start shopping to improve the economy. I walked into a local big box store and was surrounded by Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas merchandise. I was surrounded by stuff, rows and rows of stuff.

This made me think of how much of this stuff I really needed. It also made me think of what I wanted to spend money on for my family as gifts for the holidays. Did they need a giant stocking or ornament? A musical snow globe that played seasonal music? Another one of those or that? How much of it was just needless stuff?

Then I began to ponder about the financial situation of my family and their ability to buy gifts for other family members. How much guilt were they feeling to produce the perfect gift? I asked myself would all this consumerism make a better holiday season for us or would it put us in a financial strain and cause unnecessary stress? What is the reason for the season?

I decided to call my family and discuss the situation. We decided we would rather exchange handmade baked goods such as cookies and breads. We would also have a potluck meal together. The point was to spend time together as a family enjoying a meal and each other's company. It was not about exchanging store bought gifts. We also discussed contributing to a charity such as a soup kitchen for Thanksgiving and Christmas to help feed people less fortunate than ourselves.

Now as I do my weekly grocery shopping I look at the seasonal stuff of the shelves and smile. I know my family will be exchanging gifts that we made with time and love and given from the heart.

As we begin to prepare for the celebration of the holidays, may we remember it is about gathering together to give thanks. Sometimes less is more.

Letting Go

by Kyle Wiseley

This one will be difficult to write and perhaps just as difficult for you to read, as I intend to deal with issues which are usually considered too personal or private to discuss in public – our divorce and our relationship in these ensuing years.

A few days ago, I learned that my ex-wife has been diagnosed as having Alzheimer’s Disease. The news for me was a shock of unexpected force. We have been divorced for a very long time -- thirty six years, and she has been remarried for thirty five of those years. Ours was a happy marriage until it finally became impossible to stay together. We had much in common. We were close with each other’s family and they liked each other. We also closely shared each other’s spiritual journeys; we jointly shared leadership positions in our local congregation and for a couple of years directed and promoted the summer camp owned and sponsored by our District of our denomination. We had many close friends among the clergy and our mutual involvement in church life was one of most significant joys of our relationship.

But circumstances, of which we were aware, but which we initially chose to ignore and hope for the best, finally overwhelmed us and we reached a mutual agreement to separate with great sadness on both sides. There is probably a good argument for saying that this is a marriage that never should have been, except for the fact that it produced three wonderful sons, one of whom did not quite make it to adulthood but left us all too soon at the age of eighteen in a catastrophic auto crash.

One of the most difficult tasks for me was learning to be an ex-husband. I missed my family terribly but over the years, as is to be expected, feelings diminished and our paths only crossed through the lives of our sons. Then suddenly I received this news and old memories and feelings came flooding back with surprising intensity. The frustrating part is that there is so little I can offer in support and caring now. I am an ex-husband living thousands of miles away and it is neither possible nor appropriate for me to insinuate myself into this situation. There is nothing I can do but pray, and attempt to silently direct the energy of the affection I still feel toward her and my sons.

Alzheimer’s is an enormously frustrating and heart-breaking disease. I observed my father as his personality slowly seem to fade into nothingness and he became another person entirely, with only brief flashes of recognition of the people around him. And those of us who cared deeply for him but could only stand helplessly by and observe, wondered what was going on in his mind. Was there enough awareness of his loss to cause him emotional pain, or had he just slipped into a state of half-aware oblivion?

Previously in this space I have written of both the issue of personal circumstances around dying and the issue of trust. It seems that now I am once more to be confronted with these issues on a very personal and real basis. I have recently been doing some intense study and reflection on my own perceptions of who or what God is, or if it is reasonable to believe that God does exist and is a force that enters into our individual personal existence in a meaningful and caring way. When all discussion, arguments, hypotheses and other musings are considered, it is still a matter of trust that the core of our existence emerges from a basic Good, that for reasons we can never understand, enfolds all our experiences, both good and bad, in loving arms, and so, in that firm belief I must step back and entrust her, and all around her, and the process itself, to that Goodness.

Small Boat, Wide Sea

by Kathy Douglass

I’ve been worshipping at St. Luke the Physician for about six months now. I’m slowly finding my way through the liturgy, the Book of Common Prayer, the hymnal, the caring and gentle faces that make this a place of genuine sanctuary.

A cherished moment in the service comes for me when Rev. Jennifer leads us in this prayer after the Gospel: “Dear Lord, be good to us. The sea is so wide, and our boat is so small.” I had not heard this prayer before coming to St. Luke’s. I am moved by the simplicity, desperation and trust it speaks all at once.

My great-grandpa Sam Morris was a lighthouse-keeper on the coasts of Oregon and Washington in the early 1900s. Up until a year ago, we had our family history details scrambled, thinking he was keeper in Bandon. A bit of research and a dear old woman at a tiny maritime museum pointed us in the right direction. He was keeper at Cape Meares near Tillamook in 1903. As a child, my family camped nearby, but never visited the lighthouse. We didn’t realize that we were gathering seashells, wading in the tide, and sleeping in the shadow of the great spruce trees that Grandpa Sam lived among.

My mom and I traveled to Cape Meares last month. We left the car in the lot where Grandpa Sam’s house once stood, and walked the tranquil, fern-lined path toward the water. Just a few steps down the walkway, the lantern room appears. It colored in a few plain spots in our stories to see it, to press our hands against the tower, to take in the sea-air he breathed, the lush ground he walked, the brilliant light he kept. I’ve wondered what it was like for him, keeping that light, tending to it, so that its beam could warn of dangers and provide safe passage through both gentle and howling waters to the small boats on that wide sea. Providing light in the dark to those trying to journey home.

Grandpa Sam is not the first keeper I have known.

“God is light. In Him there is no darkness at all.” ~ 1 John 1:5

There is danger on that wide sea. Darkness and deeps, shadows and shades that leave us feeling isolated, afraid, overwhelmed, drowning. And yet, there is a Keeper, a Light. God himself, offering Passage through, and Presence in, that wide sea.

The boat is small. But there is room enough for two… my Keeper and I.

This is why we can whisper our simple, desperate, trusting prayer.

Oh the deep, deep love of Jesus, vast, unmeasured, boundless, free
Rolling as a mighty ocean, in its fullness over me!
Underneath me, all around me, is the current of His love
Leading onward, leading homeward, to His glorious rest above (Lyric by Samuel Francis)

The sea is wide.
The boat is small.
The Lord is good. Amen ~