Blog - Laurie Klein, Scribe

Kyrie Eleison: Seeking Mercy

Kyrie eleison:

It may or may not have been the same year
Daddy survived electric shock therapy,
that year he lived in a quiet building by water
with scratchy linens and locked windows
and a special room where people did crafts,

the year I was 7 or 8 years old,
when I first spoke Greek.

It happened by way of a song. Old enough
to stand beside Mom in church,
entrusted with one side of the red hymnbook,
ancient words in a magical language
rose around us: Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison—

Lord, have mercy, Christ have mercy.

It’s all I can think of today.

I’ve turned off ongoing footage of catastrophe, heartbreak and accusations, nuclear stand-offs, and always, always, the endless spin.

Not that I want escape. Well, maybe, a little.

I need to re-position myself squarely, silently, in God’s presence.

Out of stillness comes a memory of classes taken.

For the student of Mime, the first key position is Neutral. Neither rigid, sloppy, nor static, it’s a posture of yielded, relaxed, absolute readiness. The whole being is poised. Alert. Balanced.

Neutral is the springboard for any initial gesture. A launch pad for the slightest expression. Action. Story.

I must keep returning to temporary neutral. I need a larger perspective, a longer view. A sense of how God wants me to respond as I go along. There’s a road that I am traveling.

You have one too.

As Mr. Mister famously sang, back in the ’80s: “Kyrie eleison on this road that I must travel.” (link below)

Not resignation, but rather, responsiveness.

Not apathy, but radical, trusting attention.

And then—shock therapy—as I’m writing this post my screen alerts me to a high school shooting today: 3 injured, one dead, the killer in custody. In a town of 500—not far from mine.

Lord, have mercy!

Words fail us. Fate laughs. Logic shrugs and turns its back.

In times like these, music can help us keep our hearts open, empathic. It helps us pray.

Below are my favorite Kyrie versions, in multiple genres, some with visuals. Please experience several (use the back arrow at the top of your screen to return to the post for more links).

And … can we start a Playlist? Leave a title and/or link in the comments below and tell us your go-to music when life falls apart. I’ll create a Playlist and post it.

Meanwhile, here’s a springboard prayer:

Cupped in our hands, held in our minds and our hearts,
here, and now, Merciful God who encompasses all,
here is what we can barely hold:

Eric Lagerstrom: stunning music, photos (some of them wrenching)

My favorite today, click arrow below, static image, birdsong, strings

Gospel choir, outstanding soloist, easy to sing along

Static snow scene, acoustic folk, Isaac Wardell

Korean Children’s Choir, World Vision, haunting A cappella

Choral version, underscores compelling abstract paintings by Natalia Rudzina

Taizé, international gathering of believers

Introspective, Chris Tomlin

Exciting, Mr. Mister, ’80s soft rock plus onstage/offstage video

Interactive prayer for mercy and protection

Please share title and/or link for your go-to music. It’s one more way we keep each other strong.

Upbeat People, Unsung Transitions

by Laurie Klein 20 Chiming In

Upbeat: adjective, to maintain good cheer—despite circumstances.

staying upbeat before it all falls in — That nerve-wracking Vacation Moment—luminous beauty before it all falls in

How to stay upbeat when life implodes?

Start by looking back.

Since 1950, upbeat has been used as an adjective, meaning lighthearted. Buoyant. Exuberant.

First used in 1869, however, the word upbeat was a noun, a synonym for anacrucis.

Originally, anacrucis—or upbeat—signified a musical pickup, or lead-in: the note(s) preceding a song’s downbeat. This definition still applies. Think of the happy in “Happy Birthday ” or the I in my song “I Love You, Lord.”

Anacrucis also refers to the initial, unstressed syllables before a poem’s meter kicks in.

Unstressed? Now that gets my attention.

[Read more…]

Chosen Again, Moonshadow Day

by Laurie Klein 38 Chiming In

Moody skies. A cliff. An abandoned stroller . . .

Who took the baby?

+++

May I tell you a story?

On August 21st the solar eclipse will, in some locations, turn day into darkness. I wish you could know what the day means for our family.

On this day a year ago, an unwanted child was born to a drug-addicted mother and unknown father.

The parents would not cradle or feed or rock their baby girl.

They’d never be the metaphorical sun and moon watching over her world.

The baby, traumatized by Lithium withdrawal, could not settle and would not eat.

Our daughter, Rachel, agreed to work with her in the Neonatal Care Unit.

Love ignited their first moments together.

Rachel took this baby . . . into her heart.

Irresistibly drawn, she and her husband would rescue her, raise her, and nurture little Kiki into wholeness.

Perhaps Kiki sensed she’d been chosen, because she relaxed. She ate and slept. Her new responsiveness to love lit up the room.

Homecoming

Ongoing drug withdrawal consumed compassion, patience, and stamina.

During one night shift, tightly swaddled, Kiki could not bear to be touched, and I carried her around and around the house on a cushion. As with so many of our solutions, the pillow trick only worked once.

Weeks passed. Red-eyed and shaky with fatigue, Rachel and Damon agonized over her anguish. She shrieked and flailed.

“I’ve got you,” Damon would whisper, holding her close. “I’ve got you.”

Is this what it means to be chosen and cherished by God?

To be rescued, again and again—no matter what. To be made part of a family, given a new name.

Sometimes few words are needed. Touch is all.

Kiki’s suffering raged on.

Will the clouds part?

People who follow total eclipses wonder: Is our equipment good enough? Will the clouds part? We’ve come all this way . . . what if the wonder eludes us?

As caregivers, sometimes we miss glimmers of light when our loved one’s pain is vast and their progress, incremental.

We doubt our ability. God seems remote. Hidden.

Who will hold us and say, “I’ve got you.”?

We turn to “the man with starlight in his veins,” as writer Brian Doyle once called Jesus.

Then we offer ragged presence.

Chosen Again, Moonshadow Day

chosen one — “To know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded.” —Ralph Waldo Emerson

Kiki is thriving.

On the solar eclipse we’ll celebrate her first birthday . . . at the courthouse. We’ll witness the finalization of her adoption. She’ll be formally chosen, again, and for always, in a court of law . . .

. . . with all manner of declarations and testimonies, photos and signatures.

Can you imagine the hugging? No words needed. Touch is all.

Did it take long to find me? I asked the faithful light.
Did it take long to find me? And are you gonna stay the night?

“Moonshadow,” by Yusuf Islam (Cat Stevens)

More of Kiki’s story here

Playdate: Deep Breaths, Double Takes, Daydreams

by Laurie Klein 20 Chiming In

Playdate? O boy. What planet is Klein on now?

“Playdate” by definition may be a toddler gig, but experiencing one both enlivens and reorients us—at any age.

For instance:

Daydreaming: Has it been awhile?
Double takes: Remember, they’re quasi-athletic.
Jaunts: Why not enjoy beauty, risk, exhilaration?

You might feel overwhelmed, over-digitized, or overcome by a restless heart, or restless kids,

troubled by global violence and civil unrest,

weary of weeds and dust, arthritis, estrangement, or too many summer guests.

Could it be you’re running low on respite and short on play?

How about an Armchair Staydate, right here, right now? Preferably one that involves leaves (since I have pictures of them).

Let this fleeting cyber-jaunt elicit deep breaths. Double takes. Daydreams.

Taking if leaf by leaf

Is this one a mirror? Sometimes we mortals lurch around flattened by life, emotionally spent and spiritually threadbare.

Lord knows, we’re trying to launch the project, get back in shape, meet the monster deadline.

We may be pushing through envy. Anger. Inhospitable circumstances.

One green sprig muscling through roadway re-frames hardship as possibility.

An ancient arrangement ensures leaves absorb our toxic carbon dioxide; we absorb their oxygen. I forget this. Remembering alters my view—altars my view.

Deep breath.

Who or what will I breathe a little life into today?

. . .

Notice these flowers growing between a hard place and its shadow.

They don’t settle for blah. Or worse, bleak. They don’t forgo blooming until better conditions appear.

Deep breath.

Where will I inject a dash of color today? A softening touch?

. . .

Leaf through the Book

We’re each like a tree planted by water, the psalmist tells us, “whose leaves do not wither.”

Sure as Hosta leaves steadily breathe out water vapor (thereby drawing up more moisture through roots and stems), we can exha-a-a-le, pause, see what transpires.

Deep breath.

In what way will I offer someone (including myself) a cup of cool water today?

. . .

No matter how we feel, we are not stranded, beached and alone beneath starless skies.

Sure as the moon with her silver pulleys hauls out the sea, the tide will change. Might as well watch for surprise bouquets at our feet.

Deep breath.

Where will God surprise me today?

. . .

**Sure as our brain’s firing neurons numerically compare to gazillions of stars in the Milky Way**, light eventually reaches us—wherever we are.

Deep breath.

When did I last stargaze?

What new constellation of Grace is emerging in those I love, and how do I encourage them to shine?

. . .

“Never say there is nothing beautiful in the world anymore.
There is always something to make you wonder
in the shape of a tree, the trembling of a leaf.”

—Albert Schweitzer

Life is precarious. Let’s take a page from The Leaf Playbook:

Book a playdate (or staydate)
Cultivate double takes
Exha-a-a-a–le . . . and see what transpires
Court surprise
Wait for the Light

What’s your favorite playdate/staydate? I’d love some fresh ideas . . .

More daydreaming here: http://bigthink.com/21st-century-spirituality/creativity-and-distraction
More about double-takes here
More about jaunts here
For more ideas, dip into this wonder-full book: Playdates with God, by Laura Boggess

Focus: What Does It Take to Maintain It?

by Laurie Klein 12 Chiming In

Focus so easily fractures.

At day’s end, near midnight, I’m reading The Attentive Life when it seems like the chair beneath me … shifts.

I shrug, only to drop the book at the next eerie movement—a sinking, sickish feeling, like taking a dip in the road too fast.

Then … nothing.

My imagination?

Another lurch, followed by shudders. It feels like an alpine chairlift revving away from the platform. Electricity zings in my shinbones, gooses my spine.

What on earth? [Read more…]

Cupped in our hands, held in our minds and our hearts, here, and now, Merciful God who encompasses all, here is what we can barely hold:

Please share title and/or link for your go-to music. It’s one more way we keep each other strong.

Homecoming

Will the clouds part?

Chosen Again, Moonshadow Day

“Moonshadow,” by Yusuf Islam (Cat Stevens)

Taking if leaf by leaf

Leaf through the Book

Sure as Hosta leaves steadily breathe out water vapor (thereby drawing up more moisture through roots and stems), we can exha-a-a-le, pause, see what transpires.

Sure as the moon with her silver pulleys hauls out the sea, the tide will change. Might as well watch for surprise bouquets at our feet.

Sure as our brain’s firing neurons numerically compare to gazillions of stars in the Milky Way, light eventually reaches us—wherever we are.

—Albert Schweitzer

Cupped in our hands, held in our minds and our hearts,
here, and now, Merciful God who encompasses all,
here is what we can barely hold:

**Sure as our brain’s firing neurons numerically compare to gazillions of stars in the Milky Way**, light eventually reaches us—wherever we are.