Laurie Klein, Scribe

immerse in God, emerge refreshed

Grace … in media res: (in the middle of things)

by 18 Chiming In

Grace … in media res

“In the Middle of Things”

Between our creaking dock
and the park’s rocky point,
leaching blue
from Fowler Lake’s surface,
the perilous sandbar lurked.

Rowing across it one day,
I spied my future:
strewn across restless sand,
a scatter of strange shells.

Grace incognito

Shells meant PEARLS.

And P.E.A.R.L.S. meant . . . CA$H!

Any kid who loves books
can tell you

• Pearls fall from the sky
when dragons fight, and
• Pearls always match the color
of the host oyster’s lips, and
• Pearls are made of moonlight,
trapped inside dew

The part about salt water?—
completely escaped my notice.

What would I buy first?

Sixty Years later

As a kid obsessed with treasure I’d probably spotted freshwater mussels. My schemes of wealth now seem endearing.

But the wide-open heart, the hope and dreaming … this is still me.

Especially in media res, “in the middle of things.”

It is the hour of pearl, Steinbeck wrote, the interval between day and night when time stops and examines itself.

Isn’t this how we often awaken, half-aware

• the dog wants breakfast
• deadlines loom
• chores clamor
• sellers may reject our bids
• loved ones battle disease
• hopes wane
• relationships fray

Where are the PEARLS?

Pain proves annoyingly democratic:

and almost all shelled mollusks afflicted by broken shells, or parasites, or one measly grain of sand can—incrementally—create a living gem.

… the pearl is the oyster’s autobiography.*

We mortals, too, must process harm and grit and doses of brine, withstand rogue currents and shifting ground—while keeping our (eventual) luster hopefully strung through average days.

Give me room. I’m trying to make pearls here.

No.

I’m trying to save my self.

And I can’t.

Grace is weightless

(So Ann Voskamp writes.)

And wait-less, I’d add.

Grace is a gleam in the soul. It soothes and guards us against each day’s irritations and intrusions.

Grace is a pulling force, attracted to tacit fear and each relational shard we secretly harbor, or overlook, the mediocrity chafing our days and thoughts, our loves, and lives.

Grace lurks.

And it shifts, as needed, to meet our next breath.

Singular as each whorl
embossing our fingertips,
every pearl embodies
opalescence alongside
insult and imperfection.

Grace waits for us at the imminent, ravaged ends of hope.

Any pearl sightings at your place lately?lauriekleinscribe logo

Update: Our daughter Kristin has surgery Dec. 18, and Dreamer has an EMG (to assess health of muscles and motor neurons) on Dec. 21 with a follow-up evaluation Dec. 31. Thanks for keeping us in your thoughts and prayers.

I am also so grateful for your support of this blog. May grace and peace newly delight and envelop you all this Christmas season!

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*Frederico Fellini, Italian film director and screenwriter.

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash
Oyster Photo by Charlotte Coneybeer on Unsplash

Bowled Over: My 3-angel Day

by 20 Chiming In

Bowled Over: My 3-angel Day

Angel #1

The young coed leaps from her car, arms spread wide, calling, “I want this tent!”

News of our Giant Downsizing Giveaway has reached her, secondhand. Now, she caroms amid tables laden with things we’ve used and loved—including Bill’s camera equipment. He has captured decades of travel and family history for us through his lens and unerring eye.

The young woman asks, “You’re really giving all this away?”

I’ll call her The Bright Angel (as in a kind and lovable person). Our first giveaway recipient, she’s unknown to us and becomes increasingly dear as her enthusiasm escalates.

She points to my table of artwork. “You made these? How did you do that? They’re amazing!”

Her delight over more camping gear burgeons into spontaneous twirls of gratitude: “Wow, I really really love this. Thank you!”

Angel #2

Simultaneously, our beloved friend from Seattle unexpectedly drops by. We’ve been on her mind. Knowing nothing about our giveaway, she arrives bearing a gorgeous orchid.

giveaway orchid

“Beauty that asks nothing of you,” she says.

Angel #3

Our Seattle friend and I sit indoors, catching up with each other.

Reports of The Bright Angel’s armloads of treasures reach me via Kristin, our Giveaway Angel daughter, who welcomes newcomers, draws and mounts signs, re-stages depleted displays, and replenishes goodie trays. She keeps our spirits high.

At one point Kristin relays The Bright Angel’s latest question: Do I maybe have a smallish tray—oh, and a shallow box!—for shaking and storing dice?

I rummage through my studio and produce two small vintage cigar boxes.

When I finally step outside, both boxes are gone along with a lot of other stuff The Bright Angel needed. Her taillights wink as she drives away.

I feel like the good fairy in a story, albeit incognito.

The hours effervesce, with friends hugging us and promising good homes for our treasures. All day, we give away pieces of ourselves.

Near sundown, I unplug the coffee urn, bring the leftover treats indoors.

Dreamer and Kristin replay The Bright Angel’s wide-eyed glee. “It’s really free?”

And I glimpse how the good and beautiful God may sometimes feel, watching we needy mortals bowled over, again and again, newly astonished by unexpected largesse.

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When have you been bowled over by one of God’s giveaways?

3 angel day

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Relax into the Impossible

by 13 Chiming In

“Relax” — perhaps not your first title for this image.

Relax: Advice from a GnomeHow long has this homely garden gnome kissed the dirt? Someone seems pretty lax in their landscaping.

Re: Lax.

Lax can mean slipshod. Slapdash.

Lax also denotes loosened muscles and limbs. Deepened ease.

Perhaps it’s a continuum?

Test Case.

A dear friend is throwing a party. She wants my help.

Guests will retell their conversion experience, 3 minutes per person.

An artist assigned to each table will take notes on their stories.

  • ~20 minutes for listening
  • ~25 minutes to create something, in response
  • ~5 minutes to present it … publicly

Large room, long guest list.

Her request—seemingly impossible—suggests … extraordinary possibility.

Can it be done?

Keen attention and presence must marry crunch-time spontaneity.

Seat-of-the-pants is not how I roll.

Relax … how?

The party-room vibrates with expectation.

Pacing, I roll my neck and shoulders. Must lighten up, loosen my mind, let the nerves go lax.

I’d drop right now like a jazz dancer, collapse face-down, if I could, like the garden gnome—preferably under a table—let everyone carry on without me.

Relax. Now.

Gnome comes from an ancient Greek word, meaning “to know.” Despite my fear, I know grace has my back.

I choose a table. Memorable stories unspool.

Afterward, we artists retreat with our notes to another room while the guests eat.

Help me help me help me

25 minutes evaporate.

Showtime.

I cradle my efforts: the distillation of 5 stories rich with surprise and hope, rife with my cross-outs, arrows, and asterisks. My version is slapdash, yet deeply felt.

I teach the crowd the refrain, and we speak it aloud between each section:

“You were born from God’s longing. And here you are.”

They hear it. I hear it. Together, we relax into the impossible.

Relax is a relative term

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GNOME

What is a face plant but a dance,
staged alongside possible ruin,
another garden-variety hero,
toppled, among the shrubs,
clownish, inept. Unarmed.
Face-down is one nosedive
prayer embodies: the sudden
gravity, slapstick’s kissing cousin.
Practice pratfalls. Lean into the spill,
each bruise an inside turn, toward grace.

+++

“Let the beauty we love be what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground.”  —Rumi

 

What helps you relax into the impossible?

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Should you wish to create a similar celebration:
My friend’s O Holy Night Party gathered seasoned dancers, writers, artists, a table maven, and a musician; great food, beautifully presented; stunning stories, each teller newly-luminous in remembrance, which happens when we recount aloud moments that changed everything.
“You were born from God’s longing.” Peter G. van Breeman, God Who Won’t Let Go
“Relax into the impossible.” Susan Cowger
*No gnomes were harmed in the making of this post.

Hinge Points: Relative Movement

by 17 Chiming In

Hinge point: It’s my blog’s 2 1/2 year mark. I’m trying something new. Let me know what you think?

Introducing . . . ONE-MINUTE WONDERS:

  • 1 snapshot
  • 100-some words
  • 1 minute of your time

Hinge: A flexible point of connection that allows relative movement.

Hinges squeal. Our old rattle-scrap screen door heaves and judders.

His sleeve cinched between door and jamb, the kid roars: “Let. Me. Go-o-o-o!”

He’s livid. And bigger than me. He’ll punch through the mesh any second. Then kill me. And then it’ll be me, the girl memorialized in the family album viewed with sighs, and shaken heads. “Always the stubborn one.”

Still, I’m leaning backward now, death-gripping cloth, white-knuckling the knob. Sweaty, panting, we glare at each other.

He’s my brother. We share a genetic axis. We are self-contained yet revolve around each other.

Who will pivot?

“You’re such a—” My scathing comeback erupts into hiccups. He snickers.

Despite anger’s corrosion, its grinding wear-and-tear . . .

Hinge, to pivot, or not to pivot?

. . . laughing, I open the door.

Sooner or later, everything hinges on grace.

Mirth diffuses defiance. How has unexpected humor released you?

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You might also enjoy: Amazing Grace: Cyber Refresh

And for a genius-in-motion, world-class hinge: watch the Burke Brise Soleil, Milwaukee Art Museum (1:00)

Read about rear-pivot hydraulic cylinders and rod-eye hinges here.

 

Table Talk Springboard for Holiday Feast

by 4 Chiming In

Table Talk refers to informal conversations over a meal (or a card game, as a friend reminded me yesterday.) In this week of cornucopias, restaurant groaning boards, and home-cooked feasts, here’s a litany you could use for Grace as you gather, one voice (or several) reading the bullet points, the rest chiming in on the bold font (should you feel so inKleined).

(With thanks to woodworkers and fly fisher-folk everywhere, theologian Leonard Sweet, and author Norman Maclean who also said “All good things—trout as well as eternal salvation—come by grace.”)

 

ALL READ: “Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood, and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some rocks are the timeless raindrops, under the rocks are words and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters…”                           —Norman Maclean

LEADER: Eventually, all things do merge into One, and God’s Table runs through it. The first table was conceived by Grace for those in the Garden, extending invisibly across this earth from the timeless, hovering presence, long before there were clocks, and long after their voices shall cease.

ALL: “All good things—[time] as well as eternal salvation—come by grace.”

+++

LEADER:

  • We remember this day the Periodic Table of the Elements and give thanks for earth’s bounty.
  • We remember the multiplication tables, and the multiplied loaves and fishes.
  • We remember every table of contents in every book that has helped us find our way.

ALL: “All good things—[provision] as well as eternal salvation—come by grace.”

+++

LEADER:

ALL: “All good things—[wisdom] as well as eternal salvation—come by grace.”

+++

LEADER:

“All good things—[hopefulness] as well as eternal salvation—come by grace.”

+++

LEADER:

“All good things—[those actions we understand and those that perplex us] as well as eternal salvation—come by grace.”

+++

LEADER:

“All good things—[reconciliation] as well as eternal salvation—come by grace.”

+++

LEADER:

ALL: Because eventually, all things merge into One, and a table runs through it. From the first meal in the Garden … through this moment we share … until well beyond what we mean by forever, we are haunted by Love …

Amen

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Waiting Grace, Hearts on Ice
Gratitude: Develop, Break Free, Generate Life