Laurie Klein, Scribe

immerse in God, emerge refreshed

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.

lauriekleinscribe logo

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

3 angel day

You may also like this post.  

 

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?

lauriekleinscribe logo

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?

lauriekleinscribe logo

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

lauriekleinscribe logo

You might also enjoy … Amazing Grace: Cyber-refresh
Waiting Grace, Hearts on Ice
Gratitude: Develop, Break Free, Generate Life

 

 

Waiting Grace, Hearts on Ice

by 50 Chiming In

Spokane glitters, a city between storms. A City on Ice — as I am, waiting alone for the nurse’s update. Just down the hall, contrast dye seeps through my husband’s veins.

Shrugging off layers — jacket, scarf, vest — I pace; then feeling chilled, curl into the molded plastic chair, knees up, hugging myself.

Shrugging and hugging.

I’m trying, dying to sense God’s enveloping presence.

But waiting is hard

Ancient Celts created “encircling prayers” known as loricas (lo – RYE’ – kahs). They engraved them on Irish shields and breastplates before soldiers went into battle.

Considering Dreamer’s angiogram-in-progress, I wish I’d taken my Sharpie to his chest, made my wishes permanently known.

Christ be with me, Christ within me . . . This 8th-century lorica is attributed to St. Patrick. A sinking feeling within suggests that today I don’t quite believe it.

Only twenty minutes have passed. Nearly 44 years ago—roughly 26,426,400 minutes—Dreamer and I exchanged rings, two restless, love-struck idealists.

Dear God, let there be more years ahead.

Don’t we all wish this for those we love? Have we ever tallied the minutes of grace that have shielded and guided us?

Christ behind us, Christ before us . . . Changing the pronoun from “me” to “us” helps. A little. But returning jitters propel me upright. We wait — as well as walk — by faith, not by feelings, I tell myself. And we are never abandoned, no matter what.

Christ beside us, Christ to win us,
Christ to comfort and restore us.

I picture the ancient words pulsing within and around me, encompassing Dreamer, the nurses and cardiologist.

waiting, encircled

Christ beneath us, Christ above us . . .

Outside, light transforms high-rise windows to mirrors. Sunshine’s been scarce. Oh, for the snug comfort of my mother’s embrace.

“Coffee?” the kindly prep nurse asks. “How about toast?”

I smile, shake my head, as if stillness might somehow appease Fate. Unlucky genes. Lifestyle choices.

Christ in quiet . . .

waiting grace

Silence cushions me the way a box lined in red-purple velvet cradles a ring. I feel held.

There’s a knock at the door; test results in hand, Dr. P. enters.

“He’s resting now, slowly coming around. I didn’t do any stents today.”

I start to rise, the grin shooting up from my insoles, through my chest. Even the roots of my hair feel springy.

“Unfortunately,” he adds gently (Christ in danger . . .), “stents won’t help your husband. He has multiple blockages.”

Somehow, I keep breathing. Someone, somewhere, must be praying, lifting us before God even as I sink back into the cold, hard chair. Christ in hearts of all that love us . . .

Dreamer needs five (5!) bypasses.

Questions crowd my mind, my throat.

Dr. P. is calm, kindly, waiting for me to find my words. “He’s healthy otherwise, and still young,” the doctor concludes. “He’ll come through fine.”

Christ in voice of friend and stranger.

I wrote this post a few days ago. Today, having met the surgeon, we’re still on ice, waiting now for open-heart surgery: February 28th, 7:15 a.m.

And we’re shrugging off fear whenever we can, hugging each other often.

Friends, we’re all facing battles within ourselves, or on behalf of those we love. Could we pray Saint Patrick’s Breastplate lorica together, right now, in solidarity? I’ve paired the words with simple hand movements. Click the link below and let’s lift our prayers together . . .

https://youtu.be/ZvCNHhquxBc

“The Lord your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, he will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.”  Zephaniah 3:17

Oh, and about Dreamer? I’ll keep you “posted.”

Follow our journey here:

Site Link: www.caringbridge.org/visit/openheart2
Site Name: openheart2