hope Archives - Page 2 of 2 - Laurie Klein, Scribe

Breaking In

Breaking in sounds so … criminal.

Unless it’s light breaking in, or insight, or a penetrating sense of hope.

February 1973, public restroom, Hawaii:

Pre-Luau, six friends wash up. Judy sings Ju – bi – late Deo (rejoice in God). We all chime in. Great acoustics, a 15th-century round—we sound like a choir in a soaring cathedral.

Later the luau bandleader says, into the mic, “We heard heavenly music … coming from the ladies’ room.”

(laughter)

We slide down in our seats.

“Would those angels please join us onstage?”

(crowd, rubbernecking, applauds).

“Everyone should hear you,” he adds.

Before an international audience we sing and sing—in Latin. The long-dead language rising, rising.

We finish. A person could hear a lei petal drop.

“We sing. Things become fresh,” Walter Brueggermann writes.

“But then the moment breaks.”

In this half-broken world “a song’s always breaking in,” my friend Barb says.

Listen for it.

And sometimes, be one.

When have you heard the sound of hope breaking in? What happened?

For us there was no birth cry,
the newborn bird is suddenly here,
the egg broken, the nest alive,
and we heard nothing when the world changed.

—Lisel Mueller (excerpt), “What the Dog Perhaps Hears”

Hear “Jubilate Deo” here: 15th century round, or perpetual canon, written by Michael Praetorious.

How Hope Answers

by Laurie Klein 15 Chiming In

Hope you’re ready for these teeth,” I say.

My smiling hygienist lowers the dental lounger. “Tell me about your grandson,” she says.

“Just started kindergarten,” I say. “But after that shooting in Rockford?—his school went into lockdown. Can you imagine? He’s barely 6!”

Her face pales. “Oh, how awful for you.” She lets me talk—all but holds my hand, so intently does she listen.

Then: “I have a kindergartner too,” she says, “and a toddler. My oldest goes to Freeman Middle School.”

I stare. Freeman, Freeman … oh no, isn’t that—

“We chose that school district especially, to keep our kids safe.”

Oh Lord, what freaked me out from a distance is her ongoing reality. Her town.

“I didn’t know,” I whisper.

She gathers her tools, then turns back to me. “It’s been hard. Really hard.”

And I see stories flitting across her face.

[Read more…]

Today’s Election, Each Day’s Path

by Laurie Klein 20 Chiming In

Path, rut, trail . . . which way next?

You may recall my previous post about the Merciless Great Red Masticator (MGRM). We hired its owner to fell half our forest last summer, which was ravaged by bark beetles.

Talk about thrashing and crashing! Insult and chaos. A long-loved landscape is now one I barely recognize.

Like American politics.

Where is the path?

For 25 years, I’ve walked, jogged, skied, and snow-shoed the same narrow path through woods, past the pond, then across the meadow. A rotation of dogs accompanied me. Plus a host of thoughts. Songs. Questions. And always, prayers.

For 25 years I kept faith with those eight-or-so wild acres. My trail hardened to beaten earth, eventually sunk two inches deep. The path shaped itself to my sole. And soul.

The MGRM obliterated my path, left behind land scored with wheel ruts. Barren dirt and broken boughs. Holes I call sprains-in-waiting.

Amid the new ugliness, I lost my bearings. Lost heart. Gave up on my walk.

For similar reasons I quit following debates and political news. I lost hope. Felt helpless. Pictured America circling the drain, waning like past civilizations.

And then the rain

Last week’s rain kept me indoors. A few stirring posts (written by others) reminded me what a redemptive, endlessly inventive God watches over our broken world.

Behind the scenes and amid toxic rhetoric and upheaval, greed, deceit, and ruinous lies, God keeps working . . . in and through people.

Was I going to knuckle under to dismay? Or renew my hope?

Meanwhile

Thanks to rain, a haze of tender green started sprouting out back. I can’t explain it, but the new grass has revealed sections of my former path, as if it’s still there, under the wreckage of all that has fallen, beckoning me through the shambles toward water, leading me toward wide skies and meadow.

Each day now, I align broken branches along sections I recognize. And Uncle Tanner, our dog, helps me tamp down the new stretches.

The land wants to thrive.

The rut that keeps on giving

My old prayer path is (partly) viable. And prayer still moves heaven, and earth—even the Everest of disillusionment. No matter who wins the elections.

Our God can work through anyone. (See Balaam and the ass: Numbers 22.)

We make a difference as we always have: one voice, one person, one act at a time. No matter who’s in the oval office. No matter what crises befall our nation.

My pastor, Eric Peterson, said that as believers in a world both suffused with God’s presence and ravaged by evil we’re called to embody “extreme love that speaks truth to terror.”

The path of faith we’ve signed up for may not be easy to find; it will be meaningful—no matter who runs roughshod over the land.

This is what the LORD says: Stand at the crossroads and look;
ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it,
and you will find rest for your souls.

But you said, ‘We will not walk in it.’ (Jeremiah 6: 16 NIV)

Each day’s election, every day’s choice

It’s not just how I vote this week, but how I hope. And what I elect to do, and believe, each day, for one person or many, one truthful, loving, act at a time.

What path is calling you?

Special Edition

by Laurie Klein 12 Chiming In

Have you read the story of Hannah lately, in 1 Samuel:1-2? She was taunted—for years—by the resident EFFW (Elkanah’s Fertile First Wife).

In ancient Hebraic culture, barrenness earned the community’s scorn.

Hannah laid down her dream of a family, month after month, year after year.

But hope . . .

[Read more…]

Divine Detours

by Laurie Klein 14 Chiming In

Detours? I’ve lost count.

Despite, or maybe because of them, my twenty-year writing apprenticeship has birthed a book! The New Year and new paths beckon.

Following several detours with my publisher—overseen by the Author of all-things-good for my growth—UPS delivers my presentation copy. It’s beautiful.

I open it on the winter solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year. Which seems fitting. Fruition is fleeting. (I hold a souvenir of the path I have walked.)

The extra long night ahead invites thanksgiving and deep rest—before book launch efforts commence (more on this in another post).