Remembering the Butterflies

Today, November 25, is the anniversary of the 1960 assasinations of Minerva, Patria and Maria Teresa Mirabal, along with their driver and friend Rufino de la Cruz. Known in the Dominican Republic as the Butterfly Sisters, they were working to end the dictatorship of Rafael Trujillo. Their story is the subject of Julia Alvarez' book, In the Time of the Butterflies. Their home is both a museum and an extension of the national cemetary.

It is a peaceful place, a beautiful garden spot filled with the powerful story of the Mirabal women. If you are lucky enough to visit, you might be even luckier and encounter Dede, the sister who tends the memories and keeps the story alive.



On November 25, 1999, the United Nations established an annual International Day for the Elimination of Violence against Women. The date was chosen to honor the Butterfly Sisters. They worked for release from the tyranny of a dictator. Join in the work for release of tyranny from all abuse against women.

Random Fall Photos

U2 Concert at FedEx Field Sept, 2009






Vietnam Veterans Memorial October 3, 2009





Crucifix
Washington National Cathedral Oct., 2009




Underside of a really cool mushroom, Oct, 2009

Dogwood, Oct, 2009






Wolf Gap Winery, Virginia Nov., 2009


Last of the fall leaves Reston, Nov., 2009

Labyrinth

Walking to the center of a labyrinth as a physical act of centering prayer is a powerful experience. Like sitting quietly and meditating, walking the labyrinth is not without its distractions, especially when walking in a group. It takes some work to stay in a prayerful frame of mind.

We have a canvas labyrinth at St. Anne's. It gets rolled out fairly often for use by the congregation. Because it's portable, we've also carried it to Shrine Mont for use in retreat activities. I've been to a labyrinth walk at the National Cathedral and now, Shrine Mont has its own outdoor labyrinth made of stones.

Most often, my labyrinth walking has been quiet. Starting with a deep breath, I've plunged in. Step by step, cares of the day fall away. Step by step, the pilgrimage proceeds. Step by step, I approach the center.

A year ago I walked the candle-lit labyrinth while a friend came to the end of her fight with lung cancer. I stepped into the center and realized that I had carried my friend with me. While standing in that spot closest to God, I knew that God was waiting for me to hand over my worries. My friend was a faithful Catholic, she knew God's strength and support in her life. Who was I to worry? God held us both, I needed to let go. I walked out of the labyrinth, leaving that burden of worry behind.

Almost exactly a year later I entered the stone labyrinth in the woods. A few of us had found our way there after the Sunday service. The words of the final hymn were in my mind as I walked the leaf-strewn pathway, "I will call upon the Lord... who is worthy to be praised." The sky was clear, birds were chirping, a few bright red leaves clung to a tree. "So shall I be saved from my enemies... I will call upon the Lord." I almost tromped through the labyrinth as I sang in my head, "The Lord liveth... and blessed be the rock... and let the God of my salvation be exalted..." I heard my friend coming up beside me. She said, "I've decided to greet people on my journey." We hugged, knowing we both had the recent funeral of a young teacher in mind.

The labyrinth as shared journey. Sing it together, "The Lord liveth, and blessed be the rock."

Behold! A New Post!

My, oh my. It's been MONTHS since I last opened this blog! (It's also been three years since my first post.) There have been lots of "behold" moments since April. And many of them have been savored.

As I rounded the corner to the school parking lot one morning last week, the pre-dawn colors took my breath away. It was a moment to be shared. I went in and grabbed my friend, knowing she had arrived in the dark. Together we stood in the quiet morning and watched the clouds turn pink. The sky was a muted blue/gray, the trees were tinged with the orange and red promise of the changing season, the air crisp and the presence of the Creator was palpable.

Breathe in, breathe out, prayers of adoration and praise are such a wonderful way to start a day.

Favorite Flowers

Oh, first...
1. Behold! My messy desk at work, symbol of the fact that I have a job.
2. Behold! A great cup of coffee with the office friends.
3. Behold! The warm cat curled up at my knee.

Now, favorite flowers.

I love flowers. I think I've always loved flowers. I remember making tiny bouquets of dandelions and violets to give to people. I remember wondering why anyone would want to kill clover in the yard, it has such a pretty bloom. I remember my grandmother's peonies, gathered in big wash tubs to place in the cemetery on "decoration day." I remember falling in love with the yellow-to-pink transition of the peace rose.

Wildflowers fascinate me... Dutchman's Breeches made sense to me, remembering the clothes worn by the folks in Pella, Iowa during the street washing of the Tulip Time parade. Jack-in-the-Pulpit is another of my favorite wildflowers, especially after touring some of the colonial era churches in this region and seeing their sounding-board covered pulpits!

I also love Bleeding Hearts. It's another old-fashioned flower that reminds me of grandmothers. Right now we have a big plant blooming in our front garden. The light was so pretty on the pink blooms when we came home from Easter dinner that I now have a new desktop picture and a new Facebook profile picture.

Now, next week, I'll probably be in love with lily of the valley. But for today, I really love bleeding heart.

Behold! Day 2

1. Behold! Last night's amazing full moon.
2. Behold! Today's spring rain.
3. Behold! The people grieve after Good Friday and are hopeful because they know the next chapter.

Behold! Day 1

1. Behold! The perfection of this rose!

2. Behold! How tightly this weed clings to the earth.

3. Behold! The church family kneels in prayer on Good Friday.

Behold! A way of seeing God around us.

Ok. I laughed when I read Fran's post at Notes from the North Woods.

She starts out:

At a Lenten Quiet Day this week, our leader, The Rt. Rev. Eugene Sutton, Bishop of the Diocese of Maryland, talked about the word Behold. It's fallen out of common usage. We don't behold much any more. The Gospel writers used the Greek equivalent of it often, when quoting Jesus.

Read the rest here.

All I could think of was people wandering around in robes shouting, "Behold!" But, then I started thinking of the times when I've caught my breath and thought, "Oh, thank you, Lord!" Is that my version of, "Behold!"? [Just how does one punctuate that sentence???]

So, I'm going to try to catch sight of three "Behold!" moments each day. Now, I fail miserably at these projects... you know: journal writing every day, reading the Daily Office every day, going for a walk every day. So, I'll give it a go for a while and see how it works for me.

Stay tuned.

Coming In Last

First, a confession. I am a couch potato. And, I feel somewhat guilty about it.

Last spring I participated in a local training program for women and completed my first timed 5K. I walked the 5K and finished with a 52:27 time (16:53 minute/mile pace). I bought really nice shoes (and socks!), a couple shirts made of wicking fabric and a hat. And I haven't walked much since!

I started feeling guilty when spring showed up on the calendar and the email reminder arrived, inviting me to the local training program. What to do? Why, sign up for a 5K, of course! Just my luck, the school where my daughter works sponsors a run each March as a major fundraiser for the school.

Wearing my good shoes (and socks!), wicking fabric shirt and a fleece jacket because it was a cold morning, I courteously stood aside as the runners crowded the starting line. I looked for other walkers among the participants but figured I'd find them once the runners left. Then I realized that EVERYONE had left running... even the ladies I figured were the other walkers!

"No worries," I thought, "Those women will wear out soon and I'll catch up." I walked through the neighborhoods, keeping those women in sight but never actually catching up to them. The nice bicycle cop struggled to ride slowly beside me. I told her not to worry about me, I'd be turning around soon. She caught up to those women ahead of me.

The course was well marked. Big orange cones were spaced out in the street, arrows indicated the turns, volunteers waited until I passed to pick up the cones. I started to wonder if I should really turn around. I got to the one mile mark... just over 15 minutes! Hey, that's not bad for a walker, right? Keep going, jacket tied around waist.

I waved to the volunteers waiting at the next turn, the crew who was packing up the water station and the bicycle cop who was on the other side of the creek. Keep trudging.

Finally, the two-mile mark! And not much slower than my 1 mile pace. I've lost sight of those ladies who were just ahead of me. I start singing in my head, jogging 10 steps, walking 20, jog 10, walk 20. I can't see anyone else on the course. Oh, wow, isn't that creek pretty? What the heck, I'm last and I have my camera in my pocket...

Finally, there's the road back to the school. I made it! Oh. This hill is really steep! The motorcycle cop has passed me on the final sweep of the course. But the crossing guard is still waiting at the top of this hill. Good thing, I couldn't actually stop and look both ways! My daughters saw me cross the street and started calling, "Come on, Mom!" I could see the finish line! But wait, there's a big arrow on the pavement... I have to circle through the parking lot! Argh.

At last. The final turn. The clock is still ticking. The clock is still under 50 minutes! So, the last person in actually jogs up the lane to the finish line. A personal record. 49:34 (15:58/mile pace) The girls handed me water and a banana. We walked in to the post-race celebration and door prize drawings.

So, what did I learn from this? The challenge to finish was both in my body and in my head. It wasn't fun coming in last. I really appreciated everyone who waited for me. I felt like I had inconvenienced the folks who waited for me, that I was somehow unworthy of being in the course that long. I was surprised to find that the women ahead of me were really just 3 minutes in front of me and 7 years younger. While the important race is really me against me for a personal best, the community sense of company and competition is also important for me.

Yes, I'll get more use out of my shoes (and socks!), wicking fabric shirt and hat. I've signed up for the local training program and I'm going to shoot for a new personal best. And I have a lot more compassion for the last ones across any finish line!

Story of a Prayer Shawl

Several years ago I heard about a meditative practice that involved knitting. For a while I felt left out because I didn’t knit at the time, I “just” crocheted. How stupid was that? Of course a prayer shawl could be crocheted! I bought the book Knitting into the Mystery: A Guide to the Shawl-Knitting Ministry and read about Janet Bristow and Victoria Galo who started the Prayer Shawl movement.

The idea is to create (by knitting, crocheting, quilting, weaving...) a shawl (or scarf or lap-blanket or…) that will contain the intentional prayers and meditations of the creator and be given to someone who will receive the piece, and the blessings it now contains, as a gift of comfort, solace or celebration. The official site explains the concept this way, “Whether they are called Prayer Shawls, Comfort Shawls, Peace Shawls, or Mantles, etc., the shawl maker begins with prayers and blessings for the recipient. The intentions are continued throughout the creation of the shawl. Upon completion, a final blessing is offered before the shawl is sent on its way. Some recipients have continued the kindness by making a shawl and passing it onto someone in need. Thus, the blessing ripples from person-to-person, with both the giver and receiver feeling the unconditional embrace of a sheltering, mothering God!”

My first prayer “shawl” was a fun-fur scarf, made quickly to accompany a friend headed to chemo. It was made in the blues that make me think of the Caribbean and given to my friend after a healing service at church. She did wear it to chemo and it did bring her comfort. Months later, the scarf nestled around the urn containing her ashes. It brought a different comfort to her friends.

For a while, I was part of a group that gathered twice a month to work on our shawls. While I would pray when I crocheted alone, we chatted while we worked together. It was a wonderful fellowship opportunity. We invited our priest to come bless the shawls and we were all blessed by the experience. The group has drifted apart but we’re all still stitching and praying.

I’ve set aside my prayer shawls for a year. I have been busy with baby blankets for family and friends... which may be sort of stealth prayer shawls, now that I think about it. But on Sunday, I found the shawl I had almost completed this time last year. I’d started that shawl with no particular recipient in mind. The prayers it contains are mostly the Lord’s Prayer and St. Julian of Norwich’s prayer: "All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well." It was almost finished when Gena and Amy died last spring. I hadn’t even thought about that shawl in months. There it was, in a pile of clutter I was sorting out Sunday afternoon. I was surprised to find that it actually lacked just the border and decided to finish it off then and there. As I crocheted, I thought of Gena and her battle with cancer, of Amy and her devout service to her church. I wove in the ends, tied the care instructions onto the shawl with a yarn scrap, folded it and tucked it into a bag to carry up to church.

On Monday afternoon I had a visit from my friend T. She asked if I’d heard about a mutual friend’s news… a diagnosis of an aggressive lymphoma. This friend would be entering the hospital on Wednesday for a month of intensive chemo. T and I sat, stunned by the words that hung in the air between us, hugged and staggered back to our afternoon chores.

Monday night I realized that the shawl had a home. I sent T an email, asking her to stop by my desk before she went to her Bible study group Tuesday morning. She made the time to come by, picked up the shawl and said, yes, the study group would pray with the shawl and our priest would take it to J before she entered the hospital.

If you know me, you know that I’m religious but I don’t often talk about how God directs my life. I believe God loves me. I believe that God works through me, though I am always amazed He uses me, a most unworthy Child of God. On Tuesday, I know that God worked through me. As the group prepared to pray with the shawl, J walked in. Priest Jim settled the shawl on her shoulders, placed his hands on her head and the circle prayed J and her new blue shawl off to her bout with chemo.

That shawl was finished, at just the right time. J walked into the room, at just the right time. God will heal us all, at just the right time. Amen.

It's Lent and I Am an Episcopalian

Yesterday, in fine Episcopalian form, I ate pancakes with my church family.

Today, also in fine Episcopalian form, I gathered with my church family to be invited to a Holy Lent, have a cross of palm ash smudged on my forehead and be challenged to remember that I am dust and to dust I shall return. "Or," the priest paraphrased, "Remember you are created, and to creation you shall return." Ponder that for a while.

The Episcopal Church has launched a communications initiative entitled, I Am Episcopalian. It is a series of short videos featuring a variety of people explaining why they are Episcopalian. Go and listen for awhile... see if someone has a reason that resonates with you!

It's Lent. Soon enough it will be Good Friday and Easter. Get ready.

You know you're a yarn addict when...

If I am on schedule in the mornings, I pass a commuter bus on my way to work. The driver is waiting for the right moment to begin his run and there's a spot by the neighborhood pool that is the perfect place to park a big, long bus. The bus has an advertisement on its side. In great big letters the word "FIBER" nestles among little points of light.

Now, most people would know right off that a fiber-optic network is wanting to provide their TV, internet and phone service. But really, didn't anyone, other than me, think of a beautiful, soft, sparkly, cashmere YARN?

Guess I'm spending more time w/ pointy sticks than I realized!

Name Game

I have wondered why people would name their cars. My family has always referred to its cars by make, model or color. We've been through the blue car, the station wagon, the van, the green car, the El Camino. Lately, we've been talking about getting a new car, something built in the current century. We talked about luxury cars, big cars, little cars. We've driven several PT Cruisers as rentals lately, and actually liked them. We thought about the advantage of having a van to drive the grandkids around when they visit. Last week, we settled on a Prius.

After a couple near-misses when a 2008 Prius would show up on the web, we have purchased a brand-new car for the first time in 16 years.

The Prius is a car that demands interaction. With a selection of touch screens, it has so much to say! I have been finding new ways to communicate with the Prius each day; so much so that yesterday I walked out the front door and actually said, "Good morning," to A CAR!

Now I get it. This car needs a name. She'll be a partner in the driving experience. Her paint job is called Driftwood Pearl. So, won't you say hello to the new member of our family: Pearl.

Cute, isn't she?

Neglectful Blogger!

I am not gone. This blog is not forgotten. A few things have happened since Jan. 12 and I just haven't thought them all through enough to write about! In the next few days, look forward to some inauguration thoughts, my 2nd anniversary of grandparenthood, and maybe a soapbox moment or two! See you soon.

Good things to teach kids when they're young...

In no particular order, these lessons made life with children much easier:

1. How to run for the toilet when you're going to vomit.
2. How to fasten your own seatbelt.
3. How to pour your own cereal and milk.
4. How to use the toilet plunger.

Ahhhh, memories.

Knit One!

At last... the stocking is done!

One drawback to being left-handed is that many right-handed people are intimidated at the idea of teaching handcrafts to a lefty. I taught myself to embroider as a teenager but I really wanted to crochet and knit. I finally met someone who took me on as a crochet student and I've been crocheting for more than 30 years now. Somewhere along the line, I came to think that crochet didn't measure up to the fine art of knitting. I no longer believe that crochet is the lesser fiber craft but, I did really want to learn to knit.

My friend Fran was up to the challenge; she showed me the basics and became my knitting cheerleader. It seems that I knit continental style almost the same as a right-hander. What a challenge it was to hold a stick in each hand and somehow use them to manipulate the yarn around those sticks into an interlocking fabric. Yipes. Crocheting all those years must have been a help, especially with keeping an even tension on the yarn. After knitting (garter stitch - because purling wasn't much fun) a REALLY long scarf for Fran to use as a clerical stole in the far north where she is a priest, I put away the knitting needles for a while and went back to my familiar and comfortable crochet hooks. Yet, the challenge of those pointy sticks kept calling... "Cables!"

So, I bought a pattern book for fancy dishcloths and packed my bamboo knitting needles when I went to visit Aunt Amy. My Aunt Amy was a master knitter. She also quilted, crocheted, baked and loved QVC. She gave me a cable hook and showed me how to pick up a dropped stitch. I'll always be grateful for that knitting session... it was my last visit with her.

Again, I put down the needles in favor of a crochet hook to make several baby blankets - many in maroon and orange for little Hokie babies! But there was still that nagging feeling that I was nowhere close to being comfortable with those darned knitting needles. Wouldn't you know, I really wanted to try my hand at socks!

Another friend of mine, Laura, can knit with her eyes closed. She knitted most of a sweater on a bus trip to Orlando when our children were in the band and we were chaperones. I told her I was now a novice knitter with a hankering to make socks and she said, "Come over next Tuesday."

Laura had a great idea... learn to "turn a heel" on a Christmas stocking! She had found a book with several pattern options and told me what to bring for my tutoring session. By the end of the evening, I had 26 stitches cast on to each of 3 double-pointed needles and was armed with a book shaped like a stocking.

Since that September evening I've learned to read a pattern chart, recognize when I've dropped a stitch, figured out how to wrap a stitch, k2tog and ssk! I also found a great website to get some help in the middle of the night. Check this out... Amy has loads of video clips and will patiently answer the same question as many times as you want to hit the replay button!

Thanks to all my knitting mentors, granddaughter Leah will have a stocking for Santa's visit in 2009.