243. Time for Silence

I’m trying out some silence times this Lent. I’ve already been doing some morning silence but in a way it’s a busy kind of silence—it’s “walking” a lap labyrinth, it’s coloring a mandala, it’s writing a reflection.

Now comes an evening event—candles lit, a prayer list read, and silence.

—

Sit in the silence

Calm every care

Listen for Spirit

Hovering near

—

Breathe from the deep place

Find treasure there

Call in the healing and

Pray

—

© Copyright 2008 by Ann Freeman Price

242. Temptation Today

In this season of Lent we read scriptures of the temptations of Jesus. And I was surprised a number of years ago when a seven-year-old grandson claimed to know about temptation. The story is in poem form.

—

A Pack of Pokemon Cards

—

the characters of Pokemon

scrambled between the cards

all of same value to me

but each time this seven-year-old

bought them

he spun through them

to see if he got

any good ones

—

finally his mother

set limits:

“three packs a month

that’s it”

—

we were on the brink

of a new month

and he asked if he could

buy a pack

—

I said with grandmother

wisdom “Let’s call

your Mother”

—

he talked fast words

on the phone

and told her how much

how very much

he wanted them

—

she said

“It isn’t a new month yet.”

he said, “I know—

but Mom!”

—

“get them”

she told him

“but don’t open them

until tomorrow when

new month begins”

—

excited he ran

to the store

rifled through the packs

and picked one

we paid

—

and as we walked

through busy mall

he held the precious pack

in front of him

out at eye level

and said,

“Grandma, this is

a religious thing!”

—

My look was

skeptical as I asked

“How is it religious?”

—

he kept the cards

in front of his eyes

“this is about

temptation”

—

“Tell me more”

I said.

—

his look was serious

“You see,” he said

“I want to open them

so much

and it’s tempting

it’s tempting a lot

and I have to be strong

and wait.”

—

and he did

—

© Copyright 2005 Ann Freeman Price

241. Four Letters of Love

On Valentine’s Day the love thing can get a little syrupy and sometimes on other days it’s made to sound so simple—just love. But it’s tough and it’s easy and it’s painful and it’s wonderful. So give it and receive it—love.

—

Love for All

—

Bread for all in a world of so much hunger,

Wine for all in a world where thirst prevails,

Forgiveness and outstretch arms in a world wanting to be held,

Love for all from a God who’s always there.

—

Hope for all in a world of great despairing,

Peace for a ll in a world where conflict thrives,

Salvation and new re-birth in a world wanting a fresh start,

Love for all from a God who’s always there.

—

Joy for all in a world of so much sadness,

Truth for all in a world where lies persist,

Abundance and wondrous grace in a world fearing to receive,

Love for all from a God who’s always there.

—

© Copyright 1980 by Ann Freeman Price

—

Isn’t it a neat idea that even if you didn’t get any Valentines at all today, that you automatically get one every day from God!

239. Pancakes and Plenty

Well, I didn’t exactly have pancakes on this Shrove Tuesday, but I did have plenty  to eat today and I guess that’s all right on the brink of Ash Wednesday. Last year I wrote a psalm in Shadorma form every day during Lent and then just kept going until I put all the Psalms in to shadormas.

This year I’m going to do a “Cards, Conversations, and Connections” thing—forty days of either placing a phone call to someone, sending a card to someone, have lunch with someone, in order to make connections—re-establish them if they’re broken, re-invent them if they are just now blooming, or deepen them if they’re doing fine. Each of these forty days I’ll do something to connect with someone. (Report will be issued soon after Easter.)

238. Tribute to Don Brown

Don Brown was a United Methodist pastor and more—much more. But I first knew him when he was the pastor at New City United Methodist Church in New City, NY. And at the same time, I was in the midst of my feminist rage. I would sit in the worship service and when we came to a hymn that had “brotherhood” or “mankind” in it, I would slam my hymnal shut and sit down. Don always knew who did that. And as I walked out to shake his hand at the end of the service, I would say gruffly “We have to have lunch.” He would say, “Fine—call me and we’ll figure out a day.” I would do that and we’d meet for lunch and I would go through my agenda. And he would listen carefully. He didn’t change those words right away. But it was the time for change, and slowly but surely the words did change. Years later I realized that he pastored me through that tumultuous time.

We also evolved into friends. Some of his kids were friends with some of my kids and that gave Don and I and Gail another connection—the connection of teenagers and parents living through it.

Within a few years I came to his office and talked about what he thought about my entering the ministry—about me going for ordination. And he advised against it. I wondered about that and only the other day I thought: I bet he knew that it would be a hard system for me to function in, and today I think he was right.

In 1999 I started going to the Oceanaire in Ocean City, NJ where Gail had taken over the running of the guest home that had been in her family since her childhood. Year after year, there would be times of finding each other on the front porch and being able to discuss a good book, or the workings of the church, or how our kids were doing now.

And then he joined one of the writing groups I led. The group he attended met once a month at the New City Church and it was there that Don started writing his boyhood memoirs. Each of us would take turns reading what we had written for the group, and all of us were amazed at the detail that Don remembered—names of neighbors, games he played as a child, relentless detail. And then he started bringing to the group his reflection about each of his paintings. I loved it—to be able to go to an art show and see the painting, plus also read something that the artist had to share about that particular painting—what a gift.

He published his memoirs: The Way It Was—A Boyhood Memoir 1934-1948 by Donald H. Brown and after I read it I found a 1951 connection that I had never known. He died the end of January, his funeral was a week ago Saturday, and I’m still not liking it. I am faced again with the loss of someone that I was hoping for more of—more sitting on the Oceanaire porch to talk of anything, more lunches at Applebee’s, more conversation about the paranormal, just more—more friendship.

Thanks Don Brown.

237. Same Story—New Version

Years later I heard a new interpretation: that we all are the judge and the persistent widow is God who continues to ask us to do justice. Here is Version #2 of the song:

—

We are the judges in the story

And we do not fear God or give respect,

But God keeps coming cause she wants justice

And she asks for it over, over again.

—

We are so stubborn, and keep refusing

And God says, “Grant me justice, do it today.”

Perhaps we’ll wear out ‘cause God keeps coming

‘Cause she’s learned to persist and not to lose heart.

—

Oh how she keeps on, she doesn’t give up,

And she never, never, never gives up.

Oh how she keeps on, she doesn’t give up,

And she never, never, never gives up.

—

God keeps on and she never gives up.

God keeps on and she never gives up.

—

© Copyright 2010 Ann Freeman Price

—

Every time I think of the parable this way, first of all I smile as I usually do with the image of God as woman. Then I have to shake my head a little to move God into the persistent widow role, and to move all of us into the role of unjust judge. But it works for me, this second version, it works because we need and do have a persistent God who doesn’t give up on thinking that we can learn to practice justice.

236. New Ways To Think

In Luke 18:1-8, there is the parable of the unjust judge. In 1995 I wrote a song for church school curriculum about the persistent widow who kept coming wanting justice.

—

She Never Gave Up

—

There is a story about a city

Where a judge did not fear God or give respect

And came a woman who wanted justice

And she went to the judge again and again

—

The judge was stubborn, and kept refusing

When she said “Grant me justice, do it today.”

He finally wore out, ‘cause she kept coming,

And she learned to persist and not to lose heart.

—

Oh how she kept on, she didn’t give up,

And she never, oh never, never gave up,

Oh how she kept on, she didn’t give up

And she didn’t, she didn’t ever lose heart.

—

She kept on and she never gave up.

She kept on and she never gave up.

—

© Copyright 1995 by Ann Freeman Price

—

Now the interesting question is whether this parable is about prayer and the need to persist—or whether it is about justice—or whether it could be about both. See tomorrow’s posting for version #2.

235. “Many Roads, One Journey”

The full title of the book is Many Roads, One Journey—Moving Beyond the 12 Steps by Charlotte Davis Kasl. I’ve been reading this book slowly over a number of months. It has sixteen steps (rather than the twelve steps of AA) and they are in fact empowerment steps.

She spends the first half of the book talking about why AA doesn’t work for everyone, and particularly people who have been abused or oppressed. I have to admit that I skipped to her sixteen steps, wrote them down on 3×5 cards, and then went back to the beginning.

But in my slow reading of the book, I’ve been working the sixteen steps. I think they could be used any number of ways—addiction, healing from abuse, but also just plain living. They are good reminders and I use them that way. I’ve made a mandala to match each step and it sits on a picture stand so I pass it throughout the day, letting it remind me of the step for this day.

It’s a powerful book that ends up making me feel more power within myself.

234. Mama and “Minnie Remembers”

Years ago my mother called me on the telephone and read me a poem called “Minnie Remembers.” It was by Donna Swanson and told the story of Minnie, who was old and nobody touched her or called her by her own name. Mother said to me that that was how she was feeling too.

Part of our telephone tradition—Mother and I—was to talk things through, and so I asked her why Minnie couldn’t reach out and touch someone herself—that if she wasn’t getting touched, it also meant that she wasn’t touching anyone either.

Mother laughed and said, “You know, you’re right.” And then she went on, “But the other thing is that no one calls Minnie by her name anymore. She just gets called “Grandma. That’s kind of true for me too—you call me Mom and your kids call me Grandma. What about the name thing?”

I said, “You’ve got a friend, Carol Andrews, what does she call you?” Mother laughed again, “You’ve got me, she calls me Carolyn.” “And what about Beth?” I asked. Mom said, “She calls me Aunt Carolyn.” And “What about your friend at church?” She laughed again and said, “She calls me Carolyn too. I guess I’m not that much like Minnie after all.”

I said, “Mom, it’s a two-way street. It’s good to reach out, and I’ve heard you say that your friends reach out for you too. But, if you still feel lonely, give us a call and we’ll send hugs over the telephone.”

Mom has been gone for quite a while now, and I’m past the age that she was when she died. Maybe the day will come when I feel like Minnie, but not yet.