Christian Politics

I've been using an online Lenten devotion this season.  I have been pretty faithful to it, no small feat for me, and I am glad for that.  This week's theme is "Vulnerability", and today's scripture is Luke 4:5-8, about the time when Jesus was in the desert for 40 days before beginning his ministry:

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Then the devil led him up and showed him in an instant all the kingdoms of the world.  And the devil said to him, "To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please.  If you, then, worship me, it will all be yours."  Jesus answered him, "It is written, 'Worship the Lord your God, and worship only him.'"

When I first remember hearing this passage, in adolescence probably, I thought that the devil had shown Jesus all of the kingdoms of the world of his time - what we think of as ancient times.  I did not yet think about or realize that God is not confined by time, and I probably was thinking of the story more of a history lesson than a spiritual one.  

Now I believe that this story is probably saying that Jesus was shown all kingdoms; past, present and future.  To me, this means that Jesus saw what it would be like to rule our world, too, every country, every government.  China.  Somalia.  Denmark.  Great Britain.  Afghanistan.  The United States.

[It's a paradox to me, because I do believe that God in Jesus (or by whatever name we understand God) is sovereign on Earth, Creator of all we know and all that we don't know.  On the other hand, Jesus rejected that sovereignty in this story - at least, as it was presented to him by the devil.  Perhaps this means that although God is ruler of all whether we acknowledge God or not, God lets us choose to acknowledge Jesus - or whatever name we understand - and does not insist on it.  Thank God!]

Another thing that I missed in this story when I was young is the part where the devil says, "I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please."  Interesting, isn't it, that here we hear that the devil actually was given (presumably, by God) authority over every kingdom.  I just kind of skipped over that part every time I read this story.

www.sodahead.com

So this is how my mind wandered to politics today when I read this passage - if Jesus was shown every "kingdom", including the US in that moment of temptation... if Jesus rejected all authority over our nation... if the devil has the glory and authority over every nation, including ours, and is free to give it away to anyone [he?] pleases... then I really don't understand how any Christian, fundamentalist or otherwise, can hope for Jesus to have authority over our nation.  Or any nation.  After all, our book - the Word of God as they/we know it - says that the devil has this authority and Jesus rejects it.

To me, this means that anyone who claims to be working for the dominion of Christ over anyone but themselves either doesn't understand scripture (admittedly, in the way I understand it) or is actually working for the devil.  Which is kind of how I view Christian conservatism in this country.

To me, any Christian person who, by their word or deed does anything to turn another away from Christ is not doing the Lord's work. ("If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were hung around your neck and you were thrown into the sea." Mark 9:42, full context here.) This includes exclusion of any group, campaigns against any legitimate freedom of expression or belief, and any personal offense towards another human while representing Jesus.  And every Christian, by definition, represents Jesus to the rest of the world.  I am certainly guilty of some of these sins, though not by intention. However, to actively pursue the exclusion of a group, or legitimate freedom or belief, to make that exclusion an essential tenet of your belief system, is the devil's work.

it's on Amazon...

Perhaps this is why conservative Christian dogma offends me so.  Their loud, offensive, hurtful, belligerent claims to be the exclusive keepers of Jesus are not just annoying.  It is that when they claim to represent Christ with that point of view, they are doing spiritual violence against all people, including themselves.  It is because when people hear their claims - especially since they are very, very loud - people believe that this view is what all Christians believe.

But here's hope: the politics of the conservative right wing is beginning to change, oh-so-slowly.  Some of their people are actually coming out for equal rights for LGBT people.  It's a start.  Why, just yesterday someone who was once a close friend contacted me and apologized for writing me off as a non-Christian because of my political beliefs and LGBT-positive stance.

I thank God for these changes, and pray for more, so that the spiritual violence ends.

And I remember, when all is said and done, that Love always wins.

All images found on Google; no copyright infringement intended.

transcendence

The Bethany Quartet, at our 20th Anniversary (and only) Recital

I have done some singing in my life.  I have an okay voice.  It has never been strong - and lack of use and middle age has not helped that.  It has rarely been confident - aside from a brief, egotistic period in my high school days, I do not like to sing in public without at least three other people around me.  But I don't have to! 

The "Bay Belles" in the early-mid 80's

I know some extraordinary singers.  I have been blessed to meet, sing, and grow friendships with the owners of some remarkable voices.  Outside of family, I believe that I can trace every significant relationship and event in my life to singing.  I met the father of my children in choir.  I met each of my closest friends singing.  I came back to church in my 20's because of someone I met in choir.  I met my soul mate in choir.

It began in high school, this singing-makes-friends thing that has really been central to my life.  It was there that I was first exposed to the joy that is acapella singing.  It continued in early adulthood, as I joined an acapella group - we sang chamber music in Renaissance garb, and called ourselves "The Schleptet" - which formed out of the local community college. 

a reunion photo of some of the Schleptet (and our kids)

Four of the men in that group were in a barbershop quartet, so three of the women and I formed our own quartet. (This is where I first learned that long talks and sharing our lives together during rehearsal is just as important as singing!)  When the Schleptet sang together, it was sublime.  Rehearsal time was intimate, in somebody's living room, standing in a circle.  We'd quit goofing around and begin to sing, to each other really, watching the beat, eyeing each other for cues and cutoffs. 

Sometimes it was all I could do to just close my eyes and absorb the amazing, transcendent sound of 10 people, each singing a different harmony.  Talk about soaring.

The Bethany Quartet on a road trip in 2000

As those groups grew up and faded away, a new singing era began for me, at church.  We formed a women's quartet - inspiringly named "The Bethany Quartet", ha! - just over 25 years ago.  I also joined the choir, and have participated off and on over the last few decades.  More recently, my quartet and a men's quartet have joined forces.  The "Super Quartet" is the latest incarnation for me of the ability to make transcendent music with only the human voice.  Oh, my goodness, it is heaven to sing with those seven people.

We had a rehearsal just the other night.  Unfortunately, one of us is having voice troubles.  We sat around a table and discussed what to do.  The conversation was laden with love, respect, and humor.  We came away deciding that we would not sing together for a while, to allow that one voice to heal.  This was a sad conclusion to reach, but we know that we will sing together again.  We left the building, stepping out into a balmy, pre-Spring evening. I stopped to listen as we each called out quietly to the others our good nights, reminders of the next time we would meet, that sort of thing.  It all seemed so dear, it made me tear up a bit.

I love these people so much, I said to God.  Thank you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

NPR has a series called "Tiny Desk Concerts".  When I clicked on this one from the Minnesota group Cantus, it captured perfectly for me the essence of the intimacy that singing together brings.  This is not something you will see in a concert hall.  Watch how they look at each other, how they curl around each other, their body language when they are singing, and when they are not.  This is bliss.

lemonade

So. I finally looked at the pictures that have been in my camera for two weeks, ever since the 2011 Q Fambly Campout. (It was a tender, lovely, cohesive and a little-bit strange weekend. But mostly wonderful.)

Not all of the photos turned out well. Like this one:

(click on any image to enlarge)

It's okay, but just kind of... boring. So I played with the editing feature on iPhoto, and ended up with a kind of painterly image that I actually like a lot:

See? like someone painted it with vibrant colors and a splashy style

There are also people shots that didn't turn out well. I'm going to blame the bright light and shadows... fair or not, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

too far away, out of focus, and the faces are unclear

Here are my son A. and my cousin's daughter F. They are, naturally, talking about playing baseball. Or probably whiffle ball. There are roughly 24 years between them, but they love each other and played like cousins - because that is who they are. Editing the photo in a similar fashion to the example above, I got a cartoony, drawn effect that I also like.

here, the above faults are not an issue, because now we what we see is their familiar, fond body language.
Not to mention: they are luminous!

Breath of Heaven

(hearing from Joseph, we now hear from Mary's story)

I have traveled many moonless nights. Cold and weary with a babe inside. And I wonder what I've done. Holy father, you have come and chosen me now to carry your son.

I am waiting in a silent prayer. I am frightened by the load I bear. In a world as cold as stone, must I walk this path alone? Be with me now. Be with me now...

Breath of heaven: hold me together, be forever near me, Breath of heaven! Breath of heaven, lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness. For you are holy, Breath of heaven.

Do you wonder as you watch my face, if a wiser one should have had my place? But I offer all I am for the mercy of your plan. Help me be strong... help me be... help me....

Breath of heaven: hold me together, be forever near me, Breath of heaven! Breath of heaven, lighten my darkness, pour over me your holiness. For you are holy, Breath of heaven.

This song has been a part of my Christmas for many, many years. After singing it this Advent with my little church choir, however, it will never be the same. I will now always hear Ms. Laura Grace singing in slightly anxious, dulcet maiden tones the (well-imagined) words of Mary, and the angelic choir in response. I will remember the tears and the love that were evident in response on that December Sunday morning. I will remember the look of fierce pride and love on Laura's father's face, and the calming reassurance on her mother's.

I will remember the realization that Mary's pleas - hold me together, be near me, lighten my darkness - are supplications that I have made in the past, perhaps we all have, and that my friend Sue, who sang right beside me that morning, now makes on a daily basis. And I remember that those who cry out to God - we are the lucky, the blessed ones. For we believe that there is One who hears our pleas. Breath of Heaven.

Auld Lang Syne

sure, it's a long clip. but classics are totally worth it, right?

Should old acquaintance be forgot,and never brought to mind ?
Should old acquaintance be forgot,and days of old lang syne

For auld lang syne, my dear, for auld lang syne
we'll take a cup of kindness yet, for auld lang syne.

We two have paddled in the stream, from morning sun 'til dine;
But seas between us broad have roar'd since auld lang syne (v.4)

And there’s a hand my trusty friend ! And give us a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll take a right good-will draught, for auld lang syne. (v.5)

So this is the song we sing, in the wee hours of this day. It is foreign, it is tossed off without a thought. We don't even know what it really means. Well... not so fast. According to Wikipedia (the inerrable source quoted above), Sally was right, it really is about old friends: "The song begins by posing a rhetorical question as to whether it is right that old times be forgotten, and is generally interpreted as a call to remember long-standing friendships.

I am as likely as anyone to get mushy around the holidays, especially about old friends. If I were to do a call-out here, the list would be long, not terribly interesting (after you'd read the names you already know) and likely - inadvertently - incomplete.

I simply know that I am inordinately blessed by good and even excellent friendships, and have been for most of my life. I cannot imagine the poverty of being without loved ones. Heck, I got sick the other day, and five people offered to bring me groceries. Well-stocked cupboards aside, that is some wildly generous stuff. What rare, rich and fortunate beings we are, to be so blessed as to live in a community of caring fellow humans! To be connected, one to the other, by love and by friendship. Words hardly do justice, and cannot truly express my joy in you, dear friend. As I grow older and, hopefully, wiser, I pray that I take my friends less for granted and give thanks for the extraordinary human bounty they represent!

Happy 8th day of Christmas to you all!

Mary had a baby

I have had the honor and privilege of singing wonderful music with wonderful people. My first real choral experience was in high school, when the first thing I recall singing on stage was Handel's Messiah. We sang nearly the entire work, the Christmas and Easter portions, and I sang my first (and last) public solos in the recitative Then Shall the Eyes of the Blind be Opened (prophetic, no?) and the alto part of He Shall Feed His Flock. Overlapping my high school experience was Skyline College Choir, under the direction of the extremely talented Dr. Patricia Hennings (a.k.a. "Cap'n Pat").

Those two musical experiences literally formed and colored the rest of my life. Aside from my blood relatives, there is not a single friendship or relationship I have made since that cannot be traced back to those choirs. And that includes my children!

Out of the Skyline choir came the Schleptet. Later given the more acceptable name, "Acapellicans", we were friends who sang well together. No fewer than eight - often ten or twelve - we were never sure how many would be together, hence the "schlep" in our -tet. My singing talent, I think, is based mostly on the ability to surround myself with others who sing well. The raw talent in this group was utterly divine, with many who had natural voices that vocal pros would give their right tonsil to have. This was especially true of Carolyn and Linda, our sopranos.

One night after being out Christmas caroling in the frigid damp, we were feeling particularly - ambitious? high on our collective talent? nostalgic? Something like that. We'd been wanting to record our Christmas music, had not done so, and time was running out. So Bill got out the microphones and recording equipment, and we gave it a go. With the sopranos almost completely out of voice, we could have just one take per song, and we filled up a cassette tape with beautiful music - and priceless memories.

One of my favorite cuts from that evening is "Mary Had a Baby". Despite her protestations and facial contortions, Linda nailed the solo. Of course, all I have is an old cassette tape from 1985. So the version below will have to do. But I tell you true, in all modesty, we sounded better than the youngsters here. We were divine.

the Cradle Song

Be near me Lord Jesus
I ask thee to stay close by me forever,
and love me, I pray.
Bless all the dear children
in thy tender care,
and fit us for heaven to live with thee there.

It's enough to break your heart, isn't it? Those words, that song, that tune... It is achingly tender and oh, so beautiful. Of course, I am in a fairly tender spot right now, but it brought tears to me this morning in worship. Something about being rocked gently and loved tenderly... something about the inclusivity of all the dear children... something about living our lives in a way that is fitting for the One who loves us so dearly... All that sentiment in just three or four breaths? Impossibly sweet.

Yesterday was Christmas Day. (Today, of course, is the second day of Christmas, and we still have ten more to go!) All the dear children were under one roof for my family yesterday: my parents, their five children, all seven grandchildren and the single great-grandchild. With spouses and friends, there were twenty-one of us. We had a rollicking good time, yes we did. We ate well, laughed and kidded each other, caught up on each other's news. We tried a white elephant gift exchange for the first time, and that was just too fun. I looked over at one point (I think it may have been when nephew KMQ opened a gift that consisted of 2 packs of staples and a chipped dental mold of his father's teeth) and Dad was wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. Overjoyed was the sentiment of the evening!

There was the joy of simply being together, of course. (I am not the only one of my family who subconsciously counts heads - and if someone is missing, the joy is diminished ever-so-slightly.) But there was more to it than that. We all know that it could be the last time for us all to be together for Christmas, which adds both a sting and a richness to the experience. The way that we were able to achieve it is bittersweet as well. For the first time in my recollection, Dad put out an edict: his only gift was to be that we would all be together. It goes without saying that this is what he always wants of us, for any holiday. But it has never been decreed... until this year.

Which brings us to the logistics of getting everyone there. This is not a difficult request for most of us. However, my middle brother DQ, who lives the farthest from us, has a very hard time traveling these days. He is too ill to get himself to us, and often too ill to travel at all. Because of this, he has missed a wedding, and most birthdays and holidays in the past few years. Knowing this, my son took it upon himself to get my brother to Christmas. A. called DQ and arranged ahead of time (though he was not going to take no for an answer!) He left right after breakfast and drove the 90 miles to pick up DQ, brought him to us... and when the festivities were winding down, did the whole thing again in reverse. Spending about 8 hours on the road. Mostly in a driving rainstorm. The night before he had an early flight out to Anchorage.

So this is the other part of what breaks my heart with tender joy. That my dear son has grown to be a man with such a generous heart. That my feeble brother was willing to risk his pride in letting him do so, as well as in revealing to us how feeble he has become. That my father risked his own pride by asking us all to give him his heart's desire. And that we all managed to gather in joy and love. We acknowledged what is before us but did not allow it to diminish us in any way ~ and in fact, our collective circumstance has enriched us beyond imagination.

Thanks be to God for these tender blessings!

the Summer of twenty-ten (part VII) - the antedote

The Game.

Poets have said it better than I... it is eternal. It is simplicity itself. It is life. It is the best in us, it is the worst in us. It is green grass, blue skies - it is mud and rain.
It is pageantry and the star-spangled banner. It is a millionaire's game. It is a child's game.
It is not, any more, the national pastime. It is not a designated hitter. It is not Dodger blue, and it is not leaving in the top of the seventh. It is not booing your own. It is not the most expensive seat. It is not the same as having a picnic with a show going on in front of you.
For me, it is the romance: Fathers and sons (mothers, daughters, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandfathers, grandmothers) enjoying the game, telling stories, having a catch. It is seeing your kid put a ball in the pocket of his glove, wrap it with a rubber band and stick it under his mattress. It is sportsmanship (and sportswomanship).

It is best friends from kindergarten, all grown up, brought together again by the baseball gods to stand for the anthem.

It is pulling up to a farmstand and finding a cart of balls. It is watching the team win, turning off the television, and passing gently away into that good night. (Good night, Grandad. ♥)

It is Mike Ivey hitting in the bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, on a Friday night against the Dodgers at the 'Stick. It is a frozen chocolate malt blowing off your wooden spoon in swirling winds. It is the record that breaks. It's all that history. It is brothers sharing the outfield. It is old players coaching newer ones. It is the legends.

Mays

Cepeda

McCovey

Marichal

It's the stories: the ones that will break your heart, and those that cause your spirit to soar.

It really is the crack of the bat and the roar of the crowd. It is cheering for the home team, 40,000 orange rally rags waving in unison. It is the remembering of glory and heartbreak and falling in love with the team. It is the chess game strategy. It is the tragedy of the loss. Yes, it is even a bad call at the plate.

photo courtesy of Google images

It is clever, charming, beloved broadcasters.

It is wearing orange on Fridays. It is hating the Dodgers. It is not caring much about the Series unless Your Team is in it. It is crying for joy when Your Team makes it to the Series.
It is not life or death. It is not more important than loved ones lost, or sick, or hurt. But it is a balm against those things. It is a sweet distraction. It is a reprise from the pain. And sometimes it can even be the antidote for the grief, easing it enough to snap the stress and hurt and anger and make all of those things less severe, helping you to go on.

the Summer of twenty-ten (part II)

the only one missing is brother DQ - too ill to drive down from Davis that day

The season began innocently enough. We had a very, very cool spring, with only 3-4 warm (over 65º) days in the course of months; and everyone was looking forward to longer, warmer days - even me. This has been the Year of Milestone Birthdays in the Q family: my brother PQ and sister in-law CEQ turned 60. Brother CQ turned 50, and his son KMQ turned 18. Niece GB turned 21. And Mom turned 80 on Memorial Day. So the next weekend we had a party at my sister's house.

just part of the great room. what lines the wall to the left, not in this shot,
and the wall behind the photographer, are floor-to-ceiling windows. spectacular!

NJQB and my brother in-law GB have the house where the parties should be. It is on the coast, on the top of a mountain, and (before the trees grew up so tall) overlooking the ocean. It is a humble home, built into the crook of the mountain, but with a wonderful kitchen and a great room that fits all of us. All 20 (or more) of us!

despite my sister's protests, there is a LOT of room in her tiny kitchen for many hands!


a good family philosophy has served them well - for over 30 years

We usually pot luck these things, and I was asked, as usual, if I'd like to make the cake. Of course! With so many people, though, and for such an auspicious occasion, a simple cake would not do. And, being my older sister, NJQB had to be certain to tell me what to do. ;o) "Make a sheet cake", she said. "Do you have a sheet cake pan? Borrow mine", she insisted. I told her I could handle it. Her response: "be sure there's enough cake!" It was Mom's 80th birthday, of course it had to be special, and I had an idea in the back of my head.

so innocent, so trusting... and, by the way, on the inside? it was lemon cake,
with a layer of lemon curd, and frosted with an unbelievable amount of cream cheese frosting

Could I pull it off? Yes. (There are battle stories, but that is perhaps for another time.) No one knew... the cake appeared to be an elegant (but boring) white-frosted cake, decorated with (real) gold flakes. When asked what flavor it was, I answered truthfully: lemon. Although as the baker of the cakes, I am usually the person who also carves them up, I asked that Mom cut her own cake this time. "Just the first slice", I said. Oh, no...she was having none of it. I insisted, and persisted. The surprise was worth it!

PQ and NJQB got creative, cutting it up. I'm glad - it looks so pretty like this!

an extra, gratuitous photo.
my folks are so darned cute together!

Next up: not so fast, my dear.

mischief

Scene:

The Q family gathers at a house in suburban California. They have just attended a beautiful service to memorialize their beloved wife, mother, aunt and grandma, and now are relaxing and reminiscing together. Most have changed into casual clothing and many are gathered around the pool in the backyard. The girl cousins are sitting at the side of the pool, feet dangling in the water, soaking up the warm sun. Suddenly, the women shriek. Someone has turned the sprinklers on, just behind them. All eyes turn to the boy cousins, CQ and Cousin D, who give each other high-fives while they laugh at their sisters and cousins.

Scene:
A few weeks later. It's Thursday evening, the first night of the Q family campout. There are tents and RV's encircling a grassy area in the middle of a redwood forest. One of the youngest cousins, CQ arrives with his two teen sons and begins to set up their tent. Once the tent is up, the air mattresses are inflated. This takes a long, long time. A small crowd gathers at the door to the tent. CQ's bed, in the center of a very large tent, is filling up the space. It grows and grows - it is the size of a queen bed and box spring, three times the size of the boy's air mattresses. Once all is in place, the bed is taller than the tent window and is visible from across the lawn. The family disperses to fix their dinners.

Scene:
The family is gathered around the campfire in the center of the lawn. Laughing, talking, teasing & story-telling ensues. Cousin R looks up and says, "CQ, what happened to your bed?" We all follow his gaze - the bed is no longer visible through the window. In fact, upon further inspection, it is utterly flat. Giggling commences from the family while cursing emanates from CQ. He leaves to find his air pump and start over again. Peace settles over the camp.

Scene:
Friday morning, and the family either bounces or drags from their beds. (We all have different morning temperaments.) Word travels around that young JC was the one who pulled the plug on the mattress. His mom, Cousin C, has a mischievous grin on her face. She is cooking up a revengeful scheme in payment for the sprinkler incident after her mother's memorial, and she is not done yet!

Scene:
Friday night, and the family is again gathered 'round the fire. Cousin C whispers to all the girl cousins that she has a plan for CQ's bed tonight. An hour or so later, the whispers go 'round again: the deed has been done. CQ's mattress is now deflated and hidden in the women's restroom. He discovers this development around bedtime. He retaliates by lifting up every seat in the girl's loo. (He was caught red-handed, but this reporter did not have the heart to tell him the truth: that women just think the restroom has been cleaned when we see the seat up.) Once the mattress is dragged out of the loo, it must be inflated. The family, knowing how long that will take, retires to their respective sleeping bags.

Scene:
Saturday morning, and the early risers have had their breakfast, but most are still snoozing. Yours truly rises and makes her way to the loo. On the return trip, Cousin RH (the designated photographer of the group) summons her over to a camper. Wanna see something? he says, and holds out his camera. The photo within is truly worth 1,000 words: CQ, asleep on his prized air mattress, on the floor of the men's room.

The Rest of the Story:
After he found his bed in the wee hours of Saturday morning, CQ went to his truck for his air pump. The car was locked. He located his key chain - which was missing only one key, the one for the truck. Not to be outdone, CQ had a spare pump! It had to be plugged in, so he dragged the mattress into the men's room and pumped up the mattress. Success! That is, until he realized that the mattress would not fit through the door. Exhausted (and perhaps a little tipsy), he went back to his tent, retrieved his sleeping bag, and fell into blissful sleep next to the showers. Sunup Saturday morning, Cousin RH went to take his shower, and found CQ, sound asleep. Of course he grabbed his camera. What else could he do with his time? (He couldn't shower...)

We love a good laugh!
from left to right: sister NQB, BIL GB, Cousin R, son Aa, CQ and Yours Truly
photo courtesy of young Cousin CF

heirlooms

campfires are not mythical, but they are magical.
(* photos taken by Cammy Fumar)

We have gathered every year since 1981. Before that, we were all together for most of the major holidays: Easter, Mothers Day, Thanksgiving and Christmas. But the family just got too large. There were spouses and in-laws to consider, then babies, and it was just too hard to get together every time a holiday rolled around. But we missed each other, dearly. We decided to chuck it all, and to gather together for just one weekend each year: a family campout.

shadows... taken from the inside of my tent

We get along. Brother & sisters, their children and their children's children ~ we love each other and value our time together. People I know say that this is unusual. Perhaps they think that we belong to the Great American Mythical Family. They may be right. Not that we don't have our troubles ~ every family does. But we also have something very, very special, and the Q Family Campout is where it all comes together.

The place and date varies. It's still tough coordinating schedules, not everyone makes it, but somehow we manage. We gather on a Thursday, and depart on Sunday. On Saturday night we have a big ol' potluck dinner, ("something to barbeque and something to share") and even those who are non-campers but are close enough to drive come and join us. Uncle Wayne says the blessing, and we all cry. It's tradition!

part of the great circle of prayer in 2009
not all of us are people of faith, but on this occasion, we bow our heads together.

We began a new tradition a few years back, when Grandma's centennial came around. I guess we're calling it "the candle ceremony", and that's as good a name as any. One hundred (or so) candles are placed on a table. In the center, two pillars in a glass hurricane represent Grandma and Grampa. Surrounding them are candles representing their four children, a son and three daughters, and their spouses. Next, the 16 grandchildren, their spouses, children, and so on.

*2010 - the original four families

The candles are lit in the order of birth, (those who are present light their own candle,) and with each candle the beloved's name and birthdate are spoken. Though we begin in cool darkness, we finish in warmth and light. It is a beautiful thing and never fails to move me.

2009

We miss those who cannot be with us, and rejoice in those who are present. We hug each other, sometimes laugh and often cry. It is a sacred time.

*2010

*2010

Aunt Alice

taken at a family campout in the 1989. see? her hands are full, working on a project!
(photo by my Dad)

This is my Aunt Alice. Dad's youngest sister, Mom to three daughters and a son, grandmother of six. Uncle Wayne's bride of 56 years.

Uncle Wayne and Aunt Alice on the beach, celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary
(photo by Russ Hyde)

These two are so in love. They always dressed alike. They retired on the same day, so as not to waste a minute of their precious time together. They cooked, fished, worked and played as a team, inseparable.

Give Alice any challenge, and she would accomplish it. Incredibly creative, her hands were rarely idle. She could always be counted upon to come up with a wonderful craft project or a delicious recipe. She always had an opinion, and she loved to laugh. She was a Presence.

Alice in the center, with Aunt Ele on the left and Grandma on the right, some time in the 60's.
(the Coors and the Salems are Alice's)
(photo by Dad)

That is why I miss her so. Even though in recent decades we only saw each other once a year, those few days were always rich with Aunt Alice's presence. Preparing food for our family's annual reunion this week, I found myself thinking, "hmm... Alice would like this..." and then I'd stop short, and remember that she would not be with us this year, for the first time ever.

She was a great lady, and I will always love her and miss her.