I'll Be Seeing You . . .

"I’ll Be Seeing You"–

Reincarnation. Is there such a thing?

Who knows for sure. All I know is I am here, now. If I lived before, I don’t know. Will I return as someone else? Will I know if I do? Unanswered questions common to the human mind, I reckon.

All I know about is living now the best way I know how. Whatever else there is, whatever else there may be . . . will be.

BUT . . .

There it is again. That song. On Easy Listening.

They play it often, but that’s okay with me because it is one of my favorites. That and White Cliffs of Dover. So many others, too, from the WWII era but these are my BFF (Best Favorites Forever).

We didn’t have a car for much of my early childhood. Mom and I would ride the bus to Woodward (in Detroit, Michigan) and take a streetcar down to the RKO Theater to meet my dad on a Friday night, eat sandwiches and hot fudge sundaes at Sanders next to the theater, and then watch TWO movies with cartoons and News in-between.

Then we would take the streetcar and bus back home. Usually a couple of times a month. Beautiful memories.

But the feelings in my spirit/soul are so strong, so deep – when I hear this music. My heart is squeezed so tight, and hurts so good, it pushes the water out my eyes. Every time. No matter where. No matter when.

Almost like I was there . . . once . . . and I am remembering my soldier love.

Normal childhood remembrances of movies and music of the times?

Maybe, maybe not . . .

What Happened to the Joy? (Originally written May 2009)

The woman in front of me is swaying; her body and hands raised high waving back and forth like they do at Sports events. Many in the audience are doing the same, many are not. I glance to my left again, as I always do, watching the deaf interpreter. This must be where the expression "poetry in motion" came from. Watching them is one of my favorite things in churches like these. 
The worship service continues. The words are displayed on big screens at the front of the auditorium. Praise songs, you may know, are mostly scripture set to music. I am unfamiliar with the melodies and stand or sit quietly while some around me lose themselves in joyful spiritual abandonment. But I am moved by the music and the atmosphere.

I passed through this joyful abandonment some years ago. Does that sound strange?

It isn’t something I planned. It just happened. Looking back, I realize the time in my life when I experienced this "joyful spiritual abandonment" the most, was at one of the worst times emotionally and financially of my life. As in the first few months after my husband of 22 years moved back to Michigan and three of my four children and I stayed where we were. How ironic.

Well, we didn’t exactly "stay where we were". We lost the house we had been purchasing and me and the kids (and their buddies) moved us into a rental house in the country and then six months later, the owners decided to fix the house for their mom and we moved again; into an apartment across from Franklin High School.

Not exactly fun times. But I wrote about that in my book, "Sarah's Story" so I won’t dwell on those times now.

For several years my children and I attended The Lord’s Chapel in Nashville. That’s where I learned about the joy. I came from a conservative Christian church and experiencing the Chapel’s version of worship was like a floodgate of emotion opened up and sucked me in. I loved it.

A few years later, when I met Sam (ficticious name), who attended the Unitarian Church in Nashville, another floodgate opened. Not of joyful worship and praise, but of intellect and tolerance. Whereas many Nashville musicians attended The Lord’s Chapel, this church had an abundance of scholars, Vanderbilt professors, social workers, etc.

The thing I loved about the Chapel was the joyful worship. What I loved about the Unitarians was the acceptance and tolerance.

Intolerance, or judgment, by "the church" is largely why I am where I am today spiritually. Theologically, I pretty much agree with what I think of as mainstream Evangelicals, if there is such a thing.

But I’m a firm believer in separation of church and state, for one thing. So that’s one difference. Then I am Pro-Choice. I don’t personally believe abortion is a good choice but because my beliefs are so precious to me, I must assume others feel the same. I don’t believe it is my right to judge.

* * * * *

Unitarians are known for their tolerance and respect for everyone’s personal beliefs. So they tell this joke on themselves: is it intolerant to be intolerant of intolerance?

Based on my perspective and the separation I feel from "the conservative church", I could ask myself a similar question: aren’t you judging ‘the church’ for being judgmental?

  

* * * * *

I was a child in the Forties which means I grew up in an intense time of patriotism and love of country. The images from movies and newsreels plus the fact that the entire country was engulfed in participating at the citizen/job level made lasting impressions in my psyche. These feelings and emotions are embedded in my soul forever.

I know my childhood perspective was not necessarily valid. By that I am just acknowledging that children’s perspectives of things are not always the way things really are. But they are what they are. Child or adult, your perception of reality IS your reality.

So what I’m trying to say is, I love my country. Utterly. But now, I love it – utterly – from an adult perspective, not that of a child. And I know my country is not perfect.

It seems to me there are two types of people these days. I think the politicians do their best to keep it so. Patriotic Americans who love this country and think it can do no wrong and get upset or offended if anyone suggests otherwise. But there is another group of Patriotic Americans who love this country – just as much – but we believe it is important to recognize the imperfections and try to correct them. I am in the latter group. And make no apologies for it.

So that is another wedge between me and ultra-conservative Christianity.

I don’t watch much TV but enjoy programs like The History Channel, Discovery, HGTV, and public television. Especially I like programs and documentaries about World War II.

Recently NPT showed a movie, probably a repeat but I just saw it, about the Japanese fighter pilots, the Kamakazis.. A few years ago I saw Clint Eastwood’s movie, "Letters from Iwo Jima".

Whether it’s a movie, a documentary, or the nightly News about the current war, I react the same. My heart is racked with pain for ALL the boys of ALL the mothers. For ALL the citizens; men, women, and children of ALL the countries, who lose their lives or are maimed in some way by this awful thing called W-A-R.

I have gone beyond patriotism for my country. I have become a mother of the world. And then I watch a Discovery program about Space and I am filled with awe and humility. And I believe that I have become a child of the Universe. Knowing that "what I know" is about as much as a grain of sand compared to what there is to know.

Somewhere along the way of life I passed from the "joyful spiritual abandonment" stage to "how can God bear the pain of what His children are doing to each other" stage and I sorrow for the world.

I lost the joy.

God Is Good . . . So Very, Very Good!

I needed my lawn leveled and grass seed respread where the gas company left a hump in my lawn last January after installing gas lines from the street to my house. (Sons John and Tom, Angels in Disguise, hooked up the line from the house to the fireplace). I contacted a landscaper and the cost was to be $300 -- fair, I'm sure, but a lot of money for me so he told me I could pay half at the time of the work and half the next month. How good of him. So I agreed.

Three days before he was scheduled to do the work, I got a check in the mail for $294.00 -- a refund for my overpayment in my Escrow account!

 A few months ago, my son John "loaned" me a John Deere riding lawn mower -- I love it, it is fun! But constant flat tires and dull blades that make ridges in my lawn were frustrating. Sons cannot constantly be coming here to fix my stuff -- they have their own stuff, and then some, to fix. So my prayer has been, please, God, just let me be able to pay for and take care of my own stuff.

Yesterday, son-in-law, Randy, picked up a used 4-drawer filing cabinet for me that I had found on Craig's List and told me, as he was driving around Nashville, he "just happened" to notice a truck advertising "Mobile Lawn Mower Repair" and wrote down the number. Voila! I called the number, the guy came out and sharpened my blades and removed my flat tire, which I then took to local auto repair shop and they fixed for TEN DOLLARS! Then, the guy came back and put the tire back on the lawn mower!

Call me if you want his number. Call God if you want His Help! "HE" coordinates beautifully . . .

Thank you, God, for caring about me and my problems! As always.

Your Grateful, Praiseful Child,

IMI (Irving Materials, Inc.) MEMORIES . . .

IMI MEMORIES . . .  


When I lived in my Donelson condo (2 miles from where I worked at Irving Materials, Inc). I had a deck off my LR with steps down to a second, lower deck surrounded by a round garden with a tree in the middle. The previous owner had converted most of the yard, front, side, and back, into gardens so mowing was easy. Keeping up with all the gardening not so much.

One day I came down the steps into the yard to smell the flowers and there in one side garden came this cat-sized furry black and white creature with a long high tail. "Oh, my!" I exclaimed . . . as he scurried back into the neighbor’s yard from whence he came.

For a time I had a box turtle. I started leaving veggies out for him which disappeared regularly for a couple of weeks. I think he lived under the lower deck. Then he disappeared. I think the neighbor’s dog got him.

One day, after working in the yard, I came inside, went into my half bath, stripped off my garden clothes, and dropped them into the washer located across the hall from the half bath. Went upstairs to my master bath, took a shower, and came back downstairs. I went back into the half bath and lifted the toilet seat (why???) and there sat a little green frog. I screamed. He jumped.

Recovering, I closed the door, went to the kitchen and got a glass jar, returned to the bathroom, got him into the jar, and released him onto the tree in the garden surrounding the lower deck. The next day I told my little tale at work.

My birthday was about a week later. I came to work that morning and my office door was closed. We never close our office doors.

I opened the door to discover my office "friends" had decorated my entire office.  Green and white balloons were hanging all over from the ceiling. And frogs – all sizes and shapes – stuffed and ceramic – were sitting all over my desk and computer and table!
 

Taking my Frogs and LEAVING!

"The Frog Lady," as I was now called, retired from IMI in September of 2007. But that was after my birthday "surprise" in March of that same year. I do believe the Zoo inmates outdid themselves this time.

I opened my closed office door that March 17^th, to discovered this:

How many rolls of tin foil does it take to cover an entire office, anyway??? 

And that's the way it was at Dear Ol'  I--M--I. 

Another "What If" (Originally Written 8/31/2012)

Okay, so I’m sitting here on the porch with Rocky and my morning coffee thinking what a beautiful day and what I want to accomplish in the yard.

It looks and feels like rain – maybe. Yeay.

As always, I think how blessed I am to have what I have and do what I do. I begin thanking God and naming my blessings.

This time I begin by reflecting on my greatest blessing of all – the fact that God sent His son, Jesus, to earth to live as a man, think as a man, suffer as a man, and then He climbed up on that cross and died for me and my sins.

The living as a man part is the part that always gets me. It is so hard to imagine that He was, in fact, a human being, just like me. And did – or didn’t do – the same things as me.

It’s not that I doubt it – it’s just so hard to comprehend. And then, as I have often done, I find myself thinking –

Did He accomplish all this BECAUSE He was God’s son – or did He BECOME God’s son because of all the people who have lived and died He was/is the only one who did (or didn’t) do all these things?

My conservative Christian children and friends are likely gasping out loud right about now. Sorry about that. Chill. God doesn’t mind my questions, why should you? No matter how wacky or how old I get..

Actually, He and I have discussed this many times. Well, in this case, it’s just me thinking “what if” but He has heard this what if from me many times in my life. Almost as wacky as my “what if we’re merely the equivalent of a flea on a dog” what if. He’s very familiar with the odd or unusual “what ifs”of this particular wacky child of his. And never once has He reprimanded me for my wonderings, my “what ifs”.

Some things He eventually clarifies for me; other things, like this what if, remain unanswered. Likely it will remain so until I meet up with Him in person. Well, I mean, spirit. That’s okay, too. It is, after all, just a “what if”. Not something I plan my life around.

The reason I even think about this – not often, but sometimes -- is because, for me, it is even more amazing to contemplate the latter.

When the Broadway Opera/Musical, “Jesus Christ, Superstar,” came out back in the 60s, it offended many Christians. I thought it was the most amazing and uplifting spiritual experience of my life thus far.

It had always been easy for me to understand/accept the “divine” nature of God and His Son.

Growing up in a conservative Christian home praying before meals, attending church three times a week, I just never doubted God was God and Jesus was His son.

Seeing a play and listening to music that enabled me to see Jesus as a real live person who lived and and loved and experienced joy and pain – just like me – that took my understanding and love and awe to another level.

To think God’s son willingly came here to live and love and suffer as a man, a human being, for my sake fills me with gratitude and praise and awe that words fail to express...

To entertain the thought, the possibiity, the “what if” of him becoming God’s Son BECAUSE he . . .

“. . . was tempted and sinned not” ---

There simply are no words to express the humility and gratitude and awe such a “what if” generates in my heart and soul.

Heretically yours,
Sarah.

The Big and Small of It

"I don’t remember your hand being so small," he commented as he reached for my arm and engulfed his hand in mine.

"It’s the same size it’s always been," I replied.

We were walking down the church aisle. Jerry had moved back to Michigan two years previous returning to his job at Burroughs Corporation and now living in a rented house in Royal Oak, Michigan. Son, Tom, graduated from high school, had returned with him.

And here we were:

Time: 5:00 p.m., October 19, 1984, rehearsal of son John’s wedding.
Place: Franklin, Tennessee

It is now twenty-nine years since that event, seven years longer than our marriage of twenty-two years and five years since his passing in 2008.

His comment that evening – and any time since that the memory surfaces – wrenches my heart as I think of the significance of his comment and the thought and emotion that always surface in my own heart and mind.

Yes . . . my small hand in yours, Jer. I was small; you were big.  And strong. At least on the outside. On the inside, not so much. But I didn’t understand that when we were married. 

If I had . . .

Instead, as always, the memory of this seemingly casual exchange wrenches and squeezes my heart in painful remembrance and I wonder . . . 

If I had . . . 

maybe you would have . . . protected . . .
                                         defended . . .
                                         cherished . . .

that small hand . . . and the person attached to it.

Random Reflections on Memorial Day (5/27/2013)

No one could be more patriotic than me, I think.

Have always thought, " My kids can’t know this feeling. How could they? It’s not their fault. They weren’t young children in the early 40s when the war to end all wars was taking place. Posters, movies, newsreels, ration books, war bonds – being surrounded by the sights and sounds – albeit a safe few thousand miles away from the actual events." And yet they have now lived through similar wars and feelings.

Feelings similar, I imagine, to mine that erupt in tears and emotions that squeeze my heart whenever I hear patriotic and/or just plain old-fashioned songs from the 20's, 30's, and 40's.

And then I think, "What must God feel? What must He think looking down on His children – ALL his children – not just those of us who are "Amuricuns" . . . ?"

War was not invented by God. War was invented by humans . . . God’s children. Who believe their "tribe" is "the people" and anyone else is "the other". Lumped all together, the "other", then, become easy to despise . . . and hate . . . and kill. Down through the eons of time.

The bigger the tribe, the more advanced the civilization.

* * * *

"My, what big eyes you have . . . what big ears . . . what a big mouth . . . "

" . . . the better to eat you with, my dear."

* * * * *

So, here I sit. On the one hand, an ultimate Patriot, formed by the time and place I grew up in. Yet realizing my feelings/experiences/memories are based on a national need – the need to give allegiance to my country and its agenda above all else. That is what every tribe, my "tribe", requires.

As a woman of my time and place, that has been easy to embrace; an easy price for me to pay.

Not so for all the young men, and in more recent times, young women, who first were drafted, and now choose to serve their country, their "tribe".

Movies, slogans, posters, recruiters – propagandize and glorify the cause. Otherwise it could not evoke the patriotism needed to entice the boys and girls to proudly and joyfully sign up. To lay their lives on the line. For their country, their tribe. Yeay!

* * * * *

My thoughts wander. What If . . .

* * * * *

What if . . .

All those presidents and heads of states – of all the countries – sat down in a meeting place somewhere and said – as I believe God would say –

"War is not the answer. Killing is not the answer. And all you kids are gonna sit here til you come up with a better solution. No TV, no bike riding, no treats. Nothing. Sit right here ‘til you come up with a better idea." (My kids, if they read this will say – hmmm, sounds famililar.)


Instead, here I sit. With my patriotism bubbling over. Always. At the same time knowing that is precisely what "the tribe" intends. We have to think we are bigger than, better than, gooder than . . . all the "others." Because the "others" will do their best to take from us everything we have worked so hard to get. Our way of life, our "stuff", and yes, of course, our freedoms.

Our freedoms – to speak or not speak, to believe or not believe, to succeed or not succeed.

So I project what would happen if . . .

If all these presidents and heads of state would sit down . . . one time . . . find that "better idea" and say . . .

"There . . . will . . . be . . . no . . . more . . . wars.

"There will be no . . . more . . . killing . . .

. . . of . . . anyone’s . . . children.

Ever again . . . PERIOD."

* * * * *

If it is so wrong to kill a child who has yet to see the light of day, why is it – has it always been – so okay to kill them once they’ve experienced daylight . . . the beauty of sunrise and sunset . . . of playing hopscotch and football . . . of reading Dr. Seuss and Tolstoy . . . of Sock Hops in the gym and walking hand-in-hand with their forever sweetheart . . . or holding a newborn baby in their arms for the first time . . . or . . .

* * * * *

Let’s face it. Call it like it is. War makes the world go round.

And that is the greater tragedy in the Remembrance of Memorial Day.