life on purpose

Going, going, gone.

Sat, 05 Feb 2011 22:35:46 -0600

I gave tumblr a decent try for the past year. Repeatedly, I had trouble replying to comments or they wouldn’t load. Repeatedly, friends and family told me they couldn’t figure out how to comment or couldn’t figure out how to subscribe to my blog.

I think it’s time to try something new, so I’m moving over to Wordpress. I think I need something a little more comprehensive than tumblr offers.

I’ve also obtained my own domain name, so from now on, you can find me at jennifermerck.com hosted by Wordpress.

Emily Ann Gray: A Mother's Story

Tue, 01 Feb 2011 07:00:06 -0600

This slightly fictionalized account is drawn from the genealogical research of my parents, Edward & Janice Kuhlmann. All names, places, dates and the general family history are accurate to our understanding. I have crafted this story from what I know, and imagined what I don’t know as it might have happened.

Once upon a time, there lived a little girl named Emily Ann. Emily grew up in Ontario, near Dundas, which lies just west of the Great Lake Ontario. Emily’s father, Evison, was an Englishman. But not a proper sort of Londontown Englishman. Evison Gray was a country farmer with family from Utterby, in Lincolnshire, in the northeast of England. His father, Robert, had died when Evison was only a child. And when he was old enough, Evison set off toward Canada, perhaps to find a better life.

In Dundas, Evison met Mary Ann Near, George and Jemima’s oldest daughter. Mary Ann was almost exactly a year younger than Evison. And when Mary Ann was 20 (and Evison, 21), they married. Evison and Mary Ann soon started a family of their own. Their firstborn was Emily Ann. Next came Mary Ann, named after her mother. Then Robert, named after his grand-father. And then the twins, Elvinia and Elzinia. Then came Ernest and William, Herbert, Harold, and finally Glennis. Emily Ann was the oldest of Evison and Mary Ann’s ten.

Farming has always been hard, and George Near knew that sometimes moving on can help a farmer find more fertile ground. And so, George and Jemima, along with Evison and Mary Ann, headed west. They traveled the length of Lake Erie, crossed into the United States, across the State of Michigan, and settled southeast of Grand Rapids, in Campbell Township of Ionia County.

Emily Ann worked hard on her parents’ farm. She helped with the farmwork and looked out for the younger children as well. When she was 22, her help on the farm was not as critical as it had been and she married Edward Harold in 1892. Within two years, Hildred was born, but Edward was not well, and by the time Hildred was 3, Edward had passed away. Life is bleak for a young farmwidow with a toddler. Emily Ann returned to Evison and Mary Ann’s farm for a short while, but she knew she wanted to make a life for herself and Hildred on their own.

No one is quite sure how Emily Ann and John Gabriel Roush met. His parents’ farm was 3 miles west of the Gray Farm, so they likely had friends in common and met in town. In June of 1899, Emily Ann and John Gabriel married. By this time, Emily was 30, quite far beyond marrying age. John was only 21. He was kind to Hildred and had a vision for dairy farming that Emily knew would provide for herself and her little girl.

John Gabriel Roush grew up on a farm a bit northwest of Freeport, Michigan. John’s uncles, Michael and Samuel, founded the town. The Roush family, German by descent, had settled long before the Revolution in Pennsylvania and had moved west through Ohio after the Revolution and to Kent County, Michigan in the early 1800s.

Roushes were the sort of people who got an idea and ran with it. John Gabriel’s idea was to start a dairy farm. Now, if you’re going to raise cows, you need land. But if you’re going to sell milk, you need to be near the people who want to buy milk, so John Gabriel and his new wife and step-daughter moved 8 miles south, toward the Barry County Seat. They purchased 40 acres of farmland on the banks of the Thornapple River and began to build a life together just outside of town, on the north side of Hastings.

Of course, the dairy barn was the highest priority. The cows were their livelihood and they needed a place to lay their heads in the cold Michigan winters. So, John built a state-of-the-art dairy barn, complete with running water at each stall for each of his eight Holsteins. Before long, John had also built a lovely farmhouse. It faced the dirt road headed north out of town, its spindled porch displayed for all who passed. They named the new business the Broadway Dairy.

John was good at dairy farming. He was a decent businessman and soon began making daily deliveries to many homes in the area — milk, cream, butter, eggs. He delivered his own, but also picked up and delivered milk from neighboring farms. Gyp and Cody pulled the wagon each morning. The worst you could say about John Gabriel Roush was that he was soft-hearted. He was patient when accounts were overdue and would often make bartering arrangements with local craftsmen who struggled to pay their bills. A lovely glass-front corner cabinet graced their living room, an ever-present reminder of John’s payment arrangement with a customer who made fine furniture.

Emily and John enjoyed Hildred and their family began to grow. In 1901, Dorothy Esther was born. She was Emily and John’s oldest daughter together. Then came the boys, Kenneth John (after his father) in 1903 and Sperry Evison (after Emily’s father) in 1906. Kenneth was soon Kenny, and Sperry was Spud, for short. In 1909, along came Mary Elizabeth, and 15 months later, the baby Lois Thelma. Mary and Lois were inseparable, and Hildred and Dorothy kept them all in line. Each of them attended Welcome Corners School and Emily took them to Welcome Corners Methodist Church each Sunday morning.

As the Roush children got older, they began to help out on the farm, just as Emily and John had both helped their parents. They were all milking by the time they were 8, and when Kenny turned 10, John began to take him on the morning milk run. But it was a year later that it was clear that something was wrong.

It was fall, the Fall of 1914. The warm Michigan breezes had long since left the hills on the banks of the Thornapple. Crisp air and the beautiful colors that arrived every autumn mottled the forests nearby. It was chilly getting up before dawn to milk the cows, hitch the horses and make the deliveries. But this was the life that John Gabriel had built for himself and his family. The trouble was, Emily wasn’t feeling well. Lois was 4 and Mary, 5. Spuddy was 8 and helped with the milking. Hildred was 21 by now, and about to be married to George Edwards. The plan was for a wedding on the first day of the new year. Dorothy, at 13, began stepping into the role of the older sister, knowing that Hildred would be gone come New Year’s.

Hildred and Dorothy tried hard to take the burden of farm life from their mother. After all, it takes a lot of energy to raise six children and keep a dairy farm running. But in that Fall of 1914, it became clear that something more was happening. Emily was in pain. And she was exhausted. At age 44, this mother of six was taking naps in the afternoon, even though Lois had long since given them up. Her chest ached and occasionally shooting pains gripped her and she bent over in agony. Something was terribly wrong.

By December, John and Emily knew that she must see a doctor. The Roushes delivered milk every day to the local doctor’s home and he usually made house calls. But this time, John and Emily took one of the horses and the wagon into town, to his office. This doctor had helped Emily birth her babies over the past fourteen years. And now, in a moment, he announced to her the news she had not wanted to acknowledge was even a possibility.

Emily Ann Gray Harold Roush had breast cancer.

In 1914, before mammograms or chemotherapy or radiation or monthly self-exams. Before tamoxifen and cancer-prevention diets. Before Susan G. Komen for the Cure. Before pink ribbons or 3-day walks.

Emily Ann had breast cancer.

And for her family — for John, for Hildred, for Dorothy, Kenny, Spud, Mary and Lois, life would never be the same.

Emily had a mastectomy in December. On December 19, they celebrated Emily’s 45th birthday, a bittersweet moment. Mary and Lois barely understood why Mama wasn’t feeling well or why everyone was so sad. Kenny and Spud carried on, making sure to be the best farmhands they possibly could be. Dorothy watched the children. And Hildred helped, while still preparing her wedding. Christmas came and went, a quiet time together as a family. Hildred and George were married on New Year’s Day 1915, a happy moment in a difficult winter.

As January progressed, friends and neighbors would stop by. Everyone knew the Roushes and everyone tried to help out with the children and the meals where they could. But the winter was hard and most of the days, Emily lay in bed, unable to do much more than eat and speak quietly with the children as they stopped by her bedroom.

In December, Emily was diagnosed with breast cancer. And two months later, on February 6, 1915, she died. Dorothy turned 14 just 13 days after her mother passed away. Hildred and George left town; they were moving back east to New Hampshire. John and Kenny and Spud kept the milk going out and money coming in. Along with caring for her brothers and sisters, Dorothy kept food on the table.

Emily had been a widow. And now John was a widower. At first, the Grays insisted they would take the children. How could John possibly care for five children on his own? But, like Emily, he found someone with whom he could share a life, a woman who could raise his children and keep the farm going. Mabel was 28 and John, 37, when they married. A former schoolteacher, Mabel took on her new duties as farmwife and mother of 5 with diligence and compassion. And yet, as you might imagine, it was hard for Dorothy. She was almost grown. She missed her mother terribly. And she’d become quite competent as the keeper of the kitchen and the children. She wasn’t quite sure if a new mother was necessary. And so, when she turned 16 and graduated from high school, Dorothy got on a train to Chicago to look for work.

Dorothy lived with an aunt and uncle in Chicago. A young, single woman in the big city, Dorothy enjoyed her job and her girlfriends, as well as visits back home. Mabel became a decent mother, especially to the little girls. Dorothy would bring back special things she’d bought with her earnings, like a camera. Kenny took pictures of the other four in front of the family’s car, Mary and Lois, 10 and 11, with Dorothy on the running board.

On October 11, 1930, over 15 years after her mother’s death and 13 years after moving to Chicago, Dorothy married a young man she’d met at Central Park Church, Edward Paul Kuhlmann. They lived on the west side for several years and eventually moved into a home Edward’s Uncle Will had built, at 220 S Humphrey Avenue in Oak Park. By this time, they had little ones: Mary Ann, named after her aunt and her great-grandmother, and Edward Gray (Teddy), after his father and his grandmother’s maiden name.

In many wonderful ways, Edward and Dorothy lived happily ever after. They raised their children, who both went on to marry and have children of their own. Mary Ann married Ted, and Ed married Janice. And in November of 1967, Ed and Janice gave birth to Jennifer Lynn, their oldest daughter. And Jennifer went on to marry Hal and have three children of their own, Austin, Haley and Aidan.

In the Fall of 2009, in the suburbs of Chicago, the air was getting crisp once more. The maples displayed their brilliant gold surrounding the blue colonial on Scott St. In the evening, Jennifer received a phone call from the surgeon who had performed a biopsy the day before. And now, in a moment, he announced to her the news she had not wanted to acknowledge was even a possibility.

Jennifer Lynn Kuhlmann Merck had breast cancer.

But this was 2009, so the story is very different. Jennifer was 41. She’d already had several routine mammograms, including a baseline at 38. When, in June, the latest came back with some abnormalities, Jennifer consulted with a surgeon and arranged to have a biopsy done. Based upon three years of historical mammogram films, the surgeon could tell that whatever was going on was changing, but not rapidly. So, Jennifer scheduled the biopsy in the Fall, after the children were back in school, on October 13.

When the surgeon called on October 14, he invited her and Hal to come to his office to talk about a plan of action. And they came. And they took action. The cancerous cells and some surrounding tissue were removed by lumpectomy on November 30. Over the next two months, Jennifer consulted with leading specialists at two major teaching hospitals in Chicago. Chemo was not on the docket. Radiation was a possibility, as was hormone therapy — tamoxifen — a little white pill every day for 5 years. Jennifer spent February of 2010 researching on the internet. After many conversations, many prayers, many late nights reading study after study, Jennifer decided to forego radiation, take tamoxifen, and seek out nutrition and exercise lifestyle changes that studies show have close to equal positive impact as radiation.

And so, here we are, in February of 2011, a year and a half after the original abnormal mammogram, 14 months after surgery, and exactly 96 years after my great-grandmother died. My oldest will turn 14 this March, just as my grandmother did in February 1915. My middle, our daughter, turned 11 last August. And my baby will turn 9 in April. I believe I am on the right path, at least the path of what I know is best with what we know today.

It’s 2011. There are mammograms and chemotherapy. There is radiation and monthly self-exams. There is tamoxifen and cancer-prevention diets. There is Susan G. Komen for the Cure. There are pink ribbons and 3-day walks.

And there is life for this mother of three whose breast cancer was caught very, very early. Earlier than early. So early that the surgeon says, “In the cancer world, what you’ve gotten is terrific news!”

I am grateful. Grateful to my surgeon, Bob Maganini. Grateful to the medical and radiation oncologists with whom I consulted. Grateful to the physician friend who suggested I get a second and third opinion, which led me down the path of giving serious consideration to my treatment options. Grateful to the friends and family who supported me through difficult decisions and through recovery from surgery. Grateful to the friends who surrounded me with love and support and prayer as I headed to the operating table. Grateful to the friends and family who ask me how I’m doing and listen patiently while I recount my latest attempts to make my lifestyle more healthy. Grateful to a husband who has held me while I cried, listened to the research, and helped me make these difficult decisions. Grateful to three of the best children in the world, who jumped in to help while I was recovering from surgery and make living worthwhile.

And I am grateful to those who came before me. Grateful to my Aunt Mary Ann, Dorothy and Edward’s daughter, who was also diagnosed very early, at age 70, and is cancer-free now at age 74. And grateful to Emily Ann. There are so many women who never had a chance to live. They never had a chance to be there for their children. They never had a chance to make the choices required to take care of themselves.

I stand here today because of these women: the wives, the mothers, the sisters, the aunts, the daughters, the grand-daughters, who, at their moment of crisis, were willing to tell their stories and to participate in the research that informs the diagnostics and treatments available today.

Thank you.

And thank you to my great-grandmother, Emily Ann Gray Harold Roush, who has given me a wonderful heritage and a family I cannot imagine living without.

Stars & Dots

Sun, 09 Jan 2011 19:01:21 -0600

Hello, dear friends, and happy new year! Sometimes, in the middle of the depths of Winter, I am looking for enjoyable activities to do with my children. I imagine this is true for you as well. I have the perfect idea for you this week: a sweet, little play with music at Arena Theater at Wheaton College in Wheaton, IL.
Many of you know Mark Lewis. He is a Hawthorne and Franklin Dad and also the Director of Wheaton’s Arena Theater. He has been working on a special project based upon the book, You Are Special by Max Lucado. The play is less than an hour and there will be several shows this week: some afternoons, an evening, and Saturday during the day.
Mark and his students intend the play for an elementary school audience, but I know for sure that parents and children of all ages will love it! Check out these two pages. Jen Grant is a Longfellow Mom and a writer. She put some info about the play on her web site:
Jen Grant’s Love You More Blog:http://loveyoumorebook.blogspot.com/2011/01/live-in-or-around-chicago-got-kids.html
The Wheaton students also set up a Facebook event for the production, so check that out too.
Facebook Event:http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=119858908083203
Tickets are $3 or $10 for a family. If you’d like tickets, just e-mail wheatonstarsanddots@gmail.com to reserve yours.

St. Nicholas: Fact or Fiction?

Fri, 03 Dec 2010 07:00:07 -0600

Modern Christians often feel conflicted about Santa Claus. In the midst of family life, we want to embrace the fun and the festiveness. Surprises are enjoyable. Christmas stockings add to our holiday decor. But how do we integrate this jolly old elf with the deep truths we want to pass on to our children about Emmanuel, God with Us?

In my family, growing up, we had a mantra, and Hal and I have passed it on to our children as well.

“Jesus is real. Santa is pretend. And it’s fun to pretend!” My parents chose to never keep the “secret” of Santa Claus from us. However, they chose to embrace all the fun of Christmas morning: stockings, gifts from Santa, fostering the anticipation of gift-giving and receiving. This certainly seems to be a reasonable compromise, a way to embrace the goodness of Santa Claus, while focusing on the Truth of Christmas.

In our years at our church, All Souls, we have expanded upon this tradition. While Santa Claus, the jolly elf dressed for Coca-Cola marketing and cruising the earth with his sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, is pretend, St. Nicholas, Bishop of Myra, is not. Nicholas was born to a wealthy Greek family in what is now southern Turkey in the 3rd century AD. His parents raised him to be a devout Christian and he dedicated his life to God’s service. There are many stories of Nicholas’ life as a priest, and eventually as Bishop of Myra. Each story tells the tale of a man devoted to serving the poor and to giving of his wealth to those in need.

Over the centuries, Nicholas’ tradition of gift-giving has been passed down and become associated with the Christmas season. We remember the life of St. Nicholas on his feast day, December 6, which is the anniversary of his death. As Christians, we can embrace the traditions of St. Nicholas and enjoy his memory as an example of Christian life and service. You might enjoy some resources at the St. Nicholas Center as you learn more about St. Nicholas’ life.

Our church, All Souls, remembers St. Nicholas’ life with a celebration. Our evening event is appropriate for all ages and we hope that adults and children alike will join us. We will offer a short dramatic presentation, refreshments, activities and crafts, a cookie exchange, and the St. Nicholas Shoppe.

If you would like to participate in the cookie exchange, please bring as many cookies as you would like to exchange. The more, the merrier!

The St. Nicholas Shoppe is an opportunity for the church family to contribute small items they no longer need, and for the children to purchase items to give to family and friends for Christmas. If you would like to contribute items, please bring them to the church by December 5. Children may choose to come to our celebration ready to shop! Each item at the Shoppe is $1 and proceeds will go to the Outreach Community Center in Carol Stream, IL.

Join us! Wednesday, December 8 at 7:00 PM. Questions? Contact Jennifer Merck or see allsouls.com.

Advent for Families

Fri, 26 Nov 2010 21:05:40 -0600

This Sunday is New Year’s Day for Christians, the first Sunday of Advent. I am the Director of Children’s Ministries at our church, All Souls Anglican Church (www.allsouls.com). Yesterday, I sent out some ideas to our parishioners regarding how families might celebrate the Advent Season. I though y’all might enjoy them too.

At All Souls, we embrace the rhythm of the Church Year. This Sunday is Advent I, the first Sunday of the Church Year. If you are interested in helping your family walk through this season of waiting, we have some suggestions for you. Advent can be a simple season of waiting and enjoying the quiet before the festivities of Christmas. So, in that spirit, take what you like. Leave what won’t work for you or your family. File some away for another day or another year. Enjoy!

Have you ever seen a Jesse Tree? If you’ve ever been to All Souls, you have … though you may not know it. During Advent 2009, a Jesse Tree arrived at All Souls, on the table in the Narthex. Ours is made of bare branches that feature the addition of an ornament each day from December 1-25. The ornaments tell of the genealogy of
Jesus, the story of salvation history. There are many ways to do Jesse Trees. Some ornaments are made of paper, simple copied drawings. Others, like at All Souls, are hand-crafted treasures. I can recommend a lovely Jesse Tree book that offers Scripture and text to accompany the placing of the ornaments: The Advent Jesse Tree, by Dean Lambert Smith. If you’d like to get started with a Jesse Tree and you want to do it this week, your simplest plan might be this one, from this Mom’s fun blog. You can download a pdf of little paper ornaments and get started in about 15 minutes.

You might also enjoy the resources available through Liturgy Training Publications. This Catholic publishing house, located in Chicago, offers several Advent calendars, a lovely devotional book of reflections for the season, and a fun Build Your Own Bethlehem that families may enjoy building together!

One of our family’s Advent traditions is reading cumulatively each night from The Advent Book. Jack and Kathy Stockman originally created this beautiful book for their own children from Christmas cards their family had received over the years. This crafty family project has become one of our family’s most treasured Advent traditions. Perhaps you might enjoy it too!

A Song for Fallen Heroes

Fri, 12 Nov 2010 00:29:36 -0600

Thanks to my friend, Ann, at livedahobbit.blogspot.com, for reminding me that poetry and song are sometimes the best ways to speak when you are uncertain of your voice. This is a song by John Gorka. I first encountered it sung by David Wilcox. The story behind it is sweet and haunting. We don’t know who wrote the poem, but a nurse found it in an army hospital in the Phillipines during World War II.

So, on this Veterans Day: to all those who have fought for our country, my favorite song about fallen heroes:

Let them in, Peter. They are very tired. Give them couches where the angels sleep And light those fires. Let them wake whole again To brand new dawns. Fired by the sun not wartime’s Bloody guns. May their peace be deep. Remember where the broken bodies lie. God knows how young they were To have to die. So give them things they like. Let them make some noise. Give dance hall bands not golden harps To these our boys. And let them love, Peter For they’ve had no time. They should have trees and bird songs And hills to climb. The taste of summer in a ripened pear And girls sweet as meadow wind With flowing hair. And tell them how they are missed, But say not to fear. It’s gonna be alright With us down here.

Going Home

Fri, 09 Jul 2010 07:00:00 -0500

Going Home:

Kari Amick is a former student of my English professor friend, Dr. Alan Jacobs (ayjay.jottit.com). Kari graduated from Wheaton College this past May with a degree in Environmental Science. And my, can this young woman write! I believe this is her first published essay.

In this piece, I love the marriage of her study of whooping cranes with her reflections on family and growing up and … going home.

Take a few moments to savor this thoughtful, insightful, informative, inspirational essay. It makes me want to study cranes. And it inspires me to make a home worth coming home to for my children. That’s quite a lot for one little essay.

The Body of Christ in Action

Thu, 01 Jul 2010 07:00:00 -0500

The Body of Christ in Action:

This piece by one of my favorite bloggers was thought-provoking to me. I love the idea that the Church is where people will turn when they are in need. And I am hopeful that my church is available in that way. What choices are we making as churches and as individuals to be present with those in need, to be the body of Christ in action?

Public Libraries & Me: The Story of a Long-Time Love

Wed, 30 Jun 2010 07:00:00 -0500

Tonight was one of those cool summer evenings, the ones that are a respite in the heart of the heat. The husband had a meeting at church, but the kids and I already had plans, so we weren’t a bit troubled by his absence.

Our evening actually began three weeks ago tonight because that’s the earliest our local public library allows you to pick up your free tickets to their summer events. Well, truthfully, our evening began several weeks before that even, when I put June 8 and June 29 on my calendar. The 8th for the ticket pick-up, the 29th for our event!

At 6:30p, we headed out the door to pick up dinner at Shane’s Deli (www.shanesdeli.com). Now Shane’s wasn’t an essential part of our evening, but (to be honest) if I can avoid cooking, I do. And eating outside is one of my favorite things. So, since we were going to spend the evening outside, picking up dinner at Shane’s seemed just the thing.

By 6:45p, picnic basket in hand, we began to gather with other Moms and Dads and Grandmas and Grandpas and kids out on the lawn, the west patio to be precise. The library had set up a whole bunch of chairs. With our little picnic, though, we opted for our blanket on the lawn behind the chairs.

And so our lovely evening of theater began. For 60 minutes, the College of DuPage Summer Repertory Theater entertained us with their adaptation of Rudyard Kipling’s Jungle Book. The college student actors were energetic and entertaining, a perfect fit for their age-diverse audience. There was much audience participation and much laughter and a renewed appreciation for theatrical simplicity of costume.

So, there we sat for an hour, enjoying the breeze. Enjoying the company. Enjoying the production. And all because I received a flyer in the mail and chose to put the ticket date and the event date on my calendar. While it’s first come, first served, the tickets to this event, and others like it, are free. That’s just they way they roll at the public library. “You want to come to our concert? Sure! Just tell us how many tickets you need.”

As I sat enjoying the breeze and the story of a man-cub, I was reminded once again of all that I love about public libraries. My friend and neighbor, Sheroll, pointed out the simplest and the best part of public libraries: “They let you take a book home for free!” Seriously. The Wheaton Public Library has well over 400,000 books that they let people take home for free. In fact, they’re so comfortable doing this that last year alone they allowed over 1.3 million items go in and out of their doors. They even have a name for that: circulation. Because they count on the books going out and coming back in … circulating. And almost all the time, it works. I love that, even in this day of fierce independence and clear lines of ownership, we as a society are comfortable sharing our books. Why yes, we have some that we own at home. But there are so many more that we can use and return for the next person to use, and so on.

Back before bar codes and computerized check-out, back when each library book left the Circulation Desk with a date stamped on a pocket in the back, I remember enjoying looking at the dates. Of course, the only one that really mattered to me was the most recent one, the last one. That told me when I need to circulate the book on back to the library. But the other dates told me a story about where this book had been, or at least when.

There were the books that hadn’t left the library in years. I remember as a child thinking that these books must have been grateful that I’d come along to get them out of the house for a bit. And of course there were the well-loved books, the “velveteen rabbits” of the book world, covers worn with fingerprints, pages stained with ancient snacks and drinks, back pockets stamped with date after date after date, never more than 4 weeks apart.

You don’t even want to get me started about the genealogy computers or the audio books or the Summer Reading Clubs or the book discussion groups or shelf after shelf after shelf of endless stories and information just waiting to be devoured. Libraries are about possibilities. And public libraries are about possibilities for everyone, no matter if you can afford the Amazon prices or the Borders’ coffee. The fact is that I love Amazon (you can’t find a quicker, cheaper, more convenient way to get a book permanently into your house without leaving your house) and I love Borders and Barnes & Noble and so many independent booksellers here and there. And you can’t beat the feeling of owning a book — as an adult, as a child — owning a book is a wonderful thing. However, the possibilities of a public library are broader and deeper than I will ever have sitting on my shelves at home.

One of my earliest memories of a public library is during the summertime as a child. I lived in St. Davids, PA. Our library, the Radnor Memorial Library, housed their Children’s Library in the basement (do they all do that?). I remember the cool of the air conditioning in the summer heat (we had none at home). I remember the dusty smell as we headed downstairs. I remember learning that the J stood for “Juvenile” and Juvenile meant that these books were for kids. And I remember the stacks I would bring home each time we stopped by — stacks of adventures and mysteries and oh so many possibilities.

Another memory I have is from middle school. The Radnor Memorial Library was moving. Our community had built a beautiful, new building to house our growing collection. The building was complete. The shelves were ready. And books needed to be moved … across the street. The middle school was just around the corner, so the students of Radnor Middle School were conscripted to pass the books hand to hand from the old library to the new. Picture an old-time fire-brigade, everyone lined up handing buckets of water for one person to the next. Except we were handing stacks of books. I remember some of the boys joking about intentionally getting the books out of order. But somehow we all participated in this wonderful community event. And somehow the books got to the shelves where they were supposed to be.

Of course, the reason why the books made it to their shelves is all of that wonderful coding on their bindings. I must admit that this is one piece of the attraction of libraries for me. “A place for everything and everything in its place,” my Dad always says. And what clearer picture of this mantra than books in a library. A different organizational system for fiction and non-fiction (what a brilliant man, that Dewey). I think it was the summer between 8th and 9th grade when I organized my personal library at home by authors’ last name (fiction) and by Dewey Decimal code (non-fiction). Some of those books, at my parents’ house, still have the small pieces of paper I taped to the binding with their reference.

And now, I bring my own children to the Wheaton Public Library. Sometimes they are drawn to the shelves of VHS tapes and DVDs and I try to re-direct them to the books. That’s different than when I was a kid. But most of our visits are a journey of discovery. We look for authors we know we like. We look for genres we’ve recently become acquainted with. We devour the Battle of the Books shelves. The children love the option for self-checkout. What power in their little hands! And they love having their own library cards and printing out their own list of books checked out. They like to keep track of when the books are due back.

I’ve been saddened this summer that our library is closed on Fridays. The Library says that it is due to City budget cuts. Wow. That is the recession hitting very close to home. I guess I should have expected it, but it kind of took me by surprise. I don’t know enough about the City’s budget to have much to say about these budget cuts. But I know one thing: I feel privileged to live and have lived in communities where we have wonderful public libraries. This is one of those things that I am glad for my taxes to go toward.

Whatever the economy is doing, however our City budget is being managed, let’s be sure to leave room in our public libraries for the magic and the possibilities. They are the stuff of childhood and the building blocks of adulthood.

Bag End

Sun, 30 May 2010 17:49:31 -0500

Bag End:

Delightful. Absolutely and utterly delightful.

Are women changing the world?

Wed, 19 May 2010 18:21:28 -0500

Are women changing the world?:

I found this blog post by acquaintance and neighbor, Shayne Klopfenstein Moore, thought-provoking. Take a look and see what you think.

Are women changing the world today? If so, how? Are they being recognized for their contributions? Does it matter? Are they being invited to the collaboration table, or is there a glass ceiling in evangelical communities that relegates women to places of quiet service?

Or, perhaps, are women too busy changing the world to contribute to collaboration? If this is the case, is that troublesome, or is it just the nature of things and not worth messing with?

Personally, I believe women are changing the world — in their homes, in their schools and their children’s schools, in their churches, and in their places of work. They are changing hearts and minds and building structures that help and heal.

Collaborating toward changing the world is important. We all serve the Kingdom better when we work alongside one another. Do women need to make time to be at the collaboration table? Or do they need to start by being sure they are invited to be present?

Mother's Day

Wed, 12 May 2010 07:19:45 -0500

Mother's Day:

I went to high school with author, Kelly Corrigan (www.kellycorrigan.com). She was funny then. And she’s funny now. And thoughtful. And deep. And compassionate. She has a way of giving voice to the things that every woman thinks at one time or another. This little video is her Mother’s Day card. It’s the card every Mom wishes she would receive.

Happy Mother’s Day! Enjoy.

Toward the Avoidance of "Epistemic Closure"

Sat, 08 May 2010 00:50:31 -0500

Toward the Avoidance of "Epistemic Closure":

It wasn’t until I got to college that I heard the idea that you didn’t talk about religion or politics in polite company. It didn’t make much sense to me then. And frankly, it still doesn’t make much sense to me now.

As a human being, and I’ll add, as a Christian, I want to enter into people’s lives. I want to know what makes them tick. I want to know what they’re passionate about, what really drives them.

And I want to be known. Not just for my hair color or my sense of humor. Not just for the exploits of my children or for my husband’s job. I want people to know me: a woman of faith, a woman of passion, a woman of thoughtful compassion.

I have lived all of my life, since age 3, as a political minority. An amusing way to put that. But it’s true. My parents were raised in Republican families, but began to vote Democratic as adults in the town in which I was raised, St. David’s, PA. Sitting smack dab in the middle of the Main Line of Philadelphia, St. David’s is wealthy and Republican. I knew from a very young age, as I went behind the curtain in the voting booth with my Mom and helped her pull the levers, that my parents’ politics were different than the politics of my friends’ parents.

But that was ok. It made for some lively dinnertable discourse — among friends and neighbors, among my father’s students and colleagues. The civil dialogue I observed as a child was the sort that helped hone one’s thinking and beliefs.

Leaving St. David’s, I came to Wheaton College in Illinois. By then, I had begun to self-define as a Democrat myself. Turning 18 in Wheaton, I registered to vote in DuPage County. I discovered, to my pleasure, that Democratic election judges were a hot commodity because a) bi-partisan representation was required, and b) Democrats were hard to come by. I enjoyed serving as an election judge in the 1988 General Election.

I married my moderate Republican husband and we moved to Boston for him to attend law school at Harvard. As traditionally defined social conservatives, we both felt like political minorities during these years. And in this institution where you would think dialogue would be encouraged, we found it squelched in favor of a Politically Correct party line.

We moved back to Wheaton after law school and I once again find myself explaining how it is possible to be a pro-life Democrat. And for anyone willing to listen, this is a conversation I love to have. I love to explain why I believe what I believe and to understand why others believe differently.

The article above reminds me, though, how easy it is these days to only ever hear the perspective we already agree with. We know our sources. We know where to hear what we want to hear. And we know, if we go to other sources, we will surely disagree.

I would challenge each one of us, myself included, to take the time to listen to the other side. It might be a different news outlet or a different blog. It might be listening to a different friend or neighbor. It might be listening to a sermon you’re not so sure about. Or reading a book or an article you’re quite sure you’ll disagree with.

I guarantee you will be challenged. Challenged to listen and to think and to articulate your own beliefs. Perhaps, in civil discourse, you’ll convince someone of your perspective. Or perhaps, you’ll find Truth in something someone else says, someone you didn’t think you agreed with at all.

One thing is certain, if we don’t talk to one another about the things that really matter, we’ll never know one another. And we certainly will never discover Truth beyond what we already know.

Philosophy for 7 year olds?

Sat, 01 May 2010 17:22:35 -0500

Philosophy for 7 year olds?:

I intended to post this a week or two ago. If I’d done that, I would remember who sent me this link. As it stands right now, I can’t remember. Though, most of my interesting links come from Alan Jacobs at ayjay.jottit.com or Jennifer Grant at www.jennifercgrant.com, so I’ll just give them both a shout-out in case they pointed me this direction.

I am fascinated by education. I like looking back over my own education to figure out how I got where I am. I like being part of my children’s education. Among a number of decent options, we choose to educate our children in the public school system. I especially love when I see parents and teachers being creative with how they are educating children. This link is about just such a situation.

Here’s a tidbit, to whet your appetite:

“Professor Wartenberg and students use eight picture books to introduce children to the major fields of philosophy, including aesthetics, ethics, metaphysics, social and political philosophy and philosophy of the mind.”

The professor is working with 2nd graders. I am inspired by the possibilities. Yes, I want my children to learn their times tables. I want them to know the state capitols and the year the Statue of Liberty was installed. But more than anything, I want my children to become thinkers. I want them to know how to discover knowledge for themselves. I want them to be able to consider the risks and benefits of freedom and to argue the merits of monarchy v. democracy. I want my children to be able to discuss art and to appreciate aesthetics. I want them to be able to discuss the complexities of why the Civil War happened.

How better to do all of this than to talk with our children? And what better framework than philosophy? And what better medium than literature?

I passed the article on to my son’s 2nd grade teacher and our principal. I don’t know that they’ll implement this program exactly, but who knows? It might inspire them too.

for the love of Maps: a post offered in gratefulness to my father

Fri, 30 Apr 2010 17:28:08 -0500

for the love of Maps: a post offered in gratefulness to my father:

I love to travel.

Going for a walk. Riding my bike to the grocery store. Running a marathon. Driving into the City for dinner or a play or even a meeting. Spending 2.5h on a Wednesday afternoon driving children to and from sporting events. A 2-day drive to a lake house to see family. A cross-country trek. A college road trip. Flying across the country to visit a sister or sister-in-law or a dear friend. Flying across an ocean to visit another country.

I love to travel.

Not unrelatedly, I love maps. My friend, Alan Jacobs (ayjay.jottit.com), is a bit of a mapping & charting connoisseur (a map geek, one might say). He occasionally links me to amazing charts — those means by which we humans attempt to organize the complex ideas in our heads and present them for the world to see, and hopefully, understand.

I suppose that I am intrigued by charting because I am drawn to identifying how to most effectively communicate. Isn’t this one of the most fundamental desires of human existence? To be understood. Charting is one way that people with ideas in their heads get them out there for others to understand.

Friends in recent years have told me that my mind thinks in flow charts. And it’s true. As soon as a project is laid before me, whether it’s a plan to make dinner or a plan to introduce a new ministry at church, my mind goes to step 1, step 2, decision point (if this, then this … if this other, then this other), step 3 (depending upon the decision made) … . Clearly, words are not the best way to communicate this. I think in flow charts. I draw flow charts. They show me the journey ahead, the pathways I will likely travel to arrive at my destination.

Today, Alan pointed me to this link. I was drawn in to this wonderful presentation of hand-made maps and their particularities. Have you ever noticed that when people draw maps by hand, they intentionally leave things out? They are drawing with a particular goal in mind, so they leave out the unnecessary information. Perhaps that seems obvious or mundane to you. To me, that is fascinating. We instinctively know that to make directions clear, we must leave out some information. By leaving out some, we emphasize the necessary. It reminds me of how white space can set apart the print or graphics on a page … or the art on a wall. Only in the absence of information is the presence of other information relevant or helpful.

I was especially struck by the first map presented: a map of a young woman’s computer connections, drawn by her grand-mother to assist her in re-connecting after a move. There are so many wonderful things about that. That a grand-mother aged person knows enough about computers and their set-up to instruct her grand-daughter about them. That a woman is teaching another woman about how to set up computers (more often than not, it’s a man’s job). That a grand-mother is passing on her wisdom to the next generation — practical, helpful guidance for a young woman making her way in the world. That the grand-mother thought to map this out. Take a look at it. If you’ve ever connected or re-connected a computer and its peripherals, you will know. This map is a beautiful thing. And a useful thing. It’s nice when maps (and other things) are both: beautiful and useful. I want someone to map my computer connections and give me that map as a gift. I would keep it forever and use it often. Perhaps I will give that gift to my children, or my grand-children some day. Or perhaps they will do it for me.

I dedicate this post to my father who taught me to love maps and to know how to read them. On many cross-country treks as a child, I was his navigator (or at least that’s what he led me to believe). He taught me about legends and the symbols for tollways and freeways and back roads and state parks and picnic areas. As he drove and I pored over the map my arms were barely wide enough to contain, my father revealed to me a treasure, the ability to bring to life that which sits on a flat page and turn it into a wonderful adventure.

Thanks, Dad!

Are there still two Americas?

Tue, 27 Apr 2010 11:12:00 -0500

Are there still two Americas?:

“Let’s see what kind of society we can create if we invest in these children who are living in the margins.”

Do you have a free 45 minutes? Me neither. Do you ever sit in front of the computer for 45 minutes? Me too. I just spent the last 45 minutes doing some work on the computer while listening to and watching this April 2 episode of “Bill Moyers Journal” on PBS. It is worth your time. You might not agree with all of it. That’s ok. It’s very thought-provoking.

One of the guests, Bryan Stevenson, was a student of my father’s. I’d like to thank my parents for passing on the link to me.

I’m thinking about these questions. I wonder what you think.

How do my innermost thoughts and opinions reflect this sense of two Americas? And to the extent that they do, is it wrong or right?
How do I see these two Americas in my own community? Is that a problem? Is it fair? Is it just? How did these two Americas get created in my own community?
How am I personally contributing to and promoting justice for children? What about children who are at the fork in the road: down one path the America of opportunity, down the other the America of poverty.

I don’t have the answers. My general bias is probably clear. I wouldn’t have posted this link otherwise. I am challenged today to think not only about the large issues — societal trends and justice and freedom — but also about the choices I am making today. Where is my charitable giving going? What about my time? Are there ways that I can contribute to the free-ing of one child from a life of poverty? Are there ways that I can contribute to our public school system so as to help it be more effective at improving the lives of children? Are there choices that I can make today, in the midst of my relative wealth of time and money, that will improve the lives of others tomorrow and a decade from now?

And perhaps even more importantly, what am I teaching my children about these two Americas? My children are the next generation. They can be part of the solution.

I’d like to leave you with two prayers that we say every week at our church, one right before Communion and one right after. For me, as with many prayers said liturgically, they take on fresh meaning in different contexts. I am fascinated by the gratitude and challenge contained in these prayers in the context of these issues:

The Prayer of Humble Access

Most merciful Lord,

your love compels us to come in.

our hands were unclean,

our hearts were unprepared;

we were not fit

even to eat the crumbs from under your table.

But you, Lord, are the God of our salvation,

and share your bread with sinners.

So cleanse and feed us

with the precious body and blood of your Son,

that he may live in us and we in him;

and that we, with the whole company of Christ,

may sit and eat in your kingdom. Amen.

Prayer after Communion

Father of all,

we give you thanks and praise,

that when we were still far off

you met us in your Son and brought us home.

Dying and living, he declared your love,

gave us grace, and opened the gate of glory.

May we who share Christ’s body live his risen life;

we who drink his cup bring life to others;

we whom the Spirit lights give light to the world.

Keep us firm in the hope you have set before us,

so we and all your children shall be free,

and the whole earth live to praise your name;

through Christ our Lord.

Amen.

May our choices today bring light to others and help one child in the direction of freedom.

All shall be well . . . (part 2)

Fri, 16 Apr 2010 07:00:00 -0500

You may have read my cross-post over at www.robmoll.com a few week’s ago. He is a friend and author who writes about death and dying and illness and how we apply our values to these experiences. As part of an ongoing dialogue on his blog, I wrote this piece. It relates to my ongoing journey through the world of breast cancer. It also relates to how we talk to one another about illness and dying. You might want to check out Rob’s blog for my original post and its comments to put this all in context:

In my experience, discussing one’s health or health care decisions can be highly sensitive, bringing to the surface many deep-seated emotions. Writing about my experience being diagnosed with a form of breast cancer gave me the opportunity to think and feel the emotions I have felt repeatedly for the last nine months. Writing online, however, also gave others the opportunity to react.

In many ways, this sort of interaction is familiar to me. My professional background is in adult protective services. I spent 15 years addressing the needs of older people who were being physically, sexually and verbally abused; neglected; and financially exploited by family members and others they trusted. As a direct consequence of their abuse and neglect and also because of their aging processes, many of my clients and their families found themselves in the midst of challenging medical and lifestyle decisions. It was my privilege to walk the journey of these decisions with many families. I have many observations from these years, but one of the most poignant is that family tension and conflict is magnified by the tough medical decisions that arise with illness and aging.

The same is true, it seems, among strangers who meet on the internet. I want to thank Priscilla, Enid and “Daughter of a Survivor” for their kind words and support in response to my post. I have found throughout my life that connections with others who share my experiences build community and offer opportunities for gathering information. They are valuable for those critical life moments of recognizing “I am not alone.” I wish to thank each of you for sharing your stories and connecting with me. That means a lot.

In the midst of the years of the Black Plague, the young Julian of Norwich was very sick. Given the illness and death around her, she presumed she was on her deathbed. And her response, now frequently quoted in many contexts, was “All shall be well; and all shall be well; and all manner of thing shall be well.” Julian lived for forty more years after this illness. Her words have been my mantra through many things in life, including this interesting journey through the world of breast cancer.

When I read one response to my post, by Cheryl, I was reminded of St. Julian’s words because they represent what Cheryl and I agree on: all shall be well. The comment concerned me on a number of levels, however. I’ve spent some time pondering whether to reply at all, but feel compelled to say a few things because this dialogue is important. I don’t want to leave this alone just because there is tension. So, a few thoughts:

The web is a funny place. There is anonymity behind the keyboard and the monitor. But nonetheless, I believe we are all responsible to be kind, or at least civil. As you can tell, “Jennifer” is a real person with a real history and real feelings. Saying that I was “off the beam” was not a very kind thing to say. If Cheryl simply meant that I was mistaken, I disagree, but nonetheless, there are a number of much kinder ways to say that.

Cheryl is correct, however, to say that DCIS doesn’t leave the breast. In fact, it doesn’t leave the milk ducts. That is what the “I” and the “S” mean – in situ. The cancerous cells remain in the same place. It’s not invasive. No one dies of DCIS. As Rob said, I’m not dying. Survival has never been part of the discussion regarding my treatment, and I don’t think I indicated that it was.

As a result, my consideration of treatment has always been about prevention. Each of the doctors with whom I consulted indicated that I am much more likely to be diagnosed with invasive breast cancer having had a DCIS diagnosis. So, the focus is risk reduction: how do I reduce the risk of an invasive cancer diagnosis down the road? While my immediate situation is not life-threatening, the route I take from here may have significant ramifications.

I am 42 years old. I have a lot of living yet to do. My children are young. I am otherwise healthy. While Cheryl is correct that many women who die of things other than breast cancer demonstrate DCIS upon autopsy, it is not common for 42 year old women to have DCIS diagnosed. In the breast cancer world, I am young. What has become clear to me after consults with a number of doctors and lots of reading is that no one really knows why some DCIS patients are subsequently diagnosed with invasive breast cancer and some aren’t. Does the DCIS “turn into” invasive breast cancer? Does the DCIS diagnosis indicate other risk factors that separately also cause the invasive breast cancer? Researchers are studying this, but right now – today – a DCIS diagnosis at age 42 is a red flag. It is a flare sent up to say, “Hey, you better keep an eye on this and maybe even do something about it.”

As a result of this and the changing medical landscape, I have options for treatment. In my previous post, I discussed how I came to choose the course I have taken. Cheryl’s treatment recommendation: “She should have it surgically removed, and tamoxifen is fine,” is one approach. It happens to be the approach that I am taking. But this particular area of breast cancer diagnosis and treatment is controversial and changing month by month. Fifteen to twenty years ago, women routinely had mastectomies for DCIS. Five to ten years ago, and even today, women routinely have lumpectomies, radiation for 6 weeks, and then 5 years of daily tamoxifen. But doctors are beginning to question whether this is the right approach for every patient.

I’m sure I haven’t read all the professional material out there, but it is clear to me that there is a lot of disagreement about how to approach DCIS. I seriously considered doing nothing other than coming in every 6 months for mammograms. Some doctors would recommend this, given the particulars of my diagnosis. On the other extreme, I seriously considered doing what is still considered “standard of care” for DCIS – excision, radiation + tamoxifen. After consulting with a number of doctors, I’ve decided on something between those extremes. This process of research and consideration took a long time. I had my routine mammogram in June and finally made a decision and will begin taking tamoxifen in April. Because I had the gift of time, I could research and consider carefully. This isn’t always an option for people, but because it was for me, my process may be clearer to me than it may be for some people who are making decisions more quickly.

This is my story. And like the stories of others, it is only a piece. Frankly, no matter how thorough we try to be, we only ever know a fraction of people’s lives. So I hope that when I hear someone’s story, I give her the benefit of the doubt and ask questions rather than make assumptions. In my work as a social worker, I’ve seen that done too many times. Understanding more of someone’s story helps us understand their feelings as well as the choices that they are making.

As you might imagine, there are many things informing my feelings and my choices right now. For example, my great-grandmother died of breast cancer at age 42. She left behind five young children. My grandmother was the oldest of the five. Her mother’s death had an enormous impact on her life. The direction her life took from that time on was directly impacted by her mother’s death. I have three young children. I am 42 in an age of mammograms; my great-grandmother was 42 in an age before mammograms. Her breast cancer was discovered, and she was dead three months later. This is not my story. But this story is very close to me and has impacted my life. I learned that I do not have the gene linked to breast cancer, but there is so much that medicine is still learning about the genetic nature of all cancers that my great-grandmother’s story and mine may indeed be intertwined. So, while I do not have the “breast cancer gene,” I still think about whether my great-grandmother’s cancer and other cancers in my family may relate to what is happening with my body right now. This impacts how I feel, and it impacts how I think and the decisions I make.

Though I am 42, I had not completely let go of the possibility of another child in our family. Taking tamoxifen and getting pregnant are not a good combination. So, my choice to take tamoxifen is a choice to be done with making babies. I am coming to terms with that. And all shall be well. But this issue impacts how I feel and how I think about this decision.

I nursed my three children for 9 years straight. Seriously. Nine years straight, through two pregnancies. Setting aside for the moment what you think of nursing toddlers and nursing through a pregnancy (I recognize people have lots of opinions about this topic!), I will tell you that I thought these nine years were my golden ticket. I thought breast cancer wasn’t even on the radar for me. Imagine my surprise when my biopsy came back cancerous. This investment was for my children, but the assumed golden ticket was an expected side benefit for sure. I needed to wrestle with how this impacted how I feel and how I think.

I hope that many others have the chance to be part of this dialogue about death and dying and illness and how our values inform our choices. While I am not dying, we all know this isn’t true. We’re all dying. We are human, and each one of us is living in a body that will one day give out on us. As we journey through our own lives and are also part of the stories of others who are dying, I pray that we have the time to carefully consider how our beliefs impact the decisions we make. It is so easy, in the pressure and haste of urgency, to allow our fears to guide us rather than our beliefs. I also pray that as we come to grips the fact that our journeys will end, we also show compassion to others who are learning to do the same.

almost everything can be repaired . . .

Thu, 15 Apr 2010 23:03:29 -0500

almost everything can be repaired . . .:

Own an iPhone? Ever dropped it? Check out this article from TUAW (The Unofficial Apple Weblog). Just a few days before the article was published, my iPhone looked just like the picture in the article. : (

With advice from a friend, I did almost exactly what the article recommends. I and my iPhone are quite happy now. The article confirms my friend’s advice. : )

Christ: Victor for All Creation

Thu, 08 Apr 2010 07:00:00 -0500

I originally contributed this to our church’s electronic newsletter. In case you’re interested, feel free to peruse the web site and visit the e-news archives: www.allsouls.com. The Cavalletti quote seems to be such an appropriate piece for the Easter Season that I wanted to share it with you. Enjoy!

Sofia Cavalletti is an Italian Roman Catholic who was an internationally known Hebrew and biblical scholar for many years before her friend, Montessori educator Gianna Gobbi, asked her to consult with her regarding the spiritual formation of children. Dr. Cavalletti reluctantly agreed, initially believing there was not much she could offer children, nor much they could offer her. She soon found that she was mistaken. Children were capable of doing theology. They were capable of knowing God, in fact, in a way she had never experienced with adults. This is the story of how The Catechesis of the Good Shepherd was born.

Dr. Cavalletti and Gianna Gobbi began by working with young children, aged 3-6, but soon began working with older children as well. The focus of the content for older children emerged: the history of salvation. What a task to undertake! In 1966, Dr. Cavalletti published her essential work on this topic: History’s Golden Thread: The History of Salvation, a short book offering the reader a guide to reading the biblical text in light of God’s redemptive work in human history. In 1999, Rebekah Rojcewicz translated the original Italian work into English, thus offering the text to hundreds of catechists in the English-speaking world who sought a “primary source for working with older children on the history of salvation” (History’s Golden Thread, p. viii).

As an adult who works with children, I will tell you that History’s Golden Thread contains a wealth of content that informs our Children’s Ministries at All Souls. And yet, there is so much depth to this work that, if you didn’t read the Translator’s Note at the beginning, you would have no idea the book was translated to support children’s catechists. Even Cavalletti’s introductions to the first and second editions read like introductions to any major theological commentary. This first week of the Easter season, I offer you a short piece from the book on the meaning of the Resurrection. I commend the book to you for further reading.

Image via Wikipedia

The paschal mystery of Jesus carries an inherent demand for universality and therefore for unification. Thus, it is not without reason that the sign through which they are realized is the cross. It stretches its arms outward, to the east and to the west; it stretches upward, toward heaven and is anchored in the earth. Saint Paul observes how “God was pleased to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, by making peace through the blood of his cross.” (Colossians 1:20). Here Saint Paul presents the resurrection in its cosmic dimension: It is an event through which not only human beings are reconciled to God, but the entire universe is reconciled to the Father in Christ the man. Christ’s human body, which comes back to life, is mysteriously linked to all of nature; therefore, nature itself cannot avoid receiving from the resurrection a new, life-giving sap. We have already seen how at the birth of Jesus the natural elements were stirred by the presence of the child of Bethlehem. Now, at the resurrection, the fracture that Adam’s sin caused in humankind and between humankind and nature – which had been created for him and against which he rebelled – is healed. The original harmony is re-established in Christ in such a way that Saint John Chrysostom can say, “In him the heavens are risen, and the earth is risen; in him the world is risen” (PL 16:404).

The world would have remained fractured had the blood of Christ not erased the sin that caused a chasm at the center of the universe, between the higher and the lower creation, that is in humankind. Placed in this central position of the universe, Christ bore this rupture within himself during his earthly life, due to his existence in the flesh. Yet, with his death and resurrection, he himself abolished this conflict, and, in rising above all things, he himself reunited all things that were separated. All beings have in Christ their center of gravity and their point of convergence. “He who descended is the same one who ascended far above all the heavens, so that he might fill all things” (Ephesians 4:10).

All this has occurred in Christ as the firstfruit of the new creation. We live in the time of waiting for the firstfruit to bear its full fruit – when “God will be all in all” (I Corinthians 15:28).

Hallelujah! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Hallelujah!

Jon Acuff Guest Post

Tue, 06 Apr 2010 08:29:00 -0500

Some time last year, a neighbor-friend who blogs (Shelly at mylifeonthewildside.blogspot.com) introduced me to Jon Acuff. Well, not in person, but she introduced me to his blog:

www.stuffchristianslike.net

Jon is an amusing guy. I’ve been reading his blog ever since. The thing I like best about him is that he has an unusual combination: he is deeply passionate about his faith and telling others about grace through Jesus AND he’s funny. Those things don’t always come in the same package.

Jon is especially funny if you’re someone who grew up in a church or go to church now. He does a great job of poking fun at himself and his upbringing and the amusing ways that we implement this very serious stuff we call faith.

A couple months ago, Jon arranged to do a little contest that I agreed to be part of. So, here’s the deal. If this is the first you’ve heard of this, go to www.stuffchristianslike.net for the instructions. If you already got here from there, you know what to do!

Thanks for stopping by. Feel free to peruse my back posts while you’re here.

The “Is that contestant on American Idol a Christian Scorecard”

During one of the interviews, they say, “American Idol is going to be an interesting season in my life” = + 1 point

To add up your score with over a 130 other ideas on this scorecard, visit www.stuffchristianslike.net.