Why?

Why do they do it? The neighbors. Some of these people have actually started mowing their lawns. I mean, please. What’s the rush? If it is just to make us look bad, they already did that last fall by mowing the week after we stopped. We give; you win. Go back inside and be industrious somewhere else. Everyone knows that once you start mowing in the spring, you can’t quit until fall, so why be a glutton for punishment? It could still snow, you know, and we get frost until June. It’s not like there is going to be a barbecue in the rain or lawn chair suntanning opportunities during our 60 degree highs. Come on. Get real. Read a book.

SSMO Power

I recently spent a few hours with the Sisters of St. Mary of Oregon. It was the annual Covenant Day where lay associates, like me, recommit ourselves to praying with the sisters and carrying out a common charism of service in our daily lives. The nuns realized about twenty years ago that, with the number of new vocations declining, they should consider reaching out to lay men and women who shared the same ideals and practiced the same values so that they could connect with the world in a broader way. The journey has been an education for all of us.

Two friends and I were among the first of seven people who answered the invitation those many years ago; now there are over fifty lay associates, not counting about fifteen who have died, including one of my two friends. The three of us were originally the only ones from Eastern Oregon. Although more from our neck of the woods eventually joined us, most of the associates always came from the Portland-Vancouver area, closer to the SSMOs. Because we traveled four hours to get there, we were invited to stay the weekend at the convent. It was enlightening for both the nuns and us.

I think it was hard at first for the sisters to adjust to being invaded by strangers, albeit only a few. We were fascinated with everything and wanted to check out each corner of the convent: the dome, the balconies, the bells, the beautiful grounds, the various sitting rooms, the communal bathrooms with two dozen sinks lined up in a row, the phone closet, the craft room, the dormitories where high school girls and novices had once stayed. We laughed too loud, stayed up too late, and got lost too often, not always staying where we were supposed to be. Poor Sr. Catherine, our contact, was always walking a fine line between upholding the proper decorum and having fun with us.

In turn, we found out that nuns were as individual as the rest of us. One sister, with whom we shared a living room, was an avid Blazers fan and became quite animated during the game. Another loved crafts and had quite a few projects going. A third was athletic and went running every morning, another liked to fly kites, and another took care of the flowerbed outside the kitchen, admonishing anyone who dared to pick even one of the beautiful buds that resulted. As regulations relaxed, some of the women had gladly thrown off wimples and veils and exchanged habits for regular clothes in the traditional navy and white of their order, while others stubbornly clung to the familiar. One nun in her 80s still wore her habit daily, but occasionally pulled on top of it a bright red pullover sweater that she loved. What a rebel. Another sister donned worn street clothes several times a week and visited the homeless along Burnside. Some taught at the school that they ran, some worked at the nearby nursing home that was managed by a different order, and a few worked in parishes. Whatever earnings they made were pooled to provide for the entire convent and big decisions were made by consensus. In their spare time, they took care of their cooking and laundry, the grounds, the school, their extended families, the retreat center, and the retired nuns in their infirmary. They disagreed, they were quirky, they laughed, they prayed, they communed, and they moved mountains. And, boy, could they sing. They were educated, and smart, and determined, and daring, and who wouldn’t want to be connected with them in some way?

Although it has been a strange association to try to explain to people, (no, I’m not becoming a nun; I’m just going off to play with them periodically), it became quite important to me. Hearing from the sisters throughout the year about what they are doing and knowing that they are watching my back with prayer, as I do for them, fortifies a bond between us. When I make a student feel valuable and cared for in my work as a teacher, or when I take Mom for a day of shopping or help someone with memory loss wash their hands, I am joining forces with some very strong-willed, compassionate, radical women who are also using their various gifts to make a corner of the world a better place.

For me, going back to the SSMO convent is like making a pilgrimage to a second home. I know the secrets of the physical place, the faces of its heart, and the pulse of its longing. I plug into the spiritual flow of these women who are so different and yet so akin to myself and return renewed and re-grounded.

SSMO Power: I need it in my life.

Spring Has Sprung

Or so the calendar says. Since today is supposed to be the first day of spring, I walked around to gather evidence. Sure enough, the signs are definitely here.

Grapefruit are now gracing my breakfast menu.

The eternal shadow of overcast skies have given way to the bright contrasts of the sun’s rays.

Temperatures are soaring between frosty nights and light jacket days.

Ankles can now be lost in the unshorn grass that is flushed green from rain.

Branches trimmed by hard winter winds are stacked and ready for mulching.

Our slumbering neighbors are alert and coming over to visit again and…

…friends who winter in the warmer South are back and singing in the trees.

The pond is bubbling freely and the goldfish are no longer sluggish.

Trees are budding…

…bulbs are blooming

…and the Oregon Grape bushes are awakening.

The world seems new again as we shake off the cold and grim winter greys and don spring shades of green. As surely as the Earth follows its track around the sun, life in eastern Oregon orbits the seasons. Students are reveling in Spring Break, farmers are preparing for spring tilling and planting, homeowners are reconditioning their lawnmowers. It is predictable and comforting; assuring us that the pain and loneliness of even the most brutal winter will not last forever. Life does renew itself and hearts do lighten. What seemed impossible in the dismal light of our season of waiting will reveal new avenues of hope in the dawn of spring. Be happy, be hopeful, and find joy. Spring has indeed sprung.

Happy Birthday, Jennifer

Since I am having trouble posting the slideshow, please click on the link below to view it:

We love you, Jen!

Things There Should Be a Law Against...

The Lawrence Welk Show

TV evangelists

Phone solicitation

Email forwards that spoil their goodwill message by threatening you if you don’t pass them on to ten more people.

Dirty public restrooms

Extreme perkiness before 4 pm

Push lawnmowers

Meetings

Allergies to chocolate

And, did I mention Lawrence Welk Show reruns…and reruns of reruns?

Dust Bunnies

This week I have been cleaning a few corners here and there around the house. I don’t know what has come over me, but I don’t think it will last long. For some reason, when I walked through the house the other day, I saw it as a visitor would and cringed at some of the intermittent chaos that is my own doing. My dresser, for instance, was a collection of piles and dustbunnies, while the closet in the guest room was much like Fibber McGee’s proverbial chamber. Ironically, most of the guest room bedding was carefully piled next to the sofabed rather than residing on the closet shelf just a few feet away. So, I decided to tackle a new vignette every day until I no longer feel like a slob.

I should probably do the same thing with other parts of my life. It seems to me that the act of living is messy, leaving strewn emotions and untended dreams piling up in corners, lost relationships gathering dust under beds of distraction. I have a tendency to ignore such clutter until I trip over it. Who or what have I put on hold, neglected, or hurt? Is there someone who needed me to listen, but I was preoccupied? Or needed me to act, but I held back or missed the cue? Have I become too self-centered and missed the opportunity to do good for someone else? Why do I want things that seem to conflict? How can I soothe my restlessness? Do I focus too much on criticism and not enough on joy? Why is that? Where is my joy? What are my dreams? Who is my treasure? Where am I going? How will I know?

Yep. It is time to clean house – one corner at a time.