Advent Day8: Interlude

Telephone rings.

ME      Hello?
HIM      Beth?  It’s Brian.  Are you coming?
ME      Yeah.  I’m just taking the chicken out of the oven.
HIM      Great.  I’m waiting for you to do the blessing.  We’re
           ready to eat right now.
ME      I’m on my way.  Bye.

I throw on my coat, grab the chicken casserole and my umbrella, quick walk across the road to the Stonewall Ruritan Club building (the old school house), filled with folk.  Brian grabs my coat.  Belinda and Dawn tell me a couple of announcements to give before the blessing.  I rush up to the front, forget the microphone and begin to shout instructions.  The waiting folk shout back at me to grab the mic.  I do.

Announcements are given.  Blessing said.  Instructions for the food-line up given.  Check, check and check.

It’s another evening where I live, except it’s December.  So it’s even more festive than usual, the food even better than ordinary meals, more kids have come, the promise of a magic show and Santa’s arrival a big plus.

We gather.  We talk.  We laugh.  We eat.  We are entertained and feted by a grateful Volunteer Fire Department and Ruritan service club.  

Just before Santa is to make his grand entrance, Dawn draws the last of the door prize tickets.  Just before the last number, I wonder to myself whether it would be wrong to ask Jesus for my number to be drawn.  Dawn shouts out my number and I do a happy dance as I go and claim my Santa placemat prizes.

If I lived in the city, I could go to a restaurant.  And it would be lovely.  But no one would call me if I weren’t exactly on time.  No one would welcome me as a single woman to their table.  There wouldn’t be kids running in the hallway, lining up to do crafts, getting their faces painted and watching a magician do his wonders, all in one place at one time.  And for sure, no one would give me a present just for showing up.

Sometimes, living here is just about perfect.  

Where I Live: Canoeing in the Snow

Where I live, folk are more likely to be injured by canoeing in the snow than in a car accident (okay, I exaggerate a little, but you heard me: canoeing in the snow).

Let me say it again in case your brain didn’t catch up with the visual imagery: canoeing in the snow.

How does it work?

Well, you get some rope and tie your canoe to your 4-wheeler and then pull it around in the snow – better than tubing, I’m told – until going downhill, as the canoe sails past the 4-wheeler, that is.

I’m not brave enough to give it a try, but I’m betting it was fun – until it wasn’t.  And I doubt it's going to be an Olympic sport any time soon.

But you know what – if you’re going to be injured, wouldn’t you rather it be in a canoe sailing past your husband on the 4-wheeler than in some fender-bender?

I know I would.

(Hat’s off, Missy – you’re braver than I!  Heal quickly, friend.)

Making Do

There was a funeral – a memorial, really, the other day.  The sister of a dear congregant had passed on and family were to gather to speak their memories and bid a shared good-bye.

Having no duties, I debated whether to go or not, as this was more a private affair.  But I finally decided I would, simply to be present.

Over Jack Mountain I went to the church in Monterey where all would gather.

It was cold.  Really cold.  And as time passed, it became clear that the church’s furnace wasn’t working.  So we retraced the path back over the mountain to the church I shepherd, merely because it was available and the furnace was still going (never a sure thing on days like this one).

Where I live, when the furnace breaks down, you just bundle up and head to another church and make do, as family simply roll with the punches.

A son and a daughter, aided by their own families, crafted a gathering of much love and laughter and unabashed tears and made do.

A pastor whose furnace had broken just got in his car and trekked to another space and made do.

Mourners waited patiently to see what would be decided and made do.

A pastor wanting to help, calls a congregant (because it’s the only number she can remember) who calls the post mistress next door to the church who runs over and turns up the furnace so it’ll be warm when the mourners arrive from over the mountain.

We were all making do, and it was fabulous, as Jane’s son Mike, through his own tears, laughingly ‘accused’ his mom of breaking the furnace from the great beyond, to have her final say about being sent off without any fuss, as all nodded their agreement that Jane had made them make do.

That’s where I live.

Where I Live (continues)

I dither and dither . . . do I want a tree or not?  Yes, I do, I decide, but then rescind the thought just as quickly thinking about the steps involved, defeated before I’ve begun . . . until yesterday, when I decide definitely I do want a Christmas tree.

I check the one place where I live that sells them and they’re out and not planning to order more.  But now I am determined. . . and short on time . . . so I call a few folk who might be able to help – no one home . . . and then I think to call Kathy and Johnny and it goes like this . . .

Me Hey, do you know where I can get a Christmas tree?

Kathy [conferring with Johnny] Johnny can run up the holler and get you one.

Me Really?  That’d be great!

Kathy We’ll bring it over in a little bit.

There was a bit more conversation than that, but the short version is that these friends just went up the woods and got me a tree and delivered it and set it up for me as well.

I hope I’m as good a friend to someone as Kathy and Johnny are to me.

Where I Live: Can I Pray for You?

Dear friend and congregant Laura had to go to the emergency room the other day.  She was having some pretty scary and painful symptoms, so her husband Les (also a pastor) had called the rescue squad to come.

Almost as soon as Les hung up the phone, there was Craig at their door.

Craig isn’t with the rescue squad – he’s a volunteer fireman.  But when he heard the call, he went, just to see if he could help.  While they waited, Craig moved some furniture out of the way to make it easier for the squad to get in and out once they arrived.

And then he sat beside Laura and asked her if she minded if he prayed for her.

She didn’t.

And he did.

Simple as that.

Where I live, when the call goes out, friends and neighbors come just to see if they can help.

And they stay to pray.  Sometimes they even do it out loud.

And it is good.

Where I Live 5.0

Racing down the one straight-stretch road of any distance in these mountains, racing against the school-bus schedule to get my friend home in time to greet her daughter, my friend noted the smell and smoke coming from my car.

Overheated.

Sigh.

I had just put in a quart of transmission fluid that morning, hoping against hope somehow that I could continue to limp along.

Alas, it was not to be.

We bought some time cranking up the heat and slowing down – but not much.

Get to the corner of 84! Melissa cried.

We’re not going to make it! I've got to pull over now!  I responded.

But just then we crested a small rise and there was the corner of 84.  I put the car in neutral and we coasted in to the parking space in front of the house there.  Without a word, Melissa hopped out of the car, ran into the house and came back 2 seconds later with keys to the van in hand.  Off we flew to get Maggie, arrange for a tow, pick up Melissa’s car and drive back to the house at the corner of 220 and 84 and sit down for a visit with Carlton & Patsy, owners of the van.

Where I live, when your car starts to go, you do all you can to get to the house of someone you know – so that you can run into their house unannounced, say “car keys” with no further explanation and without remark be given the keys.  Because where I live, you see, the one being asked knows all they need to because they know the one asking.  A stranger would get a ride, but a neighbor gets the keys.

***

The more car-astute among you will correctly note that I said I put transmission fluid in the car.  What I didn’t say is that I put it in the radiator.  Sigh.  That’s right: I put transmission fluid in the radiator.  Poor car, you deserved better.

Where I Live 4.0

Where I live, our local Supervisor and furniture refinisher has a lamb in his shop window this morning.  I can hear her bleating for attention across the court house lawn.  And everyone at the table later will understand – she needed feeding and no one would be home enough that day to do it, so he brought her along.  It’s just what you do.

Where I live, Mark and the guys change my oil and fill ‘er up while talking about how much we raised at the latest dinner/fundraiser – this time for Emergency Shelter funds for the needy.  (Mark is the county’s go-to guy for putting together a great dinner for hundreds at the drop of the proverbial hat.)

Where I live, death is as practical as life, so we all stop on our way to or from the funeral at the Dollar General to pick up our sundries and think it no disrespect – Guy would have done the same, after all.

Where I live, Deb will follow me to the gas station to drop off the car and drive me back the ½ block to Evelyn’s for our meeting just because she knows I hate to walk in the cold.

Where I live, I catch up with friends sitting in their warm car in the church parking lot after catching them doing a drop off for tomorrow.  That’s visiting and none of us will think it odd that I don’t invite and they don’t expect to come in – we’re both kind of busy just now, but want to catch up, so car visit it is.

Where I live, many of the folks at Guy’s funeral will come up to ask me how my mother’s doing after her car wreck, because they’ve all been praying for her and genuinely want to know.

Where I live, people will tell you if it was a good funeral or not and why, because where I live, folks have lots of practice at funerals and we all know the difference between a good one and a bad one and good send-offs matter.

Where I live, lucky is scooting back across Jack Mountain into the lower highlands just in time to beat the ice and snow and we’re all happy for all the luck we get.

Where I live, a preacher of one church will borrow a congregant from another for some special service or event, because we’re just too small to think it strange to do so.

Where I live, the extraordinary blends in with the ordinary, wearing the camouflage of this thing we call life, sliding by so quietly we almost don’t even notice – almost.

Where I Live - Redux

My mom was recently in a pretty serious car accident.  She’s doing better, but still has a long way to go, so your prayers for her continued recovery have been and are most definitely welcome.

Coming back home to Virginia on Monday after having been at her bedside virtually uninterrupted since December 22, I drove past where the accident happened and contemplated the vagaries of time and place.

In this time and this place, words of care are expressed in ways direct and indirect.

I learned of my mother’s accident as I was preparing to walk out the door to officiate an evening worship service.  The voice on the other end of the phone was the wife of another pastor.  It turns out that a lay pastor over in West Virginia, where the accident happened, had heard a paramedic say the woman in the accident’s daughter was a minister in McDowell.  David called Darlene to ask if she thought that was me.  Sure it was, Darlene called me to give me the bad news.

The next day, desperate to get to the hospital, I plotted a course the long way round the snow-covered roads made largely impassable and contemplated what to do about upcoming services – particularly Christmas Eve.  Someone suggested we cancel as there are a number of services on Christmas Eve in the area and our folks could attend another service easily.  That’s what we did.  Turned out virtually no one had services as the snow continued unabated the next days, leaving the community together in their apart-ness.

Calling the radio station to ask them to announce our cancellation, the congregant calling was asked if it was okay to say the reason why and to ask for prayers for my mom.  And so it was that the whole county has been praying for my mom.

There have been many other acts of kindness in these days, but for now, I am grateful that I live in a time when and a place where the radio station issues prayer concerns for a fallen one and folks go out of their way to get you the news you need to know, where the degrees of separation are small and largely irrelevant when it comes to crisis.