Remarkable reconciliation

A remarkable reconciliation occurred recently that’s got me reflecting on the beauty and importance of coming together and resolving differences and difficulties. On Memorial Day weekend in an historic cemetery in Rincon GA, a racially integrated congregation was formed when worshipers joined together to reconsecrate more than 250 graves of slaves which border the main cemetery of JerusalemLutheran Church. Jerusalem is the oldest, continuously worshiping Lutheran church in the country, founded in 1734 by “the Salzburgers” who were fleeing religious persecution in Europe. The Salzburgers were outspoken opponents of slavery, but it is only recently that the graves were made known in the present day, revealed by ground-penetrating radar.

According to an article by Deborah Fontenau in the Savannah Herald, upon the discovery of the burial grounds, “Lutherans laid down a blueprint for reconciliation theology.” And so, people gathered to pray and sing, lay a wreath to honor those long gone, and worship a God who is always calling us to be reconciled, one with another. Fontenau describes the experience as “centuries of solitude, silence, and shame” being put to rest. Remarkable.

What if we humans valued reconciliation as the right and proper way of relating to each other? In Syria and Iraq and Afghanistan and so on throughout history…  In American politics… In personal relationships…

I treasure a moment of reconciliation between me and another that occurred a long time ago. An unkind remark of mine was met with silence. The silence created a space devoid of retaliation, competition, or judgmentalism, a space in which I could catch my frustrated breath. And then the two of us trudged through the rest of that hard conversation until the issue was resolved and harmony restored.

Sometimes reconciliation comes through gracious silence, sometimes through raucous demands for justice. Sometimes in a fleeting glance or sudden laugh, sometimes in grueling negotiation. Sometimes in a quick minute, sometimes after centuries.

Any thoughts on reconciliation? If you’ve experienced or seen a moment of reconciliation worth sharing, please do! 

I don't have time to blog because...

I’m finishing up a booklet for each of my sons-in-law for Father’s Day, a compilation of funny, kooky things their kids have said. Four boys, two for each dad, and they keep us laughing.

Like Carter, 7, announcing at the dinner table recently, “I’d love Eggplant Parmagiana if it didn’t have eggplant in it.”

And this heard when he and his cousin Sam, 5, were playing baseball the other day:  “That was a great pitch, Sam. You just got it on the wrong side of me.” And when Sam hit the ball, Carter yells at him to run. “Okay, I will,” Sam says, kneeling in the grass to examine a roly-poly.

Ben, Carter’s kid brother who is 3, loves to tag around with the bigger guys. When Sam arrived at his house to play, Ben ran up to him, eyes sparkling, “Hi, Sam. Here I am!”

And then there’s Kevin, 10 weeks old today and baptized tomorrow, Sam’s little brudder. This baby boy is high on life, smiling and cooing and gurgling and flailing arms and legs in excitement at what he sees and hears. His mother heard him utter his first word a couple weeks ago:  “diagonal.” Sam said he was trying to say “Pentecost” on Pentecost Sunday. I’m not so sure about all that, but he distinctly said “elf” and “boo” on my watch this week.

I’m telling you, these guys crack me up. All three of the older ones have asked, precisely at the appropriate developmental stage of learning about human anatomy, “Grammy, do you have a penis?” They’re quite puzzled when the answer is no. “Then what do you have?” one of them wondered.

Every one of you reading this undoubtedly has a favorite saying of a favorite kid. Why not share it here in Comments—which will put you in the running to win a Sunday by Sunday deluxe boxed gift set.

Gotta’ go and finish those booklets… Enjoy tomorrow. Think of your father.   

I started my new book this week

No drum roll, please. On a minimal, modest level, I eased in to working on my next book this week. The target schedule is 6-7 am Mon-Thurs mornings and then four to six hours on Fri and Sat with Sun off. I started with sketches of the three main characters. Just like the ankle bone being connected to the leg bone, all elements of the story affect each other. Even though results so far are less than a typewritten page, focusing on the characters has implications for the setting and has also helped develop the plot. One big development dictates major research; I will be contacting the local VFW to try and connect with a Vietnam vet in that regard.

How pleased and grateful I am to be doing this. I’ve said that about 100 times because of the truth of it.Still profoundly true.

Any comments? Are you, perhaps, involved in a writing project? I know those of you are pastors are:  weekly sermons. I know my sister who works with crisis care and my daughter who works in research development are:  reports. Some of you may journal. Composing an email—or even a handwritten letter or card, if you remember those—is the craft of writing.

If you enter a comment about the writing process as you observe it or do it, love it or hate it—or comment on anything, even, “Good luck on the book, Cristy!”—you are eligible to enter a drawing and possibly win a lovely deluxe gift boxed set of my Sunday by Sunday series.

One person reported that she had complications trying to comment, and her comment didn’t, in fact, come through. Please email me if you’ve had that problem. I’ll be checking this out with my IT guy.

And now, on to my writing enterprises. I've already, on this Friday morning, hung out a load of wash and fixed myself fabulous whole wheat and oatmeal pancakes, and it's only, er-ah, 12:30. Oh, well. Y'all enjoy your Friday and take care.

♥ing the Public Library

       How I ♥ public libraries, especially the big, downtown ones like Columbia’s largely glass structure on Assembly Street. There are trees growing inside it, planted at the lower level where the kids’ stuff is and growing up through the main level. Very cool. The kids’ section is called “The Wild Place for Children;” huge reproductions of the characters from beloved Maurice Sendak’s beloved book adorn the walls.   

And oh, the people you see! Grand diversity of cultures and personalities. Cheerful, competent staff eager to help. Parents conscientiously and gladly guiding their children into literature and the arts.

And, for several decades now, lots of people in transition, living on the street, needing a place to be through heat, hail, and cold. They use resources to search for jobs and houses, etc. Uniformed security guards have become standard along with that socioeconomic development. I wonder at the change in the mission of libraries to include this population, many of whom are living on sharp edges of mental illness, poverty, and who-knows-what. Quite the challenge, but I appreciate what seems to be an effective effort to accommodate those in need and consider my taxes well-spent in that regard.

I stopped by to get materials for summer learning with a student I tutor, and was, once again, pulled forward by techno-progress. Expecting to check out compact disks of educational games and programs, the staff provided instead a list of websites on their website. Of course. So much easier. kahnacademy.com and coolmath.com, here we come!

Once upon a time circa 1983, I had a techno-progress moment in my public library in Lionville PA that nearly sent me under. The card catalog had been replaced with an online catalog. From one week to the next that had happened! I was incredulous, disoriented. That was during my full-time mothering stint, and I’d never done anything with a computer. I stood in line waiting for a terminal, blinking back tears and thinking that if I could just pull out a drawer from the card catalog I’d be checking out my book by now. Wow. That was lots of history ago, wasn’t it?

My library in Albany GA loaned out artwork. There was a gallery of beautifully framed paintings in the basement, over a hundred of them, and my 4-year-old would select one and enjoy it hanging in her room for the three weeks until it was due back. Degas’s ballerinas I particularly remember. I only censored her choice once—a vivid, large, close-up oil of one boxer punching another in the head. Don’t you think I was right? There was blood, for goodness sake.

One of the best aspects of visiting the library now—I just have to say this—is that the three books I have written are on the shelves. All three were checked out this time, and that’s the way I like it. But there’s also great pleasure in seeing them in the collection, waiting for a reader. They’re next to Karin Fossum. She’s a Norwegian mystery writer, pretty good, I think—and it’s very possible that we’re related.

Do you still go to the library in this day of downloading books or buying them online? Do you have any stories or memories about public libraries? (Remember, the names of all who enter comments between now and June 30 will be put in a drawing for a Sunday by Sunday gift set. Your chances of winning are very high as no one has commented yet! C’mon. I know you have a thought or two. Please help me get started here…)