Fall Flowers

Mums and sunflowers with spent black-eyed-susans in the background. The done-for flowers need trimmed back, but for now, I'll just position prettier posies to distract the eyes of on-lookers.

Soon frost will get the dahlias, draining color, choking out life.

Bumble Bee will steal his last sips of nectar first.

Drink deep. Sleep well. Winter is cold and long.

Good Stock

My Heritage

You know what? I come from good stock. I didn't always appreciate that...heck, I didn't even know it for a long time. And even when it did begin to dawn on me -- I have good roots, and I had an incredibly good childhood, I don't think I gave credit where credit was due. I grew up in a functional family and it never occurred to me to celebrate that.

I come from a large family, one of seven siblings...sadly, now six. Mother was one of 10 children, but a sister died in infancy. Dad had 5 brothers and sisters. That makes for 13 aunts and uncles, 12 of whom were married adding an aunt for each uncle and vice-verse. Naturally there are scads of cousins sharing one or the other set of grandparents. The grandparents are all gone now and we remain...their legacy.

I hope we do them proud.

Some of them were first generation Americans. Pappy Kubasik spoke eight languages and assisted immigrants applying for U.S. citizenship. Pappy Bruce worked in the steel mill in Johnstown, His parents survived the Johnstown Flood of 1889. Yes, I hailed from good stock, and they hailed from Scotland and Italy, England and Slovakia, staunch Presbyterians and strict Catholics. Our family was a melting pot of its own. Perhaps that's why we were taught tolerance and acceptance.

I can't say we were taught exactly, it's just the way my mom and dad lived. Bigotry was unheard of in our house, there was neither racial nor religious bigotry. The religious part owing to the fact Mom was Catholic and Dad was protestant. My first taste of prejudice came from early years in catechism class. Only Catholics were going to heaven I learned. Huh, what about my dad? I remained faithful to The Church until I became a born-again Christian at the age of 16. Then I followed a new path, one that was by no means free of prejudice. But I couldn't see it. I was far too busy trying to do the right things to please God as instructed by people.

In my young adult years, stories of Harriet Tubman and the Underground Railroad, Uncle Tom and his cabin, the shame in killing a mockingbird had dramatic effects on my heart. I'll let you know when I've recovered. The Holocaust became a reality to me through Anne Frank's Diary, Corrie Ten Boom's Hiding Place, and Shindler's List. I don't expect to recover from those stories this side of heaven.

But the lifestyle truths my grandparents passed on to my parents, who in turn passed on to us kids, keep me putting one foot in front of the other. Pappy Bruce said to always do someone a favor if you can. You'll be paying back a kindness done for you that you couldn't repay at the time. There's an expression for that now: Pay it forward. I've seen it lived out. I hope my kids have too. Pappy Kubasik admonished his 9 living children: Right is right if no one's right, and wrong is wrong if the whole world's wrong. He exemplified integrity, developing good character in his children, who demonstrated the same for theirs. My Grandma Bruce was a saint. I know this because my mother thought the world of her mother-in-law. Not one unkind word or hint of tension passed between them. We loved going to Grandma Bruce's. Grammy Kubasik, in spite of being widowed in her early 40's was jovial and fun and I always knew she loved me.

I'm writing this because I did not voice appreciation for my upbringing enough. I don't remember telling my grandparents how much I loved them. I've never thanked my parents for teaching me right from wrong and good from bad just by living it out. Wait, I take that back. Those last days with mom, I did tell her she was a good mom to me -- to all of us, but I was just speaking for myself. I thanked her for so many things. She smiled and nodded. If she'd had the strength she'd have made a joke.

So Dad gets to hear, or at least read my thanks and appreciation before he's on his deathbed. I trust I'm not getting this in right under the wire! You never know when someone's in their 80's.  (That's supposed to make you laugh, Dad.)

For all the years delay in speaking my gratitude, perhaps choosing right, doing good the best I could, and teaching my children the same, serves as thanks enough. I hope so. I really hope so.

In their hearts humans plan their path,

but the Lord establishes their steps. Proverbs 16:9

May those who come behind us find us faithful.

Inconceivable

"Inconceivable!" One guy says.

"You keep using that word." The other guy from Princess Bride says. "I do not think it means what you think it means."

Conservative Christian... I keep using that phrase, but I do not think it means what I think it means. Or maybe I don't think it means what you think it means. 

con·serv·a·tive

kənˈsərvətiv/

adjective

holding to traditional attitudes and values and cautious about change or innovation, typically in relation to politics or religion

.

noun

a person who is averse to change and holds to traditional values and attitudes, typically in relation to politics.

Chris·tian

ˈkrisCHən/

adjective

of, relating to, or professing Christianity or its teachings.

"the Christian Church"

noun

a person who has received Christian baptism or is a believer in Jesus Christ and his teachings.

We frequently put those two words together, so I Googled “Conservative Christian”... and Ronald Reagan's picture popped up. I don't know what I was expecting, maybe a picture of Jesus, maybe a picture of me? Nope, I got a picture of the 40th president of the United States. That's what threw me off, I didn't expect a picture of a person. 

A friend pointed out to me the phrase Conservative Christian is oxymoronic. 

ox·y·mo·ron

noun

1.     a figure of speech in which apparently contradictory terms appear in conjunction. 

An oxymoron may produce a dramatic effect but does not make sense. 

Examples:

o    Open secret

o    Tragic comedy

o    Seriously funny

o    Awfully pretty

o    Foolish wisdom

o    Original copies

o    Liquid gas

Shall we add * Conservative Christian?

There was nothing conservative about Jesus, neither was he liberal. He did not espouse traditional religious or political views and he held in contempt those who did – calling them white washed tombs full of dead bones. He brought change. He didn't abolish the Old Testament Law, He fulfilled it. He brought a religion of love, mercy, and grace. And those who follow him do well to emulate him. Jesus lavished his love on us with complete abandon, showed unlimited mercy, offered inconceivable grace. He was radical! To be like Jesus we’ll have to be radical.

rad·i·cal

ˈradikəl/

noun

a person who advocates thorough or complete political or social (Shall we add religious?) reform

Jesus 

What a guy! What a God! And to think, He didn't exploit his position. 

That's truly Inconceivable! 

Conceivable or not, we ought not to exploit our position as his followers by being politically, socially, religiously conservative or liberal. Let's go for radical, offering radical love, radical mercy, and radical grace one to another. Jesus did it, why can't we? Oh right, He was God and we're not. 

So, we'll just have to try harder. 

It's not like he didn't show us the way. Perhaps those are the verses in the Bible we're to be concentrating on. Ways to be like Jesus and what God wants of us...here's one for starters, Micah 6:8. .. 

            (God has shown you...what is good)

                      And what does the Lord require of you?
                     To act justly and to love mercy
                            and to walk humbly with your God.

It's not complicated, it is conceivable -- obey the two greatest commands: Love God and Love your neighbor... and you're off and running. 

On a side note. My son, Aaron, has a sermon series called "The Deeper Life". It's inspirational and helpful and full of love, mercy and grace. 

Going Places

It's the time of year when the creek is low and clear, good for fishing. So we go there. We go to the creek, Tom to fish, me to meditate. Just along for the ride, I'm in the canoe...going places in my mind.

It matters not if we head upstream or down, which ever we choose we have to do the other to get back home. We can paddle or glide either way for half an hour and never leave our own property banks. Landowners don't own the creek. The river runs alongside our property. We push off from our beach and an hour or two later, return.

It's a very pleasant and peaceful feeling to be at home on the creek. All day my mind occupied itself with troubles, those of friends, enemies, the whole wide world's, and mine. I tried to pray it off, shake it off, walk it off, and work it off, all to little avail. (Certainly not to no avail: prayer is always good, Phoebe loved the walk, and the house, yard, and pool are cleaner for my distress.) So, that evening when Tom suggested we go fishing I acquiesced. I was and am the better for it.

Trapped in a canoe the only distractions before me were the beauty of nature. I wondered if trees along the bank look at their reflections and assume they grow in water. I wonder if, in some other world, the water trees taunt the images they bear. I wonder if they have contests demanding proof, who is real and who is not. I hope they don't argue about it. In my world each is beautiful and real in their own right. A real tree, a real reflection, that's reality, no need to quibble.


We all see through a glass dimly, through a mirror, not always sure what or who we're reflecting.

I gave over  my desire to right wrongs. Only God in heaven can do that. And he knows I'd gladly help -- as in "Here am I, Lord, send me."

Meanwhile, I think I'll concentrate on the reflection I cast. And while going all the places I go, I'll enjoy the ride... of my life.

"For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known."  I Cor. 13:12

Retreating

Retreating...not as in falling back, as in taking time apart from daily routine...

2014 Weekend Retreat for WELCA

(Women of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of America)

 NWPA and SWPA

At Camp Lutherlyn

Seven women from St. Paul's ELCA church in Drakes Mill attended a weekend retreat: Ida Right, Wylda Cole, Juanita Farias, Mary Alice McMunn, Natalie Stoeger, and me, Betsy Henning. Angela Morton joined us for the day on Saturday, staying till after dark for a very fun sing-around-the-campfire time.

 Spiritual Well Being was our retreat theme. Bible lessons, services, devotionals, workshops and fun shops throughout the weekend encouraged spiritual well-being in five areas: social, intellectual, vocational, physical and emotional.

Apparently I wasn't paying close enough attention when I registered, I signed up for both physical well-being workshop and physical fun shop. The morning workshop had us walking Lutherlyn campus taking in the amphitheater and passing the impressive and off-limits-to-us high ropes, climbing wall, zip-line arena. We meandered through woods and caught a glimpse of the upper and lower lakes on our way to Chapel Hill. I’d never been to Chapel Hill before, and an awe inspiring sight surprised me. A magnificent cross, stone altar, and plank benches surrounded by trees create a beautiful setting for outdoor worship, absolutely beautiful!  

                                          

The walk fulfilled more than my need for physical well-being…it added to my emotional, intellectual, vocational, and social well-being as well. Much of that thanks to my walking partner, Angie Morton. She reminisced about her years at Camp Lutherlyn as a child adding an insider’s knowledge to the tour. 

                                   

Later in the day I attended a Zumba session just for fun, but it turned out to be just for torture. Oh my goodness, a person my age ought to build up to that level of activity before literally jumping in. The other gals participated in fun shops like “take home craft,” “front porching,” “sit and be fit,” and “prayer in color”.

The highlights of my weekend retreat, aside from delightful fellowship with sisters in Christ, were the Saturday evening Healing Service with Pastor Arlene Schweitzer, and the Sunday morning worship service at Chapel Hill with Pastor Susan Irons. I’m richer for having attended the WELCA Weekend Retreat, refreshed (though physically exhausted), better balanced, and most important, my Spiritual Well Being tank is full.

Natalie Stoeger, Angela Morton, and I took a walk on our own during some free time -- 3 generations we were -- walking together. Natalie is a senior in high school, adding youth to our women's group. Angie is only a bit older than my own children. Way back when, she was our neighbor and a babysitter for my little boys, who, as I recall, tormented her unmercifully -- all in good fun because they liked her so well. 

Me and Angie

Natalie and her exuberant, always fun, Nana.

Of course we gave the kid the top bunk.
Natalie making her bed 

Write It Down, Don't Think It Up

I'm reading and working through Julia Cameron's book The Right to Write. Her chapter titled "This Writing Life" makes so much sense to me...but it's tripping me up. You see I'm about 50 years behind on the write-it-down edict. I didn't journal faithfully through my youth or my young adult life, and I don't journal faithfully now. Or at least I don't think I do. But if that's true, if I haven't written over the years, why do I have, like, 15 notebooks filled page after page with my musings, rants, prayers, and prose? Why are there files and folders on my laptop filled with compositions, essays, articles, and devotionals? Why am I believing I haven't written, don't write enough, and it's too late for me to become a writer? I am a writer...even if I stink at blogging.

I began blogging in 2005 when my third son, Adam, was going off to war. In 1998 he signed up to serve in the military and get some assistance with college tuition. Our country was at peace with the rest of the world at that time. Then in 2001, 9-11 happened. As a reserve commissioned officer he was called up right after graduation. Adam began his own blog for the purpose of figuring out and remembering his life. Those were the days when people asked, "What's a blog?". It's a log kept on a website, a weblog. A blog is your own personal journal... posted online for all the world to see. And anyone, absolutely anyone can blog. Isn't that a great thing? I mean, what could possibly go wrong? But that's another post for another day!

Adam helped me start a blog and showed me the ropes so I could make posts for him to read while stationed in Iraq. A taste of home, family news and updates, and pictures to keep us tethered. I posted often. I posted for an audience of one, but in reality had a large family following. Friends and family read my blog where I offered a glimpse into our lives here in northwest PA. But I lived for Adam's blogs in those days. They were a lifeline to us, a guarded peek into the goings on of military maneuvers and daily life in FOBs (Forward Operating Base). His posts served as a meter for us to rest easy or pray harder. Little did we know, he kept the fearful worst from us until he returned home safe and sound. Or at least as sound as one can be after living so close to the trauma of war.

That was all long ago and far away. Now, what purpose do I have in blogging? A journal for sure, but as that, most of it is kept private. In my list of posts there are many more unpublished drafts than published posts. I don't want to bother people with my thoughts and fears, questions about the meaning of life and my purpose in the here and now. There are drafts expressing my political opinions and faith convictions -- which change and grow as my notions change and grow in understanding who God is and who I am in relation to him.

And that brings me full circle. There's a lot going on in this rather limited brain of mine, a lot of things to sort out, to laugh at, to act on, to clean up or clear out. Yes, Julia Cameron, I think I get it. There is much rattling around in my head wanting to be written down, and therefore, no need spending minutes, hours, days trying to think something up. Instead, just write it down.

Yeah, write it down and get outside...summer won't last forever.

Black-Eyed Susans, Flocks, and a Hummingbird Moth

It's a banner year for our golden posies!

This guy startled me when he buzzed nearby. He's fascinating but scary and I wondered what kind of insect it might be. Mystery solved. Tom says it's a hummingbird moth. Now it's not nearly as frightening.

Fickle Weather, Funny Little Girls

Unless you live near enough to run home at a moment's notice it's hard to plan a swim date at my house this summer. If the sun's out, come quick!

The weather can go from this...

              to this...

                           in not much more than the blink of an eye.

But we're still enjoying the pool and certainly love when people come over. Here's a picture of  two of the regulars. I kind of consider them my own, and aren't they sweet as can be?

But sometimes they're goofy as all get out!

Renovations and Regeneration

We got our living room back in order just under the wire, right before the Henning family began arriving for the Cousins Reunion.

Backyard/pool side view of the living room

Front porch/yard view of the living room.

Picture above piano --our barn painted by dear friend Toni Jo Kidd

We're so happy with our home. Through the years we've added to and changed much, always hoping we've kept the character of old times while adding convenience and looks of present times.

As for the living room, we still have decisions to make...like where to put a television. I know, just don't. But the winters are long here in northwest PA and we do watch TV. I'd like to enjoy the coziness of a crackling fire while watching a movie or Downton Abbey, and so, this winter, I shall. As soon as I figure out how to put the set in this corner in a tasteful way, I shall. (We're open to suggestions.)

Posting pictures I'm more aware of details needing attention. I itch to dress up the walls and decorate the mantel. I'm also mindful how far behind I am posting less materialistic self-centered blogs. Should I write or should I do? 

Day by day my spirit soars at the joys of life all around me, or flags at the weight of injustice and pain surrounding us all. It's a battle, where my focus lingers -- on the good or on the evil. I don't turn a blind eye to either. I accept gratefully and relish the blessings lavished on me. I wince at hardships and sadness, my own and the world's. I want to do my part to right wrongs and trumpet hope, yet my desire too oft paralyzes me. So I shake it off, clean a room, work in the yard, call a friend, hope for company to come splash in the pool with me, or I write. That's what I do...and then my world is rosy once again.

May the favor of the Lord our God be upon us; establish the work of our hands for us-- yes, establish the work of our hands. Psalm 90:17

July 4th, July 5th, July 6th 2014

The 4th of July is a big weekend for the Bruce family every year. My Yankee-Doodle-Dandy sister celebrates her birthday. The extended Bruce family holds a reunion -- going strong for 60 some years. Adding a memorial service for my mom, a celebration of her life, and then a mountain top send off made this year's 4th of July weekend bittersweet.

At the memorial we intoned Mom's praises, extolled her beauty, and shared remembrances and grief at our great loss. One of my brothers-in-law said it was a wonderful going away party for our mom, oma, Gloria Kubasik Bruce. One grandson led the memorial service, another led the mountain top service, there were songs and hymns performed by grandkids and my husband, and Dad himself sang "All the World Will be Jealous of Me" -- a love song sung to our mom throughout their 63 years together. All of my brothers and sisters gave tribute to our mom and several of the in-laws did as well. I wasn't ready -- still not ready. I've had since December 17th to get ready. The best I could do at that time was to share my dad's tribute to Mom. You can read that here -- Thanks Dad! I'll write my tribute to mom. When I'm ready, I'll write it.

On Sunday we climbed Mount Nittany in State College to carry out Mom's wish to have her remains scattered from the mountain top as we did 15 years ago for my brother, Rob. Dad made the rugged trek up the steep trail -- not bad for nearly 83 years old. We did take a break to rest a time or two...

And when we arrived at the top, husband, children (and in-law children), grandchildren (and in-law grandchildren), after a reflective and responsive service, we scattered Mom's ashes to the wind while singing..."I'll fly away."

I'll fly away, oh glory, I'll fly away.

When I die, Hallelujah, by and by...I'll fly away.