My Sister, Kathy's Tribute to our Mother

All she left was a smile; one smile that was one hundred thousand million smiles, each sunnier than the one before. It was the out-pouring of her charm and it came as naturally to her as breathing. She bluffed even doctors and nurses with that blooming smile, even when she was in pain and discomfort, her pleasant and cheery grin would spread across her face and light up her eyes in greeting: a radiant, glorious smile, full of fun and mischief.

And you can see that smile on the face of each of her seven children, we all inherited it and, truthfully, it comes as natural as breathing to every one of us, too. It has helped each of us. People have known from that smile what they knew from Gloria’s: that they are liked, simply and cheerfully liked, no matter who they are, that smile tells them that there is something likable about them. And so, as it is a catchy smile, they always smile back.  (Well, except for some real ornery ones, but none of them are here today!)

When she died, and so many friends and acquaintances sympathized with me in palpable sincerity, all I could say to them was: “She was my mother, she taught me to smile”.

She taught us, her tribe of seven children, a lot of things and we all used all of what she taught us to our individual best. We will go on cherishing our merry, starry memories of our mother and loving her forever. 

And her love and her very being will shine out through us... all the days of our lives. May our smiles be continuing cheer for our Dad.

That's a lotta smiles to keep you going Dad. A lot of smiles and a lot of love.

Today would be our mom's 84th birthday. I am lucky enough to share her birthday month. We always compared if the leaves were prettier the first week of October or the middle of the month. Some years my birthday week had the most spectacular color, some years her's did. This year it was all her's, and that makes me smile...and makes me miss her all the more.

Happy Birthday, Mom. Thanks for giving us so much love. 

A Praying Mantis, A Talent Show, and a Sermon

It was a great Sunday. While out for an afternoon walk on this sunny afternoon it seemed appropriate to come across a praying mantis in a prayerful pose along the side of the road.

He should be praying that he doesn't get run over by a car. Probably he's praying the guy hovering way too close to him with some strange gadget isn't about to do him harm.

We left him in peace, enjoying his sunbath.

At our church it's the season to be reminded of good stewardship practices. This morning's sermon didn't revolve around stewardship, but we had a stewardship event after church, A talent show following a pizza luncheon showcased some of the fine talents within our little church. The acts ran the gamut of silly to serious...all fun, touching, telling, and inspiring. Sunday school children sang and played instruments. One little boy asked if he could pray and blessed us all with his heartfelt words that we would all have a fun time and be safe and that God would be with everyone. (Something like that. I was too enamored by his adorable presence and sincere heart to remember exactly what he said.) Adults sang, told stories, gave testimony and played instruments as well. Each participant offered their talent to make the point, we all have special ways to honor God and bless people. Each person's offering, no matter how small or large, blesses the whole body, our church, and/or our community.

But before any of that...during church... a sermon from the gospel of Matthew chapter 22. Jesus told a parable about a royal family's wedding banquet. First, invitations were sent out by the king for his son's wedding. But, lo and behold no one could come. (so of course, a little ditty from days gone by began playing in my mind...)

I cannot come...I cannot come to the banquet,

Don't trouble me now.

I have married a wife,

I have bought me a cow.

I have fields and commitments that cost a pretty sum,

Pray hold me excused, I cannot come.

While that was going through my head, the pastor moved on in his message. He must have told the part about the king being incensed and telling his servants to go to the highways and byways and ask them to come in. His feast was ready and the banquet must begin. So they brought in all kinds of people, the good and the bad, until the wedding hall was filled. The good and bad part got my attention.

So when I came back to the present, Pastor was telling the part where the king noticed a guy improperly dressed. He did not have on a wedding robe. (Side note, when he asked the kids during the children's sermon, what they would think if someone came to a fancy party with ripped jeans and a dirty tee-shirt. One youngster piped up right away, "Well I don't judge people's clothes." The pastor turned to us grown ups and said. "Good answer. My job here is done." Gotta love those kiddos and a pastor who can roll with it when kids say the darnedest things.)

Back to the sermon. The guest who appeared at the wedding without a proper robe was bound and cast out to a place where there was weeping and gnashing of teeth. Whoa, no warning, no chance to go home and change, just plain...you're out, "For many are called, but few are chosen." 

The pharisees knew Jesus was speaking of them and they didn't like it. Nor would I, if I were them. And he wasn't talking about what kind of clothes anyone was wearing. The deeper meaning, my take away -- everyone and his sister has been invited to heaven. Those who don't refuse to put on the covering of Jesus are chosen.

I phrased that last sentence the way I did on purpose. The wedding guest who came improperly dressed made a choice to do so. It was a calculated, in-your-face decision, and he knew better.

These are my thoughts, not my pastor's words. I'm well aware you can't build a theology around a parable. But, you can build a theology around Jesus, his death and his resurrection -- an incredible demonstration of God's love for all people. He is not willing that any should perish. 

Deep Thoughts for us Tragically Shallow Christians

Don't take that title personally. I'm not -- I know I said "us", but really it's not about you and me. It's about "them," those tragically shallow Christians. It's certainly not about anyone quoted in this blog post. I thoroughly appreciated Preston Sprinkle's commentary on some points from Rob Bell's book, Love Wins. As with any book there are points some people will agree with and some they won't. As for me, I'm fond of the premise: Love wins. How cool is that?

From a blog post by Preston Sprinkle over at Theology in the Raw...

Did you get that? The fullness of God is not in your individual heart and it’s not on some mountain top away from civilization. It’s in the church—that messy gathering of broken, high-maintenance people that we “have” to go to every Sunday (and if you’re in the Midwest, every Wednesday as well). Paul goes on to call this church the temple of the Lord where “you also are being built together into a dwelling place for God by the Spirit” (Eph. 2:21). Again, Paul prays that “you may be filled with all the fullness of God” (Eph. 3:19), which he already said resides in the local body (1:23). This is why God gave us spiritual gifts (Eph. 4:11-12), so that the body of Christ would be built up, made mature, and become unified where the “fullness of Christ” would radiate (Eph. 4:12-13).

Read more: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/theologyintheraw/2014/10/is-having-a-personal-relationship-with-jesus-a-biblical-concept/#ixzz3FrSnRU2e

All week I've been pondering deep thoughts...yeah, me and Jack Handy. Was that his name? The Saturday Night Live guy.

My son, Aaron, preached a series called the Deeper Life, which I've enjoyed immensely.. I'm leading a Bible study next week on God's call on our lives "We Are Called". And my daily devotional readings this past week are all feeding the same theme. So all of this is coming together, converging on my heart and mind. And then this article by Preston Sprinkle. It kind of pulled it all together for me. "The fullness of God is not in your individual heart... The fullness of God is in the church." It's the church that keeps me from living a shallow Christian life.

Now, to tie that in with God's call on my life  -- the same for me as it is for everyone else -- to live in communion with God and people: simply doing what I'm led to do, which is often a matter of doing what is put in front of me, doing the next thing, then enjoying the blessing of a better life for it, and finally, finishing well. Because there is an end point for all of us in this world. It is appointed for people to die and after that...

Well, after that, I want to see God face to face and hear him say, "Well done."

But until then, I do want to live a good life, one that is pleasing to God. I want to love and help my neighbors along the way. All along the way, right up to the finish. Help my neighbors, no matter the disguise they wear.

So, that's what I've been thinking about, studying, and writing about in my secret notebooks. And if it's not too prideful to say, I want to be above average as a follower of Jesus. Especially after hearing this quote from A. W. Tozer, I want to be above average. I'll stop with this...another bit I borrowed from Aaron's sermon. He quoted A.W. Tozer. "To speak of the deeper life is not to speak of anything deeper than simple New Testament religion. ...The deeper life is deeper only because the average Christian life is tragically shallow."

Huh. How do you like them apples? I don't think the good preacher meant to insult any (or all) of us, he was simply making a significant point. And as for me, point taken.

I continue to be encouraged by the whole idea that love wins...It's a very basic thought. God is love, so yeah, He wins.

The Red Moon

Coaxed out of bed...robe on top of pajamas, coat on top of robe, rubber shoes over slipper socks and out the door at 6:30 to see the red moon eclipsed. Totally worth it.

This pic is from Photobucket.

                          Here's one from Yahoo news.

Amazing, simply amazing. Isn't it?

It was a surprisingly balmy morning. Tom took Phoebe for a walk at 5:30. He couldn't stand to have me miss such a fabulous sight, hence, the wake up call while it was still dark thirty.

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.