Meditations 4 Misfits

Today has been a really good day. First of all, we have now safely moved in with our most wonderful friends the Millers. They have a beautiful en suite apartment in their downstairs and it’s ours for now. First time Nancy, Shanti and I have felt safe since Tuesday.

Had some deeply moving moments with my son Elijah today as well. We simply held each other tightly and talked about how even in this most difficult week of our lives, we have such a deeper love for each other. Go figure. I guess that’s the paradox crisis offers. Events like this can forge relationships into greater realms of strength and depth than you knew possible.

There’s also been a flood of reconnecting with dear friends from over sixty years of living. Responding to emails, texts, and phone calls has afforded unbelievable respite from the literal hell-like atmosphere we are living in; continued threat of fires, smoke, and the worst air quality on the planet I’m told.

Overwhelmed too by the numerous more-than-generous offers of short-term housing, money, clothing, food, and whatever it is we need. Right now, our greatest need is to secure a long-term place to rent. Until then, we can’t even begin to assemble the things required for simple day-to-day living – as we have no place to put them. Your prayers, chants, meditations and loving intentions to that end are greatly appreciated.

Again, we are financially secure right now. Many of our community who have also been displaced are not. If you are moved to help, the Jackson County United Way is a great place to give. The director is one of my closest friends and is as wise and trustworthy a woman as you will ever meet.

Finally, your well wishes and encouragement to my posts soothes in ways that is hard to describe. It is evidence that in going through what we are – we are not alone. We are part of a larger, loving community. As much of a pain-in-the-ass as I believe myself to be most of the time, I am fortunate enough to have acquired some incredible loving and kind companions along the way. That is so humbling – and I am so grateful.

I’ll close with another of those haikus I worked on while we were on our honeymoon.

North wind blows sea sand

ghost-like swirls, racing with joy

into who knows where?

Who knows where the Spirit’s wind will blow us all next?

But wherever you are – may grace guide you, peace surround you, and joy surprise you today.

Blessings, Fred

Hit the wall today. Accumulated griefs I think the professionals call it. At any rate, my mind entered a fog and I just felt immobilized. Simply couldn’t make any decisions. Fortunately, getting dressed wasn’t a problem. When you only have one pair of trousers and two shirts (one of which stinks pretty bad) what to wear for the day requires no decision-making capabilities.

Had breakfast with Nancy and Elijah this morning. My starved soul was deeply nourished by just looking at them. Just being able to see them, to look at them, and remember why I’m breathing brought amazing relief.

As did some precious alone time on a clean toilet being able to savor a much-needed movement of bowels. Amazing how the simple things can bring such joy. After a shave and hot shower, I actually felt human again.

During my shower, for some reason a line from an old Rich Mullins song bubbled up into my consciousness … “And the stuff of earth competes for the allegiance, I owe only to the Giver of all good things.” Being stripped of all earthly stuff this week has opened my eyes to my real treasures – a beautiful loving wife, an incredibly strong son, wonderous friends and colleagues, and a God who has promised to never leave me nor forsake me.

Having nothing, I possess everything.

Its 1:30 in the morning on day three after The Burn. Can’t sleep.

Good news is yesterday was an evacuation free day, we didn’t have to relocate.

Bad news is the smoke from all the fires has made the air unbreathable. Haven’t seen the sky since Tuesday morning. The last 72 hours has become a collage of haze, the sound if sirens, and the smell of char.

Yesterday Nancy and I went to pay our respects to my ex-wife Cyndi. In the Buddhist tradition, she has been lying in state at her zendo since her death on Monday. It was very cold in there. Because of safety regulations she has been lying on dry ice. Dressed in her Zen robes, flowers at her head and feet, she looked very peaceful even though her body had started to turn purple under her ears. She was a beautiful soul, and I will miss her.

Then it was back to the motel room for more hours of answering emails, gathering information for the insurance folks, and waiting in telephone hold-hell. I have to admit, if I could meet the person who invented the concept of inane bad elevator music as a backdrop to the recording of way-to-perky and insincere sounding announcers giving useless information in short bursts, only to be repeated ad nauseum, while simply waiting to talk with a real human being, I fear I would be less than charitable.

So, here it is at 1:30 and I’m lying awake. It is quiet. Not a siren to be heard anywhere.

In sorting through the pictures for Larry our wonderful insurance guy yesterday, I came across this one from our honeymoon. Because of all the travel restrictions due to COVID19, Nancy and I drove over for a week to our favorite place on the Oregon Coast.

I find the rock formations, called sea stacks, hauntingly beautiful. They used to be part of the land, but years of erosion from surf, salt, and wind have formed them into majestic works of art. Simple good old regular earth, shaped into beautiful statues of mysterious form. For me, they represent a metaphor of our souls. We’re all shaped by the untold erosions of our lives. Our souls are sculpted by the unimaginable experiences we endure, the losses we grieve, dreams shattered, and loves that don’t last. The trick is not allowing these losses to make me more mean and bitter, but rather, to surrender to their pummeling in breaking open my tiny frightened heart and allow others in. What some would call the alchemy of becoming compassionate. Fancy notions gracing the pages popular spiritual books – but in the no-man’s-land of homelessness, hazardous air, and ever-present fire danger – it’s really not all that romantic. Still true. Just not all that desirable. This is a course I would never have freely signed up for.

While on our beautiful honeymoon just four months ago, I was reading a book on haikus. Nancy is a wonderful poet, I’m not, but I thought I’d try my hand at a few haikus. A haiku is a Japanese style of poem that has a short three-line structure with five syllables in the first, seven in the second, and five in the third, for a total of seventeen. Sounds simple but they’re not. The goal behind the practice is to help the writer become more aware of reality – what is really happening in the moment. Haikus draw attention to the impermanence of life. Nothing lasts. Not houses, jobs, relationships, health, or lives. “Dust you are, and unto dust you shall return. All we go down to the dust.”

At any rate, here’s one I doodled while there.

Sea stacks in the surf,

icons of impermanence

slowly becoming … sand

I was just trying to be poetic. Little did I know how prophetic these words would become for my life just four months later …

Well, it’s 6am on Thursday already.

Yesterday I tried to set simple goals for myself: get toiletries, clothes, and a cup of coffee. Felt pretty proud that I had done all three by 10 am. Thank God for Walmart.

We were staying at my dear friend Pandora’s home (she and her husband Ramone are on vacation and she texted me from Washington offering her home as an oasis after learning about the fires from the news). What a wonderful human being she is!

At any rate, after getting back to Pandora’s with clothes that didn’t stink and some new deodorant, Nancy and I set off for the old homestead to survey the damage. What did we find? Armageddon comes to mind. I’ve attached a before and after photo so you can judge for yourself. Gone. All evidence of a lifetime … family photos, my books, all of the incredible weavings Nancy had made over the years … reduced to ash. All trace of our existence for the past 60 plus years … ash in one afternoon.

As we headed back to Pandora’s place, more fires broke out. Dodging traffic and more backroads we got back just in time to evacuate once again. Reports of fires South and North, little sleep for the past three days, I simply didn’t know where to go.

Nancy’s friend Mary (who is away on a camping trip) texted that we could stay at her house in Ashland … if we could figure out a way to get there with I-5 and US 99 closed (the two major roads between where we were at the time and our hoped for destination).

Zigged and zagged and got to Ashland.

The journey was punctuated by overwhelming acts of kindness. Stopping for some food at a shopping center, Nancy noticed the pet store where I have gotten our beautiful poodle Shanti her most favorite dehydrated organic duck treats. Seems, Shanti too has been traumatized by the recent turn of events and hadn’t eaten in two days. Nancy went in to get the treats and the owner wouldn’t take our money. He learned about our house burning and gave Nancy the treats, plus an extra bag, and a comb for Shanti and told her to tell anyone else displaced from the fires to come and get whatever their pets need for free.

Then there was our insurance guy from Pemco. He called, deposited a huge amount of money into our checking account and gave us his personal cell number to call, night or day, with any questions while they process our claim and find us a place to live.

We never did get to Mary’s. Along the way, I was seized by an overwhelming need for just a place to land where I could get a hot shower and tried one more time to locate a hotel room where we could hole up for a few days and not put anyone else out. Christy at the Bard’s Inn had one last room. Insurance guy would cover it and we could stay for several days. Christy went out of her way to get us some fruit and yogurt for dinner and wouldn’t even take the $20 I tried to slip her.

So here it is 6 am on day three after the burn.

It’s funny, I woke up thinking about the wonderful pair of fingernail clippers I had in our bathroom and wondered how I would ever find just such a perfect pair for my particular fingers again? The total loss is numbing. But bits and pieces of all the little and not so little stuff holding emotional attachment pierced through my consciousness like Whack-A-Moles. I’d beat one back and another would pop up.

Nancy woke up and we held hands and talked about things we’d particularly miss. Our back garden, the family piano … but also so grateful to be safe, lying on a comfortable king-sized bed whit Shanti between us … and for our so many dear friends and family.

Look it’s bad, but we are so blessed in the midst of it. Financially we’re fine. It’s a huge hassle, but we’ll be OK. We’re safe, we have each other, we are loved.

And so I’m writing all this down now because I don’t want to forget when my life gets back to normal … or at least as normal as I get. I don’t want to forget the kindnesses of strangers, the unexpected outpouring of love and affection. I basically think of myself as a pain in the ass. And to be the recipient of so much love and kindness is hard for me. I suck at receiving. But it seems this one lesson God won’t let me avoid.

Stuff is just stuff and one day it will all burn up.

But giving and receiving kindness is eternal …

Before … 

and After …

What a week … on Monday my beloved ex-wife Cyndi died after a long struggle with a terrible illness … she was peaceful and surrounded by loved ones …

Then on Tuesday, our home and everything we own was taken by wildfire … we (Nancy and I) have our cars, the clothes we’re wearing, our phones, computers, and Shanti the wonder dog … and we are safe at a friend’s home. Elijah is safe as well …

Feels like the last 24 hours have been an experience of Biblical proportions … but again we are safe and deeply grateful to many good friends … so many around us are displaced and in great need … it is truly unbelievable …

Hide and Seek? podcast #13

What if there are simply seasons in our lives when God withdraws for a time to urge us into deeper intimacy?

May grace guide you, peace surround you, and joy surprise you today. Blessings, Fred

F. Grewe, Time to Talk about Dying: How Clergy and Chaplains Can Help Senior Adults Prepare for a Good Death. London and Philadelphia, PA: Jessica Kingsley Publishers, 2018. Pp. 168. Pb. £18.99. ISBN 978-1-78592-805-5.

In most books, it becomes clear how far its writer knows the geography, the contours and the sense of direction in the field of study which they seek to open up for their reader. When it comes to the geography of death and dying, there are plenty of writers who offer maps for such a journey. The field is saturated with many fine guides. So a text which captures attention, reveals a wealth of grounded practice and has the potential to be used for spiritual and pastoral accompaniment, deserves commendation. This is a generative book, carefully written, well organised and rich in lived pastoral experience among those preparing for death. Its focus – enabling adults to enrich later age by considering what a good death might look like – is carried through in ten chapters. Fred Grewe invites his readers into a process of reflexivity which asks what we might want to leave behind for those who care about us and how we might be remembered after we die. In and through the exercises which have been tested with a wide range of individuals and groups, there is a commitment to affirming and celebrating what is precious and lasting in relationships. This is all done within an acknowledgement of the isolation, uncertainty, meaninglessness and pain of change, grief and loss. The chapters bear significant testimony to the author’s experience. The use of personal experience is appropriate and sensitive. There is a practical wisdom here which can be trusted as it is applied with honesty and insight. While acknowledging the cultural differences between the UK and the USA, much of the material in this book travels well. I can see it being put to good use in the training of pastors and ministers. It could form the basis of an innovative parish or community course in order to provide a safe framework within which we befriend the older stranger within us, living with boundedness and mortality. As the relationship between religion and its wider culture weakens in terms of both credibility and relevance, communities of faith would do well to explore where their strengths lie. What makes the life of those who believe distinctive, and how might theology be put to work for human flourishing? Those who teach theology would do well to explore how practical theology as opened up and explored in this book might be a force for the nurture of imagination in all our relationships but especially with our mortality. Enabling individuals and groups to create time to talk about dying could in and of itself be renewing for our understanding of religion and its practical application for our journey towards wholeness.
Sarum College, Salisbury, and University of Winchester James Woodward