Telling the Truth

connecting the dots of my life

Category: Writing

February 10, 2017

River Scenes | Viking Cruise

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There’s nothing so serene as gliding through calm water in the late afternoon and overnight into the early morning. Especially when you know you’re on time. D took the photo above when we got to the Amsterdam harbor on time in early afternoon. He took the two photos below as we left on time in late afternoon. Getting out of the harbor for a two-week cruise is one thing. Then there are more than 60 locks to navigate before completing the cruise. The Rhine, Main and Danube rivers aren’t very wide, and reservations for lock passage are set in concrete two years out. Be in line on time or be sorry! And no butting in.

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Serenity

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Rounding a corner; campground and village in the distance.

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Sunset, taken from the top deck.
Do you see the small campground in the third photo below?

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Early the next morning —
Notice the  water level and houses with the river dike between.
Also note the walking/biking path along the dike.
Imagine living below the river line
and looking up over the dike from an attic window or rooftop.

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Breakfast time!
Note the rising sun reflected in the river.

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Until we left Amsterdam, I can’t say I felt very serene. Just exhausted, hungry and in need of downtime for body, soul, mind and emotions. The cruise was a priceless gift. I’ve always been drawn to rivers, oceans, ponds, lakes, creeks and waterfalls. It felt like coming home, even though it wasn’t. Hoping you find some serenity this weekend.

To be continued….

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 10 February 2017
Photo credit: DAFraser, July 2016

18 Comments
February 9, 2017

Resistance is Never Futile

Never. What’s at stake isn’t a predetermined outcome, and death is always a possibility. Yet resistance is never futile. It’s about our character. Not simply as individuals, but as communities and nations.

I have a theological hero. He wasn’t the most well-behaved man on the face of the earth. He was human just as I am. Some of his theological ideas still irritate me. That’s an understatement.

Yet he’s a theological hero. From him I learned to listen to myself, to Christian scripture, and to what’s happening around me. With a newspaper in one hand and my Bible in the other.

Actually, it’s more than listening. I call it looking in the mirror and discovering painful reflections of myself. Too often as a collaborator, not as a member of the faithful resistance.

Karl Barth came of age as a theologian during the early years of Hitler’s reign. Though he was a citizen of Switzerland, he spent most of his professional life as a professor of theology in Germany.

Barth cut his theological teeth on Hitler’s final solution for Jews. He became one of a surprisingly small number of resisting theologians, and an influential member of the so-named ‘confessing’ churches that refused to support Hitler.

His theological work is, in part, a critique of Hitler’s brutal treatment of Jews and a vision for something different. There were several parts to Barth’s vision for humanity.

  1. First, absolute allegiance to following Jesus Christ as witnessed to in Christian scripture. Jesus of Nazareth—a practicing Jew whose total allegiance lay with Yahweh. No matter what the cost.
  2. Second, a careful reading of Hebrew and Christian scripture in which he discerned a simple theme that brought every theological idea down to earth. Hospitality toward strangers. This theme challenges all human interactions including Hitler’s treatment of Jews and the churches’ treatment of Jews and others strangers.
  3. Finally, who is this stranger? (Or, who is my neighbor?) According to Barth, the stranger is that person or group of persons you’d rather not see or meet today. Maybe he or she gives you a mortal headache. On the other hand, that person might beat you up and leave you lying on the side of the road to die. You never know. It’s easy to wish you could banish ‘these people’ who annoy, threaten or terrify you.

Hospitality toward strangers has a sweet sound about it. However, as developed by Barth, it’s not sweet and harmless. True hospitality toward strangers is a life-changer for the hostess or host, not just the stranger. It can lead to life; it can also lead to death. As it did for Jesus Christ.

We can already see the USA becoming polarized into stranger groups. It’s happening in churches, between religions, in public and private institutions, news media and families. Many groups vet members formally and informally by political or religious tests of various kinds.

It seems a good time to think about what it would take to show hospitality toward strangers today. Especially, but not only if we’re followers of Jesus Christ.

I’m not naïve. All strangers aren’t safe. Neither is every friend or family member. Wisdom and discernment are necessary. But not political or religious tests. We need each other now more than ever. No matter what the cost. It’s about the content of our character.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 9 February 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Criticize

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February 7, 2017

Trembling Heart | for Diane

Trembling heart sits on edge
waiting.

Unseen by human eyes
she calculates in vain
the cost of knowing
or not knowing
looking for solace
if not release.

Piece by painful piece
mortal heaviness
strips proud bravado
as bare as truth standing defenseless
in the dock of human finitude,
calm, grieving and grateful.

***

Today I had a checkup with my electro-physiologist. I sat waiting, trembling inside, wondering what the doctor might discover in the data from Lucy, my pacemaker.

I toyed with the possibility of not keeping these appointments. After all, for generations before me there weren’t gadgets that could make visible the rhythms of our beating hearts. Maybe there are things it’s better not to know.

When I got home, I was still teary and pondering all this. I was also aware that February marks the death anniversary of Diane, my Sister #2. She lived ten years with ALS, enduring the loss of almost everything we take for granted as human beings. I’ve posted multiple pieces about and from Diane. You can read them by clicking on the category Dear Diane, at the bottom of this post.

I wrote this poem based on my experience today at the doctor’s office. However, it also applies to Diane’s situation. I’m proud to offer it in honor of her courage, good humor, honest emotions and struggles with God and with herself. Though she lost almost all voluntary capacities (such as speech and voluntary muscle movement), she never lost her mind or her great heart.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 7 February 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Tremble

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February 5, 2017

The Soul selects her own Society —

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I wish Emily Dickinson had left a note about this poem. It seems maddeningly ambiguous about her context and meaning. What do you think it’s about? My comments follow.

The Soul selects her own Society –
Then – shuts the Door –
To her divine Majority –
Present no more –

Unmoved – she notes the Chariots – pausing –
At her low Gate —
Unmoved – an Emperor be kneeling
Upon her Mat –

I’ve known her – from an ample nation –
Choose One –
Then – close the Valves of her attention –
Like Stone –

c. 1862

Emily Dickinson Poems, Edited by Brenda Hillman
 Shambhala Pocket Classics, Shambhala 1995

Here are my thoughts as of today—informed by my experience as a woman and by social, national and international realities.

  • Is this a riddle? I don’t think so. Riddles can have more than one true answer, but only when all clues in the riddle line up with each possible solution.
  • The subject of the poem is named immediately – “the Soul.” Everything that follows describes choices of the Soul, personified as a woman.
  • The action in the poem is simple. The Soul makes her own choice about whom she will or will not receive. She then shuts the Door, cutting off access to all others and ensuring her own Majority (of one). This isn’t a decision made by consultation or by popular vote. It’s a one-way decision of the Soul.

If this is about a human being, I celebrate our ability to choose whom we will or will not allow through the Door – into our lives. That doesn’t mean each choice we make will be wise. It means the choice is ours, for good and for ill.

On the other hand, I think Emily is suggesting more than this.

Notice these words: The Soul ‘shuts the Door’ – is ‘Unmoved’ – is ‘Unmoved’ – is ‘Like Stone.’ This suggests a one-time decision such as how the Soul choses to live her life. These words might also suggest this Soul is a snob or merciless.

Yet I see no evidence of this. She doesn’t seem to come from high Society or live in a magnificent palace (note her low Gate). She simply makes her choice and doesn’t look back. Her nay is nay, and her yes is yes. No use trying to change her mind.

It’s possible the supplicants are trying to help this Soul in some way. Or perhaps use her? They may want her vote or her support. They might promise her one thing and deliver something else. Whether the Soul knows this or not, I still applaud her courage when she shuts the Door, Unmoved.

Emily’s poem challenges me to be wise and clear about opening the door of my soul. Some bargains and sure-things end up being disastrous. Not just in our private lives, but in our national and global life.

In the end it doesn’t matter whether someone thinks I’m a snob or blind to reality (which I sometimes am). My choices aren’t always wise. Still, I believe God gave me the capacity to learn wisdom and discernment, if I’m willing to practice it. This means, as Emily’s poem implies, going against popular wishes or expectations from time to time. Especially as a woman, though also as a family member, friend, neighbor and citizen.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 4 February 2017
Image  found at remodelingnewburyport.com

13 Comments
February 3, 2017

music to my ears

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I love the calm cadence of your voice
and the way you make rare
the everyday

waves rolling in on the beach
wind whispering in the willows
my husband reading to me aloud
Mendelssohn’s E major Song Without Words
J. S. Bach’s C major Prelude #1
doves cooing in the morning
robins singing in dusky evening
the overwhelming calm of Psalm 23

***

I wrote the first three lines in response to Frank Prem’s beautiful poem, “Ten Signs of Life.” The rest of the poem is my short list of voices that make rare my everyday. The image at the top was icing on the  cake.

What voices bring you joy and help keep you grounded?

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 3 February 2017
Photo found at huffingtonpost.com

WordPress Daily Prompt: Overwhelming

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February 2, 2017

Dreamscape

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she woke early this morning
green thoughts flowing through her veins

This small poem came into my consciousness as I was waking up this morning. I was surprised and heartened, given my state of mind late yesterday when I wrote Intimidation. Something came through my spirit as I slept and wiped the slate clean for today. An ordinary day made extraordinary by this gift and the stunning image that later came up on my screen saver.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 2 February 2016
Image found at pinterest.com – Kintai Bridge, Yamaguchi Prefecture, Japan

Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Clean

18 Comments
February 2, 2017

Intimidation

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heart races
breath shallow
torpor floods
my body
one behind
the other
heavy legs
drag feet
no need to write
nothing to say

lie down
sleep on it
burdened minds
need rest

fear waits
in the wings
if words
seek light
will fury fall
from starless
moonless sky
or might
some beacon
pierce my heart
plotting a way
back home

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 1 February 2017
Image found at Chicagonow.com

8 Comments
January 31, 2017

Scent of Hospitality

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I used to think hospitality meant planning a big splashy event. Dinner to prepare or goodies to bake and have ready to go. With, of course, the scent of baked goodies or aromatic spices hanging in the air.

The house had to be sparkling clean in every corner. And smell clean, too! As for the hostess—that would be me—she, too, had to look and smell spiffy.

It isn’t that I’m not into social niceties anymore. It’s just that I’m older. Less energy. Less time to waste on dusting every nook and cranny. Or making sure the kitty litter isn’t fouling up the air.

If you drop by today I’m happy to make do with whatever’s in the cupboard, plus tea or coffee or water. All pretty cheap props in return for lively conversation with friends, neighbors or even strangers.

But now I’ve gone and done it. Decided to have a teeny tiny children’s tea for our neighbors and their young twins. A little boy and a little girl. You’d think I was totally out of my league, given my consternation about what to do.

I keep telling myself all I need to do is have some graham crackers, grapes and something to drink handy. Relax, Elouise. This isn’t a big deal—even though it is.

Still, though I’m a bit anxious, I can’t wait! I think our young guests will quickly set the agenda.

If things lag, there are at least a dozen mysterious boxes in our living room. Small, decorative boxes. Different shapes and sizes. Full of cheap trinkets I’ve picked up here and there. The kind of things young children love to discover.

And children’s books! Scores of them are here and there, waiting to be picked up. Maybe even read out loud.

Besides, my lovely piano stands ready for anyone to play. And then there’s Smudge, our people-friendly kitty. Or, should all else fail, D and I, in our second childhood!

Seriously, I had no idea how daunting this great idea of mine would feel. After decades of working with adults, and with our grandchildren now grownup teenagers, I’ve forgotten how easy it is to be with young children. Especially in our interesting and somewhat eccentric house.

In the larger picture of my life, getting started is always the most difficult part of all. From then on, it’s usually a great if not glorious adventure. The simple kind that puts all of life in perspective, no matter how bleak the weather or how grim the headlines.

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 31 January 2017
Image found at vintagevapejuice.com
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Scent

13 Comments
January 30, 2017

Interrupt and Replace

I woke up this morning feeling down, weary and discouraged. ‘Dis-couraged.’ An interesting word. It means I had courage ‘back there,’ and now I perceive a deficit. How can this be?

If I go back to my childhood and teenage years, I know when dis-couragement happened and why I need to attend to it, lest I lose my voice or become an enabler.

As a young girl I knew when the flames started licking around my legs, weakening my focus and my courage. Back then I persistently carried focus and courage into every punishing situation inflicted upon me. First by my father, and later by men with power to inflict punishment on me as a professional. It’s called bully behavior.

One gift of being a childhood survivor with PTSD is the ability to feel when certain dynamics are in the air. Dynamics neither we nor the person in control are necessarily able to change.

The behavior we’ve seen thus far from our new president is the behavior we’ll most likely see for the next years of his tenure. We already saw it in the presidential election cycle. Nothing has changed except this: the power of the office of President of the United States of America now protects him.

So here I am today, feeling dis-couraged by the events of this past week.

What can I do to change things? I can’t change or replace him. Nor can I change or replace myself.

Back to my father. As a child I was powerless. There was no way I could replace him with a different father. Nor could I interrupt his agenda for me. Especially when he determined I needed to be punished.

I’m an adult now. I’ve done my homework. I’ve learned not just to interrupt and replace the internal voices that mess with me, but the voice of my father talking about himself. He died in 2010.

Now there’s Mr. Trump. I want to interrupt him. The presidency isn’t all about him. Nor is it a platform for bully-talk toward and about others. One painful example will do: his language and behavior toward women who are, apparently, there to serve the desires of his heart.

So how can I do my bit to interrupt Mr. Trump’s monologue and replace it with contrasting voices? Not in debate form, but as a proactive, fearless way to change the conversation, the topic, and the outcomes. The Women’s March is an example of other mass interruptions that changed the topic, the political conversation, and the outcomes.

I want to be part of a movement to interrupt political bully talk and replace it with dialogues that make a difference. I’d love to hear what you’re thinking about. Or how your courage is holding up.

Thanks for listening!

Elouise ♥

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 30 January 2017
Response to WordPress Daily Prompt: Replacement

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January 29, 2017

She sweeps with many-colored Brooms —

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Here’s a charming poem from Emily Dickinson. It suits my mood for something that turns my eyes toward the heavens. Something spectacular that hints of glory and power beyond our human capacities. My personal response follows.

She sweeps with many-colored Brooms –
And leaves the Shreds behind –
Oh Housewife in the Evening West –
Come back, and dust the Pond!

You dropped a Purple Ravelling in –
You dropped an Amber thread –
And now you’ve littered all the East
With Duds of Emerald!

And still, she plies her spotted Brooms,
And still the Aprons fly,
Till Brooms fade softly into stars –
And then I come away –

c. 1861

Emily Dickinson Poems, Edited by Brenda Hillman
 Shambhala Pocket Classics, Shambhala 1995

I first found this poem in my Emily Dickinson collection for young people. However, it’s also in my adult collection. So taking the role of an adult child, several possible responses come to mind.

  • If this Housewife is trying to clean things up, she isn’t very efficient. Just look at all the bits and pieces she’s dropping and leaving behind! Doesn’t she know how to sweep anything right? Look at that! She just left dust all over the Pond!
  • Whatever’s going on up there, it doesn’t have any rhyme or reason. The longer she sweeps, the more littered it gets. First this bit left behind, then that. All swept helter skelter across the face of the heavens. Maybe she doesn’t have good eyesight.
  • Also, why waste so many Aprons and colored Brooms? One of each would be more than enough. She isn’t very cost conscious, is she? All that effort and investment for just a few minutes of who knows what. A flash in the sky. That’s all.
  • Now look at that! It’s already getting dark out here. I don’t think she knows what she’s doing. This isn’t going to amount to a hill of beans in the morning. In fact, all her hard work will be for nothing in just a few seconds. Why bother?

Of course all that is nonsense. Emily isn’t writing about a sloppy housewife. She’s describing a majestic display in the heavens that just keeps traveling around the earth each minute of every sunset.

Even more amazing, the beauty being swept across the evening sky comes from the remains of the day. The ‘Duds.’ The ragged old clothes that are tired and worn out. Not sure they’ll live to see the next day. Coming near the end of their life, almost but not quite disappearing into darkness.

Such a spectacular, even wasteful show of beauty. Doesn’t this Housewife understand what’s going on down here? How dare She waste time with the dust and duds of this earth in a show of supposed glory? Doesn’t She know what really matters and will make a concrete difference?

I love the extravagance of this Housewifely Creator. Day in and day out. One magical sunrise and sunset after another. Especially sunsets that transform bits and pieces of throw-away detritus and fragile whisps of clouds, making them a Prelude to the starry night. All for our delight, awe and encouragement. We are not left to our own devices.

Psalm 8:3-4
When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers,
the moon and the stars, which you have set in place,
what are human beings that you are mindful of them,
mere mortals, that you care for them?

© Elouise Renich Fraser, 28 January 2017
Image found at nikonusa.com

2 Comments