Three Days, Three Quotes Challenge | Day 2
Say but little
and
say it well
I’m walking along the sidewalk outside the still-new Scottish Parliament building in Edinburgh. Read the rest of this entry »
Telling the Truth
connecting the dots of my life
Category: Writing
September 29, 2015
September 26, 2015
weapons of war
sunburst of glory
explodes in gleaming splendor
wrought from war’s horror
* * *
I’m standing in The Great Hall at Edinburgh Castle, surrounded by historic weapons of war. Read the rest of this entry »
September 24, 2015
Small Signs of Faithful Lives | Photos
The photo above was taken in Edinburgh, directly behind the Sir Walter Scott Monument. We’re looking down into the East Princes Street Gardens. Notice the benches. They line the sidewalk from one end to the other. Each has a plaque Read the rest of this entry »
September 23, 2015
souls of the righteous
Part of a bronze frieze by Alice and Morris Meredith Williams
I wrote the words below when we visited the Scottish National War Memorial at Edinburgh Castle. It honors all Scots who fell in World War I. No photos were allowed inside the building. Read the rest of this entry »
September 21, 2015
Scotland, Food and My Gut
Scottish Traditional Vegetarian Breakfast, Priestville Guest House
I can’t get The Reclamation Project out of my mind. In fact, just reviewing it this morning reminded me of what happened in my gut while D and I were in Scotland.
I have challenges when it comes to food Read the rest of this entry »
September 20, 2015
Resting and Jet Lagging
The Writers’ Museum, Edinburgh
Well…I’d hoped to get a new post together for today. But alas, my body and mind (full of cotton) just couldn’t get it together. Jet lag has done me in–as usual. Not to worry. Read the rest of this entry »
September 1, 2015
Celebrating our 50th! | Dear Readers
When we got married September 11, 1965, we weren’t thinking about what it might mean to celebrate our anniversaries early in September. Nor did we know that both of us would become graduate students and then geeky academics who have to show up for teaching and other duties during early September no matter what!
Bottom line: Yes, we celebrated over the years, but it was often low-key. You know. Dinner out, wherever and whenever we could afford it. Cards and the occasional gift that stood out from the others. Now and then we settled for a substitute day, usually on a weekend.
Then we got into academic administration. Not at the same institution, mind you! But we got into it, and that meant duties began in August. When September came around nobody was even thinking of taking a day or two off. At least we weren’t.
In 2011, I retired from my position at the seminary. D, however, decided he would like to work for an indeterminate number of years before retiring. We’re virtually the same age, so this wasn’t about age. His work involved a lot of international travel, sometimes on the date of our wedding anniversary.
As of this month, however, D has actually retired! Sort of. He’ll still do some traveling, and help with projects during the transition. But we now have no excuses about not celebrating properly, and we have missed opportunities to redeem—if that’s possible.
Since it’s our 50th, we decided to take 2-3 weeks and just do whatever we want to do. I won’t tell you what we’re going to do. So don’t ask. But I will say part of it involves day trips, restaurants, hiking, birding, museums, lazing around and whatever else strikes our fancy.
Why am I telling you this? Because I’m not going to do heavy-duty posting for the next 2 to 3 weeks. That means things like my Faculty Wife series will be on hold. Hopefully I’ll have some lighter posts that you’ll enjoy. I will be checking in from time to time, so don’t stop coming by!
Thanks for your faithful reading—which doesn’t mean reading everything (unless you really want to!). It just means showing up regularly or as you’re able, to listen in and be part of the conversation.
I can’t help heaving a big sigh every time I think about it. Fifty years of living with D! Maybe I’ll have a few things to say about that in the next 2-3 weeks.
I pray God’s blessing on each of you, in whatever ways you need blessing right now.
Elouise
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 31 August 2015
Photo credit: DAFraser, June 2015
Children’s Garden in the Longwood Gardens Conservatory
August 27, 2015
My Reclamation Project | Part 2 of 2
Several things stand out in my dream:
- It’s early morning; I’m walking uphill, not downhill. (encouraging signs)
- Though I don’t describe it, I’m wearing shoes. I’m not barefoot. (encouraging sign)
- I’m in a semi-official capacity without being the leader of the team. (I like this)
- My father is doing something I never saw him do in his entire life. (It astonishes me)
- Three themes stand out: reclamation, improvisation and music. (How are they connected?)
- The sound of music is important in the dream. (Yay!)
- At least one of my sisters appears in the dream. (I’m surprised)
- My instruction to team members takes an unexpected theological turn. (I’m speechless)
Assumptions I’ve made:
- All participants in this dream, including me, are reclamation projects.
- The team will do for others what others did for them–reclaim persons put out with the trash.
- I’m not part of the team, and I’m not in charge. Someone sent me to do a task, not to lead the team.
- My task won’t take forever; it’s the last phase of orientation for new team members.
Two questions came to mind right after I woke up:
- Is this about blogging? Lately I’ve had several dreams about blogging.
- Why did I go all theological with the team there at the end?
Here’s how I’m thinking about the dream today.
I’m one of Jesus’ reclamation projects. I also have countless others to thank for helping pick me up from various trash heaps.
Some trash heaps were designed specifically for women. Sometimes I seem to have chosen a trash heap on my own. I say it that way because part of being reclaimed means understanding the dynamics of coercion, seduction and being set up for failure. Nonetheless, I’ve been reclaimed many times over.
In fact, it’s reassuring that this team is going to look for discards (people). I’m happy others are out there looking. Maybe they’ll find me again someday.
My father was a great improviser. Not of music, but of solutions to things that didn’t work properly (machines, not people). He kept a shed and back yard full of what some people would call ‘junk.’ The kinds of things Depression-era women and men valued for their as yet unknown future use.
So here I am, a reclaimed woman, musician and now a blogger who happens to be a theologian. What do I offer women and men who visit and read what I write? And where does my ‘junk’ come from?
I offer the mostly improvised music of my heart, mind and soul. I use memories, bits and pieces of knowledge I’ve collected, old photos, new photos, and other people’s writings that move me. I also use my experience, including what happened and happens to me on the inside. Things like secrets and less-than-beautiful behaviors.
I can’t do this alone. I need others who show me how they do it, or who ask me tough questions. I need to hear them play their music. It doesn’t matter whether it’s overtly theological or not. If it moves me, it rings true. It brings joy, tears, thoughtfulness, challenge, clarity of sight, grief and sadness, or the knowledge that I’m alive and not alone.
As a blogger, my reclamation project is about recovering parts of my life that got trashed along the way, internally and externally. It’s also about being alert for pieces of your lives that inspire me to write yet more unscripted posts that reclaim some of my personal ‘junk.’
Whether it comes from you or from me, it’s music. It doesn’t banish the pain of life, or focus only on what’s beautiful to divert attention from what’s real. Rather, it’s music that accompanies all of life, inviting both sadness and joy to be heard, heeded and shared.
My father’s unexpected improvisation on his guitar is a sign. It shows what can happen when other music, especially from strangers, inspires me to improvise songs I didn’t know I’d lost along the way.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 26 August 2015
Image from 123RF.com
August 26, 2015
The Reclamation Project | Part 1 of 2
This morning I had a dream just before waking. The kind I can’t forget. Here it is, with nothing omitted. I have some ideas about it, but first, here’s the dream.
It’s early in the morning. The sun is just beginning to rise. I’m walking up a street on a slight hill. I notice about a dozen vans parked on the street and in an outdoor parking lot. They’re all black, with simple white logos. Each logo is slightly different from the others, and is accompanied by a team name. I’ve been given a task to carry out with one of the teams. I hadn’t realized there were other teams.
I approach my destination, walking toward the building where I’m to meet the team. I hear music playing. It sounds like a jam session. The building is open-air style on the ground floor next to the street, so I can see what’s happening inside. A team of women and men are playing music together. Each seems to be playing a different instrument. I don’t see a formal conductor. Some team members are arriving at the same time I’m getting there.
The room they’re in is next to another building, also open so I can see who’s in it. Right there, up against the wall adjoining the musicians’ building, I see my father. He’s leaning against the wall, sitting, and playing a guitar. In fact, he’s playing along with the other musicians. I never knew he played a guitar! The other musicians can hear him but they can’t see him. He’s much older than they are, and doesn’t see me.
I wonder whether my father knows what he’s doing. He’s not part of the team still gathering next door. Fortunately, he’s picking the guitar softly, trying to connect with the music coming from the next space over. I hear the music coming close to ending. As it does, I already know somehow that the guitar will be the last instrument heard.
So far the music has been similar to jazz improvisation. My father doesn’t know much about jazz. So I’m surprised that as the performance winds down, his guitar playing becomes crystal clear and creative. I can scarcely believe my ears. It’s beautiful. My father never looks up to see me, and I don’t stop to say anything. It’s as though he’s in a different world.
I’m here to meet this team of recently employed workers. I didn’t know they were musicians. That’s not the job they were hired to do. I tell them how beautiful their music is and how much I enjoyed hearing it as I walked up the hill. I can tell they already work well together.
Just then one of my sisters joins the group. I’m surprised and happy to see her. I’m not sure which sister it is. At first I think it’s Sister #2. Then I take another look and think it might be Sister #4.
I explain that I’m here to take the team through the last phase of their orientation. They have one last task before they go out to do their work. Each of them is to write a brief personal statement about how and why you do this work, connecting it with something significant that guides the way you actually do the work.
I already know the nature of their work. They’ll be going through the neighborhood collecting things that have been thrown away. Each of them needs to tell me how and why they do this. For example, they might say, “I work in this way (describe it) because it connects with the way Jesus worked.” I have in mind a reclamation project.
I wake up happy, wondering what this dream is saying about me.
To be continued. . . .
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 25 August 2015
Image from chickhughes.com
Telling the Truth 