feet shuffle
down multiple aisles
approach the altar
sacraments of life
and death remembered
the sound of shoes
resonates against concrete
moves us to receive
hope for life and death
a crumb and a drop
spiritual food for body and soul
It’s 1980-something. Read the rest of this entry »
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 »
Neighbor, Diane and Sister #4, Summer 1958
Many of you know that Diane, my Sister #3, lived with ALS for ten years before her death in 2006. I’ve already completed a series of Dear Diane letters as part of this blog. I did it because I was starving for sisterly conversation. The kind not allowed in our house with four daughters and no brothers.
I’ve missed that interaction with Diane, and have wondered how to fill the void. I believe her voice is important. She has a strong and somewhat different angle on Telling the Truth.
Near the end of her life, Diane gave me access to most of her writing. I haven’t begun to uncover all the gems—and may never be able to do that.
However, along with her writing, she gave me a set of cassette tapes. You know. The old-fashioned kind.
The tapes were recorded at her church every Sunday. On several Sundays, when the pastor was away, Diane was the minister for the day. That meant she welcomed people, gave the pastoral prayer, and, most fun for her, gave the children’s sermon. At her church they called it ‘Down Front Time.’
The church is large and well-attended. Their sanctuary has a semi-circular seating area. The large, curving platform holds the choir, organ and piano, and seating for ministers and the pastor, with plenty of room to spare. Steps curve from one end of the platform to the other.
When children are invited to Down Front Time, they come and sit with the pastor or minister on the platform steps. Whoever leads Down Front Time always has a bag. The children know there’s a mysterious object in the bag–the key to the topic for the day. There’s also a bit of friendly banter, sometimes for the benefit of adult children in the congregation.
I transcribed most of Diane’s Down Front Times a few years ago, but haven’t been sure how I might feature them. I’ve decided to make use of them via excerpts that get to the heart of each children’s sermon. Possibly one a week as I did with her Word for the Ones I Love.
Diane loved children and they loved her. Her quirky sense of humor and down-to-earth approach to life pulled them right in, along with all the adults listening in.
From this distance, what catches my attention most is that Diane is talking to herself, not just to the children. She’s doing her own spiritual formation work in front of them—with the simplest or strangest of objects. Yet the content isn’t simple or strange. It’s the content of life—all the things that matter most, reframed and restated for young children.
I want to be a young child listening to her along with you. So look for this soon. I’m already working on the first of her Down Front Times.
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 7 July 2015
Photo credit: JERenich, Summer 1958, Savannah, GA
I’ve read this striking quote from philosopher Simone Weil many times, but haven’t known how to describe what it looks like. Here’s the quote, reformatted for easier reading, and edited with feminine pronouns. I think this could be about me. Maybe about you, too? Read the rest of this entry »
Dear Mom,
I’m sitting here trying to put together a really nice letter for Mother’s Day. So far I’m getting nowhere. It isn’t because I don’t have ideas. It’s because I’m feeling a little lost today, and my ideas seem to be falling flat on their faces.
Last week was sad. Sister #2’s husband died, leaving us all gaping at the huge hole this left in our family. Sort of like the huge hole left when you died. Like yours, his death was relatively peaceful. Though he was in pain, his caregivers found a way to manage it so that his children and his nine grandchildren could be with him and Sister #2 when he died.
Some deaths are difficult. I’ve been reading a small book by Henri Nouwen called In Memoriam. It’s about his mother’s death. He talks about how many deaths he witnessed as a priest. Most were peaceful; some were difficult.
His mother’s death turned out to be difficult. This surprised him, though not totally. She often told him she feared death because she didn’t believe she’d been a very upstanding person. Maybe she didn’t feel ready.
I wonder how it will be for me? There have been times in my life when I know I didn’t feel ready. My worst nightmare was that my own fears would be proven true. That is, that I’ve lived a life unworthy of anything but judgment. Which is, of course, true.
Nonetheless, I don’t have this nightmare anymore. I know that whatever happens, I’m in the hands of a gracious God. Yet I do wonder what will be the manner and spirit of my death. And who will be with me.
Last week, the day after D and I heard the news about Sister #2’s husband, we spent the day at Longwood Gardens. It was a gorgeous day, with spring leaves and flowers bursting their seams. Lots of reminders about the way life and death are distinct and closely related. Here are more photos. This time we focused on the Meadow and the Flower Walk. That’s a tree swallow below.
The Meadow Garden had been trimmed for spring and summer, leaving some ground cover for birds and small animals. This is only a fraction of the meadow. Great for hiking.
Near the pond we saw several varieties of fern just beginning to unfurl. To me, this is more beautiful than their adult incarnations. Sort of like children–sweet and fresh. Newly minted!
Finally, the flower walk. Here are some beauties, beginning with a look at one end of the walk. Colors are arranged with warm colors at one end, cool colors at the other. Here’s a sampling: tulips, lilies of the valley, lily tulips and coreopsis.
Thanks for listening to my sadness about last week. It’s exactly what I needed right now. Have a happy day!
Love and hugs,
Elouise
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 10 May 2015
Photo credit: DAFraser, 29 April 2015
“Petrified pieces of my heart.” Thank you, Mahmoud Darwish, for words that still move me to tears and help me better understand your exile and the importance of keeping lost memories alive.
In the opening pages of his Journal of an Ordinary Grief, Mahmoud Darwish writes these haunting words: Read the rest of this entry »
words on paper
nearly forgotten
traces of you Read the rest of this entry »
Dear Dad,
I finally know why I feel compelled to write these letters to you. They’re invitations to dinner! You don’t need to RSVP. I need to send the invitations.
It’s that simple. And complex. Here’s why. Read the rest of this entry »
rigid white spines
protect thick upright stem
tiny leaflets shrink
* * *
I don’t have a clue what to call this beauty.
It stands in the Silver Garden at Longwood Gardens.
Living repository of succulents, mosses and unusual trees.
All capable of living with limited water supplies.
The dark area behind it is part of a window frame.
I decided to see whether I could write a haiku
that at least captured what I was seeing in the photo.
Then I searched for cacti images to see what kind it might be.
That’s when I discovered my first effort was off the mark.
I rewrote it accordingly. I think.
It seems ‘normal’ plant logic doesn’t work here.
The spines, for example, are actually ‘leaves.’
The little green leaflets won’t develop into leaves.
Sometimes they become the source of more spines.
And then there’s that tall upright stem.
Not really a ‘spine,’ though we often call it that.
The function of the true spines (not simply thorns)
is not to protect those cute oval leaflets.
It’s to guard the cactus from predators seeking its treasure–
life-giving, water-like liquid, stored on behalf of the plant.
No, I won’t turn this into a lesson about life or death.
I just want you to know how hard I worked on this haiku for you!
Also, if you’re cactus-savvy,
and can enlighten us about what to call it
or about anything else of interest,
such as statements above that are wrong,
now’s your chance!
This is not a poem.
I decided it looked better this way.
* * *
© Elouise Renich Fraser, 22 January 2015
Photo credit: DAFraser, May 2014
Silver Garden, Longwood Gardens Pennsylvania
Telling the Truth 