tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21253226051266252812024-02-08T09:17:40.630-08:00Thad's Weekday ConversationA quiet place to convene online -- to seek, to share, to breath among friendsPenelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-22779581445264432472009-11-18T13:51:00.000-08:002009-11-18T14:58:03.277-08:00Take Church to a Friend Day - December 6On Sunday, December 6, there will be no music from the Church Keys at the Westside JCC. There will be no muffins, no sweet tea and no preaching. There will be no Thadito's, no Tiny Thad's - nada.<br /><br />On Sunday, December 6, we're attempting something completely counter-cultural to the religious establishment, revolutionary, even. The results will be some love spread and some differences made and there will be some great stories to tell.<br /><br />On Sunday, December 6, we're taking church to a friend.<br /><br />We're not going to meet at our regularly scheduled time of ten o'clock. Instead, we're going to put our love where our mouths are and take the love of Jesus to the streets!<br /><br />A common practice in the wider church has always been to designate one Sunday a year, or month, as the day when we bring a friend to church. The idea was that if you bring a friend, perhaps they'll like church and want to join. Well, at Thad's there are no 'members' <span style="font-style: italic;">per </span>se, so one can't 'join' since we're all of us, already 'in.' And, the point is not to add numbers to the Thad's community, just for the sake of adding numbers.<br /><br />The point is to reach out to someone you haven't seen in a while, maybe even someone with whom you've had a falling-out. The point is to connect with the folks you love. The point is to take some of the love-spreading, difference-making we do at Thad's out into the world, in the spirit of being Monday - Saturday followers of Jesus who worship on Sunday.<br /><br />And, the point is to start in your own life, in your own relationships, with those you love.<br /><br />We've been talking about this 'Homework' for the last two weeks now, and the discussion around the HW has been deep and good. Folks have been offering their ideas, their advice on what NOT to do (like proselytizing or preaching) and telling their stories.<br /><br />Folks have talked about going to lunch with a friend they haven't seen in a while, or going to visit a relative in a nursing home. Someone mentioned that they're going to spend much-needed play time with their kids. <br /><br />There are no rules. The only thing to remember is to share some of the love you experience at Thad's with someone 'out there.' You may not even utter the words "Jesus" or "God" at all in the conversations you have. <br /><br />This post is an opportunity to share your ideas, your thoughts and maybe even fears about this adventure in love-spreading, difference-making.<br /><br />Good luck!Georgehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16338671367950105289noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-79212776391272777392009-10-06T18:55:00.000-07:002009-10-06T19:19:25.737-07:00"How do you get out of that dark place when you find yourself there?"Ian asked an important question Sunday, toward the end of our discussion. We had some answers for him then, but I think it's a question we all ask -- at least from time to time -- and a question for which we probably can all use suggestions. So, we would like to open a thread here and invite everyone to share both their answers to the question and their need for answers to similar questions of their own. . . .<br /><br />Let me start: Since I don't seem to be able really to "give it up" if I tell myself that's what I should do, my own favorite strategy is to go do something that has nothing to do with what's making me bleak -- to focus my conscious mind on something else that has nice, defined parameters. Hopefully, then, my wiser self can let the worrisome thing go and listen to things I can't hear if I'm fretting. Do something someone else needs; cooking something that contains lots of veggies in very small dice; tackle the treadmill as if it might actually take me somewhere. I've done 'em all; sometimes to better effect than others.<br /><br />But enough about me. What do you do to get unstuck? And/or where are you stuck that the rest of us can help you with? Sometimes just knowing we are with you may help all by itself.<br /><br />Click on <span style="color:#3366ff;">comments</span> below and chime on in!Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-85750193525934467792009-05-31T15:56:00.000-07:002009-06-01T10:12:17.460-07:00Home is Where Our Family IsWhen I was a kid, my family moved a lot. Not military brat or Foreign Service a lot; but more than I would have chosen if anyone had actually asked me.<br /><br />And we never moved into a house that looked the way it looked on the Sunday afternoon when my sister and I first met it. In fact, family legend reports that the first time I had dinner at the grown up dining room table I began the conversation by announcing we should move the kitchen to the garage and the powder room to the basement. So central was the constant re-design of our homes to the Roeder lifestyle.<br /><br />And why would I share this information with you? Because I know just what it’s like to know that we are moving and not have any idea what it’s going to be like when we get there.<br /><br />It’s gonna look different; it’s gonna smell different; it’s gonna sound different. It’s gonna BE different.<br /><br />Since I don’t do fairy tales, I’m not going to tell you that I loved every house we moved into, or that every move was immediately comfortable. I didn’t, and it wasn’t.<br /><br />But every one of the moves I made as a kid had a really important ending: whatever new walls had popped up, whatever weird new plants appeared in the garden, the small band of colorful characters that was my family was always there together, discovering what worked and what needed more changes to make the life we shared.<br /><br />And so too with our Thad’s family: we don’t yet know what our new home will feel like, or smell like, or sound like. But we’re all gonna be there together – adding stuff, moving stuff, doing what we need to do to build our tent on our field of hope.<br /><br />Come dream with us, and play with us, and share this new experience with us.<br /><br />Every Sunday starting June 6 at 10 a.m.:<br /><br />5870 W Olympic Blvd Los Angeles, CA 90036 <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&abauth=35e3c2cb%3AtfP0ioBisr-TewftcNLhlSH_3NA&view=text&hl=en&gl=us&q=5870+W+Olympic+Blvd+90036">Map<br /></a><br />See y’all!Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-63968346791531988382009-03-15T17:45:00.000-07:002009-03-15T18:23:35.368-07:00“Taking Chance” A Lenten Parable from HBO<em>Readers’ Advisory – Reading someone else’s writing about a poem is never safe. What the writer thinks is there is likely to be different from what you think is there.</em> And make no mistake: TAKING CHANCE is a poem. A mesmerizing little film that runs just over an hour with the thinnest of story lines but the thickness of premium ice cream and as many facets as a well cut diamond.<br /><br />At its simplest, this film is the story of a Marine Colonel who, frustrated with his role as a desk jockey, volunteers to escort the body of PFC Chance Phelps, a young Marine who has been killed in Iraq, home to his family.<br /><br />At its core, the film is also a profound illustration of the miracle that can happen when a person takes to heart the words of Ian’s wonderful song, “There’s a Black Wind blowing across this land . . . . Reach out and take somebody’s hand.”<br /><br />Against all protocol – “officers are not generally assigned to escort PFCs” the Colonel is told – this man asks for the job and discovers that he has asked for it for “wrong” reasons. The Colonel has focused on this particular young Marine believing that he will be returning the body to his own hometown. Does he think he will be making his own journey home? It turns out, however, that Chance was recruited in the Colonel’s hometown, but that his family is actually in a small town in another State.<br /><br />Nevertheless, the Colonel undertakes his task with absolute vigilance. He begins by checking with the Dover mortuary staff to make sure that Chance has been dressed in the correct dress uniform carrying all of the medals the young man has earned. He has been told that he is not to let go of the bag holding Chance’s personal effects until he gives it to the family, and he refuses to relinquish it at airport security. He is told he is responsible for the soldier until they arrive at the destination mortuary and not only does he check to ensure that the correct box is loaded and unloaded at each transfer, but he chooses to sleep by its side in a warehouse during the overnight layover at the Minneapolis airport.<br /><br />No over-the-top stereotypes here: the Colonel takes every action with the deliberateness of a priest kissing his stole at the highest of Masses.<br /><br />Along the way he, and we, meet an amazing array of people who choose, each in his or her own way, to participate in the young Marine’s journey home. Once they reach Chance’s hometown, the Colonel has no responsibilities other than the delivery of the personal effects, but he meets and chooses to participate with a remarkable community that has dedicated itself to events surrounding the homecoming and burial.<br /><br />I’ve left more out of this telling than I have put in, but nothing I could write could really capture thie extraordinary experience I had watching this film. Based on the Colonel’s journal of his trip, it is a stately riff on teamwork, ritual, and community. And, to me, it is the story of one man’s surprising redefinition of what matters – and of his reconnection to his own soul.<br /><br />The events of TAKING CHANCE began over Easter weekend of 2004; watching it will probably become part of my own Easter tradition. It may not become part of yours, but I urge you to see it and discover for yourself what it says to you.Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-85592569799810720652009-03-02T05:44:00.000-08:002009-03-02T06:01:53.822-08:00Pregnancy is the new Lent!<span style="font-weight:bold;">Jimmy's sermon yesterday and and the discussion after really had me cracking up.</span> I have been racking my brain about what I should "give up" for lent, something that would bring me closer to God. Hmmmm....<span style="font-weight:bold;">as people talked about giving up drinking, sugar or worrying (good luck!), I thought hold it. I am a walking poster for lent.</span> At 8 1/2 months pregnant I have given up many things, drinking, eating too much sugar, and recently bending down to pick something up! <span style="font-weight:bold;">Pregnancy has slowed me down. I can't walk too far, go too far, busy myself with too many things...instead I am reflective, taking care of myself, and napping!</span> all things I would NEVER do unless I was carrying a child!!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Being pregnant has brought me closer to God.</span> I am relying on him more to take care of me, thinking about all the things I am grateful for, and hopeful for my baby girl on the way. <span style="font-weight:bold;">There's a lot of trust going on between me and the big man right now. I am "listening up", I am not distracted. I am connected to God, I think he designed it this way!</span><br /><br />Yes, I still worry, get cranky, and emotional, but the truth is I have to rely on God right now. <span style="font-weight:bold;">Pregnancy is a very "Out of control state" and I am a very 'In control" person. This may be the perfect exercise for a type A-er like me!</span><br /><br />After I have the baby I will probably go back to my old ways, but <span style="font-weight:bold;">I am hoping I can remember how it feels to have nine (really ten people) months of lent. I highly recommend it. </span><br /><br />LizUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-1962519445225309122009-02-25T20:45:00.000-08:002009-02-25T20:55:39.420-08:00Giving it upNot too long ago, I was talking to a friend about Lent and he commented that he doesn’t generally give up favorite foods and such by way of observance. Although I may be in the running as the world’s least observant person about almost everything, I do try. And I got to wondering why. . . .<br /><br />It’s not as though it’s a habit I was forced to get into as a child: my family didn't share the practice, and probably thought I was more than a little nuts.<br /><br />But I think it is about habit. I think I generally do a lot of things without thinking; I think maybe most of us do. But I also know that having a relationship – with my friends, my colleagues, or with God – requires thought. Thoughtfulness. Mindfullness, if I may borrow a word from the remarkable Buddhist Thich Nhat Hanh. Not the kind of routinized behavior that we repeat over and over again, whether it is accomplishing what we intend or not.<br /><br />One of the things I learned when I quit smoking several life times ago (before a smoker had to leave the building to have a smoke) is that the act of NOT lighting a cigarette – NOT taking a cigarette from the pack, NOT lighting a match, and NOT putting the match to the end of the cigarette and inhaling – left me a little chunk of time I didn’t quite know how to handle. I had to stop and THINK about it.<br /><br />And thinking about it often taught me that what I really needed or wanted was not the cigarette but a little break from whatever I was doing. Like most people I started to fill that time with gum and life savers; but I learned quickly that a little walk, a quick call to a friend, even turning my attention to a different task for a while, filled the space and got me past the desire for the cigarette.<br /><br />I only quit smoking once, but even more importantly I learned the value of giving something up: it makes me think about what I really need when I am about to do what I usually do without thinking. And I am reminded how often what I need is a few deep breaths, a little walk, a quiet moment to remember to “give it up” in our more profound sense.<br /><br />Some days I completely fail at this discipline. But I try, really try, to pay attention to what STUFF has made me turn to my habitual “easy outs.” And I try, really try, to gather that up at the end of each day and add to my prayers and meditations those issues that are always so much bigger than whether or not I had a pretzel I had planned to forgo.<br /><br />It’s Ash Wednesday night and I have already collected a little pile of habits not yet broken this Lent, and some much bigger things to think about. I can only wonder what I will learn from them. . . .Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-9949289487514846292009-02-11T14:40:00.000-08:002009-02-11T14:46:27.238-08:00The End of Days – When Everything Will Be Fixed, Right?Jimmy’s teaching and our dialogue this past Sunday got me to thinking about how impatient we are to have things Fixed – and how we seem so often to think, or at least behave as if we think, that there is some magical RIGHT answer. If only we could discern it . . . .<br /><br />It’s especially easy to be impatient these days, when so many people are confronted by so much in the economy of the World that is genuinely scary. A magical reversal of fortune has a huge visceral appeal. Couldn’t someone please make that happen?<br /><br />But I also got to thinking about what it means to be Fixed, and was reminded of an old song: “Soon you'll attain the stability you strive for/in the only way that it's granted/in a place among the fossils of our time.” Not the most famous of Jefferson Airplane’s lyrics perhaps, but thought-provoking nonetheless.<br /><br />When we hope for something to get Fixed, we usually have one Fixed Image in our minds. But think of all the fables that have evolved over the centuries to illustrate the adage, “Be careful what you wish for; you might get it.” And in our scientific age we even have a formal name for it: The Law of Unintended Consequences.<br /><br />But, for better or for worse, “Life is Change; how it differs from the rocks.” We know this is true in the World, and if our fleeting glimpses of the Kingdom suggest anything, it seems to me that they suggest that stasis doesn’t play a big role in It, either.<br /><br />If that’s true, then maybe a really important step toward living the Kingdom life is not only to be on the lookout for the “Something Good [that] This Way Comes” as Jakob Dylan tells us, but also to remember that each thing (good or bad) is but a beginning.<br /><br />Trading in our hope for the End of Days – or more immediately, Three (easy) Wishes – for real attention and very deep patience promises a lot of disequilibrium. But maybe we really do have to abandon Terra Firma, at least in our minds, if we want to reach the Kingdom.Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-51846428608032245762009-01-17T12:20:00.001-08:002009-01-17T12:22:23.095-08:00A Rule is not a Rule is not a RuleWe’ve been talking a lot about Rules lately, and how they are so easy to rely on and so hard to let go of – even when we know that the Rules may not take us where we mean to go. We hope that doing our homework helps us learn, but it’s the learning we mean to achieve. . . .<br /><br />I got to thinking last week about the fact that I’m not much of a Rule person myself – never met one I wouldn’t break is how one annoyed person once put it. But I usually break them in the service not of the Spirit, but of Getting Something Done. Completion and deadlines are my bêtes noirs, as it were – the thing that reduces me to mindless behavior, as if my life depended on it.<br /><br />Which, of course, it doesn’t; though I fear sometimes the people around me may fear that their lives might.<br /><br />Talismans. We all have them. The things we think (or, often, don’t think) we can do or say or be that somehow buy us the right not to pay attention to anything else, no matter how important it might be. If we just eat enough spinach, nothing will ever defeat us – no man, no beast, no disease, nothing.<br /><br />Nothing but inattention – the very thing I begin to think is the most impermeable boundary between us and the Kingdom. The thing that ensures that we don’t relate to anything or anyone, not God, not friend, not neighbor.<br /><br />As I think about some of the many ways we’ve talked about making space for the Spirit, I am struck by the ways they are variations on a theme: stop and enjoy the wildflowers; really listen to our partners, children, and colleagues; enjoy the exhilaration of that really perfect wave. All are really about Paying Attention. Even acknowledging the depth of some pain that must be lived through is a prelude to giving it up . . . .<br /><br />Maybe on the days the World is too much with us, if we can just shift our focus and really pay attention to something – anything – we can let down enough walls and create enough space for the Kingdom to touch us on the shoulder or take us by the hand and begin to draw us back in.Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-49595041419921453552009-01-07T08:06:00.000-08:002009-01-07T20:43:32.784-08:00Someone to watch over meWith thanks to the Gershwin bothers, I want to share some of what I think are very resonant lyrics:<br /><br />There’s a saying old, says that love is blind<br />Still we’re often told, "seek and ye shall find"<br />So I’m going to seek a certain lad I’ve had in mind<br /><br />Looking everywhere, haven’t found him yet<br />He’s the big affair I cannot forget<br />Only man I ever think of with regret<br /><br />OK, it’s a little cute, and it doesn’t pretend to be about anything but a Worldly romance. But think about it: doesn’t it capture a longing we all feel – for the loving eyes of God watching over us, in good moments and bad. The loving glance that lights our world when it is present and leaves us in such darkness when we can't see it. . . .<br /><br />Although Christmas has officially ended for this year, let's try to remember Jimmy's Chirstmas Eve admonition to "follow the Star." To that end, let me offer a reminder of the AM Radio version of the Kings’ discovery in the Manger:<br /><br />I feel it in my fingers<br />I feel it in my toes<br />Love is all around me<br />And so the feeling grows<br />It's written on the wind<br />It's everywhere I go, oh yes it is<br /><br />For those of you who remember it, the tune that goes with these words is definitely one of those sticky, icky things that just won’t leave your head. But maybe that’s a really good thing, if we can just remember that we are talking about the real Love that pervades the Kingdom and can envelop us any time we remember to open ourselves to let it in.Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-26397968759353827452008-12-30T21:11:00.000-08:002008-12-30T21:17:27.200-08:00Leaping into the newDid you know we are having a “leap second” on New Year’s Eve 2008?<br /><br />I’m not sure it’s going to make the last few hours of the year and all its deadlines any easier, but I vote we jump on the anomaly and take sort of a Sadie Hawkin’s approach to New Year’s Resolutions. You know, turn everything upside down and inside out, like having the girls invite the boys to the dance.<br /><br />I’ll offer my own not-your-mother’s list of resolutions:<br /><br />1) I will not promise to meet every deadline someone waves in my face like a red cape in front of a bull.<br />2) At the end of every day I will try to remember to think about at least one thing I did right instead of all the things I could have done better.<br />3) I will try to make enough space in my life to let friends, and maybe even strangers, help me from time to time.<br />4) I’ll stop worrying that the housekeeping police are going to discover what God already knows – that I am not a neat and tidy person.<br /><br />But the biggest trick of all will be remembering on bad days and good that I am In and beloved by God, list or no list.<br /><br />That Christmas Star still shines. Maybe this is the year we will let it light our path all year to getting out of our own way and being more than we ever thought we could be.<br /><br />Blessings to all of you and yours for a wonderful and unexpected 2009 . . . .Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-6587933133148408932008-12-23T09:13:00.000-08:002008-12-27T20:24:00.581-08:00Starlight in a midwinter skyLatitude: 31° 42', North. Longitude: 35° 12', East ... Bethlehem<br /><br />Latitude: 34°North, Longitude: 118° West . . . . Los Angeles<br /><br />Imagine this: Long nights where life is sunshine oriented; sudden cold in a desert that doesn’t usually get cold; way too much to do to get ready for a season of travel; and not enough money to make any of it any easier.<br /><br />Kind of depressing, isn't it? Sounds a little like the weeks a lot of us are living through right now.<br /><br />But imagine the whole thing with no electricity – no city lights, no holiday trees or decorations, no cause for cheer. Just the deep, dark bleak midwinter.<br /><br />And suddenly, for no apparent reason, a huge bright light in the nighttime sky. What, oh what, could this mean? An omen for yet another disaster? More dead? More unemployed? Imagine the sheer terror of this pervasive uncontrollable thing that no one could really understand. . . .<br /><br />A brave few believed the angels they thought they heard, telling them the light was a star of hope. And they ventured on their way to find a baby boy – nothing but a little baby. No proof this child could or would do a thing for them . . . . just faith in the voices they thought they heard and the sights they thought they saw.<br /><br />And these faithful brought gifts – their music, bits of their spices, their love. And look at how well things turned out, for them and for us.<br /><br />As we share our music, our spices, and our love in these short, dark, and dreary days, let’s relish every minute of the party we are invited to share now and throughout the year to come. No cold, no rain can dampen the joy of the gift we are all given with the birth of this Baby Boy.<br /><br />Party hardy and wonder at the abiding warmth!Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-48490451377490644502008-12-17T10:48:00.000-08:002008-12-17T10:52:52.272-08:00Thanks, PenelopeFor putting this up for all to enjoy. And I whole-heartedly back your good wishes for everyone this holiday season. We throw around a phrase - "Happy Holidays". Here's a little thought; What could you do for yourself that would make today a Happy Holiday? I just added whipped cream to my Peppermint Mocha Twist! I am feeling the cheer NOW, I tell ya! Hope you can do the same.<br /><br />See you Sunday.<br /><br />Q.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-68848960968580474102008-12-16T10:58:00.000-08:002008-12-16T11:01:57.580-08:00The holy wholly holey mess of humanityOne of my favorite movies is The Philadelphia Story and my favorite line in it is Katherine Hepburn’s: “I am such an unholy mess of a girl.” It’s a breakthrough moment for a woman who has spent all of her life aspiring to perfection only to fail at being a human being.<br /><br />I think of that moment so often during our Sundays together. Jimmy and Quinton remind us over and over again, in one way or another, that we have to accept – maybe even luxuriate in – our imperfection and incompleteness. It is what makes us human, what bring us together. Some argue it is the source of the greatest of human achievements.<br /><br />But right now, in this season of so much stress for the world, and so much desire to make things the best they can possibly be for our family and friends, it’s all too easy to be exhausted by all that is less than perfect.<br /><br />I plead guilty as charged: at this season I feel like a hamster on the proverbial wheel, covered as it may be by garland and tinsel. Every meeting has too many words; every task takes too long; every list seems to have a new item every time I look at the paper it’s written on. I am such an unholy mess of a girl – but I’ll bet I look and sound a lot more like the Mad Hatter than I do like Katherine Hepburn!<br /><br />So I think maybe now is a good time to make some Old Year’s Resolutions. For example, maybe it would be good to try to do simple things like taking time actually to taste one of the holiday treats everyone has put out to share with friends and neighbors, or stopping to listen to one really good song of the season. Whatever it takes to remember the best of the season and not be overwhelmed by the worst.<br /><br />And to remember as well how blessed we all are to have found ourselves in a community where we understand it is our imperfection that make us human and interesting and fun. Where, as someone said at the wonderful Thunderado party Sunday night at Ford’s Filling Station, “Sassy is a very good thing.”<br /><br />Whatever your schedule brings for the rest of the year, here’s wishing you a very excellent Christmas and a very sassy New Year.Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-44991689889785741782008-12-08T09:41:00.000-08:002008-12-08T09:43:59.569-08:00The joy of noiseTE4-6274: my first phone. Well, my parents’ phone when I first remember having a phone – and I am told that I made it mine pretty much all afternoon, every afternoon. I would sit in the high-back chair in the living room corner with my little feet turned up at the edge of the seat, with the clunky black rotary phone on my lap. Talking to Mrs. McGuillacutty, my very best (imaginary) friend.<br /><br />I grew up in a household of talkers. So much so that the nurse at the school where I went to junior high once sent my mother into gales of mirth by saying to her that “Mr. Roeder must be very quiet,” thinking that there must not be much room for him to be heard among the Roeders she knew. Mr. Roeder wasn’t at all quiet: he was a Federal Prosecutor with a courtroom-loud voice and a lot of opinions.<br /><br />As you might guess, I made Mrs. McGuillacutty’s acquaintance because I did NOT live in a household of listeners. . . . . and, like most of us, I really needed to be heard.<br /><br />Mrs. McGuillacutty did her job well, and I learned to frame and communicate my very best 4-year-old ideas, and not to be afraid to speak them. But she didn’t provide me much perspective: She didn’t offer me her own ideas or ask me tough questions. Living amongst talkers, I did figure out that those other ideas existed; but I didn’t know how to fit them together with mine.<br /><br />And this is why I so cherish being a part of a community of talkers: nothing forces me to pick up an idea and turn it over, to examine it from another perspective, in quite the way running headlong into somebody else’s idea about the same thing or a related thing does.<br /><br />I love listening to y’all; as Jimmy said Sunday, whether I agree with you or not. I try to listen to God, too. But the older I get the more profoundly I suspect it’s often God speaking through y’all, and the best worship I can do is to listen seriously and deeply. Even when I don’t agree. <br /><br />Maybe mostly when I don’t agree.<br /><br />Speak up. Speak out. Your voices are the moisture and warmth I need to make my bread rise . . . .Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-40915870332647099752008-12-03T17:12:00.000-08:002008-12-03T17:17:23.119-08:00One foot in front of the otherPerhaps some of you have noticed: I'm a bit of an action junkie. Not a high-speed adrenaline type action junkie, but a when-the-going-gets-tough-find-something-to-do type junkie. What’s this about? I’m not sure I’ll ever ferret out the existential “why,” but I thought I'd share some of what I <em>have</em> figured out:<br /><br />1) Making little goals that I can accomplish feels much better than wallowing in my inability to accomplish something else.<br /><br />2) Focusing my energy on something I <em>can</em> do keeps me from fussing about what I can’t.<br /><br />3) Not spending energy on fussing leaves me open to recognize when a better response to the original thing comes along . . . .<br /><br />I sometimes think we don’t walk enough. Not because of the health benefits, though they are surely valuable, but because it’s the best way I know to remember that most things progress one step at a time.<br /><br />When we are doing things that don’t have such clearly delineated “steps,” I think we forget and think that the problem lies in the giant leap we are failing to make.<br /><br />Such leaps happen, but not very often – and even then, understanding what they mean and what to do with, or about, them may take centuries: Newton had his apple but it took the Wright Brothers to learn to fly!<br /><br />Walking the Labyrinth is a wonderful exercise . . . . It’s the longest possible path from point A to point B, and when you can slow yourself down to do it really one step at a time, it is also wonderfully meditative.<br /><br />A lot, I think, like life – and probably even faith.Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-42842968400674385772008-11-25T09:23:00.000-08:002008-11-25T20:02:07.640-08:00Our ever-present visitorWhen I was in college, I lived across the country from my parents. We weren’t quite so casual about air travel then as now, so I had a bunch of long-time family friends I had adopted as “surrogate families” whom I could visit – for laundry, for holidays, or just to stay in touch with something familiar.<br /><br />One of those families was Jewish and observed many of the Orthodox traditions. I learned a lot from them, and the wonderful quiet of weekend Sabbaths I spent with them. I also spent a lot of time there that wasn’t Sabbath time – and since their holidays and festivals were often not on my calendar, I never really knew when I would arrive in time for one.<br /><br />I loved the way they welcomed me, no matter how bad my timing. And I especially loved a tradition I learned one time when I arrived early enough to help Claire prepare. She asked me to set the table, and no matter how I counted her guest list, it was one short of the number of table settings she had given me. I thought it was lovely that they prepared for an extra guest so none of us would ever feel intrusive.<br /><br />I was not entirely correct in my understanding of the gesture, she told me. The table setting was not for the uninvited guest who might appear at the door – though he or she would also be welcomed. The extra place was set in hope that Elijah would appear for the celebration.<br /><br />I don’t remember what feast it was, but I do remember the tradition. And I think it’s a tradition we can adapt, even if we don’t actually put out an extra set of silverware and wine glasses.<br /><br />In the midst of all the mixed joy and turmoil this holiday brings, I think I will try to remember – and to celebrate – that we do have an unseen guest at the table: No matter how fun or how difficult each of us may find the party, God wouldn’t miss it and is right there with us, sharing every moment.<br /><br />I think that’s worth a toast, don’t you?<br /><br />And my thanks to all of you for reminding me . . . .Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-12753853698207985662008-11-17T10:24:00.001-08:002008-11-17T20:15:11.216-08:00Sometimes it just doesn’t make any senseFor as long as I can remember, the hardest question for me has always been “How could God let this happen?” The question has been hurled at me in accusing tones by people who really mean ‘if this god you believe in really existed, this wouldn’t happen.’ But it is also a question I find it hard not to ask myself when I hear about great evils or great disasters. After all, I don’t really think that God meant for 600 people to lose their homes and everything they own this past weekend, any more than I think God meant for the residents of New Orleans’ Ninth Ward to be further impoverished and displaced by Katrina.<br /><br />As much as I am reminded of the fire’s devastation by the smell of smoke in my living room and the taste of ash in my mouth, I am startled into an awareness of other aspects of God’s presence when I watch the grandeur of the sun setting over the ocean, through the ashen sky. One of the great ironies of Creation is that there is no more magnificent sunset than when the air surrounding it is filthy.<br /><br />What does this tell me about God and God’s presence in the world? I can only guess – and my guesses are no better than yours – but I think the contradictions are meant to be stunning. To stun us into alertness. Perhaps to remember that there but for the grace of God go I, this time. But perhaps even more importantly, to ask what we are called to do to bring a moment of beauty into a messy and ambiguous Creation. What can we do to help those displaced by the disaster? What can we do to make sure it doesn’t happen this way again? What can we do for the friend or colleague who finds in every less-than-perfect moment a reason not to believe in hope or joy or possibility?<br /><br />Some days I think I just have to forego the satisfying articulate explanation and try to do what little I can to make some tiny corner of the world a little better for someone who may have every reason to rail against God. It may not be entirely comfortable for either one of us, but maybe it can move both of us a step away from despair.Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-75979312705365338352008-11-11T10:35:00.000-08:002008-11-13T17:35:06.375-08:00Keys, clues, and seeing the invisibleJimmy talking about “breakfast for dinner” got me thinking about Green Eggs and Ham. Why that so stuck in my mind sitting at the Jazz Bakery wasn’t quite so clear to me . . . .<br /><br />Last week I had been thinking about that trompe l'oeil picture that looks like white space with black borders to some, a fancy champagne goblet to others, and two human profiles to yet others. Most people who look at the picture and see only an abstraction can see either of the patterns quickly if it is pointed out to them. On the other hand, for most people who see either the goblet or the profiles, it takes real concentration to see it the other way. That’s especially true if they keep staring at it. It seems to be much easier to make the change if you close the book or otherwise walk away from the picture and come back to it later.<br /><br />Somehow all of this felt related to me as I drove home Sunday afternoon, but I did have to ask myself: What could trompe l’oile possibly have to do with Green Eggs and Ham?<br /><br />Step back, look away, and presto change-o Aha! Boxes. The connection is the ways we put things in Boxes. And it’s so often the Boxes that tell us what to see and what to think about it. What we like, what we long for, what we fear. We can be such creatures of habit that we see only what we expect to see, whether it’s there or not.<br /><br />And for some of us – or maybe for all of us, some of the time – what we expect seems to be what we fear. Like our avatar in Green Eggs and Ham, we avoid and postpone for fear of what we don’t know. . . . With thanks to Dr. Seuss:<br /><br />You do not like them. So you say.<br />Try them! Try them!<br />And you may. Try them and you may, I say.<br /><br />Sam!<br />If you let me be, I will try them.<br />You will see.<br /><br />Say!<br />I like green eggs and ham!<br />I do! I like them, Sam-I-am!<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />I do so like Green eggs and ham!<br />Thank you! Thank you!<br />Sam-I-am!<br /><br />The miracle comes in driving over the mountain and <a href="http://thadsweekdaybakery.blogspot.com/2008/11/just-do-it.html">seeing the sun sparkling on the ocean </a>when we procrastinated because we thought we might see clouds.<br /><br />I don’t know about you, but so much of what's on my mind is always left over from yesterday or due tomorrow that I think I actually forget a basic fact of life: Today is its own new day. That it is attached to yesterday or tomorrow is a burden I have learned to put on it. And to weight it down with all that baggage is to miss all of the new things it brings, all of its possibilities . . . .<br /><br />When will I learn always to remember to wonder if the monkey on my back actually may be the angel on my shoulder? Or perhaps even more importantly (at least for me): When will I learn to <em>act</em> as if the monkey on my back may actually be the angel on my shoulder?Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-11003201590439196562008-11-06T17:17:00.000-08:002008-11-06T19:14:13.545-08:00Just Do It!!!After hearing Jimmy's sermon and feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders, I was racking my brain trying to figure out when I could get to the beach. The beach is where I feel the happiest and most at peace, not to mention closest to God. I plotted and planned and tried to squeeze it into my week.<br /><br />When Monday came, anything that could go wrong did, and then some. I was late, trying to get out the door to work, when my nanny called in sick. My whole day was thrown off and I was thinking of how to entertain a two year old.<br /><br />Suddenly I thought of Jimmy. Shane had invited him to go surfing, on a perfect day, but he was too busy "fussing". He decided to go anyway. In my fussy state I made the best decision in the world. I put my son in the car and headed to Malibu.<br /><br />The whole way there I wondered if I was making the wrong decision. Was it going to be overcast and cold? Would my son be bored and want to go home? Was the drive too long?<br /><br />When I got off at the Las Virgenes exit on the 101, the weather was gorgeous. Then I saw it. As I drove over the canyon I saw view of the ocean with the sun reflecting a clear blue sky. My heart was so happy. My mood completely changed, there would be no fussing today. Just the ocean, me and my son.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-4152522789347232272008-11-04T08:51:00.000-08:002008-11-04T08:56:41.695-08:00The Next Little ThingSo here we are, challenged this week to spend time in our very own personal field of wildflowers, to reach out and let God embrace us. In the words of my long-time favorite book, “I think I can; I think I can: I think I can. . . . .”<br /><br />But I have to admit it: this is no easy day to be open to a soothing or strengthening embrace. Everybody out there is working hard to remind us that each of us can make a difference. I remind myself, of course, that the difference I can help make is in the World and not the Kingdom.<br /><br />But maybe not . . . . Maybe the real difference we can each make is not in our vote, but in our voting – in our willingness to do our very best to care enough to bring our Eyes for the Kingdom to living in the World, one little action at a time.<br /><br />It’s so easy to think about – to long to achieve – the grand gesture, the Next Big Thing that captures broad attention. But most of us don’t live there. We live here, where our lives touch a relative handful of other lives. But each of those lives matter, and each time we touch them it counts.<br /><br />Maybe today, instead of failing at the challenge to get away, I should just let myself succeed at doing my best to reach out and touch with the best of me – to be a tiny little Kingdom light in that long line of things to do that comes with living in the World.Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-60476166786333848032008-10-26T12:25:00.001-07:002008-10-26T15:20:40.461-07:00Botox for the SoulMaybe your mother did this too: every time I wrinkled my forehead in worry, or frowned in irritation, she’d say to me “You better be careful or your face is going to get stuck like that.” Of course I told her she was being ridiculous.<br /><br />But I’ve noticed recently that she wasn’t being ridiculous at all – only it’s my soul that gets stuck there, not my face.<br /><br />A couple of weeks ago, during the discussion period, Jimmy re-translated something Peterson had translated as “tunnel vision” to “squinty-eyed.” At the time, I wasn’t quite sure why he made that change, but I have begun to notice in the weeks since that the things that used to happen to my face when I was nine still happen, and I do occasionally feel myself get literally squinty-eyed.<br /><br />Now, I have to tell you that I think this is not an entirely bad thing. I have also noticed when I get “wide-eyed” with wonder or amazement or amusement, my eyes do, literally, open wide. Although some probably dismiss that habit as a not-entirely-appropriate adult characteristic, it’s mostly fine by me.<br /><br />But even better is how these two things can work together: When I can slow down enough to feel myself get squinty-eyed, I have noticed that I can also <em>make</em> my eyes open wide. And the change that happens to the rest of me is pretty miraculous:<br /><br />Physically, worry slips toward wonder. . . .<br /><br />Of course, it doesn’t happen if I don’t stop and pay attention.<br /><br />So I’ve decided this a great time to listen, finally, to another of my mother’s annoying adages. “Stop; take ten deep breaths; and <em>then</em> decide.”<br /><br />It’s probably too late to cure the crow’s feet on my face; but I bet it’ll do a lot to smooth and soothe my soul!Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-44772570460283668632008-10-20T21:12:00.000-07:002008-10-20T21:15:14.610-07:00Eyes of Wonder - and Where are my Glasses?!Sometime this afternoon, a client of mine began to rip through a pile of boxes he has not yet unpacked, urgently looking for a Mickey Mouse mouse pad. In a flash of insight having nothing to do with the project I was working on, I suddenly understood why Mickey Mouse rose to such fame during the depression.<br /><br />I’m not much of a cartoon follower, but I find there is a lot of comfort in good books written for kids. I found my way to the early Harry Potters that way – though I find myself avoiding the infamously dark last installment at the moment. Instead, a boy I met on an airplane introduced me to a series about Percy Jackson and The Olympians (as in Greek gods, now lodged in the invisible 600th floor of the Empire State Building). Written for 9- to 12-year-olds, the books are a little Harry Potterish, but more action-oriented and a little shinier. Well plotted, well written, and solid on the Greek mythology; but mostly I just like spending time with Percy and his friends. Creative, determined, courageous – everything I like to be reminded is possible in the midst of turmoil.<br /><br />Do you have a secret non-pharma anti-depressant? A movie you sneak off to watch yet again? A song you just have to sing in the car to get you ready for work? A never-miss hiking trail? A fragrance that transports you to a perfect moment?<br /><br />What do you do to remind yourself to wonder instead of worry? I’m thinking this is a really good time to make a list and hang it someplace it will be visible every day . . . .Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-11949449568205602282008-10-20T10:31:00.000-07:002008-10-20T10:33:14.494-07:00The Key to TodayHere's a piece of wisdom from another spiritual masterpiece: the Big Book.<br /><br />"And acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing or situation -- some fact of my life -- unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment.<br /><br />Nothing, absolutely nothing happens in God's world by mistake. Until I could accept my alcoholism, I could not stay sober; unless I accept life completely on life's terms, I cannot be happy. I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and in my attitudes."Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-84574746599745248282008-10-09T17:37:00.001-07:002008-10-09T17:37:51.987-07:00Thanks!This is a great resource! Can't wait to see what happens next!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2125322605126625281.post-89867430325879870672008-10-08T21:22:00.000-07:002008-10-10T09:16:45.741-07:00Between times in tough timesIt was not quite noon Monday when the sound of fear was so loud all around me that I realized I had to grasp consciously for that great Sunday Thad's feeling. By Wednesday, I knew exactly what a colleague meant when he said "my neck hurts from staying calm in the middle of all this craziness." Mine, too; and I'm so aware that it hurts much less because I have a few colleagues around with whom I can have that kind of conversation.<br /><br />I realize not all of us do. No matter how we feel, we have to keep moving forward and help the people whom we love and who otherwise count on us. Maybe we are comfortable sharing our concerns and fears and pain with them; maybe not. Maybe we have created for ourselves places to go, or things to do that remind us that we are Loved, that we can be part of creating and building hope in the world; maybe not.<br /><br />But no matter how we cope, we all have moments when we need each other. Our great "y'all."<br /><br />There are lots of ways we can probably think of being with and for one another in this tough time. But we thought we would start by making a place we can come to on the web and find one another without a lot of the noise that is making its way onto the blogosphere in this season of such tension.<br /><br />As is our habit, all are welcome. We will moderate comments only to make sure that ads and the truly inappropriate don't find their way in.<br /><br />We're trying to create community here. Bring your needs or your hopes; your tears or your hugs. And let's see if we can help each other keep our Eyes on the Kingdom.Penelope Roederhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17958340658854304767noreply@blogger.com1