Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Merry Christmas!!
Reflections on the Wonder of the Incarnation
Every Christmas we make new memories and are reminded of past holidays and the loving people in our lives -- those who are near, those who are far away, and those who are only with us now in Spirit. I hope you are having a wonderful Twelve Days of Christmas and that you will receive many blessings in the New Year. May the Lord continue to bless and keep you and all those you love.
God is so Good and so Faithful!
Every December 23rd we have also been blessed to gratefully acknowledge my parents' anniversary. Mom broke her leg last February and has been in a nursing home ever since, but Dad is with her nearly every day, and this year they celebrated their 61st anniversary. Here is a photo my nephew, Chris took of them:
Last Christmas I was preparing to head to Vladivostok and Khabarovsk, Russia for the over two months I spent there in order to work on my Doctorate of Divinity project. I was blessed to be able to spend time with some United Methodist pastors and the members of their congregations there while sharing a seminar on basic Methodist Christian spiritual practices with them. The photos below are of Pastor Valentina Smagina's Christmas tree in the worship space for the congregation she serves in Vladivostok, and of Pastor Valentina with several church members.
It was a joy to be in Russia again, and I was blessed to be able to finish the Doctorate of Ministry in Evangelism at Wesley Theological Seminary in Washington, D.C., where I spent so many wonderful years. Our Commencement Service was held at the National Cathedral and Krista was there with me!
I continue to be blessed to live in Marietta, Georgia with Krista and her family.
Here are some recent photos of Krista's sons: Jude (with Santa), Seth and Noah.
And here is a photo of Tom's kids taken when I was blessed to visit them in southern California in October: Trevor, AJ, Lexi, Colin and Lily.
So those are the highlights of my year. I am so happy to hear from you, too, and hope that you and your family will have a wonderful New Year!
Blessings and Love -- Kathy
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Old Age is Not for Sissies
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Tuesday, September 27, 2011
My Virtual Life
Anyone who would admit spending too much time online would probably be making an under statement. My virtual life in cyberspace often has some of the characteristics of an addiction, including feeling like I am going through withdrawal when I find myself without access to a computer. And the whole phenomenon so stealthily and insidiously crept into our lives, didn't it?
Anyone who would admit spending too much time online would probably be making an under statement. My virtual life in cyberspace often has some of the characteristics of an addiction, including feeling like I am going through withdrawal when I find myself without access to a computer. And the whole phenomenon so stealthily and insidiously crept into our lives, didn't it?
I
mean, really, how long ago was it that only a small part of society
knew how to type? Do you remember back to the days of yore when you had
never heard of people tweeting and texting; when Facebook was just a
glimmer in someone's eye? Even beyond all that, how about a time when
you could walk through an airport and not have to hear half of a
telephone conversation wherever you were?
Do
you think our increased ability to communicate in all sorts of hi-tech
electronic ways in our virtual lives has become an impediment to
intimacy and face-to-face relationships?
On
the other hand, I know people who have met their spouses through the
use of internet dating sites. Of course many still meet the old
fashioned way through friends or relatives, at church or doing hobbies,
or even at ladies' night at a local pub. And I personally always found
that the guys I met on the internet first were nothing like I imagined
them in virtual reality.
As
for that, I will admit that part of the problem with my virtual life is
that even when I am interacting with someone by chat, tweet, text,
e-mail or on Facebook it means I am at the same time cutting my self off
from the real world around me. Not that there's anything wrong with
that.
Or is there?
I
was kind of amused during the past few days when some of the 571 of my
closest friends on Facebook became turned inside out over some changes
made by the programmers. These were the latest in a fairly frequent set
of supposed improvements to how the whole thing works. In the midst of
the cyber turmoil, some people were very upset and some threatened to
disappear from that particular quadrant of cyberspace. Very creative
protests were posted on many friends' walls, cyber rumors flew and were
debunked by the trusty Snopes folks, and some very funny warnings showed
up in reaction to the tempest in the virtual teapot.
The
bottom line is that people don't like change any more in virtual
reality than in their day to day lives when they close down their
computers and recharge their cell phones.
Now
I don't know what I would do without a computer or a cell phone. But
sometimes I yearn to try it. I have a friend who observes the Sabbath
by staying offline in addition to the other traditional ways she draws
aside in rest, prayer, worship and reflection.
We all can probably use more of that kind of practice.
Maybe someone will start a new web site to encourage it!
(Just kidding . . . I'm sure there are plenty of them out there in our virtual reality already.)
I hope you have a delightful day (virtually and otherwise). Enjoy!
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
Friday, September 23, 2011
A Whiter Shade of Pale
(Another Chapter of The Gospel According to Saint Baby Boomer)
As I woke up the other morning I encountered a strange confluence of dreams, memories, thoughts, and some old rock music with a classic movie I saw when I turned on the television. The dreams were both mine and Seth's, my five year old grandson.
My dream was probably triggered by a Facebook conversation I had had with my dear friend and college roommate the night before. I had been having had something to do with my college days. All I remember for sure is that we were in our dorm room talking and listening to music on her 1960s state of the art stereo record player.
Seth's dream was about going to the beach. He had been excited about the trip to a Gulf of Mexico beach that he, his mom, his dad and his baby brother, Jude were going to be taking later that day. Seth's a kindergartener, and for more than a week he had been caught up in a countdown to this long awaited chance to go to one of his favorite places. When I read him a bedtime story the night before, the trip to the beach was on his mind and in his prayers.
So I wasn't surprised when Seth's early morning knock on my door overlapped the dream I was having. At first I thought someone was knocking on the door of our dorm room in my dreamscape. When no one came in, though, I came to realize that it was Seth's little hand knocking on my bedroom door in my very early morning reality.
I don't know what exactly made me understand that I needed to say, "Come in," out loud. And I was still in that state between dreaming and waking when Seth came in, full of sleepy excitement to tell me about his dream of the beach. As he was speaking to me, though, I was still hearing some music in my mind. You know how it often is with dreams, right? Sometimes there seemed to be some musical accompaniment to the scene that is rapidly fleeing as you wake up. And before the dream escaped my consciousness, I recognized that the music running through my mind was the old rock tune by Procol Harum called "A Whiter Shade of Pale."
Below is a link for a rendition of it I found on YouTube with the matured group playing the song in a church converted into a performance space. (There is nothing like an old classic rock group still able to entertain when they are sixty-four, is there?)
Procol Harum - A Whiter Shade Of Pale (From "Live at the Union Chapel")
Here are the lyrics:
We skipped the light fandango
turned cartwheels 'cross the floor
I was feeling kinda seasick
but the crowd called out for more
The room was humming harder
as the ceiling flew away
When we called out for another drink
the waiter brought a tray
And so it was that later
as the miller told his tale
that her face, at first just ghostly,
turned a whiter shade of pale
She said, 'There is no reason and the truth is plain to see.'
But I wandered through my playing cards
and would not let her be one of
sixteen vestal virgins who were leaving for the coast
and although my eyes were open
they might have just as well've been closed
She said, 'I'm home on shore leave,'
though in truth we were at sea
so I took her by the looking glass
and forced her to agree saying,
'You must be the mermaid
who took Neptune for a ride.'
But she smiled at me so sadly
that my anger straightway died
If music be the food of love
then laughter is its queen
and likewise if behind is in front
then dirt in truth is clean
My mouth by then like cardboard s
eemed to slip straight through my head
So we crash-dived straightway quickly
and attacked the ocean bed
And so it was that later
as the miller told his tale
that her face, at first just ghostly,
turned a whiter shade of pale . . .
[Words by Keith Reid]
A short time after Seth told me about his dream of the beach, my daughter Krista came upstairs with sweet baby Jude to get Seth so that they could start their day. It was a sweet way to wake up. After they went downstairs, I went over and turned on the television with strains of "A Whiter Shade of Pale" still echoing in my mind.
And strangely enough as I "heard" the line about the sixteen Vestal virgins, I saw that on television the Vestal virgins were dedicating a triumph for a Roman commander in the grand historical epic made in 1951 with a cast of thousands , "Quo Vadis." It's one of my favorite movies of that genre, so I kept the TV on and sat down to check on my e-mail with the strains of "A Whiter Shade of Pale" still hovering in my mind while the scenes of Hollywood's version of the Roman Empire in the first century A.D. were depicted on the television screen.
As a teenager I had always assumed that the words of Procol Harum's rock song reflected a marijuana or LSD-induced alternative reality, mostly because they do not really make sense.
In addition, the music seems to somehow affirm that suspicion since it has always seemed hypnotic and haunting to me. Maybe the lyrics describe something that actually happened interpreted through a drug-induced haze. (The Beatles' "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds"is supposed to have been written from similar inspiration.) "A Lighter Shade of Pale" begins with a narrative about a night out dancing with impressions colored by the sensual image of the room humming and shocking illusion that the ceiling is being whisked away.
The songwriter, Keith Reid, must have had a classical education because playful references to the writings of Chaucer, Shakespeare and Milton are found in the lyrics. Even the name of the band is roughly based on a Latin phrase meaning "beyond these things" or "of these things far off," but the Latin words are neither spelled correctly nor properly formed grammatically. (Poetic license . . . )
The mention that "the miller told his tale" alludes to the second story in Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales." In contrast to "The Knight's Tale" of courtly love that precedes it, "The Miller's Tale" is a bawdy story about lust and betrayal. There is a good deal about lust and betrayal portrayed in "Quo Vadis," too, of course. As you may know, it is a historical fiction about the faith of early Christians written by the Polish Nobel Prize-winner, Henryk Sienkiewicz, in the mid-19th century.
The phrase "quo vadis" is actually a question from a tradition about the life of St. Peter the Apostle meaning "Where are you going?" The story is that during the time of Nero's persecutions of Christian believers, Peter is in Rome, but starts to flee. He is surprised to encounter Jesus on the Appian Way heading toward Rome and asks him, "Quo Vadis, Lord?" Jesus replies that he is on his way to Rome to be crucified again. Overcome with his grief at his faltering faith, Peter turns around and heads back to the city where he then is captured and crucified. Tradition also holds that Peter asks to be crucified head down, stating that he is not worthy to be martyred in the same manner as his Lord and Savior.
In the movie as the two main characters leave Rome after Peter's death, they see his shepherd's crook along the side of the road blooming with flowers and glowing with a radiant light while a voice is heard saying, "I am the way, the truth and the life." I only saw the last half of the movie the other morning, and actually "A Lighter Shade of Pale" keeps coming to my mind, but the confluence of dreams, a song and the movie got me thinking about a lot that has influenced us Baby Boomers and some of the collective memories we share.
Certainly even though we share the same memories it doesn't mean that we all think of them the same way. And the older I get the more I realize that each one of us have reacted to the events of our lives in very individual ways. In our generation the world became a very small place because of our ability to travel, because of improvements in communication, because many old boundaries between East and West were torn down or transgressed, and because the anti-establishmentarianism that characterized our rebelliousness lead to a radical world-view.
Not all of us have embraced the most far out manifestations of the revolution we all found ourselves in, but over time each of us has come to be comfortable with whatever we have come to embrace as true and good for each one of us. And I think for the most part we respect one another's beliefs. We understand that the roads each one of us has traveled have moved through the turmoil of the violence of the Civil Rights' movement, the Viet Nam War and the protests against it. We suffered through the assassinations of JFK, MLK, Jr and RFK.
We were born in the shadow of the end of World War II when the devastation in Europe, in the Pacific, and in Japan was still extant. The people of the world were still in deep mourning, and the shock of our use of nuclear weapons still overshadowed our parents and grandparents psyches. And we have raised our children with our values, just as they are raising their children with the way they interpreted what we taught them by action as well as words, while adding their own take through the circumstances they have lived through.
A "gospel" is the good news about something. And a saint is just someone who is blessed. The music of the baby boomers and the movies we grew up seeing characterize not only the input we were subject to, but are also records that map out the emotional landscape in which we thrived or just survived. Does that make any sense? I'm not sure. But it was just what all that led me to think about and I wanted to share it with you.
Thanks for "listening."
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
As I woke up the other morning I encountered a strange confluence of dreams, memories, thoughts, and some old rock music with a classic movie I saw when I turned on the television. The dreams were both mine and Seth's, my five year old grandson.
My dream was probably triggered by a Facebook conversation I had had with my dear friend and college roommate the night before. I had been having had something to do with my college days. All I remember for sure is that we were in our dorm room talking and listening to music on her 1960s state of the art stereo record player.
Seth's dream was about going to the beach. He had been excited about the trip to a Gulf of Mexico beach that he, his mom, his dad and his baby brother, Jude were going to be taking later that day. Seth's a kindergartener, and for more than a week he had been caught up in a countdown to this long awaited chance to go to one of his favorite places. When I read him a bedtime story the night before, the trip to the beach was on his mind and in his prayers.
So I wasn't surprised when Seth's early morning knock on my door overlapped the dream I was having. At first I thought someone was knocking on the door of our dorm room in my dreamscape. When no one came in, though, I came to realize that it was Seth's little hand knocking on my bedroom door in my very early morning reality.
I don't know what exactly made me understand that I needed to say, "Come in," out loud. And I was still in that state between dreaming and waking when Seth came in, full of sleepy excitement to tell me about his dream of the beach. As he was speaking to me, though, I was still hearing some music in my mind. You know how it often is with dreams, right? Sometimes there seemed to be some musical accompaniment to the scene that is rapidly fleeing as you wake up. And before the dream escaped my consciousness, I recognized that the music running through my mind was the old rock tune by Procol Harum called "A Whiter Shade of Pale."
Below is a link for a rendition of it I found on YouTube with the matured group playing the song in a church converted into a performance space. (There is nothing like an old classic rock group still able to entertain when they are sixty-four, is there?)
Procol Harum - A Whiter Shade Of Pale (From "Live at the Union Chapel")
Here are the lyrics:
We skipped the light fandango
turned cartwheels 'cross the floor
I was feeling kinda seasick
but the crowd called out for more
The room was humming harder
as the ceiling flew away
When we called out for another drink
the waiter brought a tray
And so it was that later
as the miller told his tale
that her face, at first just ghostly,
turned a whiter shade of pale
She said, 'There is no reason and the truth is plain to see.'
But I wandered through my playing cards
and would not let her be one of
sixteen vestal virgins who were leaving for the coast
and although my eyes were open
they might have just as well've been closed
She said, 'I'm home on shore leave,'
though in truth we were at sea
so I took her by the looking glass
and forced her to agree saying,
'You must be the mermaid
who took Neptune for a ride.'
But she smiled at me so sadly
that my anger straightway died
If music be the food of love
then laughter is its queen
and likewise if behind is in front
then dirt in truth is clean
My mouth by then like cardboard s
eemed to slip straight through my head
So we crash-dived straightway quickly
and attacked the ocean bed
And so it was that later
as the miller told his tale
that her face, at first just ghostly,
turned a whiter shade of pale . . .
[Words by Keith Reid]
A short time after Seth told me about his dream of the beach, my daughter Krista came upstairs with sweet baby Jude to get Seth so that they could start their day. It was a sweet way to wake up. After they went downstairs, I went over and turned on the television with strains of "A Whiter Shade of Pale" still echoing in my mind.
And strangely enough as I "heard" the line about the sixteen Vestal virgins, I saw that on television the Vestal virgins were dedicating a triumph for a Roman commander in the grand historical epic made in 1951 with a cast of thousands , "Quo Vadis." It's one of my favorite movies of that genre, so I kept the TV on and sat down to check on my e-mail with the strains of "A Whiter Shade of Pale" still hovering in my mind while the scenes of Hollywood's version of the Roman Empire in the first century A.D. were depicted on the television screen.
As a teenager I had always assumed that the words of Procol Harum's rock song reflected a marijuana or LSD-induced alternative reality, mostly because they do not really make sense.
In addition, the music seems to somehow affirm that suspicion since it has always seemed hypnotic and haunting to me. Maybe the lyrics describe something that actually happened interpreted through a drug-induced haze. (The Beatles' "Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds"is supposed to have been written from similar inspiration.) "A Lighter Shade of Pale" begins with a narrative about a night out dancing with impressions colored by the sensual image of the room humming and shocking illusion that the ceiling is being whisked away.
The songwriter, Keith Reid, must have had a classical education because playful references to the writings of Chaucer, Shakespeare and Milton are found in the lyrics. Even the name of the band is roughly based on a Latin phrase meaning "beyond these things" or "of these things far off," but the Latin words are neither spelled correctly nor properly formed grammatically. (Poetic license . . . )
The mention that "the miller told his tale" alludes to the second story in Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales." In contrast to "The Knight's Tale" of courtly love that precedes it, "The Miller's Tale" is a bawdy story about lust and betrayal. There is a good deal about lust and betrayal portrayed in "Quo Vadis," too, of course. As you may know, it is a historical fiction about the faith of early Christians written by the Polish Nobel Prize-winner, Henryk Sienkiewicz, in the mid-19th century.
The phrase "quo vadis" is actually a question from a tradition about the life of St. Peter the Apostle meaning "Where are you going?" The story is that during the time of Nero's persecutions of Christian believers, Peter is in Rome, but starts to flee. He is surprised to encounter Jesus on the Appian Way heading toward Rome and asks him, "Quo Vadis, Lord?" Jesus replies that he is on his way to Rome to be crucified again. Overcome with his grief at his faltering faith, Peter turns around and heads back to the city where he then is captured and crucified. Tradition also holds that Peter asks to be crucified head down, stating that he is not worthy to be martyred in the same manner as his Lord and Savior.
In the movie as the two main characters leave Rome after Peter's death, they see his shepherd's crook along the side of the road blooming with flowers and glowing with a radiant light while a voice is heard saying, "I am the way, the truth and the life." I only saw the last half of the movie the other morning, and actually "A Lighter Shade of Pale" keeps coming to my mind, but the confluence of dreams, a song and the movie got me thinking about a lot that has influenced us Baby Boomers and some of the collective memories we share.
Certainly even though we share the same memories it doesn't mean that we all think of them the same way. And the older I get the more I realize that each one of us have reacted to the events of our lives in very individual ways. In our generation the world became a very small place because of our ability to travel, because of improvements in communication, because many old boundaries between East and West were torn down or transgressed, and because the anti-establishmentarianism that characterized our rebelliousness lead to a radical world-view.
Not all of us have embraced the most far out manifestations of the revolution we all found ourselves in, but over time each of us has come to be comfortable with whatever we have come to embrace as true and good for each one of us. And I think for the most part we respect one another's beliefs. We understand that the roads each one of us has traveled have moved through the turmoil of the violence of the Civil Rights' movement, the Viet Nam War and the protests against it. We suffered through the assassinations of JFK, MLK, Jr and RFK.
We were born in the shadow of the end of World War II when the devastation in Europe, in the Pacific, and in Japan was still extant. The people of the world were still in deep mourning, and the shock of our use of nuclear weapons still overshadowed our parents and grandparents psyches. And we have raised our children with our values, just as they are raising their children with the way they interpreted what we taught them by action as well as words, while adding their own take through the circumstances they have lived through.
A "gospel" is the good news about something. And a saint is just someone who is blessed. The music of the baby boomers and the movies we grew up seeing characterize not only the input we were subject to, but are also records that map out the emotional landscape in which we thrived or just survived. Does that make any sense? I'm not sure. But it was just what all that led me to think about and I wanted to share it with you.
Thanks for "listening."
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
Monday, September 12, 2011
Onto 9/12 . . .
I woke up at about 5:15 am out of a 9/12 dream thinking about the ecumenical service called "Re-Membering 9/11" that I attended with a good friend from a small country church I attend here in the Cherokee foothills of northern GA.
There were people there from local Protestant churches, two synagogues and two Moslem centers. There were also local "first responders, and a US Senator from GA who had taught 6th grade boys Sunday School there for 30 years.
Our church was only represented by a small group and there was only one of us in the mixed choir. The Muslim women were easy to spot, and some of the rabbis wore yarmulkes. There were only a few people who represented other minorities in our diverse nation, but the points of the Senator's speech was the "power of one" and unity in diversity. Holy passages from the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament and the Quran. Did you know it is chanted in a similar way to how psalms are spoken by Cantors at synagogues and used in Gregorian chant?
Afterwards, there was a Muslim worship service as the sun set. And the rest of us who were so inclined went down to the gym and mingled (somewhat) while eating delicacies brought by people who came, including baklava. Of all the Methodist potlucks I have been to, I am pretty sure no one ever brought baklava to any of them . . .
The scripture had covered Micah 6:8, Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan, and three verses from the Quran about peace. We sang "This is My Father's World" at the end of the re-membrance, and the combined choir offered up a beautiful rendition of "Let There be Peace on Earth," in the middle of the service although when "The Star-Spangled Banner" was sung at the beginning of the service, it was hard to imagine a song or hymn invoking as much emotion.
The Hebrew Bible and Quran verses and two of the benedictions (in Hebrew and in Arabic) were translated into English and the last benediction was spoken over us by a pastor who said his would also be translated since his native tongue was "Yankee". That got a laugh amidst the pain assauged by the worship and the fellowship. I spoke to several of the Muslims at the service as we were walking out and in the gym. One couple was from India and had been in the US for 21 years. Several lovely teenagers wearing beautiful burkas wandered around together as teens do at such gatherings.
On the way home, the hearts of my friend and I were lighter than they had been earlier in the day at worship back home. God is so good and so faithful! And His peace passes all understanding and knows no boundaries.
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
There were people there from local Protestant churches, two synagogues and two Moslem centers. There were also local "first responders, and a US Senator from GA who had taught 6th grade boys Sunday School there for 30 years.
Our church was only represented by a small group and there was only one of us in the mixed choir. The Muslim women were easy to spot, and some of the rabbis wore yarmulkes. There were only a few people who represented other minorities in our diverse nation, but the points of the Senator's speech was the "power of one" and unity in diversity. Holy passages from the Hebrew Bible, the New Testament and the Quran. Did you know it is chanted in a similar way to how psalms are spoken by Cantors at synagogues and used in Gregorian chant?
Afterwards, there was a Muslim worship service as the sun set. And the rest of us who were so inclined went down to the gym and mingled (somewhat) while eating delicacies brought by people who came, including baklava. Of all the Methodist potlucks I have been to, I am pretty sure no one ever brought baklava to any of them . . .
The scripture had covered Micah 6:8, Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan, and three verses from the Quran about peace. We sang "This is My Father's World" at the end of the re-membrance, and the combined choir offered up a beautiful rendition of "Let There be Peace on Earth," in the middle of the service although when "The Star-Spangled Banner" was sung at the beginning of the service, it was hard to imagine a song or hymn invoking as much emotion.
The Hebrew Bible and Quran verses and two of the benedictions (in Hebrew and in Arabic) were translated into English and the last benediction was spoken over us by a pastor who said his would also be translated since his native tongue was "Yankee". That got a laugh amidst the pain assauged by the worship and the fellowship. I spoke to several of the Muslims at the service as we were walking out and in the gym. One couple was from India and had been in the US for 21 years. Several lovely teenagers wearing beautiful burkas wandered around together as teens do at such gatherings.
On the way home, the hearts of my friend and I were lighter than they had been earlier in the day at worship back home. God is so good and so faithful! And His peace passes all understanding and knows no boundaries.
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Remembering 9/11/2001
A friend on Facebook asked a couple of weeks ago how people would be marking the anniversary of 9/11/01. He also asked something like "What should our response as Christians be?" The writers of the template for this newsletter exhorted, "let us come together to grieve, to remember, to express our gratitude to
those who demonstrated what it is to be a hero, and to pledge ourselves to live
in honor of their bravery."
And I was very touched yesterday to receive the following e-mail from a precious friend who is a United Methodist pastor in Moscow, Russia:
"Dearest brothers and sisters in Christ,
Tomorrow we will have special worship service of remembering of tragedy September 11th in USA.
Our hearts are suffering with you about this awful terror act.
May God continue to bless USA and all Americans and give His Peace, His Mercy, His Grace for all people around the world.
We love you and thank God for you.
With love in Christ.
Ludmila Garbuzova and First UMC of Moscow Russia"
What Ludmila wrote to the people she knows and loves in the U.S. was very gracious, especially since the people of Russia, too, have suffered because of terrorism, as recently as last winter when there was a suicide bombing at the arrivals area of one of the Moscow airports. Less than a week before I spent a month in Moscow during April of 2010, there were also those attacks by two women suicide bombers on the Moscow subway line that goes back and forth from the United Methodist Seminary.
Sometimes it seems absurd that in the 21st century people would still be resorting
to the use of violence and the threat of violence. Over and over friends say, "You
think we would have learned by now!" And certainly for those of us who have lived
through most of the 20th century or longer, we can't be blamed for feeling like
peace is a very elusive state
And of course there is the issue concerning violence on behalf of religions, belief
systems or power struggles between ethnic groups. Domination, hatred and the tendency to demonize an enemy--or to make and enemy or enemies for a plethora of reasons--all seem to be human responses to life on earth.
So as with many, many other people today, my first thought upon waking was about
this anniversary. In the last ten years there is much more to mourn than just
the victims of the tragedies perpetrated on that bright beautiful September day.
The suffering that resulted from our response to what happened hasn't ended.
When I go to the VA Medical Center, instead of a preponderance of veterans from
the wars of the 20th century, there are many more young people who have lost limbs or have head injuries among other wounds. When I get into a taxicab in Washington, D.C., the driver might easily be a refugee from a nation in turmoil or one that is ruled by a fundamentalist or repressive regime.
As a nation we seem to have come to regard ourselves as the kid on the block who
takes on the bullies for all the other kids, though of course we usually get our
other buddies to help. Not everyone sees us that way. But every person and every
nation has their own way of viewing whatever reality is.
Our response as a nation was dictated by our government, but not every citizen feels the same way. I do not envy the people who had to make the decisions and sent troops to far away places or ordered houses to be stormed to make sure terrorist leaders could no longer lead.
And I can't drive by the Pentagon or see a photo of the skyline of New York City
without still feeling a stab in my heart. Remembrance of such a day is not something you have to dredge up from some corner of your mind. There is both a personal and a collective memory, individual trauma and a traumatized society.
Just as I paused to check on something in my e-mail inbox, I saw that the memorial
ceremony at Ground Zero was on t.v. and I tuned in just in time to hear that the
second moment of silence commemorating the second plane flying into the second
of the twin towers was being observed. Then former President Bush quoted a letter that President Lincoln wrote to the mother of five sons who had died fighting the Civil War.
I had to turn it off for a while.
In Washington later today there will be other observances. It seems very strange
that the service planned at the National Cathedral--that beautiful "House of Prayer
for All Nations" had to be cancelled because of damage done on the grounds when
a crane being used to repair damage from the recent earthquake. And since I know
Washington so well and know there is a Triathalon today, I can imagine what the
traffic will be like for the people trying to drive into the city for church or
the memorial services or whatever.
And being able to imagine triggers the memories I personally have of waking up that otherwise nondescript day like so many other in the previous year for me. I was living in a lovely apartment in Arlington, Virginia about two miles from the Pentagon, teaching English as a Second Language in a private school near the Ballston Metro Station. I am not a morning person, so I rarely put on the radio or television when I am getting ready for work, but for some reason I turned on the TV that morning.
At about 8:40 when I was getting ready to head out the door, the weatherman showed a live camera shot of the twin towers and commented on the beautiful day. he said it was perfect flying weather. Worried that I would be late, I headed to my car and made the five minute commute to the school.
In the classroom behind ours the teacher often began the day with one of the network morning shows, so he and his students were the first people to see what happened as it began to be reported. He came and told me about it and confusion reigned among the teachers and administrators for a while. The owners of the school didn't think there was a reason to cancel classes for the day until the Pentagon was hit.
Since most of the students got around by bus and on the Metro, I just told mine
to go home despite the way the owners of the school seemed not to be aware of the seriousness of what was happening.
On the way home, in shock as we all were by that time,no doubt, I mailed a letter
at one of those drive-up mail boxes on a busy street in downtown Arlington. I put
on my emergency flashers, but didn't realize until September 12th when the car wouldn't start that I neglected to turn them off.
Everyone has her or his own memories of that day and the days following. Because I have friends who were working in the Pentagon, friends who worked at the Capitol and in many other government buildings, friends who had relatives or friends working in one of the twin towers, and because I was teaching in a school where about 1/3 of the students were from pre-dominantly Moslem countries, the aftermath was particularly difficult. Not like people who lived in New York City. And not like people who were directly affected because of the loss of a family member.
And not like someone who has lost a loved one in one of the wars.
But our collective trauma and grief is affected by being able to imagine in some
small way how those who lost the most must feel.
As far as what our response should be as Christians is concerned, I remember that
my home church pastor in Washington was amazed at how many people came to church on the Sunday following September 11, 2001. That was probably true for all the other places of worship including synagogues, mosques, Sikh temples and Hindu community centers, too. Despite a tendency to react in anger and seek revenge, many people have worked hard not to act out negatively in a prejudicial way toward our fellow citizens or immigrants from other cultures.
Suspicion and distrust are sometimes still acted out in hurtful ways, though. And
the troops have not all returned home yet. There are continuing questions concerning what will happen in the nations engulfed by armed conflict and civil strife, too.
It's one thing to ask what our response should be as Christians and it's another
thing to consider what our response as a nation should be.
We may be a nation whose people are predominantly Christian, but our Founders made sure that we would strive to be a nation where people of all ethnic groups and all faiths would be welcome. Our pride in the ideals of the Founders sometimes does not reflect the failures to live up to those ideals from the very beginning when
our Constitution allowed the slavery that existed to be continued.
Robert Frost once wrote, "Something there is that does not love a wall . . ." And
I think there is also "something" that does not love liberty, free enterprise and
equal opportunity. Thank God there is also "something" that does not love injustice,
oppression, terrorism, totalitarianism and murder.
Someone once wrote or said that there is nothing worth killing someone for, but
there are things worth dying for. That may be debatable, but the bottom line for
me is that it really would be wonderful if by now we were able to live in peace.
If we could only figure out how.
As Rodney King asked, "Can we get along?"
"Let's try to work it out.".
Does violence and the threat of violence have to be the only way we can guarantee
"peace."
Peace is characterized by wholeness beyond just the lack of violence. It is a state
where there is nothing missing, no freedom denied, the opportunity to have a roof
over your head and food on the table for you and your family. Peace allows everyone to live in harmony, respecting even those who do not agree with you or who look at the world in a very different way.
Human beings always have to work for peace when there are threats. And even when things seem to be going along beautifully and smoothly like they were before 9 am on September 11, 2001, there can be threats to peace and security lurking in the unknown.
So in whom can we trust?
On our some of our currency it is written, "In God we trust." That's a lovely motto,
although there are some who challenge it. Some people don't even believe in God
and there are many ideas about God and how to trust God.
We all just have to decide for ourselves as individuals and as a nation. But hopefully we can choose love as our governing principal and live out that love as our response to all that we remember this day and every day.
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
those who demonstrated what it is to be a hero, and to pledge ourselves to live
in honor of their bravery."
And I was very touched yesterday to receive the following e-mail from a precious friend who is a United Methodist pastor in Moscow, Russia:
"Dearest brothers and sisters in Christ,
Tomorrow we will have special worship service of remembering of tragedy September 11th in USA.
Our hearts are suffering with you about this awful terror act.
May God continue to bless USA and all Americans and give His Peace, His Mercy, His Grace for all people around the world.
We love you and thank God for you.
With love in Christ.
Ludmila Garbuzova and First UMC of Moscow Russia"
What Ludmila wrote to the people she knows and loves in the U.S. was very gracious, especially since the people of Russia, too, have suffered because of terrorism, as recently as last winter when there was a suicide bombing at the arrivals area of one of the Moscow airports. Less than a week before I spent a month in Moscow during April of 2010, there were also those attacks by two women suicide bombers on the Moscow subway line that goes back and forth from the United Methodist Seminary.
Sometimes it seems absurd that in the 21st century people would still be resorting
to the use of violence and the threat of violence. Over and over friends say, "You
think we would have learned by now!" And certainly for those of us who have lived
through most of the 20th century or longer, we can't be blamed for feeling like
peace is a very elusive state
And of course there is the issue concerning violence on behalf of religions, belief
systems or power struggles between ethnic groups. Domination, hatred and the tendency to demonize an enemy--or to make and enemy or enemies for a plethora of reasons--all seem to be human responses to life on earth.
So as with many, many other people today, my first thought upon waking was about
this anniversary. In the last ten years there is much more to mourn than just
the victims of the tragedies perpetrated on that bright beautiful September day.
The suffering that resulted from our response to what happened hasn't ended.
When I go to the VA Medical Center, instead of a preponderance of veterans from
the wars of the 20th century, there are many more young people who have lost limbs or have head injuries among other wounds. When I get into a taxicab in Washington, D.C., the driver might easily be a refugee from a nation in turmoil or one that is ruled by a fundamentalist or repressive regime.
As a nation we seem to have come to regard ourselves as the kid on the block who
takes on the bullies for all the other kids, though of course we usually get our
other buddies to help. Not everyone sees us that way. But every person and every
nation has their own way of viewing whatever reality is.
Our response as a nation was dictated by our government, but not every citizen feels the same way. I do not envy the people who had to make the decisions and sent troops to far away places or ordered houses to be stormed to make sure terrorist leaders could no longer lead.
And I can't drive by the Pentagon or see a photo of the skyline of New York City
without still feeling a stab in my heart. Remembrance of such a day is not something you have to dredge up from some corner of your mind. There is both a personal and a collective memory, individual trauma and a traumatized society.
Just as I paused to check on something in my e-mail inbox, I saw that the memorial
ceremony at Ground Zero was on t.v. and I tuned in just in time to hear that the
second moment of silence commemorating the second plane flying into the second
of the twin towers was being observed. Then former President Bush quoted a letter that President Lincoln wrote to the mother of five sons who had died fighting the Civil War.
I had to turn it off for a while.
In Washington later today there will be other observances. It seems very strange
that the service planned at the National Cathedral--that beautiful "House of Prayer
for All Nations" had to be cancelled because of damage done on the grounds when
a crane being used to repair damage from the recent earthquake. And since I know
Washington so well and know there is a Triathalon today, I can imagine what the
traffic will be like for the people trying to drive into the city for church or
the memorial services or whatever.
And being able to imagine triggers the memories I personally have of waking up that otherwise nondescript day like so many other in the previous year for me. I was living in a lovely apartment in Arlington, Virginia about two miles from the Pentagon, teaching English as a Second Language in a private school near the Ballston Metro Station. I am not a morning person, so I rarely put on the radio or television when I am getting ready for work, but for some reason I turned on the TV that morning.
At about 8:40 when I was getting ready to head out the door, the weatherman showed a live camera shot of the twin towers and commented on the beautiful day. he said it was perfect flying weather. Worried that I would be late, I headed to my car and made the five minute commute to the school.
In the classroom behind ours the teacher often began the day with one of the network morning shows, so he and his students were the first people to see what happened as it began to be reported. He came and told me about it and confusion reigned among the teachers and administrators for a while. The owners of the school didn't think there was a reason to cancel classes for the day until the Pentagon was hit.
Since most of the students got around by bus and on the Metro, I just told mine
to go home despite the way the owners of the school seemed not to be aware of the seriousness of what was happening.
On the way home, in shock as we all were by that time,no doubt, I mailed a letter
at one of those drive-up mail boxes on a busy street in downtown Arlington. I put
on my emergency flashers, but didn't realize until September 12th when the car wouldn't start that I neglected to turn them off.
Everyone has her or his own memories of that day and the days following. Because I have friends who were working in the Pentagon, friends who worked at the Capitol and in many other government buildings, friends who had relatives or friends working in one of the twin towers, and because I was teaching in a school where about 1/3 of the students were from pre-dominantly Moslem countries, the aftermath was particularly difficult. Not like people who lived in New York City. And not like people who were directly affected because of the loss of a family member.
And not like someone who has lost a loved one in one of the wars.
But our collective trauma and grief is affected by being able to imagine in some
small way how those who lost the most must feel.
As far as what our response should be as Christians is concerned, I remember that
my home church pastor in Washington was amazed at how many people came to church on the Sunday following September 11, 2001. That was probably true for all the other places of worship including synagogues, mosques, Sikh temples and Hindu community centers, too. Despite a tendency to react in anger and seek revenge, many people have worked hard not to act out negatively in a prejudicial way toward our fellow citizens or immigrants from other cultures.
Suspicion and distrust are sometimes still acted out in hurtful ways, though. And
the troops have not all returned home yet. There are continuing questions concerning what will happen in the nations engulfed by armed conflict and civil strife, too.
It's one thing to ask what our response should be as Christians and it's another
thing to consider what our response as a nation should be.
We may be a nation whose people are predominantly Christian, but our Founders made sure that we would strive to be a nation where people of all ethnic groups and all faiths would be welcome. Our pride in the ideals of the Founders sometimes does not reflect the failures to live up to those ideals from the very beginning when
our Constitution allowed the slavery that existed to be continued.
Robert Frost once wrote, "Something there is that does not love a wall . . ." And
I think there is also "something" that does not love liberty, free enterprise and
equal opportunity. Thank God there is also "something" that does not love injustice,
oppression, terrorism, totalitarianism and murder.
Someone once wrote or said that there is nothing worth killing someone for, but
there are things worth dying for. That may be debatable, but the bottom line for
me is that it really would be wonderful if by now we were able to live in peace.
If we could only figure out how.
As Rodney King asked, "Can we get along?"
"Let's try to work it out.".
Does violence and the threat of violence have to be the only way we can guarantee
"peace."
Peace is characterized by wholeness beyond just the lack of violence. It is a state
where there is nothing missing, no freedom denied, the opportunity to have a roof
over your head and food on the table for you and your family. Peace allows everyone to live in harmony, respecting even those who do not agree with you or who look at the world in a very different way.
Human beings always have to work for peace when there are threats. And even when things seem to be going along beautifully and smoothly like they were before 9 am on September 11, 2001, there can be threats to peace and security lurking in the unknown.
So in whom can we trust?
On our some of our currency it is written, "In God we trust." That's a lovely motto,
although there are some who challenge it. Some people don't even believe in God
and there are many ideas about God and how to trust God.
We all just have to decide for ourselves as individuals and as a nation. But hopefully we can choose love as our governing principal and live out that love as our response to all that we remember this day and every day.
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
A Psychic Mine Field
As has probably been mentioned by someone or other, suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (aka PTSD) can be a bit like unknowingly entering and blithely traversing a psychic mine field.
Let's see if I can make that a bit more vivid.
It may have to do with the time space continuum in a way. If I come off sounding like I am trying to describe a Magritte surrealist painting to a person who is only familiar with Andy Warhol's creations, I apologize. If that is necessary. To me, a PTSD-affected spiritual landscape is one that has become fraught with subterranean camouflaged pot holes, automobile-swallowing ditches and incendiary devices. And perhaps there are also some pathways that seem like they should be familiar or that used to have clear sign posts now seem to lead to unsuspected destinations and undesirable locations.
Now.
Uh-oh. Have I already lost you?
Or maybe you would rather not continue on the journey with me. If so, I understand.
No harm, no foul.
But these images have been lurking in my consciousness lately, and just tonight I realized why.
The pot holes, mine fields, and deceptive pathways minus familiar sign posts are triggered by the anniversaries of traumatic events or time periods. Even if I go out of my way not to be in touch with the fact that the anniversaries are coming up or upon me, my psyche never forgets. So it's just that the end of August and the beginning of September are times when a lot of exciting and/or traumatic things happened to me.
The even stranger thing is that there are not necessarily uniform ways of experiencing whatever comes up from the underground or appears along a pathway. And the image of mine fields may give you the impression that there is a stark flat plain stretching in all directions when actually there also might be dark forests, or even jungles . . . and/or the mysteries of a deep and wide open ocean.
Often the PTSD episode triggers become evident when I find myself awake all night for one or more nights in a row or several over a short period of time. At first I may tell myself that there is no reason not to be able to sleep, but I am always trying to fool myself when I say that. It is more likely that sleep is elusive because there is no desire to enter into the level of consciousness that leaves me open to the dream state.
Or maybe something from the nocturnal musings of the days leading up to the sleepless nights has already broadcast warnings about the approach to the mine field. Be that as it may, once I really do get back connected with the date, I am forced to confront the reality. Addressing that reality head on does not necessarily help much, however.
That reminds me of the old Air Force saying that begins a lot of war stories. The stories start with: "There I was . . . flying along fat dumb and happy. . . " The story continues with whatever was horrendous, terrifying, difficult and/or shocking, but somehow the storyteller survives.
I guess one of the reasons that things are traumatic is that they come out of nowhere and are so shocking and disturbing that you really can't get your mind around them.
Ever.
I agree with the sentiment expressed by Robin Williams when he said:
"Reality . . . what a concept!"
Even though it may be that some sort of past reality intrudes on contemporary life, the PTSD episode always seems to be more powerful than whatever is going on in the present. Or maybe it's just that whatever the present reality is cannot quite compete with the past "reality." And the traumatic memories can be so vivid that they can tend to make the present reality seem to fade away into the background.
Or even to disappear.
And even more than that sometimes the imagination interjects itself into the memories and the present reality so that there are stacked levels of elements surrounding and enhancing memories, musings, illusions and allegories.
Probably not much of that is really making any of this any clearer, is it?
When I am able to talk to friends who were involved in the trauma I find it helpful, but I also realize then that none of us experienced what happened in the same way. What happened affected and continues to affect (or doesn't continue to affect) each one of us in various ways.
Of course.
How could it be otherwise? Each of us is a distinct individual with a variety of distinct personalities and experiences.
Our lives intersected with one another for that particular time or times and we came to those points from different places and went our separate ways to reconnect with one another again possibly one on one . . . or with several of us or with some of us. Or never again with most or even all of us. At least not yet. or maybe not ever on this terrestrial plane.
As a case in point, not long ago I saw some Armed Forces Television Network dramatizations concerning two soldiers who were wounded in the recent past. They both suffered from PTSD. One was given a chance to talk about the trauma with professional counselors from the earliest time of his physical recovery. The other soldier did not have a chance to communicate with anyone about what had happened to him until a long while after he was released back into civilian life. Each was able to get help, but the latter suffered more and for a longer length of time. Go figure!
Seeing the segments aimed at encouraging military members who have been affected by PTSD to seek help as soon as possible was encouraging since so many veterans are being added to the roles.
And I recently saw the movie "Random Harvest" again, too. (Have you ever watched it? Greer Garson and Ronald Coleman are marvelous in the story about the effects of battle fatigue on a British soldier in WW I.) So even though the term PTSD had not been coined back in the early 20th century, I was reminded that people have been suffering with the condition from way back. (No doubt as long as man's inhumanity to men has been extant.)
There are ways to put the memories to rest and to keep the ghosts at bay.
But actually sometimes I look forward to being with my dearly departed once more. They are all loving and kindly spirits even if they are just as I have imagined them. Or remembered them.
There are times that seem overloaded with intertwining layers of memories because there were different traumatic experiences that happened at the same time of the year -- or even on certain particular dates of multiple years, so that somehow the PTSD trash compactor has smooshed them all together and it's difficult to discern which presenting traumatic memories come from where. Or when.
There also might be organic or atmospheric or astronomical (or other) factors involved in the fertilizing compost heaped up in my psyche. And too much digging around into all that would not be really helpful anyway, no doubt.
But the traumas are not necessarily all negative. Sometimes great joys can trigger recurring disturbances, too. Both positive and negative emotions can be draining, energizing or enervating. Not sure I can always choose which one of those at any particular time.
Because certainly to begin with . . . in my earliest memories the joys of getting to go back to school every Tuesday after Labor Day were fraught with excitement. And tension. And anticipation. So onto those layers of emotional memories were added the adult traumatic adventures that happened to have occurred around the same time.
For instance last year when over 200 of the members of our high school class got together for the first time in ten, twenty, thirty or forty years (or all of the above, or even more or less often), there was a special kind of traumatic experience.
In a good way.
But it reminded me of the other groups of friends I had gone through stuff with when I was on active duty in the Air Force. And when I was at Seminary. And when I was serving churches.
Et cetera. Et cetera. Et cetera. (As the King of Siam was quoted as saying in "The King and I.")
Know what I mean?
Well, even if you don't, by writing this I seem to have diffused the most powerful psychic mines in my way tonight, and I seem to have recovered the sign posts on some of the obscured pathways.
So thanks for hanging in there with me as I wandered around trying to explain it all to you.
That was a big help!
And God bless us, every one.
As ever -- Kathy
Be Blessed
"Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God." [Matthew 5:3-9]
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
Let's see if I can make that a bit more vivid.
It may have to do with the time space continuum in a way. If I come off sounding like I am trying to describe a Magritte surrealist painting to a person who is only familiar with Andy Warhol's creations, I apologize. If that is necessary. To me, a PTSD-affected spiritual landscape is one that has become fraught with subterranean camouflaged pot holes, automobile-swallowing ditches and incendiary devices. And perhaps there are also some pathways that seem like they should be familiar or that used to have clear sign posts now seem to lead to unsuspected destinations and undesirable locations.
Now.
Uh-oh. Have I already lost you?
Or maybe you would rather not continue on the journey with me. If so, I understand.
No harm, no foul.
But these images have been lurking in my consciousness lately, and just tonight I realized why.
The pot holes, mine fields, and deceptive pathways minus familiar sign posts are triggered by the anniversaries of traumatic events or time periods. Even if I go out of my way not to be in touch with the fact that the anniversaries are coming up or upon me, my psyche never forgets. So it's just that the end of August and the beginning of September are times when a lot of exciting and/or traumatic things happened to me.
The even stranger thing is that there are not necessarily uniform ways of experiencing whatever comes up from the underground or appears along a pathway. And the image of mine fields may give you the impression that there is a stark flat plain stretching in all directions when actually there also might be dark forests, or even jungles . . . and/or the mysteries of a deep and wide open ocean.
Often the PTSD episode triggers become evident when I find myself awake all night for one or more nights in a row or several over a short period of time. At first I may tell myself that there is no reason not to be able to sleep, but I am always trying to fool myself when I say that. It is more likely that sleep is elusive because there is no desire to enter into the level of consciousness that leaves me open to the dream state.
Or maybe something from the nocturnal musings of the days leading up to the sleepless nights has already broadcast warnings about the approach to the mine field. Be that as it may, once I really do get back connected with the date, I am forced to confront the reality. Addressing that reality head on does not necessarily help much, however.
That reminds me of the old Air Force saying that begins a lot of war stories. The stories start with: "There I was . . . flying along fat dumb and happy. . . " The story continues with whatever was horrendous, terrifying, difficult and/or shocking, but somehow the storyteller survives.
I guess one of the reasons that things are traumatic is that they come out of nowhere and are so shocking and disturbing that you really can't get your mind around them.
Ever.
I agree with the sentiment expressed by Robin Williams when he said:
"Reality . . . what a concept!"
Even though it may be that some sort of past reality intrudes on contemporary life, the PTSD episode always seems to be more powerful than whatever is going on in the present. Or maybe it's just that whatever the present reality is cannot quite compete with the past "reality." And the traumatic memories can be so vivid that they can tend to make the present reality seem to fade away into the background.
Or even to disappear.
And even more than that sometimes the imagination interjects itself into the memories and the present reality so that there are stacked levels of elements surrounding and enhancing memories, musings, illusions and allegories.
Probably not much of that is really making any of this any clearer, is it?
When I am able to talk to friends who were involved in the trauma I find it helpful, but I also realize then that none of us experienced what happened in the same way. What happened affected and continues to affect (or doesn't continue to affect) each one of us in various ways.
Of course.
How could it be otherwise? Each of us is a distinct individual with a variety of distinct personalities and experiences.
Our lives intersected with one another for that particular time or times and we came to those points from different places and went our separate ways to reconnect with one another again possibly one on one . . . or with several of us or with some of us. Or never again with most or even all of us. At least not yet. or maybe not ever on this terrestrial plane.
As a case in point, not long ago I saw some Armed Forces Television Network dramatizations concerning two soldiers who were wounded in the recent past. They both suffered from PTSD. One was given a chance to talk about the trauma with professional counselors from the earliest time of his physical recovery. The other soldier did not have a chance to communicate with anyone about what had happened to him until a long while after he was released back into civilian life. Each was able to get help, but the latter suffered more and for a longer length of time. Go figure!
Seeing the segments aimed at encouraging military members who have been affected by PTSD to seek help as soon as possible was encouraging since so many veterans are being added to the roles.
And I recently saw the movie "Random Harvest" again, too. (Have you ever watched it? Greer Garson and Ronald Coleman are marvelous in the story about the effects of battle fatigue on a British soldier in WW I.) So even though the term PTSD had not been coined back in the early 20th century, I was reminded that people have been suffering with the condition from way back. (No doubt as long as man's inhumanity to men has been extant.)
There are ways to put the memories to rest and to keep the ghosts at bay.
But actually sometimes I look forward to being with my dearly departed once more. They are all loving and kindly spirits even if they are just as I have imagined them. Or remembered them.
There are times that seem overloaded with intertwining layers of memories because there were different traumatic experiences that happened at the same time of the year -- or even on certain particular dates of multiple years, so that somehow the PTSD trash compactor has smooshed them all together and it's difficult to discern which presenting traumatic memories come from where. Or when.
There also might be organic or atmospheric or astronomical (or other) factors involved in the fertilizing compost heaped up in my psyche. And too much digging around into all that would not be really helpful anyway, no doubt.
But the traumas are not necessarily all negative. Sometimes great joys can trigger recurring disturbances, too. Both positive and negative emotions can be draining, energizing or enervating. Not sure I can always choose which one of those at any particular time.
Because certainly to begin with . . . in my earliest memories the joys of getting to go back to school every Tuesday after Labor Day were fraught with excitement. And tension. And anticipation. So onto those layers of emotional memories were added the adult traumatic adventures that happened to have occurred around the same time.
For instance last year when over 200 of the members of our high school class got together for the first time in ten, twenty, thirty or forty years (or all of the above, or even more or less often), there was a special kind of traumatic experience.
In a good way.
But it reminded me of the other groups of friends I had gone through stuff with when I was on active duty in the Air Force. And when I was at Seminary. And when I was serving churches.
Et cetera. Et cetera. Et cetera. (As the King of Siam was quoted as saying in "The King and I.")
Know what I mean?
Well, even if you don't, by writing this I seem to have diffused the most powerful psychic mines in my way tonight, and I seem to have recovered the sign posts on some of the obscured pathways.
So thanks for hanging in there with me as I wandered around trying to explain it all to you.
That was a big help!
And God bless us, every one.
As ever -- Kathy
Be Blessed
"Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted. Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God. Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God." [Matthew 5:3-9]
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
Friday, April 22, 2011
Happy Resurrection Day!!
Wishing you blessings, peace and the joy of our Lord's salvation in Christ Jesus this Resurrection Day and always.
It's Good Friday, and if we have spent time with Jesus during Lent, we have been mindful of Him and the decisions that led Him to the Cross. With all the suffering in the world, sometimes we may think that the trials and pain of one man so long ago doesn't mean much. But maybe we have been given the faith to believe that Jesus is the Son of God. Perhaps we have been given the grace to truly know in our hearts that He lived, taught, suffered and died to reconcile people and all of creation to the Creator who is Love. Then we might look at His life and what happened to Him in a different light. We can go to the Cross in prayer and meditation. We can look up at His face. We may be given the gift of seeing the love in His eyes.
And if we move through the time between His death and His coming to life again in an attentive way, we might experience the deep grief of those who loved Him when He walked on earth. In meditation we can go before dawn to the tomb with the women who were so very close to Him. We can be surprised and shocked with them to see the huge boulder rolled away. Finally, we might be given the present of mistaking Him for the gardener, hearing His voice call our names, and seeing Him again. What joy!
May the Lord continue to bless, keep and inspire you to receive all the gifts of faith, love, peace and joy this Easter and always.
In Christ -- Kathy
On That Resurrection Morning
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him." Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus' head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She said to them, "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?" Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." Jesus said to her, "Mary!" She turned and said to him in Hebrew, "Rabbouni!" (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, "Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, 'I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'" Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, "I have seen the Lord"; and she told them that he had said these things to her. John 20:1-18 NRSV [http://bible.oremus.org/]
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
It's Good Friday, and if we have spent time with Jesus during Lent, we have been mindful of Him and the decisions that led Him to the Cross. With all the suffering in the world, sometimes we may think that the trials and pain of one man so long ago doesn't mean much. But maybe we have been given the faith to believe that Jesus is the Son of God. Perhaps we have been given the grace to truly know in our hearts that He lived, taught, suffered and died to reconcile people and all of creation to the Creator who is Love. Then we might look at His life and what happened to Him in a different light. We can go to the Cross in prayer and meditation. We can look up at His face. We may be given the gift of seeing the love in His eyes.
And if we move through the time between His death and His coming to life again in an attentive way, we might experience the deep grief of those who loved Him when He walked on earth. In meditation we can go before dawn to the tomb with the women who were so very close to Him. We can be surprised and shocked with them to see the huge boulder rolled away. Finally, we might be given the present of mistaking Him for the gardener, hearing His voice call our names, and seeing Him again. What joy!
May the Lord continue to bless, keep and inspire you to receive all the gifts of faith, love, peace and joy this Easter and always.
In Christ -- Kathy
On That Resurrection Morning
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him." Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus' head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.
But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She said to them, "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?" Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." Jesus said to her, "Mary!" She turned and said to him in Hebrew, "Rabbouni!" (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, "Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, 'I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'" Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, "I have seen the Lord"; and she told them that he had said these things to her. John 20:1-18 NRSV [http://bible.oremus.org/]
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2013
kwharris777@gmail.com
Sunday, April 3, 2011
The Gospel According to Saint Baby Boomer . . . Again!
Often in the spring of the year I find myself thinking about days past spent with my F-15 pilot friends in Alaska, and when I worked at Kennedy Space Center in Florida. It was a long time ago, now. And as they say seems like it all also took place in a "galaxy far, far away . . ." (to quote some of the opening lines from the first "Star Wars" movie).
Many years ago I first began the series of ruminations called "A Drink of Living Water," that were sent out by e-mail. I also started a series called "The Gospel According to Saint Baby Boomer." You may or may not remember or have had access any of those ( . . . if I didn't know you, or if I didn't know your e-mail address way back then).
Lately I have been working on some new additions to the "Saint Baby Boomer" series. Please don't take any offense at the title. I just mean it tongue-in-cheek, of course. People of each generation have their own unique perspectives and memories, music and other cultural appurtenances. As "Boomers" we have "come a long way, baby!" Some of us have grandchildren and many of us have long been part of the dreaded "Establishment" a lot of us decried against so vehemently in our salad days.
The U.S. Space Shuttle "Endeavor" and her crew are being prepared for their final voyage which is scheduled for my first grand child's fourteenth birthday, April 19, 2011. (Happy Birthday in advance, Noah!)
For a while when he was nine and ten years old, Noah and I were writing a book together called "When Noah and Grandma Kathy Went to Mars." This idea came out of bedtime stories to help Noah fall asleep. I told him that when I was his age I often had trouble falling asleep, too.
I said that I would imagine a scene from a time in history or a movie I had seen, or a story I had read. Then I would picture myself as a character in the scene and start the "movie" in my mind. A pre-dreaming exercise which never failed to work, Noah seemed intrigued by the idea. When we tried to think of a scenario to help him dream his way into sleep, I suggested space travel.
I read my first science fiction novel when I was his age that spring of 2006. Called "Time for the Stars," the book was written by Robert A. Heinlein. The premise of the book began with a question about how to prove what simultaneity is.
Set in the far distant future from the early 1960s when I read it, the story told of a private organization that was on the leading edge of all societal and technological advances. Space ships traveled at close to the speed of light in Mr. Heinlein's imagination. In addition, twins or other people who were closely-linked emotionally were helped to develop their telepathic powers.
This was done so that when the space ships had traveled beyond the distance where usual communication methods would work, the telepathic communication that Heinlein theorized was simultaneous. This form of telepathic communication between human beings--one of them still on earth and one of them on the spaceship could still be used no matter how far away the spacecraft traveled.
As Noah and I imagined the trip to Mars we would take together some day, I drew on some of my past experiences here on earth.
As you may remember, these included several times that I worked for National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) contractors. The first time began on St. Patrick's Day of 1986, not long after the tragic "Challenger" accident. Despite the draw down of the work force at Kennedy Space Center (KSC) in the wake of that sad day, I was hired on to be a Security Awareness Instructor. Their philosophy was that during the time until the next Space Shuttle launch, they could catch up on some training.
I'll never forget the day that seven hearses with the recovered remains of the seven "Challenger" astronauts passed through the Space Center along the same route the vehicles that had taken them to Launch Pad 39A on that fateful day in late January. As was their custom, as many KSC employees as were able to, or felt led to, left their work places at the time for the procession. Of course it had been announced beforehand. I joined veteran employees who had watched many astronauts pass by on the way to their launches. We stood in silent tribute to the brave people who had lost their lives.
The last "Challenger" mission was STS-25 -- the twenty-fifth Space Shuttle mission. And "Endeavor's" last flight will be STS-134.
But many of us long ago ceased to pay much attention to space launches and astronauts.
Isn't it strange that such an unbelievably amazing feat as a huge aircraft being lifted into orbit with humongous amounts of scientific and various other types of cargo and up to eight people would become commonplace?
The second time I worked for a NASA contractor was in the early 1990s. Through a temporary employment agency, I ended up with a job as a secretary and word processor for a branch of Lockheed that supported the U.S. aerospace biomedical efforts. Called Lockheed for NASA Life Sciences, the flight physicians and Ph.D. scientists who worked there made many interesting contributions to all that it takes to keep people alive and healthy on the way to and from--and in orbital space. And they were actually working on the resolutions to questions concerning how to keep people safe on the Shuttle, on the International Space Station (which at the time was just beginning to be built), and on the future Mission to Mars.
No kidding.
So along with telling Noah about the science fiction story in "Time for the Stars," I described some of the interesting facts I had learned while typing press releases and material for NASA Space Biomedical publications. The physicians and scientists I toiled with had relationships with Soviet space biomedical physicians and scientists. I think it was one of very few ways that officials of the U.S. and the Soviet Union worked together in that old Cold War era.
Many years ago I first began the series of ruminations called "A Drink of Living Water," that were sent out by e-mail. I also started a series called "The Gospel According to Saint Baby Boomer." You may or may not remember or have had access any of those ( . . . if I didn't know you, or if I didn't know your e-mail address way back then).
Lately I have been working on some new additions to the "Saint Baby Boomer" series. Please don't take any offense at the title. I just mean it tongue-in-cheek, of course. People of each generation have their own unique perspectives and memories, music and other cultural appurtenances. As "Boomers" we have "come a long way, baby!" Some of us have grandchildren and many of us have long been part of the dreaded "Establishment" a lot of us decried against so vehemently in our salad days.
The U.S. Space Shuttle "Endeavor" and her crew are being prepared for their final voyage which is scheduled for my first grand child's fourteenth birthday, April 19, 2011. (Happy Birthday in advance, Noah!)
For a while when he was nine and ten years old, Noah and I were writing a book together called "When Noah and Grandma Kathy Went to Mars." This idea came out of bedtime stories to help Noah fall asleep. I told him that when I was his age I often had trouble falling asleep, too.
I said that I would imagine a scene from a time in history or a movie I had seen, or a story I had read. Then I would picture myself as a character in the scene and start the "movie" in my mind. A pre-dreaming exercise which never failed to work, Noah seemed intrigued by the idea. When we tried to think of a scenario to help him dream his way into sleep, I suggested space travel.
I read my first science fiction novel when I was his age that spring of 2006. Called "Time for the Stars," the book was written by Robert A. Heinlein. The premise of the book began with a question about how to prove what simultaneity is.
Set in the far distant future from the early 1960s when I read it, the story told of a private organization that was on the leading edge of all societal and technological advances. Space ships traveled at close to the speed of light in Mr. Heinlein's imagination. In addition, twins or other people who were closely-linked emotionally were helped to develop their telepathic powers.
This was done so that when the space ships had traveled beyond the distance where usual communication methods would work, the telepathic communication that Heinlein theorized was simultaneous. This form of telepathic communication between human beings--one of them still on earth and one of them on the spaceship could still be used no matter how far away the spacecraft traveled.
As Noah and I imagined the trip to Mars we would take together some day, I drew on some of my past experiences here on earth.
As you may remember, these included several times that I worked for National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) contractors. The first time began on St. Patrick's Day of 1986, not long after the tragic "Challenger" accident. Despite the draw down of the work force at Kennedy Space Center (KSC) in the wake of that sad day, I was hired on to be a Security Awareness Instructor. Their philosophy was that during the time until the next Space Shuttle launch, they could catch up on some training.
I'll never forget the day that seven hearses with the recovered remains of the seven "Challenger" astronauts passed through the Space Center along the same route the vehicles that had taken them to Launch Pad 39A on that fateful day in late January. As was their custom, as many KSC employees as were able to, or felt led to, left their work places at the time for the procession. Of course it had been announced beforehand. I joined veteran employees who had watched many astronauts pass by on the way to their launches. We stood in silent tribute to the brave people who had lost their lives.
The last "Challenger" mission was STS-25 -- the twenty-fifth Space Shuttle mission. And "Endeavor's" last flight will be STS-134.
But many of us long ago ceased to pay much attention to space launches and astronauts.
Isn't it strange that such an unbelievably amazing feat as a huge aircraft being lifted into orbit with humongous amounts of scientific and various other types of cargo and up to eight people would become commonplace?
The second time I worked for a NASA contractor was in the early 1990s. Through a temporary employment agency, I ended up with a job as a secretary and word processor for a branch of Lockheed that supported the U.S. aerospace biomedical efforts. Called Lockheed for NASA Life Sciences, the flight physicians and Ph.D. scientists who worked there made many interesting contributions to all that it takes to keep people alive and healthy on the way to and from--and in orbital space. And they were actually working on the resolutions to questions concerning how to keep people safe on the Shuttle, on the International Space Station (which at the time was just beginning to be built), and on the future Mission to Mars.
No kidding.
So along with telling Noah about the science fiction story in "Time for the Stars," I described some of the interesting facts I had learned while typing press releases and material for NASA Space Biomedical publications. The physicians and scientists I toiled with had relationships with Soviet space biomedical physicians and scientists. I think it was one of very few ways that officials of the U.S. and the Soviet Union worked together in that old Cold War era.
Anyway, Noah and I had fun thinking about a trip to Mars together. I went online and showed him articles about past probes to Mars.There are photos of the first space vehicles to pass by the planet. And those that have landed on and explored the planet by remote control.
There are also drawings and articles about spacecraft and landers for the possible future missions to Mars. In case you are curious, the NASA web site is:
Noah was working on some of his own artwork to include in our book, too. We had a lot of fun thinking about traveling to Mars together. Some things are easier to do with a boy who is nine or ten than you can do with a teen.
Okay.
But what has all this got to do with "The Gospel According to Saint Baby Boomer"?
As I was thinking about the past and the future, good friends from those days who are no longer walking this earth--or flying above us in aircraft or spacecraft, either--I was reminded of the Soviet cosmonaut who gleefully reported as he orbited the Earth that he saw no sign of God up there. And I thought about the Apollo astronauts who one Christmas in the 1960s read the story of the nativity of Jesus Christ while they orbited our Moon.
Times have changed and there has been a lot more cooperation in space not only between the U.S. and Russia, but also with people of many countries around the world. And nowadays in Russia, religion and ethics are taught in schools run by the government. I am not trying to ignite a debate about that, just stating a fact.
So where have YOU found God lately?
As we reside in Lent and approach Easter, I hope you are on the lookout for signs of God's love in your life. And I hope that you don't have to go to Mars, or even into orbital space to find those indicators of God's care and presence.
As ever -- Kathy
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2012
kwharris777@gmail.com
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2012
kwharris777@gmail.com
Sunday, February 27, 2011
A Blanket of Snow
Rejoice!
We pray for our sisters and brothers in Christ here in Russia and all over the world. May all the world know the joy of the fullness of God's love through loving action as we care for one another and for all those in need no matter what their ethnic origin, beliefs or situation in life. We are all children of God who is Love! Alleluia!
Greetings!!
In the last few weeks it has been warmer here in Vladivostok. There was even water standing in puddles some days. Now everything is relative, so I want you to know that temperatures in the mid to upper thirty degrees Fahrenheit ARE warm compared to twenty-three below zero Fahrenheit which was normal in the first month I was here.
It hasn't snowed much in the whole time I have been here, either. And the harsh winds off the Sea of Japan have often howled and chased one another around the hills and down to the Golden Horn of the inlet on the edge of downtown Vladivostok. The zephyrs from the waterway between the city and the mainland of the Russian Far East have echoed the northerly and westerly winds in counterpoint off the ice-covered edges.
When we were driving around town on the Russian men's holiday called "Defender's Day," two days after our "President's Day" three-day holiday weekend, I was reminded of the early days of pre-spring in Alaska. We saw more and more people still bundled up, but walking leisurely around the wide boulevards near the long-closed amusement park and beaches.
The uncharacteristically stationary Ferris wheel other carnival rides, along with the booths where in the warmer weather you can find anything from souvenirs to food and drink, all seemed to be expectantly waiting for spring just as did the couples of all ages and families seemed to be, encouraged by the thaw and sunshine.
In one plaza little children were driving little battery-operated jeeps, pink Barbie-doll cars and miniature luxury vehicles, well-monitored by parents and other attendants. All of a sudden we seemed like giants in a humongous vehicle, shades of Gulliver's experience in Lilliput!
Signs of thaw earlier in the week or not, many people were walking on the ice, along the beach side. I think I even discerned the hunched over shapes of those most optimistic of anglers -- ice fisherman!
Nevertheless, even though the eastern waterway was still frozen over, the harbor has ice-broken passages so the ships can come and go.
And high above either side of the harbor, the huge "Ys" of the support structures of the big new bridge, which is in the midst of being built across the harbor, seem to guard the maritime terminus like huge sentinels with bright blinking lights on top. I have seen drawings of what the bridge will look like when it is finished. The span will be marvelous and very modern.
I love bridges!
That reminds me of the t-shirts we had with the motto of the United Methodist Volunteer in Mission (VIM) trips on them back in 1994, when I first came to Russia. In English and in Russian, they were printed with the words, "WE BUILD BRIDGES!"
I also love Vladivostok at night. The lights of apartment houses and office buildings, street lamps and billboards decorating the hills on our side of the Golden Horn are mirrored on the hillsides of the island across the harbor from us. The delightful view is enjoyed by many people, including those who park along a roadway for the same reasons, no doubt, that many people flock to such places all over the world.
But back to the weather, leaving them to their privacy and enjoyment!
I should have known better than to get lulled into thinking that winter was going to give up its icy handhold. However, this morning I was still surprised to see the snow blanketing the hillsides and everything else I cold see. Actually, though, I was thrilled when I got over the shock of it. So much beauty just fallen out of the sky!
I showered and dressed quickly, enjoyed some delicious fresh-baked bread for breakfast, and called a friend to ask her to help me get a cab. She met me at Pastor Valentina's church service, though we were a bit late.
Remembering that the beautiful blanket of snow no doubt made the ice underneath it more treacherous, I did not rush out of the cab and across the area in front of the office building where Pastor Valentina holds her worship services. My old snow and ice-walking training kicked in and I minced my way, watching my feet and judging where the safest place for my nest step might be. Those three falls in Khabarovsk are ever on my mind when I am walking on snowy and icy sidewalks and streets.
And there is one more reason. I haven't told you yet that Pastor Valentina broke her arm several weeks ago. She fell on the ice, but she says she is healing well. Valentina is ever joyful, even during trials. Since she is also a physician, and I trust that helps to keep things in perspective.
Her smile is full of love no matter what.
The evidence of the compassion that Pastor Valentina has for the people she serves is easy to see. Each time I have been blessed to join them, they have made me feel very welcome, too. We are truly sisters and brothers in Christ. Isn't that marvelous?
Today we celebrated communion, too, and I felt transformed with the wonder of hearing the beloved words of the Eucharist service in Russian once more. It seemed like the host of witnesses surrounded us in the spirit of God's love across distance, time, language and culture. What joy!
Sweet Margarita played the piano while we sang hymns both with familiar Methodist tunes and traditional Russian music. After we sang, we recited the Apostles' Creed together. I felt blessed that Pastor Valentina asked me to come up to pray.
Before the sermon we worshipers read Romans 8:5-8 together in Russian. In English that passage is:
Those who live according to the flesh have their minds set on what the flesh desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace. The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God's law, nor can it do so. Those who are in the realm of the flesh cannot please God. (NIV)
Pastor Valentina speaks with enthusiasm, intelligence and a true heart for the Gospel. Her sermons are wonderful.
At the time of the Passing of the Peace we all happily hugged one another with the encouraging words, "God loves you!" In the Sundays I have been blessed to worship here, parishioners have ranged in age from four years old to ninety years old. What a lovely church family!
After worship we had some fellowship time with tea or coffee and cookies. When it was necessary, everyone who was still there pitched in to move chairs, Bibles, hymnals and the Communion paten (traditional plate for the bread or wafers), chalice, and covers back to their storage cupboards.
Then with my friend, and with Pastor Valentina, we took a bus downtown so we could enjoy more fellowship together at my favorite cafe next to Vladivostok's Philharmonic Hall where I have enjoyed so many concerts. Over elegant but simple pots of green tea we chatted and feasted on some delicious tortes. we also indulged in to specialties of the house which may not sound appetizing, but were. They were both made with seafood.
Valentina and I chose the dish with carrots, red and green peppers, shallots, scallops razor-back clams, and crab legs in a terriyaki sauce served over rice infused with squid ink. It's called "Black Rice with Fruit of the Sea." My friend chose the scrumptious cream sauce-covered black spaghetti (yes--made black with squid ink again) with shrimp, scallops and crab legs.
How good it is to be in a city on the ocean if you have a hankering for sea food!
While at lunch, Valentina happened to get a phone call from Claudia in Khabarovsk. I was happy to hear her voice and we spoke about the possibility of seeing one another in April in Oklahoma City where the United Methodist Russia Initiative meeting will be held. If you would like to find out more about it, you can go to this web page:
Valentina, my friend and I all headed home together in a cab after our lovely lunch and fellowship together. The two of them dropped me off first, and I waved a cheery "Good-bye!"
How happy I am that I was able to introduce them!
On another subject, one of the greatest blessings has been that I use Skype to communicate.
(Do you know about it? If not, please see this web site -- www.skype.com)
It was with great joy that through Skype I had a chance to speak with two friends who are students at the United Methodist Seminary in Moscow. on Thursday evening my time.
(Moscow is eight time zones west of here, so it has been hard to get connected because they are so busy in classes and we are so often asleep at opposite times).
My student friends regaled me with stories of their studies, of what they did over the winter break, of their plans for their student ministry opportunities in the summer, and of the fun they had during their Defender's Day celebrations. I even was able to hear about some of the theology they are studying at the moment.
Because of Skype, I have also been able to talk with family members and friends in the US, in Sweden, In Australia, and in England. That has been wonderful and especially important in the last week.
The news last Monday evening my time that my dear eighty-three year old Mom fell and broke her hip last Saturday night their time, has led me to curtail my trip.
Between e-mail and Skype I was able to get all the details as time passed, and even talk with both my Mom and Dad when Dad was staying over night in the hospital with Mom. To be able to talk with them, with my daughter, with my sister and with my brother, as well as to pray with friends has all been very comforting. Friends and family members I am in touch with by e-mail and through Facebook made a big difference, too, and I am so grateful to God and to all of them. Modern communication!
I am very disappointed that will not be going to Moscow after all, but trust God in how it is all working out due to the circumstances. I hope I will be able to come back to Russia in the not-too-distant future, God willing.
My Mom has had an operation, and is now well-cared for in a rehabilitation center.
We appreciate your prayers for both my Mom and my Dad if you feel led to pray. I was very touched that Pastor Valentina remembered my parents when the call to prayer came during the worship service.
Please pray for the people of the Russian Far East -- and for all the people of the former Soviet Union , if you feel led to do so.
I have been so blessed to be here and there will be a mixture of joy and sadness when I board the plane to head back home next Saturday, God willing. The blessings of some time I will be able to spend with my son and his family, and especially the opportunity to meet sweet baby Lily Jane for the first time will help. On the phone when he encouraged me to be sure and visit my son and his family on the way home, Dad said, "When you hold Lilly, tell her about us."
Getting back to Georgia to be with my daughter and her family before heading to Florida to check on Mom and Dad is a joy I anticipate, too. Even though our loved ones are always in our hearts, there is nothing like being able to hug them in person!
One more thing -- please look up the web site of my friend Glen Evans' ministry for an update about the work that he and his partners are doing for the people of Honduras and pray for them, too, if you feel led. Thanks so much! The web site is:
Please be sure to let me know how I can pray for you and yours. May the Lord continue to bless and keep you and everyone you love.
Blessings in the Fullness of God's Love, Grace and Peace in Christ -- Kathy
The God of Peace Will Be With You!
Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-if anything is excellent or praiseworthy-think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me-put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you. (NIV)
http://www.biblegateway.com/
Kathleen Ware Harris © 2012
kwharris777@gmail.com
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