Santa and the Spirit of Giving

Before the representation, our congregation shared an abundant meal – each of us bringing turkey, or green bean casseroles, or potatoes and pies…

Then Santa Claus arrived with lots of gifts - children were overjoyed. Adults also enjoyed sitting on his lap for a fun picture!

Richard and Santa

Our church was not forgotten, as Santa giving spirit manifested itself through another person. Julie, whose family has been part of the life of this church since the 50s when she was a little girl, kept early memories of our congregation. She came with her sister Ada, her niece Bonnie as well as Laura, Bonnie’s daughter and her husband Tyrus who have been coming regularly. Julie’s brother, Marv, shared those childhood memories. He had been active in our church several years ago. He suddenly passed away of a heart attack in 2006. Julie told us that she sold a piece of property in California and she was advised to consider a donation to a charity. At the same time, she heard about our financial vulnerability and our efforts to raise funds. She brought a card in which she shared with emotion how much this little church has meant to her and her family. There was a $10,000 check in it!

That same afternoon, Pastor Sue from First Pres let us know that the session had decided to send us a very generous contribution. Those exceptional donations are such a life saver as we continue our efforts to come up with creative fund raising ideas. This Christmas season is indeed a time for gratefulness at our church.

Next to Irvin, from right to left: Bonnie, Ada, Julie and Laura.

Memories of Christmas, the Wisdom of our Elders

Last week, our church celebrated Christmas in its program whose aim was to narrate the events of the Nativity with the children playing the characters of the Bible, while including older folks of our congregation.

Irvin interviewed two of our members who were born at the time of the Depression. Ace is a member of the Arikara tribe from North Dakota. Eleanor’s parents came from Germany and Irland and she grew up in Minnesota. Both agreed to share their Christmas memories with Irvin. They also shared pictures with him. Irvin created a PowerPoint presentation that was part of the program. Children also led traditional Christmas carols, and were joined by the assistance.

 

At the end of the program, Eleanor showed us a night stand table that had been crafted by her Dad. He was a carpenter and he would construct such pieces of furniture that he would sell for $1 and he would buy toys for Christmas with the money. He was awarded with a blue ribbon, the highest distinction, at a State exhibition, for his carpentry work. A wonderful testimony of love and art through time.

Angels and Shepherds ready to go!

This afternoon, we had a dress rehearsal at CIF. The children from our Creator Talking Circle (our Sunday School) came to try their outfits and review their roles.

Tomorrow Sunday, a potluck dinner will take place directly after our worship and our Christmas program will follow. It should start around 2:00 PM. The children will interpret several key scenes of the Nativity – the angels sharing the good news with the shepherds, Joseph and Mary looking for an inn – and Christmas carols that will be sung along by the audience.

Christmas memories from two of our parishioners who were born right after the great depression will also be shared with a PowerPoint presentation.

Irvin is the director of the program, and he is actively assisted by Danielle, one of the teachers. She ingeniously created beautiful angels costumes, taking into consideration that our church funds are at a lowest point. A friend of the church let us use the costumes she had created for the shepherds last year.

If everything goes as it went today, that should be a great program! 

 

December Goal: Becoming a savvy craftswoman (checked).

Curves, my welcoming club has already awarded me with a free weekend in the countryside (see November 5^th). They also have showed kindness as Christmas is approaching: they allowed all the craftswomen among their members to exhibit and sell their works. For the past two weeks, an aquarellist, a skilled crochet expert and a creator of children’s games put up their folded tables in the big room where members work out.

So did I, girded with many necklaces.

Irvin taught me the basics when we met. Like many Natives, Irvin makes necklaces that men and women wear in every circumstance. The first time I followed him in one of the huge stores where he would go and purchase wire, clasps and beads, I found myself in presence of one of my childhood fervor: turquoise, opals, amethysts, agates, jade, lapis, in other words, gemstones.

The strange absorption that settles in your mind when you create a necklace sounds like the obstinacy that you may experience when you try to solve an enigma or a puzzle. What you are putting together already exists – you are only reconstructing it.

However, this kind of informal sale can also bring some trouble: one’s artistic heart can be bruised when the delicately laid out pieces stay untouched day after day. The first year I participated, I sold two necklaces during the whole two weeks. I was delighted, the following year, when eight necklaces found a new home. This year, the bad economy may have encouraged Christmas shoppers to turn to local craftsmanship. More than twenty necklaces were sold, to my own surprise. This was a very satisfying experience.

Alas, the sale time just ended. On December 15^th, all of us sellers wrapped up our folded tables and picked up our business cards. This ends the 2010 season for my jewelry business. My proceeds will allow me to pay my subscription to Curves for the whole coming year.

2011 will be a fitness year!

Invictus Without Boarders

William Ernest Henley was 25 and suffered with tuberculosis of the bone. Several years before, his foot was amputated. Now the doctors were considering amputating his other leg. William Henley refused. A pioneering surgeon would eventually save his leg.  

In the midst of those circumstances, William wrote a poem «Invictus» (which means unconquered in Latin). Did he ever imagine that a century later in Africa, this poem would give strength and courage to a political prisoner who stayed behind bars for 28 years? Some words provide the gift of energy our soul requires to overcome the worse situations.

That’s what Nelson Mandela shared with the captain of the rugby team when their victory meant so much for the unity of South Africa – according to Clint Eastwood’s movie which borrowed its title to the poem. Determination and resolve have no boarders.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

A Bird Tells Us about Peace.

What is peace ? A story, found in the monthly newsletter sent by Zach, a realtor friend, suggests a wise answer.

“There was once a King who offered a prize to the artist who would paint the best picture of Peace. Many artists tried. The king looked at all the pictures, but there were only two he really liked and he had to choose between them.

One picture was of a calm lake. The lake was a perfect mirror, with peaceful, towering mountains all around it. Overhead was a blue sky with fluffy white clouds. All who saw this picture thought that it was a perfect picture of peace.

The other picture had mountains, too. But these were rugged and bare. Above was an angry sky from which rain fell and in which lightening flashed. Down the side of the mountain tumbled a foaming waterfall. This did not look peaceful at all.

But when the King looked closer, he saw behind the waterfall a tiny bush growing in a crack in the rock. In the bush a mother bird had built her nest. There, in the midst of the rush of angry water and noise, sat the mother bird on her nest… in perfect peace.

Which pictures won the prize?

The King chose the second picture. “Because”, explained the King, “peace does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. Peace means to be in the midst of all those things and still be calm in your heart. This is the real meaning of peace. »

Last Sunday, third Sunday of Advent, I preached at our church as Irvin directed a rehearsal with the children for the Christmas program that will take place next Sunday. I opened with this story. The weeks of Advent and Christmas preparations are both a time of joy and stress for many families. Some in our church are desperately looking for a job. Others are worried for their health or the health of a loved one. The future of our church is also very uncertain. It is more than ever a time to focus on the peace “that surpasses all understanding” (Ephesians 4:7) that God provides.

Riding the Pineapple Express

Contrasting with the snow storms France and Midwest have been experiencing those past weeks, we are here receiving unceasing rain showers (not exactly unusual in our neck of the wood) and temperature surprisingly warm. This morning was almost 60 (around 15C) and there is a general flood alert.

We are in the midst of the Pineapple Express. Upon hearing this expression on the local news several times, I found out this is neither a name for an exotic cocktail nor a movie about marijuana. Pineapple express takes place when warm air comes from Hawaii with lots of moisture. As a result, we have heavy rains, lower snow melts and rivers flood. It has been called that way because pineapples are one of the main fruits grown in Hawaii.

To tell you the truth, I was hoping a phenomenon from Hawaii would be a little bit more glamour than that…

Pandora’s box and its Exact Opposite.

Pandora’s box – actually a large jar or amphora since this story comes from the Greek mythology- used to hold all the imaginable evils which poured out onto the world once the jar was regrettably opened. Only hope stayed inside. In our church, the situation is exactly opposite. Our treasury is empty but we are equipped with hope.

Our grant has expired. Last week, at our session meeting, the treasurer brought predictable yet alarming numbers. The church is able to pay its pastor in December. And in January. And that’s it.

This means possible hurdles for the future of our congregation and incidentally for the life of the pastor. Still we have good hope to overcome this circumstance.

In our Presbyterian denomination, churches are autonomous yet interdependent through regional and national bodies. Our church prepared a request for an emergency grant to the synod. This request should first be approved by the Presbytery. Last Tuesday, several elders, Irvin and I met with its council.

One important fact we wanted to share: our financial situation does not provide from a lack of generosity from our members. Most of them have fixed incomes yet they boldly contribute as much as they can. What is happening to us is not an isolated circumstance. The others 121 Native Presbyterian churches in the country struggle to exist and none can support a full-time pastor.

The Presbytery heard us and is supporting our request. Neighboring churches, like First Pres where I did my internship, have been partnering with us for years and also want to be on board to help us.

If this request is granted, the financial help will be punctual and limited in time so we are also resolutely engaging on fundraising efforts. Last night, we invited our parishioners to join us for a Dinner and a Brainstorm aimed at finding creative ways to let our church be known and raise funds. Many ideas were brought up, some of them will be implemented straightaway in this favorable time of Advent and Christmas.

May you live interesting times – this sentence often attributed to China was mentioned by Robert Kennedy in 1966.  We are trying.

Death is Nothing

The funeral service for my uncle will take place today, in Saint Eustache Church – a beautiful  church built in the center of Paris on the 16^th century. I will be over there with my all heart. It so happens that I know this church well, I sang with its choir for several years.

For the past few days, I have felt inhabited with memories, the faces of my cousins, the laugh of my uncle, some conversations we had. The words that come to my mind were written by Charles Péguy, one of the most prominent writer and poet of the 19^th century. When his mother, who raised him singlehandedly, passed away, he felt in his heart what she would want to tell him from beyond the grave.

Death is nothing.

I only left to go into the next room.

What we were for each others,

We still are.

Continue to call me with the name you always used for me.

Keep talking to me the way you always did.

Don’t use another tone.

Don’t take a solemn or sad look.

Keep laughing about what used to make us laugh together.

Keep praying, keep smiling,

Keep thinking of me.

May my name be said at home like it always was,

Without any awkwardness and no trace of shadow.

Life continues to mean what it has always meant.

The thread between us is not cut out.

Why would I be out of your thoughts

When I am only out of your sight?

I am waiting for you.

I am not far : just on the other side of the road.

You see, everything is fine.

He was my uncle.

«Concerto for Mother in Wrath and Orchestra» - with this repartee, my uncle Claude, then a teenager, undermined the righteous fury of his mother. Taken by surprise, she could not help laughing in the midst of her legitimate vehemence. Already at this age, he used to deliver his spiritual replies with great seriousness.

The memories of my uncle and his family are connected to several towns throughout France – they often moved due to professional transfers. We would go and see them for a weekend or a week and it would always be a special time – those days are now among my best childhood memories. My uncle has been, along my father, the man I most admired while growing up.

The last time I saw him was in 2005, when I defended my Master dissertation at the Theological Institute of Paris. I felt so supported by my family and my friends that day. I was touched by his and my aunt presences and their interest for my subject.

During those last years, I knew he was not well. I found out last August how serious this illness was. I was on my way to the session of First Pres, the church where I interned this summer. The meeting ends with a time of intercessory prayer. I requested prayers for my uncle Claude. When the prayer followed I was overwhelmed with sorrow. When the prayer ended, the elders acted no differently than French associates would have: they were kind and thoughtful, and pretended not noticing any trace of emotion on my face. They encouraged me for the coming ordination exams that were to come a few days later. When I got into my car, I even thought “I hope they don’t think I was crying because of those exams…”

My uncle died on Tuesday morning. On the last conversation he had with his sister, my mom, he was holding the picture of one of his grandchildren and he was describing it to her, in what of those phone calls they had where they would chat as if they had just met the day before.

His name was Claude Giordan. He was my uncle.

Are Prodigal Sons Grateful?

What biblical text would be appropriate for a sermon about gratitude? I was invited to preach at a worship that took place on Thanksgiving Eve, planned by two Presbyterian churches in Puyallup, one of them being First Pres where I did my internship this summer. I chose to speak about the famous parable of the prodigal sons (Luke 15:11-32) – this story is so powerful that theologians called it “the mini-Gospel”. We find in this story the redemptive power of God’s love, whose expression echoes in Psalm 18:19 “God rescued me because He delighted in me”

But are the sons grateful ? The story does not tell. We guess they were. We hope they were because they represent us. From this well known story, I pondered about the obstructions that can interfere with our feelings of gratitude.  

The older son is prodigal of bitterness. He is the one that knows the rules of obedience to the Father so well that he lost track of having a real communion with his Dad. “All I have is yours” his father told him, surprised by the rebellion of the son that has always been at his side and suddenly seemed not to know nor understand him. Sometimes knowing the rules too well gives us a feeling of control that that takes us away from the One who is the Master of the Rules. We live nearby in a respectful routine, but we are not really listening anymore.

When we know the rules so well and work hard at enforcing them in our lives, we may start looking at our brothers and sisters differently as well. We evaluate their own enforcing of the rules, and we come up with our own idea of the result they deserve. If the consequences of their actions do not correspond to our assessment, we can be angry like the older brother was; or confused, if we think they should have received more. Actually, the older brother seemed to be very aware of the actions of his brother, as if he had kept an eye on him at all times.

Then we start making comparisons and this is the course to avoid. Let’s keep in mind Job and his friends: we tend hastily to transfer our own fears and hopes on our loved ones, at the risk of burdening and hurting them. Our journey and our relation to God are unique. The very different path that the younger son took shows it.

This young man could be the first born son of Adam and Eve. Just like them, he wanted the Garden but not the Creator of the Garden, the estate without the master that built it, and he did not even care waiting for the normal rules of inheritance. The freedom that God grants us is alarming. The Father did not try to restrain his immature son. He gave him all latitude to go to his own doom. But the son’s place was kept intact in the family. When he wanted back, the son had in mind he should regain the esteem of the Father, one day at a time, but as soon as he came back, he was welcomed back as a loved son and as an heir.

The awareness of divine love guides us toward a gratitude that extends the limits of our soul. The words of the Father to his two sons are also meant for us: you are always with me. All I have is yours. Let’s celebrate because you came back to life. We were lost and now you are found. 

Thanksgiving is Back

The snow vanished in only a few hours. The temperature rose, rain poured, and it looks now as is no snow flake ever fell on the hill. Of course, this helps commute and travelling and this is good news in this Thanksgiving week where so many families travel to gather around the traditional turkey.

Still I miss the snow. It brings so much light - important when the sky is so often overcast. Also, the snow generously transforms the somewhat neglected yards in harmonious immaculate spaces…

And here we are: this Thursday is Thanksgiving. There are documentaries on TV tracing the origin of this tradition. It actually started on the 19^th century, when the country needed unity in the common respect of a celebration. A one-time event that took place at the 17^th century – a meal shared between pilgrims and Natives from the Wampanoag tribe – provided the historical memory to root it down.

This painting below is from the beginning of the 20th century, and you see it often in those documentaries. I saw a copy for the first time at the home of one of Irvin’s brothers, and what struck me is the way the pilgrims are represented, welcoming the Natives with a kindness mixed with a bit of patronizing. The Natives are shy and sitting on the ground. The pilgrims offer them food. Actually, the Wampanoag taught the pilgrims how to survive by growing corn and squash. According to the letter documenting this shared meal, they also provided five deer.

Some American citizens, Natives and non Natives don’t celebrate Thanksgiving. On Thursday morning, some news mentioned that Angelina Jolie purportedly was among them, refusing to “celebrate what the white settlers did to the native Indians, the domination of one culture over another”.

The fact is, the Native peoples I know, from our church or Irvin’s family, are well aware of the history of their country. But they enjoy this opportunity of a family reunion around great food. Like we do every year, we had a Thanksgiving potluck at church last Sunday. We had a full house! Sharing a meal and pondering gratitude do not mean turning away from the past. For our monthly “Dinner and a Movie” night of November, we watched the first episode of the PBS documentary “We Shall Remain”, telling about the story of the Wampanoag tribe and the first contacts with the first generations of Europeans. The episode title is “After the Mayflower” and it can be viewed online at the following link.

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/amex/weshallremain/the_films/episode_1_trailer 

Half a Foot of Snow on the Hill

It is 4:15 PM, and the colors in the sky are turning to sunset already. Today our climate turned polar. The local news is talking about an “arctic blast”.

Yesterday, the snow storm left half of a foot of snow on all accessible areas. This means 18 centimeters. This snow storm is unusual and so early. After all, winter will not be here until another month.

Meanwhile birds seem to enjoy the seeds we put out for them in the yard.

Our home has not lost power in spite of the wind. What a relief! Yesterday night, some parts of Tacoma spent hours in the dark.

Temperatures are still frigid and way below 30 but the sky is clear. Irvin will come home from Phoenix tonight and his uncle Charlie, who is used of driving on ice (Idaho is mountainous and reminds of Switzerland), will go and pick him up at the airport. I am grateful: the roads tonight will be safer without me driving on them.

Climatic Ups and Downs on South Hill

Weather in our area is usually mild and humid, without the sudden Continental variations you find in the Middle West. We don’t have tornados in spring, only the subtle differences of various precipitations: persistent drizzle, stubborn shower and/or rough downpour.

Of course, some variety may sneak in the midst of all this humidity.
For instance, when a wind storm went through the state, we knew what it would entail. We heard the weather warning, felt the blasts of air on the house, and gathered candles and flashlights. I put the cattle on the stove to prepare a bottle.

The electric lines are aerial. For instance, if the light is good and I want to take a picture of Mount Rainier, the only place I can do it without the interference of lines and cable and wires is the small airport on Meridian, 10 minutes from our home. The effect of wind on those lines, with the occasional help of nearby broken branches of trees, is predictable and we know what to expect. The lights flicker once or twice in the evening – another hint of what is to come – and suddenly we are in the dark. We saw some lightening in the sky and since there is no thunder, that means transformers have blown up.

From our previous experiences whose longest lasted three days, we have collected some know-how as well as good flash-lights. Their batteries have the size of a small bilingual dictionary. The candles provide some glow; the flashlights are used to move around in the house. We also have a small radio that works with a crank. It includes a flashlight and boasts it can also recharge cell phones but we did not find any plug that would allow that.

The lack of TV and computer motivated going to bed early while the house slowly got colder. We could not even rely on pups that are known for their three-layer warm silky fur: our two cockers spaniels curled up with each others at the end of the bed without any concern for us. We felt somewhat neglected…

Early morning, the faithful wife got up, took care of the dogs, prepared hot tea thanks to bottle she prepared before the power went off then went back up with two additional blankets to arrange on the sleeping husband.

Eventually the power came back that day round 3:00 PM. The basic joys of daily life were brought back to us. The pleasant move of the switch bringing up light in a room! The soft and automatic voice that says “welcome” when you get to AOL! The simple joy of zapping in front of TV!

A few days later, snow replaced wind and it has been falling since last Sunday. The temperature went down around 20 so the snow stays put. A little like in the Paris area, the lack of habit in snowy conditions create some confusion on the roads.

This type of climatic condition allows for some artistic challenges when it comes to taking pictures. Some of those challenges are still partly unresolved. For instance, taking color pictures of a black cocker on a snow background.

Those unusual phenomena may merge: for tonight, more snow AND a wind storm are forecasted. That should be interesting…

Suddenly Harry Potter #7

A new HP film is always an event anticipated with elation in the heart of this ardent fan. Of course, watching the movie will also eventually provide its loads of frustrations – why so many wild cuts from the delights of the novels?

The very first viewing of the movie still supplies the specific emotion of long-awaited reunions. You look around and watch other fans wearing costumes of Gryffindor students or Death Eaters. When the lights dim, you realize your heart starts beating faster. And here you are… you see the Scotland countryside that has become so familiar to you over the years and the characters you have shared so many hours with – as you read the novels or listened to the audio books in your car.

However, we missed on our usual traditions for this seventh movie. It came out today, Friday November 19th, and as usual, special showings were scheduled at midnight. We purchased the tickets ahead of time and counted the days.

Yesterday Thursday night, after a long day, I was sending my last few emails when Irvin realized: our show was at ten past midnight on Friday, that meant in the night between Thursday to Friday, not Friday night. It appears obvious now, but for the night owls that we are, midnight time is more like a late afternoon still connected to the previous day.

It was ten past midnight. We looked at each other and Irvin asked “Do you want to go?” Was there really any need to answer this? We rushed.

Puyallup is not a very lively town past 9 PM and we don’t live far from the movie theatre. Ten minutes later we were there. The parking lot was packed, but the building appeared dark and strangely deserted. A hooded young man was working at changing the titles of the movies on the marquise. He looked the only living being in sight. The doors were sealed.

“Can’t we get in?” I asked, considering forcing our way in.
“No, he said. The show has started and it is full anyway”.
“We have tickets already!”
He shrugged. “Then go ahead. The door on your right.”

Eventually here we were, in the right place, sitting on the very first row right under the screen in what seemed to be the very last available seats of this large room. Harry was already flying along with Hagrid and the battle around them was fierce (I won’t say more).

My opinion is, this is the best of the 7 movies. For one thing, the screenplay follows the novel step by step. The actors have matured and are perfect.

We left the place thoroughly enchanted. Which is only fair, for a story involving wizards.

5 new members at Church of the Indian Fellowship.

Last Sunday, during our worship service, Church of the Indian Fellowship officially welcomed 5 new members – a notable increase: a 10% addition to our membership !

Becoming a member of a Presbyterian Church is serious business. You can do so by reaffirming your faith, or by being baptized or by transfer from another church.

Each congregation should keep an up-to-date roll of their members, and that will include three categories, active members, inactive members, and affiliate members – for those who live far from their home church and are being part of another church while they live in its neighborhood. They should present a certificate from their home church. Everything is detailed in the Book of Order.

Compared to others denominations (such as the French Reformed Church, where I belonged in France) the Presbyterian Church may appear meticulously organized, bordering sometimes (and this is said with love) on the persnickety.

Of course, anyone may contribute to the life of churches even when they are not officially members. But when you decide to make this step, you commit to become more spiritually involved and in the life of your congregation.

The four women and the young man who made this decision have very busy lives that include demanding work, raising young children and difficult circumstances. Yet they took the time to sit with Irvin for four training sessions.

April, who is from the Navajo tribe, was baptized. This was a moving moment during which she beamed with joy. Nicole, Tamika, Eleanor and Jesse reaffirmed their faith.

The reception of those new members concluded with a time where the congregation praised God and thanked the Lord for sending those new brothers and sisters who will now share our journey.

The Metro that Never Was.

In 2001, when Irvin and I drove from Dubuque, Iowa to Tacoma, Washington in three days, our families warmly welcomed us and put us up until we found a place to live.

Early morning, in Charlie and Peggy guest room in Tacoma, the familiar vibration audible in some old Parisian buildings woke me up. This vibration comes from the subway – the underground train we call “Metro” that runs every few minutes. It took me an instant to realize that I was a bit far from Paris to hear those trains. I mentioned my experience to Charlie, Irvin’s uncle, and he smiled. “That was an earthquake, he said. I felt it too.”

The «underground-Metro-in-Tacoma effect» provides from the Juan de Fuca Plate plunging beaneath the North American Plate. Obviously, this sometimes produces a more noticeable effect than a discreet tremor.
But this morning, at 25 miles south of Tacoma, it was again hardly discernable in our neighborhood. 4.2 on Richter scale and no damages. One more time, Charlie is the one that informed us. We did not feel anything in Puyallup.

CPE : becoming «Zen» and a chaplain in training.

Instead of pushing that pain away, just let it be. You are not the pain. That pain is something that doesn’t have to be who you are. Just let your breath take that pain away from you. Beautiful

An American Buddhist monk is speaking to Audrey, who has multiple diseases of the spinal cord and is in constant pain. If I was Audrey, I am not sure how I would feel about someone teaching me to «let the pain be». Unless I acknowledged a special authority from this man in his black kimono who belongs to Zen Buddhism and allow him to teach my mind some discipline?

This episode of Religions& Ethics Newsweekly titled “Zen hospital chaplains”[1]
caught my eye probably because I am finally filling the forms for CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) in other words the internship in a hospital as a chaplain. This should take place next winter or spring depending on availability. It lasts three months if you do it full time.

Those forms ask you a little bit more than your address and your email address. They require you write down “a reasonably full account of your life” where you should include the important persons and events especially as they have impacted or continue to impact your personal growth and development.

And also «a description of your spiritual growth and development» describing your faith heritage and any subsequent personal conversion and religious experience.

And a description of your work history with a statement about your current employment and work relationships.

And also the account of a «helping incident» in which you were the person who provided the help. You should include your assessment of the issues at hand, and a commentary on what you did and how you believe you were able to help.

So I am in the process of composing a “reasonably full” account of my life on those various aspects – with a “Zen” and focused mind of course. This is so me.


[1] http://www.pbs.org/wnet/religionandethics/episodes/november-12-2010/zen-hospital-chaplains/7471/

The Dog Lovers Society

An invisible yet discernible affection connects people who love dogs and find comfort in their close by presence. This complicity has opened the doors of our Presbytery where dogs are allowed to some of the meetings with their owners, a rare permission in the US.

The Committee on Preparation for Ministry enjoys the presence of a little white dog, Bijou, who looks like a lamb. Bijou graciously allows us to share the company of her owner.

However, Bijou has immediately shown irritation when a rival joined us at our meetings. Hannah Murray is a tall pup, with a spotted brown fur, typical of her breed : Hanna is a Louisiana Catahoula Leopard dog, an AKC (American Kennel Club) registered breed – you will find them under the category “unusual breeds”.
Catahoula Leopards dogs are called that way because they originate from the Catahoula County in Louisiana, and because the spots of their fur are often reminiscent of leopards. They are untiring and loyal shepherd dogs.

Max, her owner, found her about ten years ago – she was alone, wandering by Camp Murray.
Hannah is gentle and benevolently accepts to be patted ; she does not show any annoyance when Bijou barks right in front of her.

Our monthly meetings last 6 hours and Hannah serenely spread herself out while we discuss, waiting for the breaks during which she will enjoy a short walk. When she realizes she is going to stretch her paws, she smiles, a wide smile that shows her teeth.

I tried to take pictures of the smile, but as soon as she saw my camera, Hannah lowered her head and moved away. Max explained that she fears flash lights and cameras. I took several pictures without flashes – those pictures are not that great. I can discern her back, some paws, a blur of ears, but no smile. Hannah consented to pose by Max but you can tell she is not exactly comfortable.

An invisible yet discernible affection connects people who love dogs. Since yesterday, I am thinking of my friend Brandi and her pup Maka. We have not seen each other for several years but we communicate through facebook. We have often exchanged posts and comments about our pups and their little mischievous acts, and the joy to live with them.

On Wednesday night, Maka did not come home. Later, Brandi found out that she would not see Maka again. She wrote on her facebook page “Rest in Peace Maka…” I never got to meet Maka but I feel so sad...

Let’s work on our gratitude skills!

In the US, November is above all Thanksgiving month. “What are you plans for Thanksgiving?” will you already be asked although this American celebration is taking place on the fourth Thursday that is November 25th.

Thankfulness is a recurring theme at this time of the year. “What are you grateful for?” asked Danielle, one the creative volunteers of the Church to the children during the last Sunday school time. Children were invited to write down their answers on colored papers shaped like leaves. The leaves were then taped to branches, producing a multicolored Thankfulness Tree and Danielle took this picture.

Church of the Indian Fellowship is in its Fall mode. The building was built in 1949 and when it rains profusely like it happens here, rain may leak between tiles, the plumbing is sometimes uncertain. Life can be unpredictable at our church! Tony and Joe, who care for the building and work on the beautiful grounds they have created around it, also bring a calm and serene atmosphere. Tony is one of our Elders.

This sparrow wants McDonald!

New sunny day in our Pacific Northwest. Everyone enjoys and wonders if it will be the last of 2010! Our area is supposed to be the rainiest. I heard recently that it actually rains more over New York than Seattle. But we are the ones that have the most overcast days of the year. Nobody envies us that record. We changed time last Sunday. So it gets dark around 5 PM. When the sun breaks in the afternoon, all the colors of sunset are visible on and between the clouds, a beautiful and ever changing sight!

This afternoon I went to have my hair cut. My favorite salon is informal, close to home and you can just walk in. I don’t know ahead of time who will hold the scissors but I am always satisfied with the result. Solvay, the young blond woman who took care of me today looked Scandinavian. She explained that she is Norwegian and Swedish on her mother’s side. She added – I was not expecting this – that she was also Native Alaskan on her father’s side and enrolled in the Tlingit tribe. “I miss Alaska, she commented. I love to go there and dance the traditional dances with my cousins. I don’t exactly look Native but they all accept me as I am.” She knows the Puyallup reservation, goes to the clinic over there and never realized that this white building on top of the hill at the cemetery was a church, our church. I invited her to join us for worship on a Sunday.

After I went back into my car on the parking lot of the strip mall, I was surprised to see a sparrow on the rear-view mirror of my car, so close to me – obviously fearless, even looking at me straight in the eyes. I could take my camera from my purse and take this picture without it flying away.
I understood what was going on by looking in the rear view mirror: a McDonald fast food restaurant was right there behind me. I suppose cars stop about where my car was parked and their drivers eat their meals they just got from the drive-in. The crumbs and leftovers buns are given to the birds. This sparrow was hoping to get its share. I had no problem imagining this one telling me “Hey, where is my Big Mac?”

Oh no, I won the raffle!

I have accepted it for years. I have absolutely no luck in games or gambling. When I would go into the casino of Trouville, France with my girlfriends, years ago, my coins would be swallowed by the machines without ever provoking ringing sounds and cascades of earnings. I take part into raffles without second thoughts, just for the joy of contributing to a good cause. Each time, it is confirmed to me: winners are always the others ones, never myself. Not that I am bitter or anything.

At Curves where I work out day after day at building steel muscles under my curves, members regularly have the opportunity to be part of charity actions. Sometimes we can bring cans for a food bank, or newborns diapers for an intensive care unit specialized in caring for infants. Or we can purchase raffles tickets whose profits will go to research against cancer. I felt very comfortable buying two tickets, $5 apiece, at the end of October. The grand prize of the raffle was a weekend in a cabin in the countryside. I enjoy my own home for weekends, which usually are the busiest time of the week and countryside depresses me. I was particularly serene when I purchased those tickets.

But the specific irony of chance caught up with me after all those years. On Monday, a joyful voice on our recorder let me know that my ticket had won me the envied grand prize. Uh oh. And since Irvin also heard the message and immediately rejoiced at the news, I could not discreetly decline the prize.

So let’s be positive. We probably will be able to spend this weekend in the middle of the week in a not too rainy time in the coming months. According to the depiction of the place, the cabin is located not far from the scenic town of Poulsbo, close to a beach (something that will immediately raise my moral) with views on the mountains.
And I have to admit it since I just experimented it : winning the big prize also provides a rush of excitement and unexpected joy. Whatever the grand prize may be.

Election Day in Our Neck of the Woods.

The elections took place today and the event is quite conspicuous. Adds on TV are everywhere, and most of them are negative, pointing the finger to the opposite candidate, guilty of many wrongdoings and most of the time represented by an unflattering picture surrounded by swirling dollar bills. This demonstrates that the opposite candidate squandered away the money of the taxpayer and/or is financially dependent of lobbies and/or obviously unable to steer the country away from the recession.

We also receive phone calls: messages to remind us to go and vote for the right candidate. Yesterday morning, still in bed, I looked at the ringing phone and saw that the caller was identified as “toll free”. I did not pick up and was glad I did not. Our recorder was fully able to receive the message by itself – that was a prerecorded message reminding us that the country relies on us. I cannot do much for the country when it comes to voting. I am not American (yet?).

The National elections always take place on the first Tuesday of November. This date in the year was picked when the United States population was mostly composed of farmers. In November, the harvest is done but the weather is not too cold yet. Tuesday was preferred to Monday because at the time, the voters had to go through a long journey to cast their ballot. A vote on Monday would have meant to start the trip on a Sunday, the Lord’s Day which was not acceptable.

The proximity of date with Halloween may cause some interference in communication. That day, our neighbor always transforms his house, across from ours, in a large cemetery complete with huge spider webs. This time, he also put up a sign for one of the candidates. Does he support this guy? Or is it his way to express that this candidate has ideas that should remain in the cemetery of outdated stuff, next to his own sign “Beware”?

Halloween: moving the limits of the real world.

The limits of the real world are moving at the end of this month of October. Today, I saw Alice in the Wonderland and a skeleton shopping at the supermarket – not kids, adults. And on the parking lot on the way out, the car parked next to mine had a surprising feature: a human foot was sticking out of its trunk. At Halloween in the US, children are not the only ones getting a costume.

In a society where religion is so prevalent, that also means protests and arguments. This week for instance, a Baptist church by a the road had the following message on its board: «Abstain from all appearance of evil, 1 Thessalonians 5 :22. That includes Halloween».

The argument sometimes arises from surprising premises. A few years ago, one of the Puyallup schools decided to cancel the afternoon usually dedicated to the children enjoying their costumes… because of the protest of a group of Wiccans, “earth worshippers” who said they were shocked of the way witches were represented in those costumes. This situation and the indignation of the families brought the attention of national news[1].

Today, the day went harmoniously, and strangely, almost without rain. In the morning, Irvin preached a sermon titled “All Saints” where he talked about those people that inspire us and become examples of life to us. He mentioned Native persons of great faith from last century. Tomorrow is All Saints Day.

Tonight, we welcomed children with multicolor costumes with candies.
But the costume award should go to Guillaume, a fellow French friend, who lives in Tacoma. Guillaume and his family went above costuming. The four of them created a whole story made up with each of their costumes. Marcus, the youngest son was the dragon that put the fire to the house, which Guillaume was representing. The mom was taken out of bed because of the fire ; fortunately Max, the firefighter, arrived in time. The best way to “trickortreat” as a family, according to Max!

[1] To find out more, click on http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/articles/A12381-2004Oct30.html

Ordination Exams : You Will Go Out in Joy

You will go out in joy

and be led forth in peace;

the mountains and hills

will burst into song before you,

and all the trees of the field

will clap their hands.

When I was a student at the faculté de Théologie of Paris, we were given those verses (Isaiah 55:12) to translate from Hebrew at our term exams. I remember the growing doubt I had felt as I was working on it. I had not recognized the verses so I was perplex. Hills bursting into songs? Trees clapping their hands? Was I in the middle of a complete misinterpretation, so easy to get lost into in the Hebrew language?

I was reminded of those verses this week – oddly enough, the music of the «Sound of Music» was playing in the background. Isaiah must have inspired those lyrics: "The hills are alive with the sound of music / With songs they have sung for a thousand years…”

Why this overflowing euphoria that made me want to leap and twirl around in meadows like Julie Andrews? You guessed it: that was the relief to have passed my ordination exams. The long expected phone call finally came this week.

The process is not over yet though. I still have to experience Clinical Pastoral Education (internship in a hospital) and finally the ultimate trial: polish my own statement of faith and defend it at the Presbytery. In other words: more exciting upcoming events! To be followed…
The hills fill my heart with the sound of music

My heart wants to sing every song it hears…

A memorial to commemorate and say thank you

For two years, Irvin and his siblings prepared this day honoring their Dad Larry Porter. They would have regular conference calls to discuss the list of gifts, the family members and friends to show appreciation to, the meal to plan for 150 guests… On the morning of that October 16th day, tension was perceptible when we started to lay table clothes on the round tables of this large room the Sheraton let us use, near the golf whose so vividly green lawns made such a contrast with the desert.

But everything went well, along with the joy of gathering and seeing each other again, except the powerpoint presentation that my sister-in-law Grace patiently put together and which was most reluctant to start. The big screen showed our pup Sitka (the background screen of our laptop) while Grace kept busy working on the settings of the computer.

Sylvia, daughter of one of Larry’s sisters (he was the younger of 10 children) spoke of the Pima traditions she knew of. She mentioned that available young men would race, and young women would run after them. If they could catch up with them, they were allowed to date. Sylvia suspected that her grandfather slowed down on purpose so that his wife-to-be could draw level with him.

As it is customary, the blankets were opened by Irvin and his brother Fred when they presented them and they then wrapped it on the person who would receive it.

This memorial also allowed us to see Bill again. Bill is Hopi, a tribe from the Northern plateau of Arizona. This tribe has kept most of its original culture. Bill and his sisters still fluently speak Hopi. He calls me “Me Wee”, which means “daughter in law”. Bill is the second husband of Eloise, Irvin’s mother, who passed away in 2006. He used to feel such jealousy toward Larry that he would not stand seeing pictures showing them together. At the end of Eloise’s life, he cared for her with great dedication and his feelings evolved. And here he was, travelling through Arizona to be part of a day dedicated to Larry that included many pictures of the past.

Eventually, a grave stone designed by Ron, one of Irvin’s brothers, was set up on Larry’s grave.

More pictures can be seen on the French version of this post: http://anne-cecilenews.blogspot.com/2010/10/un-memorial-pour-se-souvenir-et-dire.html

VAH KI CAMP MEETING

For more than a hundred years, Christians Pimas (most of them Presbyterians) have been gathering for several days in October for a serie of worships aimed at deepening their faith. Some of them camp out near the nearby Church, called Vah Ki (“old house” in Pima) and worship take place outdoor, under a large roof. By mid-October, the weather is still very warm in Arizona, but strong winds and thunderstorms often happen in this area which on the same latitude than Africa.
No less than 3 worships take place during the 4 days of the camp meeting. Some families don’t miss any of them! Irvin was invited to preach 5 times during the weekend. The worship services keep the memory of the revivals time. The sermon should always be at least 30 minutes, and an altar call follows. The choirs of the neighboring churches participate in those worships, singing in English or in Pima. Each worship service last about two hours and a meal for everybody follows.

Make sure you check the French version of this post that includes some pictures at http://anne-cecilenews.blogspot.com/2010/10/camp-meeting-vah-ki.html

Calendar Sticks : not your ordinary History book

What is the best way to keep track of historical events when you don’t have a alphabet and written language yet ? Carving symbols is a good solution. The history of the Pima people has long been written on long sticks called “calendar sticks”.