Out of the Blue

A couple of weeks ago, the phone rang.   The  number of the caller typically appears on the phone, and it also appears on the TV screen if the TV is on.  If I do not recognize the number, 99 times out of 100,  I do not answer.  But for some unknown reason,  I decided to answer that time, although it only said Cell Phone, with no name.

She identified herself by her first name, and her mother's last name, who had once been my parishioner.  I guess she thought that would be easier for me to figure out who she was that way.   It took a few seconds.  If she had used her first and last names, I would have known immediately.  It was Phyllis!   The Phyllis who had been our host and guide when I led 13 of us on a mission trip to Guatemala in 2001.

So Phyllis calls, out of the blue, after 19 years.   It immediately brings back many memories!   It was a once in a lifetime trip and experience!  Phyllis is fluent in Spanish,  so we could comfortably travel, having her as our guide!  Some of those memories are very harrowing!  One involves an old school bus and  hairpin turns on one lane roads up a steep mountain.   We had brought bags and bags of  school supplies to donate to a particular school,  where we all went in person to deliver.   The children were so polite and sweet and beautiful and also in a very remote location.   The supplies were delivered in a cloth bag for each child.  It was impressive that they did not even open the bags immediately in our presence. I was told that was because they first wanted to share them with their families back home.

Anyway,  Phyllis retired a couple of years ago and moved back to the town, Moravia, where her mother had lived for so long.   I don't know if Phyllis grew up there or not, but she would surely have many many connections.   She is currently doing substitute teaching, despite being 81 years old!   What an inspiration!

She was calling on behalf of the Historical Society in Moravia wanting me to do a presentation on Willard, a state Mental Hospital which closed permanently in 1995.  At first, I drew a blank,  wondering why in the world she would want me for that purpose!    My first reaction was:  "I don't know anything about Willard!"    She reacted:  "Then why is everyone telling me you do?"  Then I remembered that I do at least know more than most people.  The story of Willard played heavily in the novel I wrote and published in 2013.   One of the books that I read and used as a resource in fact was a wonderful history of the institution.   So after thinking about it for a bit,  I agreed to make a presentation on that topic at the Moravia Historical Society in July  (or whenever we are all out of quarantine).

I soon went to work on that presentation and found that I do, after all, know quite a bit about Willard and will look forward to sharing that!

My resource book is:  The Lives They Left Behind:  Suitcases From a State Hospital Attic.  The materials found in those suitcases formed the basis of a traveling exhibit by the same name.    I happened to read about that in a newspaper when I lived in Syracuse.  The opening scene of my book involves a woman visiting the exhibit  and seeing a photograph of a picture she recognized, but had no idea that relative had ever been in Willard.  The rest of the novel unravels a complicated family story.   In Its Time by me.

I Laughed Today

When I laughed out loud today, it struck me---I have not heard that sound for a while!   No wonder, considering the state of our world at this time!   Laughter is in short supply right now.   Tears are much more common!  Fear and anxiety not far behind.

What made me laugh?   It was a funny conversation between two brothers---one a CNN reporter, and the other a Governor.  They were ribbing and teasing each other unmercifully, as brothers have been known to do. 

 It was a real treat to find something funny in the midst of Covid-world!---something to bring laughter.     The NY Governor was calling his brother the 'family meatball',  clearly a term of endearment!  (as Chris explained about Italian families).

I laughed with them, a couple of funny Cuomos!

Then no sooner was the video over, and I went to Google News, only to discover that one of the brothers now has the virus--Chris Cuomo.    He is now confined to his home, working from his basement. 


Thanks Cuomos for brightening my day!   Please, both of you, be okay!

Mid-Corona

We have now been under Stay at Home, Social Distancing orders for a little more than two weeks, and by the looks of it,  that may extend all the way until the end of April.

It goes without saying that the Covid 19 crisis has changed the world as we know it.   One has to wonder---will things ever get back to normal?  Will people have jobs to go to?  Will people ever shake hands again?

It is hard to look too far into the future when one is trying to just cope day to day.   I am from New York State, and the number of deaths and the lack of supplies for medical professionals is beyond shocking.

But I am lucky in so many ways!  I am not at home alone;  I have a lovely husband to share the isolation with.    We have social media.    We are creating a new routine.   It is easier for me than it is for him.  My day always includes the normal everyday chores---making the bed;  doing laundry;  prepping for meals;  cooking meals.   He does the clean up.

We are able to keep in touch with family members through Facetime, email, Facebook.   Thankfully, everyone is okay.  Biggest concern is daughter who is expecting to deliver toward the end of May.  (in a hot zone!).

Social Media provides some comforting music;  some uplifting stories and posts.   Some meetings by ZOOM.  So far, however, the attempts to do Church Worship via Facebook Streaming has been a dismal failure.  The Modem has been malfunctioning.  I think next time they will try pre-recording.

One new form of entertainment has emerged:  Haiku for a Global Pandemic.   Being a poet,  this is something that I am greatly enjoying!

This was my contribution for today:

Oh, how I miss you!
(Freedom to go where I please).
Staying home is hard!

Writing A Memoir

For the past five or six days, I have been involved in writing a brief Memoir, summarizing the main time frames of my life, where I lived from birth to now, and major life events.  I am now at the editing stage.  I have been thinking about what I want to do with this memoir.  Its purpose was just to  provide a record for my children, in case they wonder  about the details of my life, as they get older.  They could possibly find some answers from this memoir document.

Honestly, writing that all down has left me a little bit depressed, because it was painful having to re-live so many challenges,  difficulties, crises, and trauma.   That led me to think that maybe I will just leave a copy in one of my plastic tubs downstairs.  I have a collection of Notes of Appreciation and Scrapbooks of letters from all the parishes I have served.   Over the past few weeks, I have been reading some of those notes.  The idea occurred to me that I would put the Thank You notes and the Scrapbooks into one tub together.  Til now, they have been scattered. 

In all that process,  I took out the Scrapbook of Letters from the Moravia years,  which I had not  opened for a very long time.  I read a two page letter there that just blew my mind.   While I am feeling sad and depressed about the struggles I had as a single parent,  there was a woman's letter showing me clearly how my having been a single pastor, and now a pastor, had transformed her life!

She had come to church with her mother one time, just to humor her mother.  Apparently, that particular day,  in the pastoral prayer, I had lifted up "single mothers" and prayed for them, for whatever reason. 

This letter writer said she had never heard anyone pray for single mothers.  In fact, she carried a huge burden of guilt from being one herself.  There was really no reason for her guilt, because her husband had died years earlier.  She had not even been divorced.  However, I do understand the guilt, because as a single parent, one never feels like they can do enough for your children. She strongly felt the stigma of her single parent identity.   She asked her mother:  "Why in the world did she pray for single mothers? I've never heard anyone do that!"  Her mother said:  "Because she used to be one."

This young woman who was visiting was somehow miraculous freed from her 'single parent' guilt and stigma, because "if she was a single parent and God loves her, then maybe God loves me too,"  or something very much to that effect.  She was still attending there when I moved on to another church, thus the letter.  We obviously had many interactions which were especially meaningful to her. For me, I was just ordinary pastoral ministry.

As I read her letter today,  after having just written my memoir, with all its trauma and pain, I cried!  I never cry, no matter what.  But her words moved me mightily!---perhaps not unlike my words had moved her years before.

She goes on to tell how much things changed in her life, how she went back to school, got a good job, all because she was able to shed her guilt and shame from being a 'single mother.' 

Who ever knows how or when or why God might use our story to help heal another person?  Perhaps it was God who moved me to pray for single mothers that day.

I assume that the tears that I shed as I read her letter today will will be healing tears for me.

I could even imagine that God gave me her letter, long buried in the basement,  at this moment as a special gift.  For such is the nature of God.