A Glimpse of Grace for Earth Day 2021

I was invited to share a few thoughts for Earth Sunday at my church this year. The presentation received enthusiastic endorsements and is worth passing along. I share it below.

A year and a half ago, I headed to Nebraska for an “Elders for the Earth” retreat with the Hunters and Aurora from GUMC. I found it exhilarating to be with a roomful of folks attuned to the ballooning climate crisis, and respectful of the leadership offered by the world’s indigenous peoples.

There were seminars by experts in various fields, including a biology professor, a Catholic sister who shared how the global climate crisis affects our immigration issues, a panel of farmers who advocated for regenerative agriculture, and the Nebraska Sierra Club. Most important for me was the connection with others who share my anxiety about the future of life on Earth and who want to do something about it.

The weekend concluded with a native American smudging ceremony and we returned to our homes pledging actions to effect change that fit our own situations.

Little did I know how much that retreat would change my life. I returned home with ideas for action and a reading list. In the process of working through the books, COVID hit and our old “normal” world changed overnight.

None of us have escaped the COVID months unscathed. If we didn’t contract the virus ourselves, we certainly knew those who did. We all know people who suffered severe symptoms, and even some who succumbed to the virus. Yet in spite of the dire consequences, COVID months provided opportunities to stretch in different directions. I found myself zooming into conference calls with literally hundreds of people around the world, enrolling in online classes that focused on our climate challenges, as well as social justice, and economic systems. Through leadership of indigenous peoples around the world, I expanded my horizons and my hopes for our common future supported by an expanding awareness of our Earth community.

A couple of people and their ideas kept showing up in my varied explorations.

One was Robin Wall Kimmerer, a mother, a scientist, a writer and a member of the Citizen Potawatomie nation. Her book Braiding Sweetgrass helped change my life during COVID. The first time I ever read about Robin was in the run-up to last year’s 50th anniversary of Earth day in the Sierra magazine. She was a featured contributor and her description of a conversation with a student echoes in my mind yet today. “I’m sorry,” she said to this student, “that you have to still fight these environmental battles.” The student responded, “Don’t you see that this is the best possible time to be alive?” (What?! Climate chaos? Extinction crisis?) The student looked her in the eyes and said, “We are on the precipice. When everything hangs in the balance, it matters where I stand. How wonderful to live in a time when everything that I do matters.”

I actually had never thought of it quite like that. But that one idea opened lots of doors. The Elders Retreat helped me realize how complex the crisis we face really is.

Every part of our lives is impacted, from the food we eat to our economy, transportation, government, justice.

Everything on planet Earth is interconnected in ways we are just beginning to understand and no part of my life is immune to change.

Situations highlighting inequities in every area of our lives exploded over the last year. I could easily give in to hopelessness about our children’s future.

But I can’t allow myself that luxury. Those who can least afford to do anything about our climate are the neighbors we are to love and care for. One of my remote friends shared a gift that COVID presented her, the realization that families are made not by birth but by intention. COVID made our family grow to 7.9 billion people.

I can’t afford a moment of despair. But how do I find hope? There are hundreds of thousands of groups working toward a viable future around the world, representing millions of people. That gives me hope.

Another resource that the retreat introduced that I encountered over and over was the Drawdown project.

Through it I learned that we have at least 80 different ways to bring about a Drawdown of the warming gasses in our atmosphere. As COVID loosens its grip on our hometown, and our planet, we have a chance to return cautiously to a new “normal”—certainly not the old one—

that will put us on the path toward restoration of a healthy and viable planet for all of God’s creation. I find that exciting news, and I hope you do too. No one person can do it all, but I can do my part.

As one human family, with each of us doing our part, that will make the difference we need.

Favorite Apple Coffeecake

It was tradition. When it came time to depart a visit to my parents, Mother faithfully packed us out with goodies from my dad’s garden and her kitchen. We could count on serving her favorite coffeecake at the next day’s breakfast. And over the years, we all grew to love that coffeecake. Today, not as faithfully, but still often, I bake one to share with my now-grown kiddos. They love it too. Family traditions and comfort cooking bring happy memories and warm smiles.

Apple Coffeecake

Mother has been gone nearly 18 years now, but she lives on in our hearts and our lives. With her in mind, I baked up a coffeecake to take along on my Easter visit to our daughter and granddaughter a state away. In keeping with Mother’s trademark “simple and delicious” recipes, this Apple Coffeecake is a winner. It is also a great way to use up milk that has gone sour. But you can make it even with sweet milk, altering the ingredients just a tiny bit. If you plan to use 1 cup sweet milk instead of the sour milk, omit the soda in the recipe and add one more teaspoon of baking powder. Alternatively, you could add 1 T lemon juice to the sweet milk to sour it.

To bake this delicious cake, first mix together:

2 ½ cups flour

2 cups brown sugar

½ tsp salt

2/3 cup butter or margarine

Once it’s mixed so that the butter crumbs spread evenly throughout, the next step is very important. Remember: reserve ½ cup of this sugar mixture for later.

To the rest of the mixture add:

½ tsp soda

½ tsp cinnamon

½ tsp nutmeg

2 tsp baking powder

(Here’s where you determine if you need to change the 1/2 tsp soda to another tsp of baking powder–making 3 tsp baking powder total–or add a souring agent to 1 cup of sweet milk.)

In a small bowl, combine:

2 beaten eggs

1 cup sour milk

Mix well with the sugar/flour mixture.

Peel, core, and finely dice one apple of your choice.

Granny Smith apples bake well in this recipe but others varieties can be used.

Add the apple to the batter. Stir well.

Spread in a greased and floured 9” x 13” cake pan.

Sprinkle the reserved topping over the batter.

Bake at 350 for 40 minutes.

Simple. Delicious. And ready to eat in only an hour, fresh out of the oven.

Grandma Georgia’s Recipe File

With a sense of blissful excitement, I am pleased to announce the arrival of my latest book project, Grandma Georgia’s Recipe File. A divergence from my previous endeavors–hardly suspense fiction–there’s not a single piano in its pages, but it’s still ripe with story.

1984

Georgia Wells Harris was a quiet woman, but she opened her home and her heart to everyone. Each of her family members loved her dearly. She lived a devout faith, slow to anger, loving through dissention, refusing to judge others. Born October 3, 1891 in the Ozark hills of Missouri, her family migrated to central Kansas before the turn of the century in covered wagons, and by rail. She lived through the depression, two world wars, birthed four children, and buried two of them before her own last breath. A farm wife, her realm was home and garden. She kept everyone fed through good times and bad.

Quilting lessons, 1979

She spent her free time crafting quilts and gave them away to each of her children, grandchildren, and the great-grandchildren that she knew. She socialized with clubs of neighbor women at church and in a one-room schoolhouse auxiliary called “72 Club.” She delighted in simple things and her easy laughter was contagious.

Georgia blowing bubbles in the timber one Easter in the early 70s.

My grandmother’s dilapidated recipe file came to me a decade ago after my father passed away. Though I always knew I would share it someday, the time for sharing was postponed by the bustle of a busy life. I wanted to share the cards with all my grandmother’s living grandchildren, my two sisters and a cousin and me. But the project got tabled, and mostly forgotten.

1971

Then a year ago, that busy life came to a standstill due to the COVID restrictions. I am not the only person who discovered that one blessing of the COVID time was to open the chance to catch up on long-overdue projects. This was one of them. In fact, the slower pace reminded me of Grandma Georgia and how I appreciated the slower pace of her life.

1976

Visits to her in my young adulthood always slowed me down and I relished the peace of her quiet life. Last October I pulled the little pink recipe file box from my hutch and began to catalog the cards. It didn’t take long to realize that there were very few duplicates. I would have to split them up. How could I possibly divide them into 4 equivalent batches? What if I sent the wrong recipes to people? Then there was the valid possibility that maybe–just maybe–we’d all like the entire set of recipes.

The idea of making a recipe book was born the moment I realized it would be impossible to split up the cards and be sure that the right granddaughter received those appropriate for her. Why not make them all available to all of us? I began to type the recipes into word documents on my computer. As I typed, it became clearer how much of our lives are told by the food we eat, those favorite dishes we share with our loved ones.

1985

She had noted names on many cards, to remember who provided those recipes to her. Some people I knew. Many I barely knew. Some were total strangers to me. Her dear daughter, and some of us grandchildren were noted, but there were other family names I had only heard about, including Mabel and Florence Ethel (Pete) whom you might recall from the story “High Courage.”

I became doubly excited about this booklet idea. In addition to creating my grandmother’s recipe book, I would use this project to learn how to format manuscripts for publication. The project took on multiple objectives.

I intended to surprise my sisters and cousin at Christmastime.

Well, some things just can’t be rushed. Christmas came and went, and I was still working on designing the cover with the help of my computer-savvy stepson. What’s wrong with Valentine’s Day, I thought? Often in past years, our “Christmas” greetings became Fellentines. This could fit right into that.

But Valentine’s Day came and went also, while waiting on the printing process.

However, I am happy to announce that the project has come to a very successful completion. Last week, I received my first order of the recipe books, and I packaged up several to send off and surprise family members. The unexpected books by now have reached every destination, so the secret is out!

When chatting about this project in December with some friends, I mentioned that I didn’t expect anyone beyond family to be interested. But some friends insisted that they would like the opportunity to have one of these traditional family cookbooks. I felt quite honored by that declaration. My proof-reader sister asked if I’d autographed all the books, and I replied, “I autographed NONE of them. I don’t really feel like it’s my book. It’s Grandma Georgia’s.”

Spring flowers blooming at Georgia’s house.

With satisfaction, I can report that I did manage to work through the steps to format this booklet without assistance. Very cool. No need to shy away from that process in my future endeavors. And with love filling my heart, I can say that the opportunity to read through some of Grandma Georgia’s letters was incredibly rewarding. I had kept every one that she sent me before she died June 25, 1990. The correspondence allowed me to season the book with bits of her life philosophy. In this blog’s new “Comfort Foods” category, I will share a few more recipes, as well as snippets of philosophy, in coming weeks. There will be recipes from Georgia’s kitchen, but also some from other beloved friends and relatives. Stay tuned!

My heart is full. I offer the recipe book with love to anyone who needs a lift.

Georgia’s Recipe for a Life well-lived:

Work hard.

Love deeply.

Laugh often.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B08T85DXDQ/

 

 

Involvement, Connections, and Success

We often hear “It’s who you know that counts.” But more than that, your involvement in projects to help others will provide valuable connections. You will come to know many more people just by getting involved.

My volunteer work with the coming Kansas Authors Club convention in Wichita helped me strike it rich–new friends, new connections, and new opportunities. Through contacts with my writing friends–local writers with national (even international) acclaim, or writers from around the world, I was recently invited to provide my own books to Watermark Bookstore in Wichita, a shop that seemed far outside my reach until recently.

Watermark Books & Cafe, a thriving independent book store, holds regular author talks and book signings, hosts book club meetings, children’s activities, and more. I am thrilled to announce that interested readers can now find my books on Watermark shelves.

Check these out:

https://www.watermarkbooks.com/book/9781502478375

https://www.watermarkbooks.com/book/9781530303830

Next time you have a chance to help another writer, do it. Whether you share objective critiques of their work, publicize their books on your platform, or invite them to speak at writers meetings, I highly recommend it. The connections you make may open doors you previously only dreamed about.

 

There is Life After Loss

A year ago I launched The Bridge, following advice of several writing friends. It’s been an adventure for me, providing fulfillment in my life. I’ve learned a lot about the blogging world, but I admit I’m still a novice and have a lot more to learn.

This year, The Bridge is receiving a facelift. Again, advice from various writing sources convinced me that it should be narrowed in scope. The book I’ve labored to write for the last three years is nearly complete. I’m polishing a proposal. I’ve pitched it to a couple literary agents and a few small publishers. Excerpts from my memoir have won awards in writing contests in both Kansas and Oklahoma, OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAfirst place in non-fiction in the 2012 Kansas Writers Association contest, and first place in non-fiction at the 2013 Rose State Writing workshop contest in Oklahoma.

I believe my story might help someone. I’ve done my best to write and polish the prose. I’m confused at times. Blog-related advice runs the gamut from “You can’t sell a book without a blog” to “Don’t start a blog until you know what you’re doing.”

I’m not sure I’ll ever know what I’m doing, but I believe I’ve been nudged from beyond— from across The Bridge—to proceed. My purpose in this venture seems to run counter to all the workshop advice. My goal has never been one of personal enrichment, of financial gain. Publishers and editors need to assess the marketable aspects of a manuscript. All I want to do is help somebody who needs a friend, somebody who might be going through a particularly rough time, somebody who might be struggling with a life-or-death crisis today. In some ways I am terrified to stir up the past and serve it to strangers. But if I can help someone, I need to find the courage to step forward. That is one of life’s big adventures—meeting your fears and laughing through the terror.

Let me tell you a little bit about the bridge photo in the header of this blog. More than three decades ago, I stood with my husband in the basement morgue of the hospital where our daughter—our precious child—had been stillborn. We gazed at her tiny face, stroked her cold cheeks, fingered her tiny hands, and bid her farewell. We had not thought to bring a camera. That was the one and only time we saw our baby girl.

After her memorial service in a windy hilltop cemetery, we wound our way through the hills of our county, just driving, not saying much. We did have our cameras though. Every so often, something caught our attention and we stopped to take a picture. The scenes were bleak, lonely, cold, PICT0548showing life buried by death, and dreams receding across a bridge. Together they expressed our unspeakable grief. The collage of photos became our picture of little Gabrielle, and the header of this blog was among them. It is a picture of my baby girl. Isn’t she amazing?PICT0547

Since the day three decades ago when I stood on a lonely road taking a picture of a bridge, I’ve bidden farewell to Gabrielle’s little brother. I’ve been widowed. My grandmother passed on, as well as a few friends. Most recently, I’ve been orphaned. Each loss opened a fresh wound and shook my faith in the goodness of life. Each loss was different, leaving a new kind of hole in my heart. Sometimes I thought I could not bear the pain. To watch someone you love die is to watch the world stop turning.

And yet, I survived. I’m here to say there is life after loss. All of us who love somebody risk the pain of loss and we will all have to bid that final farewell to our dear ones someday. After the frenzy surrounding a loss comes to an end, one thing that remains is the certainty that your life has changed forever.

But there is still life after loss. And it can be a good life. After losing my first husband, I met another wonderful man. After losing two children, together my husband and I have raised four. Now we are enjoying the antics of a grandson, and our youngest daughter is expecting a baby girl very soon. Life can be good indeed.

I offer The Bridge, re-designed, to feature topics related to grief and healing, to memorial tributes for my loved ones now gone, and to cover writing topics. Other facets of my life belong in another place. For those who may be facing terminal illness right now, or the sudden, unexpected death of a loved one, my heart goes out to you. I hope entries in The Bridge may provide a small bit of comfort and help with your healing journey. At least you’ll know you’re not alone. You have a friend.

Sanctuary: A Photo Essay

“A picture is worth a thousand words”. I wonder how many scenes can be pulled from just one word?

Sanctuary

courtesy Vijay Sherring
courtesy Vijay Sherring

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courtesy Rebecca McCutcheon, The Winfield Courier
courtesy Rebecca McCutcheon, The Winfield Courier

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And Jesus went into the temple, and began to cast out those that sold and bought in the temple, ond overthrew the tables of the moneychangers . . . . And he told them, “Is it not written my house shall be called a house of prayer among all nations? But you have made it a den of thieves.” Mark 11: 15, 17
 
 
 
 
For more information, see
http://www.vjsexoticsafaris.com
http://www.rideforrenewables.com
http://350.org
http://www.tarsandsaction.org
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LpfWCpRvY9c&sns=fb

http://www.winfieldcourier.com/archives/article_e9faf415-cec6-562c-963e-98c3916b12c3.html

The Consideration Project

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I’ve been thinking about my mother a lot lately.  Last week marked a full decade since we celebrated her last birthday with her.  It’s only natural she has been in my thoughts.   For our appreciation of all the finer things in life, my sisters and I have Mother to thank.  She loved music, literature, and the finer aspects of our culture fostered through the arts.  Education was a priority for her.  Based on her own experience, continuing education was the key to rise above desperation and hardship.  She fostered within each of her daughters the value of knowledge, hard work, and a sense of justice and opportunity for those down on their luck.  She was also pretty hard-nosed about second chances if one failed to recognize the gift of a first chance.  But she remained generous to others all her days.

Actively involved in our childhood education, Mother assigned me the first big project I recall.  She became upset by the daily arguing of her three daughters.  To combat the incessant cacophony of our constant bickering, she assigned each of us to do a “Consideration Project.”  We were to consider each other’s feelings and viewpoints before we erupted into a shouting match.  There was paperwork involved.  By the due date, I had written a journal of thoughts, choices, and conclusions.  This project became a major activity for me. Though I don’t have a copy of my final report, I learned a great deal from the activity.  I believe this was the first major writing project assigned in my school years.  It was Mother who assigned it, and I still remember the “Consideration Project.”

I can draw parallels to lessons recorded in the gospel books of the Bible.  Jesus instructed, “If anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile.”  (Matt. 5:41)  “If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also, and from anyone who takes away your coat, do not withhold even your shirt.”  (Luke 6:29)  In other words, Jesus also encouraged his followers to be considerate of others.

Is there anything more difficult to master about life?  My natural response toward someone who has acted harshly against me is to retaliate in kind.  Yet, if I stop a moment and give consideration to the other, I might imagine a bit of bad news they may be facing, a hardship in their family, or an argument they may have had with the most important person in their life.  Even though a person may treat me unfairly, it helps no one if I pass that injustice along.  Not even me.

There have been times after I finish a service job when I am offered payment with a check that bounces.  I fretted.  I worried.  I fretted some more.  But when, in my heart, I made a gift to the person of my work, my distress was instantly relieved.  Jesus’ instructions for giving beyond expectations were spoken not to benefit those who wrong me, but to lift the load of hatred and resentment from my own heart.  Freedom and contentment were my immediate rewards.

Jesus also said, “Do not judge, so that you may not be judged.”  (Matt. 7:1)  How can I possibly know all the details of another person’s choices?  I can’t.  Granted, I have never been on the receiving end of a violent criminal act.  I have never faced the loss of everything I hold dear at the spiteful actions of others.  I honestly don’t know how I would react in those cases.  But I do know that I can choose my actions carefully today.  I have the power to affect my own life and future, and I can support others who face unknown crises without judging them from my own perspective.

It seems that our nation is in need of a consideration project.  Diversity has always been one of the strengths of our country.  We defend the right of others to live as their hearts dictate, as long as their choices hurt no one.  The bitterness and rancor we see today in our nation gets us nowhere in the long run.  The art of politics should be the art of compromise, striking a deal somewhere in the middle that the majority of people can embrace.   We defend the rights of those who have few resources.   We defend our diversity.

Extremists who deny compromise and refuse action of any sort unless it’s what they want only hurt our country.  There should be no room for a “My-way-or-the-highway” attitude.  How do we find common ground with folks who will not listen to differing views?  On a national scale, we seem to lack something basic.  Something like . . . consideration.

Mother, we need your “Consideration Project.”  I suspect that if we try, we could find some common ground between the blue and the red.  If we consider the views and thoughts of those who differ from us, we might find we share many things.  We love our children.  We revere the life and opportunities we’ve had.  We want others to share similar good fortunes.  We worry about what the future holds.  The basics of humanity exist in the hearts of people regardless of their political persuasions.  If we listened considerately to each other, we might find we share a lot.  Our states are not totally red nor blue, just as our own hearts are not absolutely conservative or liberal.  We are closer to various shades of purple than perfectly red or perfectly blue.  Purple should be the color of our future as we strive to find commonalities in our concerns.

How about a little consideration for each other?  I’m ready.  Are you?