Easter Meditation

Recently I’ve been thinking about the Easter story because it is easy to lose the focus of the literally earth shaking events of that time even though our faith is based on them. With the distance in years we can just see it through a historical lens or be critical of all the bystanders thinking we would never have behaved that way had we been there.  But as I reflected,  I wondered, “Were you there…?” For I know I was.

I thought of Peter, the go-getter of the group who was always the first to answer and come up with the big ideas. We read and shake our heads at his bluster. But I know on my best days, I’m quick to volunteer for things, I read a request for help and think, “I can do that” and I add it to my list. Maybe I promise to provide things, or faithfully uphold someone in prayer through a difficult situation. Then, hours or days later, I realize I forgot my commitment or I make excuses as my energy or my faith flags. Then I’m ashamed because I know I let not only others but Jesus down.  So, was I there?  Yes, I was there.     

I’m not sure what kind of soldier you had to be to get the job of crucifying people or making sure they were dead before you took them down from the cross and piled up the bodies. But it was a job that apparently had some downtime and perks, because we see that as they waited for Jesus and the others to die, they had time to play a dice game.  I wonder did they sit on the ground to the side and keep an eye on the crosses. Did they do this to distract themselves from the noise and agony of death and the anguish of family members that were all around this place?  But in the midst of death they carried on with their petty games and divided up the spoils.  It may seem a distant idea, but some meditation on their actions helped me to see a pattern emerging. It’s easy for me to turn from the horrors of the daily news and distract myself on social media rather than to do things.  It’s easy to claim that we are just doing our job and completing the things that are required of us without looking too closely at some of the more unsavory tasks that have been part of the requirement. We can ignore pleas for help here or not pay attention to the needs of another there.  On another level every day I benefit from the discomfort and suffering of others without knowing it, the children or the underpaid who work for a pittance so that I can enjoy a plethora of shiny objects deemed essential to my comfort. So was I there…? Yes, I was there.

Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea came at night to claim the body.  These were quiet followers.  I get the feeling that Joseph or Nicodemus might have been able to swoop in at any time with their influence and at least question what was happening. But they didn’t.  Nicodemus came with 75 pounds of spices  along with the alabaster pot of cream that demonstrated his love and his wealth.  But it came late.  They came and did what needed to be done.  They rolled up their sleeves and treated the body. I’m sure they were appalled to look on the nail holes, see the pain on our Lord’s face, and to face in a very visceral way the suffering he had endured.  We read that Nicodemus came at night. Have you been quiet about declaring your faith in the daytime, before crowds, of being afraid to speak up for the right cause?  I’ve also turned up late for some events and rolled up my sleeves and worked or made some kind of contribution I hoped would cover my shortcomings.  But maybe it would have meant more had I been there earlier so people could have felt my support and love.  So, sadly, I was there too.

I can see Mary wandering aimlessly in the garden on Easter day. She had forgotten the message of hope that Jesus told her – just like daily I forget what I read in my Bible notes.  She was panicking,  and in her crisis, nothing made sense to her.  Have you been there?  I’ve been there so many times.  Even as I get older I still lose focus of the lessons I know, I’ve tried and tested; reminders to focus on God’s plan and the assurance that “I am with you always” in particular. But put me in a crisis situation and I can lose all sense of direction.  Mary wasn’t even seeing straight when Jesus asked her what was happening. She thought he was the gardener!  He didn’t lecture her, he didn’t remind her what he said, he didn’t rebuke her – he just called her name – and in so doing all became clear and she remembered the real message of Easter. She had frantically been looking for him, but he found her.  When you have been in a crisis, have you heard Jesus call your name?  Do you know he is looking for you?  Sometimes we need to stop the other voices and the “what ifs”  to listen to Jesus.  

So while I ponder the Easter message again this year, I realize the Easter story is not in the past. It is our story now. Were you there? For I know I was there, which is why the message of Easter is relevant to my life every single day!

Ephesians 2:5 - it is by grace you have been saved.

Updated 2025 :)

Alas JoAnn Fabrics! I knew you well.

The recent demise of JoAnn fabrics might also have collateral damage in the form of my infrequent but joyful forays into the realm of the peacetime arts of Athena, the goddess of crafts. I identify myself proudly as a “not in the least” creative person with no original ideas. It was in our 7th grade sewing class that this became evident.  The teacher was mercilessly unencouraging and it didn’t help that the Singer treadle machines (now found in museums!) required synchronised delicate movements of feet to operate the needle along with deft hands to guide the fabric in straight lines. Too many skills to master at once for me!  I blamed the fact that I seemed to get everything upside down or back to front on my left handed brain. My sister had greater success and, having bought a Singer portable machine some years later, made some of her own clothes. I marveled at this machine that creatively turned fabric into tailor made clothes that Grandfather Barr, a tailor by trade, would have been proud of. In my late teens, I bought patterns and fabric to follow suit, but I frequently got stuck with my own pins, frustrated by the instructions, and my finished efforts belonged more in the “not quite as seen on Pinterest” category.  

  

Years later, when I was pregnant with Lyn, I wanted to create a welcoming and perfect nursery so I requested a sewing machine for Christmas.  Once again, Singer promised confidently to “unleash inner creativity” by providing an array of stitches, zipper possibilities and buttonholes when all I needed was to sew in a straight line.  An excellent seamstress friend came over to offer some simple instructions and convinced me I too could be a capable sewer.  For crib bedding, (before all that was banned) I entered the amazing world of trying to find the perfect fabrics. I had so much fun with mix-and-match fabrics and furbelows, trim, and ribbons that made plain items into exclusively crafted and personalised ones.  Encouraged by my initial success, I followed the example of other mothers in the church and expanded the repertoire to simple pinafores, which required use of the buttonhole device on my machine, dresses, some with zippers, winter flannel nightdresses and summer shorts.  I enjoyed choosing the fabrics and playing with contrasts and textures. I was amazed how flat fabric could take on forms and shapes and be transformed in an afternoon.  The quality and my patience gradually improved and the pride in completed products overlooked not a few imperfections. Alas, eventually “made by mom” was no longer a desired brand and the sewing machine took a rest in the back of the closet. 

In 2002 we moved to Leesburg to a more spacious house. Everyone talked about how exciting it would be to decorate and furnish it, to plan the new rooms and arrange the furniture in different settings. This all just seemed very daunting to me as we were dealing with a longer commute and busier schedules and I had really enjoyed the comfort of the home we left. Now the task was to turn the new house into a home.

I watched the sunrise in the mornings to  see how the light played on the walls.  I  watched where the spring flowers bloomed and how the autumn leaves changed on nearby trees.  I  felt the summer’s cool relief from the outside and the comfort of its warmth and walls against the first snow, blizzard, and its protection while Hurricane Isabel relentlessly tore down power lines but kept us safe within.  Finally I was ready to decorate and I decided that by giving each room a theme or motif I could carry colors and textures from one space to the next. That required time and patience to coordinate fabrics and paint choices. So I blew the dust off my trusty Singer  and treated it to an oil change and service at the local craft store. During breaks and holidays I set off in search of materials at a fancy new high end fabric store hoping I would do them justice. Guided by images in magazines or books and coached by sewing experts, with my trusty Singer’s help, I made an array of drapes and duvet covers, pillow and cushion covers, all carefully chosen to complement each room’s light and theme, with the goal that at the end of busy days they would provide a haven. The greatest challenge again was sewing in a straight line - my variety of zigzag being the default! 

Casual valances created light and relaxing moods to link the inside to the outside in the sunroom, light hearted blues and whites for Lyn’s room, demure toiles for the primary bedroom, colorful cabana stripe drapes with matching but muted bedding for the guest suite, while an English garden theme with heavy trim provided a restful setting in the other. The final project was valences and cushions for the living room which also housed the library so it needed to be comfortable and cosy. In this project I discovered the use for my long-lost geometry as I measured and pleated, making sure to respect the adage, “measure twice but cut once” to avoid costly and irreparable mistakes in calculation. In doing these I learned other tricks of the trade, the power of super glue to hold the fabric perfectly on mounting boards with no sewing required!  I labored hard with the luscious thick cushion fabric and their lion mane trim to match the ottoman, and I broke several sewing machine needles in the effort  but they were  worth every penny, minute, needle and curse as they still adorn the sofa in our home in West Virginia maybe 15 years later. They had better last as I have no desire to put the machine or myself through that experience again. 

And after a long rest of several years, during the pandemic (2020), Mr. Singer emerged for a sequel to its original mission, to make cute and comforting baby blankets, (all only requiring straight lines), for the next generation, and of course to make masks to keep us safe.  For almost forty years, it has been not just a useful tool but a forgiving partner, along with JoAnn fabrics, in trying to remedy the transgressions and trauma of 7th grade sewing class!  

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Make yourself at home....

                                                               

Musings from 1st July 2001 - 20th anniversary of our move to the US and gently edited to reflect thoughts from our 40th year!

I never really planned to move this far away from "home." That would be the home and town that I grew up in and to which I have returned frequently over the years.  It is there that you share in the family memories, eat comforting foods in familiar surroundings, and discover a false sense of stability in an ever changing world. Somehow over the years the word home has morphed and expanded its meaning to encompass the homes that we have lived in here; ones we share, create and shape as a family to ensure a safe and welcoming space. 

I never really meant to stay away this long and vaguely responded to questions about when we were coming "home" to N. Ireland or if we felt at "home" in the US, being  unsure if they were suggestions, criticisms, or encouragements.  They also involved a lot of soul-searching and potentially challenging decisions. But somehow day by day the weeks became years and the three years of the appointed time slipped by, only to be followed by a move and the birth of our American daughter Lyn who provided some roots.  Birthdays, school years and anniversary celebrations rolled by until 20 years had passed - and now incredibly 40* years! And frequently I ask myself how did all those years slip by? What happened to them?  A quick look in the mirror would actually confirm what my brain is reluctant to acknowledge, but it's about more than a number. The sunny summers and the golden autumns, cold and snowy winters followed by magnificent flower-filled springtimes passed and passed again, all filled with life's experiences that somehow strangely felt as if they were new each time around. 

There are many memories of a life lived between cultures - each one enriching or slipping into the experience of the other.  I'm often surprised to discover that I'm still here: I'm surprised when I drive busy American roads, share experiences and communicate seamlessly in real time with friends and family members overseas, talk with my daughter who puts me right on things I may have missed in this crazy news cycle, and when daily I find the unfamiliar in the familiar as when we remind ourselves to put the bin out for trash collection and put things in the post to mail!

I realize then we have always been at home because it is the place we carry nostalgically in our hearts; it is in the memories of all the accumulated experiences that we box up physically or mentally to transport to each new destination; it is where we find ourselves at the end of the day––either here in our physical home or on an extended vacation or visit overseas.  So, after much thought once again on this momentous anniversary, less philosophically but more practically minded I can now also attest that, "Home is where the wi-fi connects automatically."** 

*We recently came full circle and returned to our first American hometown in Huntington WV to watch our new grandson grow and spread our American roots deeper.  But as they say here, " That is a whole 'nother story.... :) 

**Quote:   ~Internet meme https://www.quotegarden.com/home.html

Updated July 8, 2021

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Departures

 It's hard letting go. 

            

The birds in the planter outside the window have grown to a size where they are vying for space in their crowded nest.  Why the parents waited so long to start their little family is a mystery to us.  Only a couple of weeks ago we became aware of the nest after watching the sparrows enter and exit the dense blanket of flowers with purposeful activity.  Now, the little mouths, open in silent screams, wait for the food to bulk them up and prepare them for their harsh entry into the real world where they will fend for themselves.  It appears that soon there will be an empty nest as the autumn creeps up on the hanging basket.

Within our home, we too are preparing for just such an event.  Over the past school year, the recent months and summer days, we have prepared our daughter for what we believe she will need to leave for college.  The conversations have helped us plan for situations in advance; the shopping trips have supplied the necessary and comforting staples to extend the feeling of home beyond this cozy and coddling environment.  In less than a day we will take it all to her dorm and return home to our emptier walls.  Lyn meanwhile, busy with her own goodbyes to friends, prepares excitedly for her departure.

In a hospital bed in the cancer unit of Fairfax hospital lies a dear friend.  This expert of diaphanous and flighty dragonflies is tied to her bed by webs of tubes that supply her with palliatives and nourishment – essentials to maintain her life since the latest and unfavorable medical reports.  Nancy, once an energetic explorer of the wonders of the natural world, is confined to a room that has become her interim residence, where amid friends and loved ones, she also is preparing and longing for her departure for a pain-free heavenly home.

In the space of a few hours they all left.  A silent, empty planter revealed that the birds had taken flight to discover the world beyond the nest.  A phone-call confirmed that Nancy had made her departure, breaking free of the earthly and flimsy chains that had held her; early next morning we brought Lyn to college and said our goodbyes.

            

No doubt each of these departures took place with the conflicting emotions of fear and expectation of what lies ahead. Those who are left behind experience their own emotions of relief and pain of loss.  But each was prepared and ready  for the next stage - the birds to the world of flight, Lyn to the future, and Nancy to a new body.  As we watch, we commit them all to the loving care of our Lord who reminds us:

 

            Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns; and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.  Are you not much more valuable than they?

                                                                                                Matthew 6:27

 

                                                            August 20-21 2005 - Jill Moore

“One fair daughter, and no more…..,” From Hamlet, Shakespeare

        

Today on Mother's Day 2017 I thought back on an entry into the book that I had written for Lyn as she was graduating from high school - almost 11 years ago.  As I look back over the years, I am incredibly proud to be her mum and of all she has done in recent years.  

                        “One fair daughter, and no more…..,” Hamlet, II,ii,416

Thoughts on Mothers’ Day 2004

Having a child is a positive declaration to the world: it’s a belief in the future and a desire to contribute to it.  On one level, one has a child for personal and selfish reasons: to love, to cosset, to nurture, and, of course, to pass on those incredible genes!  On a greater level, one hopes to have an impact on the future and to make the world a better place.  What mother in her heart has not looked into that tiny form of a helpless child and seen the possibilities – the one who will accomplish all that we could not, the one who might accomplish great things in his or her chosen field, or the one whose name will be loved and cherished on account of talents or strength of character.

We are caretakers and nurturers, at once scared and awed by the power that this role apparently offers us, but even more terrified at our total inadequacy for the task that parenthood involves.

New Year's Resolutions - really?

December 31, 2016

It's New Year's Eve and I sit at my desk thinking about the New Year and the resolutions I will or should make.  To be honest, I know that they will probably not be kept, and at my age, I'm not sure I can come up with anything new.  As I contemplate, my eyes glance at the cards that sit atop my desk, and as I look at each, I see the inspiration to guide me into the new year.

Firstly two small cards say Thank you! One is from a  person who just wanted to express thanks for my being there.  It reminds me that taking some time to put aside my personal agenda will benefit others in ways that I could never imagine.  My own "busyness" at times makes me forget to do this - perhaps in 2017 I will learn that busyness is not a virtue and that I need to make time to listen to others and more importantly say and write "Thank you" to the many people who impact my life.  The second card comes from a teacher I mentored who now has returned to China to work in a new school. She tells me that my experience and mentoring has enabled her to be prepared for her new role; I loved working with her and I am glad that she is taking the message to her students.  So my next resolution will be to remember to pass on what I know as it is simply the chain of knowledge so that others do not need to learn the hard way or recreate the wheel.

Another favorite card quotes a proverb: "The world is full of cactus but you don't have to sit on it."  I probably need to learn from this EVERY SINGLE DAY! Because the "cactus" comes in all shapes and sizes. There is the traffic cactus, the people cactus, the latest craze and thing to do cactus - but I need to exercise wisdom and understanding to be aware that I don't always have to engage.  For this, I need to have confidence in my strengths and my point of view to be aware that I can sit beside the "cactus" (like the picture on the card) and examine if this cactus is worth engaging - or not!   This resolution requires me to have a reflective attitude, to consider what I have learned from experience, and to see if this is something that will provide a productive outcome - because if not, it is probably best not to waste the time and energy trying to find out how to engage with the cactus while remaining unscathed by the thorns.  I will not give in to the latest idea and fads; I will choose what is worthy of my time and talents, what is best for me, my students and their learning.

The next card sends a message that is the antithesis of the previous one: "Ever notice that 'what the hell'  is always the right decision?" (Unknown Hollywood script writer)  I don't really agree that it is always the right decision for me, but occasionally I need to abandon my prosaic life-style and seize the day or the opportunity and live for the moment.

The final card that inspires me is my favorite with a quote from Marcel Proust: "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes." Each year I have discovered it is important to have new eyes: to be open to new experiences, to be willing to learn new things, to be willing to engage on topics beyond my comfort zone or to broaden my sphere of knowledge on a particular aspect of life, language teaching, or topic that interests me.  "New eyes" remind me that I learn and continue to grow as a person as I observe and remain alert to what is happening around me.

And so I will decide to let these resolutions once again be my guides for the new year.  Perhaps this year, I will finally get it right!

S-N-O-W!

SNOW  (1993 – ditto 2016)

This was written during the 1993 snowstorm but while the forecasting has improved, preparation and clean up are much the same!

Capital Weather Gang 16/01/21/poll-name-this-winter-storm/

“There’s a disturbance” on the West Coast that could ride along the jet stream and cause a major snow event in the East by the weekend.” Such is the announcement that big snow “events” take with hints of impending chaos and doom even when it is only Monday.

Very little makes this center of the western world tremble as much as snow. Any covert threats to safety, the CIA checks it out; looming asteroids getting too close, NASA takes care of that; mysterious events, FBI is investigating; threats from abroad, the Pentagon mounts myriad forces to do the shock and awe treatment and leave them trembling. But the one terror that leaves them all powerless––SNOW––the four letter word that strikes more fear and terror into the heart of the Washington area than anything else.

As the week progressed under sunny skies but frigid temperatures, the snow totals mounted; 4-6” in the morning became 8-12” by evening; by the following day 12-16” and finally two feet and counting. This was to be a megastorm to rival other historical storms on record. Schools announced closures, regional activities came to a halt – all before a snowflake had been sighted.  But we try to keep a slightly cynical mentality about snow totals also. So often we have been deceived by alarmist forecasters who foresaw whiteouts on the computer models, which turned into mere flurries on the ground.

I should have expected something when I went to do my usual weekly shopping and had to park in the proverbial left field of the spacious car park. Refusing to bow to the lemming mentality I decided that a visit to the bookstore would be a necessity because in my mind, being snowed in provided the perfect opportunity to curl up with a book. Thinking “snow” read as opposed to beach read, the obvious choice was Snow Falling on Cedars! With the one essential purchase made, it was time to head to the grocery store.  A cursory glance suggested that it was not overly busy and so I wound my way round the produce selecting fruit and vegetables. It was only when I met the middle aisles and encountered backups of patient and not so patient shoppers with overladen carts that I realized this was going to take longer than expected.

I  too eventually joined a line  and reflected on the different groups of shoppers around me. There were the “combat” grim-faced group who made their way from bread to milk to flour to toilet rolls and who passed disparaging looks to those who were thoughtfully inspecting their lists. Then there were those who were stocking up seemingly in the event that it would be months before stores would reopen. Then to my surprise there were some whose carts were filled with frivolities as if the family would party their way through the storm. I must admit a certain resentment for these people who with their superfluous purchases were cluttering up the aisles. Then there were the regular shoppers who had picked over the remaining offerings of the near empty shelves. There were anomalies I could not fathom: flour and cake mixes had been cleaned out. What? Were all these busy people suddenly going to find their inner Martha Stewart and bake cookies and cakes? This is not an area where women bake: we buy, we order, we visit expensive French bakeries so this seemed quite absurd. Bread was snatched up as it was being set out; triple decker sandwiches seemed to be a fixture on everyone's survival menu!

Eventually I passed through the check out and set off home – to wait. And then it began, one flake, then another floated past the window, barely perceptible at first and then still distinguishable as a gentle layer removed the sharp edges from winter’s harsh landscapes. But in the night hours it happened, a thick white soft blanket rounded and covered the ground, 12” then 18” and then 24” deep until we were surrounded, besieged, and cut off from the world beyond the doors. All we could do was watch and wait. It had its own beauty, this machine with a mind of its own, spilling, spewing, sputtering flakes on its victims.

Finally, in the light of a second day, it ceased! And we opened the door to marvel at its beauty, to survey and recall what used to be recognizable landmarks.  Eventually a new reality set in; dressed for skiing but equipped with shovels rather than skis, we adopted the maxim that the road to the street and freedom begins with one small shovelful and then another… and another!