Author and Inspired Writer

Shore ‘nuf.  And I admit, almost against my will, I did start to get caught up in the joy and hope of Pope Francis’ election.  But that was after I fussed and fumed and had my say about the whole process.  One thing in particular that bothered me, and still does, is the fact that the pope is elected by a two-thirds majority.  The cardinals all prayed the Holy Spirit would direct their deliberations, but hold on.  If their prayers were answered, and the Holy Spirit did indeed enter into their decision-making, should there not have been unanimity?  Do they not all share in the Spirit of Christ equally?  Then why not work to achieve complete consensus to choose the Vicar of Christ?  To leave such a momentous decision to majority rule would seem to me to make the process too vulnerable to political agendas and all too human machinations.

To come before the church and say with a barely concealed shrug, “Well, here’s the guy most of us think God wants to run the church.  Meh, we did our best,” or “We prayed for the mind and heart of Christ and standing together in complete solidarity we support this man as God’s choice for our pope,” – which would seem to be the far better sign to those witnessing the process?

Consensus-building is not easy.  It takes time, patience, and most importantly, the will to do it.  If the College of Cardinals did not, for whatever reasons, wish to  go that route, there is still another way, I believe a more excellent way, and it has biblical precedence.

In the Book of Acts, the eleven apostles were trying to decide who should take the place of Judas who killed himself after betraying Christ.  There were two candidates vying for the spot, so the apostles prayed, “Lord, show us which one of these two you have chosen,” and then they cast lots! That’s right – they rolled the dice, so to speak, and left the matter completely up to God.  Think about that – days, possibly weeks of enclave could be reduced to a few minutes, a-and there’d be no possibility of human interference (as long as the process were carefully scrutinized, and I’m more than willing to take on that job!).  A pope designated by the finger of God.

Sure.  I know.  Never gonna happen, but I can’t help thinking it’s because humans just have a hard time leaving matters of great import in the hands of the Divine.  There’s a sorry lack of trust there, and maybe just a touch of arrogance, and yes, I confess I am speaking from my own personal experience.  Christ said the kingdom of heaven belonged to the little children – perhaps because kids can happily leave decisions of great import in hands bigger than their own.

And then run out to play.

Well, lookey there, I see it’s time to brag on myself. Oh yes it is! Cuz I’ve been a busy little bee, and what I feared was going to be a time of great stress and exhaustion, turned out to be a very steady and productive time. Only downside – not a lot of poetry got written, but que sera, sera.

In the last two and a half months, I have written four sermons and four Orders of Service. (In NO WAY could I ever become a regular minister. If I had to complete a sermon and O of S every week, in no time at all you’d find me under my bed lip diddling. My hat’s off to those courageous and creative servants of the Lord!) I got all our papers ready for taxes including drawing up a Year End Statement that had me close to tears a time or two. (Numbers are evil! EVIL, I tells ya!) I filled in for the pianist at my church at the end of January putting together the music with about 15 minutes practise. (Still totally impressed with that!) Did a reading in February at my publisher’s award ceremony, and began my contribution to a new bible. Mm-hm, along with 11 others from all over, we’re embarking on a new bible paraphrase, which is one of the most awesome things I’ve ever done! In addition, I managed to work in a doctor appointment, a dentist appointment, a few Writer’s Salons and a concert! And not only am I not exhausted, I’m actually energized by all this! Woo-hoo!

Gotta say, I owe a lot of my strength to The Mister who has once again proven himself to be a stalwart, gently tolerant of my absorption in successive whirlwinds of activity that often leave him sidelined. Never a word of criticism, only “Tell me what I can do to help”. I’m a lucky woman.

So there you have it, gentle readers. And there’s even an upside – now that I have all this other stuff taken care of, starting Monday I can go back to writing poetry. Gosh, I hope I still remember how!

I mentioned an “unexpected loss” in my last post.  A very dear friend passed away a couple of weeks ago, just four months after her sister, another dear friend, also died.  We are all reeling from this, none more than the surviving sister who was a tower of strength and love to them both.

I will miss Kathleen (“Dinks” to her family and close friends) more than I can say.  I got to know her about five years ago, and that we should have become so close is a bit of a mystery as she was a good 35 years older than I.  Nevertheless, she loved to laugh, tell stories, was generous to a fault, and utterly devoted to her family.  She would cross the Atlantic twice a year, every year, even into her 90’s, to see her daughter in England and her son in Dubai.  And whenever she would return, the Mister and I would send some “welcome home” flowers.  She would call us up and leave a message that went something like – “I’m just so delighted…no, wait a minute, I’m not delighted.  No, I’m cross, yes, very cross with you!  I told you it wasn’t necessary to send me flowers, but you’ve been naughty again.  Yes, very naughty indeed!”  I will miss her gentle sham-scolding.

On one of her hops across the pond a few years back, I sent her a letter in England to lift her spirits in case she was feeling homesick.  She was so happy to receive it, thereafter I sent her a letter every time she was overseas, to her obvious delight.  I would recount the news round about, and whatever silly situation the Mister or I had got ourselves into.  She read the letters again and again, read them to her children, and then read them again to her sisters when she returned.

There were eight letters in all.  Yesterday, I ran them all off, put them in a binder, and labelled it “Dearest Dinks” – which was how I opened every letter.  Then I presented it last night to her surviving sister, who was, well, deeply grateful, although she too tried to scold.  (Didn’t work with Dinks, and it ain’t workin’ with her either!)   Sometime in the future, I’ll ask her if it would be alright to share some of the letters online.

Dinks, Shirley, we mourn the terrible space you’ve left in our lives, but we are so grateful, so blessed to have known you and loved you and been loved by you.  Thanks for coming into our lives.

Thanks for everything.

The cold, the dark, the business, the unexpected sadness.  That would be February!

Hello again, gentle readers!  Thank you for your patience as I took weeks away to work on my February assignments.  First of all, my minister let me know I’ll be preaching one Sunday in June and three in July, and as soon as I get my dates I start in right away composing sermons and orders of service.  Once they’re all written and saved to two separate flash drives (one of which is kept in a fire-proof safe!) I can relax and focus on other things, like my exceedingly dusty house or my current manuscript, The Magdalene Poems.  I haven’t stopped getting ideas for poems for the new collection, but I have had zero time to write them down.  Now I do, and will.  And just the idea pleases me very much!

On the 17th, I was involved in a bit of subterfuge regarding my publisher, Marty Gervais.  He learned from the internet (and was none too pleased about it) that there was going to be a celebration for Black Moss Press at a local bookstore where several of us Black Mossers would give a reading.  Marty kept telling the organizers – “I don’t remember scheduling this!” – but they all smiled, told him it was one of the inevitable signs of old age, and just relax, they’d take care of everything.  The reading though, was a ruse to get Marty in the store so he could receive the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Medal for outstanding service to the community.  We were all sworn to secrecy, and on the night of the presentation I asked one of the organizers if he was still in the dark.

“Well, he was still complaining today about how tired he was, so I’m thinking that’s a pretty good sign he doesn’t know.”

And he didn’t.  The look on his face when the cat was let out of the bag – priceless!  Any fatigue he might have been experiencing turned to joyful excitement.  But we still did a reading, including Marty, who got his grandson to read one of granddad’s poems to the delight of the audience.

It was a lovely evening, but as I told the crowd, if we had had to keep that secret much longer, I was afraid all our heads were going to explode!

(More later!)