Finlei

 
 

sacred

My earliest memories of Mom's hands are of her with each new baby. I was 2 and a half when Jim was born, then 4 more boys and then Diane when I was 17. She began with a bath, usually in the sink. Small, soft wash cloth going over the eyes, ears, nose, under the chin, then the back, bottom, toes. After some snuggling in a towel the baby was laid on another towel, covered with the first, to keep them warm and comfortable. The lotion was the most beautiful part. After warming it in her palms, she spread it gently but very firmly over the back, pushing folds of loose skin as she went, like a professional massage therapist. Turned on the baby's back she covered their tummy, under the neck, between the folds in their legs and arms. Next came the t-shirt (no onsies then), cloth diaper fastened firmly with large safety pins with pink or blue heads. The plastic pants were the only stiff part of the ritual. Next the sleeper and lastly the receiving blanket (why is it called that?) done just a certain way. I remember Mom teaching me just how to do it so the top flap would cover the top of the head. Then she sat with that yummy-baby-smelling, bundle of joy held up over her shoulder, rocking him/her until the blessed child was asleep. I loved to watch this ritual, never got tired of it, in fact. I didn't name it at the time but now I see it was just as holy as any ordinance or sacrament in any church. A sacrament is a "means of divine grace." And in the book, "The Sacraments" by Peter A. Judd he says, "The sacraments are vehicles of God's action and revelation in the lives of human beings." Watching the gentle, loving ritual Mom performed each day with her children was a holy sacrament. I have no doubt God was involved.

champions

In 1983 my baby sister Diane's high school class b basketball team won the state championship. I still remember the excitement in my Dad's voice when he called my home in Mississippi to tell me. I was excited for them all and then I went back to sleep with a happy feeling, waking the next morning to continue raising my toddlers.
This weekend Diane's team was invited back to be honored at the girls basketball game. My brother Kerry is the coach for a very good team that took second in state last year. He set the weekend up with a banquet for the '83 team and had them, 2 coaches and all, walk forward before his game. As one of Kerry's players escorted them out a list of their accomplishments was to be read.
First, I must say that there is nothing that makes my family more excited than a basketball game. Nothing. I am not saying it is the most important thing in their lives. It is just the thing that gets the Sacry family most excited. The truth of that was shown last night when I was at the local theatre run by Kerry's family. I said to him, "Wasn't that a great night?!" And Kerry's reply was, "It was the 2nd best night of my life." "What was the first, your wedding?" (My innocent response.) He laughed, "No, when we took 2nd last year!" I am 100% sure he would choose his wife and kids over basketball if it were a life or death thing, but day to day...basketball wins out. His wife Karen is truly amazing in her love for him. When she called me that day to ask to borrow some cookie sheets she began her conversation, "I think I love your brother too much. He talked me into making supper for 50 people." Her tone was full of love and pride. I'm thankful.
I got to be involved because of the cookie sheets and because Diane and 2 of her 3 kids, Luke and Rebekah, came to spend part of their day with me. I'm thankful again.
I got to read and take a nap with Luke. Though it's not the best part of my life I really enjoy that. It was great to be with her and hear her excitement. Not so much to be honored but to see her friends and have a chance to be together.
According to my Dad, Diane was really the star of the team, even though Jeanne McNulty went on to be all American and play some pro ball. A little prejudice there. This weekend I understood what maybe Dad was trying to say. I sat in the stands with Luke and a little girl I was babysitting. I had a good spot to watch all the behind the scene things that happened. First, the night before, some of the '83 team were at the Friday night game. Sitting in front of them I heard Diane talk them into paying a dollar each to go out and try to win a pop by shooting a free throw to support the senior class. The others were reluctant but spurred on by Di's enthusiasm, they did so. Diane and her daughter, Rebekah, both made their shots.
On Saturday night the '83 team joined Kerry's team in the corner as they waited to enter. The '83 team got between the other girls and taught them the little chat/dance they did before entering the court. Then they did Kerry's team's chant/dance with them. They did some other things, including having Jeanne spin the ball on her finger. There was so much laughter and fun. When they were announced and the list of accomplishments were read (written by the individuals themselves) it was impressive. I think all of the girls had graduated from college. Several had run marathons, 4 nurses, I can't remember all of their acclaim but you could tell they were sharp. I wondered as I listened how much being a part of a championship team had influenced their living like champions. Or, maybe they just were champions, people who gave to life rather than taking away. Most of them were the babies of their families with parents who supported them 100%.
When it was time for the head coach to be announced the whole team came back off the floor and escorted him out. I knew it was a touching moment for him. Something he could live on for another 16 years or so.
Watching the teams I couldn't help but be proud of Diane. She was the leader, confident, directional, sure of what was important. A number of the ladies, including Diane, said their highest accomplishment was their children.
I couldn't figure out why exactly, but I sat in the stands and cried happy tears.
I had never been able to see Diane play ball. I had other priorities at the time. So I'm thankful I had a chance to see what made her and her team champions. Playing together in the way they did created for them a very special bond that made them glad to be together 16 years later and maybe again sometime.
Their head coach said he got talked into coaching that year. He tried to coach after that and was unsuccessful - said this team had spoiled him. I thought about how much like life that is. An opportunity presents itself. If we say yes we might get to be a part of a championship moment. If we say, "NO." Well, life goes on...
What makes a champion? Good people to support you; confidence; thinking of others more than yourself; giving instead of taking; perspective; hard work and a little luck. Congratulations Di! Thanks for making me proud!

Interrupted

I was reminded on Sunday in Terry's excellent class about two times when God "interrupted" my life to teach me. Terry's class this week was on listening to God. Some of the thoughts were of our need to find solitude to listen to God. A dvd by Rob Bell called Noise set the stage (his dvd's are amazing!). It was entitled "Noise." As I sat there I was reminded of those times when I was not in solitude, in fact was in a very noisey place but God still got my attention to teach.
One place was in Mississippi. We were at a Friday night baseball game that Matt and Nathan were involved in. Those games were certainly a community social event. A relatively cool evening after a hot muggy day, people enjoying each other's company as we sat watching our boys play. (I am wondering if the girls were excluded along with the blacks?) Jamie was there with us and was 3 or 4. I was keeping my eye on him as I watched the game and he played with other kids. Then I realized I hadn't seen him for a bit. I began to look for him. At first I wasn't worried. We were surrounded by friends and all our kids were playing together. But then I became concerned. Friends joined in the search and still he couldn't be found. After several minutes of search a friend called to me. She had found him. There was a shack in the park. As I neared the small building I was aware of a few things: a small group of people gathered, looking in the door; the disgusted and angry look on the face of my friend who found Jamie and my own rising fear of what I might see. As I looked in the door Jamie was there with another boy who might have been 7. I think the boys were trying to go to the bathroom. It was then that I was interrupted. Instead of being concerned and going to the aid of Jamie, I was drawn, instead to look at the boy. He was not a popular kid. He was from a poor "white trash" family. He was dirty and unkept. We were a part of another social group, the "in" crowd. Those gathered around were angry at him for his obvious luring of Jamie to such a situation. In a sense this boy had attacked our nice, safe, comfortable evening. Our nice, safe child from our nice, safe world. But God took me from the place I usually might have been. My attention was drawn to the boy. I saw him. Really saw him the way he was. Alone. No one cared that he was "lost." No one cared about his life. No one. Jamie was surrounded by people who loved him, thought he was precious and worth looking for. This boy was lost.
The second time God "interrupted" me was more recently when I was in the Philadelphia airport. The moment is more difficult to describe. It was simply a moment like any other. I had checked in and was walking to my gate. People were all around me going to their gates. Typical Philadelphia, people from many different ethnic groups, sizes, shapes. In the middle of that moment I was made aware that God loved these people. All of them, each one. Not one was left out. I'm sure I did not even then understand the magnitude of that love or I couldn't have born it. It was just a simple truth shown to me in a very simple way. I treasure that moment and wish I could experience it again. To feel that love was a gift I thank God for and the more words I put in this writing, the more I try to explain, the more the experience is diminished, so I will stop.
I only want to say, why did God give me those experiences? What does it mean about how I should spend this day?

Angry

I'm angry. I can tell by the way I want to use strong words in an even stronger way, like my official swear word, "Crap!" When Mom was in a coma in the hospital and we were waiting for her to die I walked by a lady about her age and wanted to knock her down. I was so angry that she was up walking and Mom was not. I'm still angry. The trouble is I can't find anyone to be angry at. I usually get angry at God in extreme cases like this. I heard that you are like a bottle and when you're full of anger you can't take in love until you let off some of the contents of your anger. So I've always trusted God to handle my anger. But I had decided when this happened that I would completely trust God. And I do. I believe God did everything right where Mom was concerned. Like Gayle said at the funeral, Mom was ready to die, had time to say good-bye to us all and we had time to say goodbye after her coma. Yes, there is no doubt in my mind that "God's timing is perfect." So, at first I just ignored God. Since I couldn't be angry this time I didn't communicate. My constantly running prayer throughout the day was stopped. I just couldn't pray. But I had a perfectly sure faith that God was there and God was good. I could not, cannot deny that. Then I began to believe, like someone was tapping me on the shoulder, that God wanted me to get mad at Him (Her). So I spent some time yelling, outloud at God. Boy, did it feel good! This week our big dog Chai got hit by a car and died. It's been like going back to square one in my grief. I thought God gave me Chai during this time for joy. So I can really be mad at God now! This morning I was laying in bed thinking about this anger feeling. The image of a child throwing a fit came to mind. And I realized, for the first time in my life (I'm a little slow) that when a child does that she is not always angry at the parent, she is just angry because she can't have what she wants. It's a child's grief. A tiny loss. And, because they are not trained in the art of being socially appropriate, they just throw it all out there regardless of who is around or who they are embarassing. I have often thought about how nice it would be to be a child again. I wouldn't have to think about what others were thinking or who I might offend or who I needed to protect. I would simply throw things, hit people, and mostly just find the one I trusted most and swing my arms and legs at them and then cry against their chest until I felt better and could run off and play. Thankfully I do have a Parent like that. On a very treasured level, even though I can't pray in my usual way, I have a relationship with a Parent who simply lets me fling and cry, knowing my loss, my grief and waits until I let Her (Him) hold me again. It brings to me a deep sense of peace and love and trust. As Job says, "Though He would slay me, yet will I trust Him."