To Everything a Season

 A woman told me once about when she moved to Juneau sight unseen and was socked in for her first three weeks. Just when she was about to despair of this gray, claustrophobic new home, the clouds dissipated and she saw the mountains for the first time. She told me she erupted in tears of joy and surprise. 

I rarely take pictures on days like today, even though we spend two-thirds of our time with cloud cover. There are folks who talk about surviving days like this so they can enjoy the few days of sunshine that are over the top beautiful; I've come to love the gray. It isn't as photo worthy, but it's a different rhythm without the demands of a sunny day.

To everything there is a season. Thank you Ecclesiastes and the Byrds. I have to keep reminding myself that now is not the time for certain things. This will be the first Thanksgiving spent with just our immediate family in my life. We've always had huge Thanksgivings and normally I cook for a crew at church. I'm disappointed and grieving, but there will come a time. 

The list is long that we are trying to navigate during this time. Sometimes the weight of responsibility and worry feel like the clouds socking us in. 

But it is only for a season. 

There will come a time.

The clouds will dissipate and the sun will reveal the beauty that's been there the whole time and there's a good chance I'll erupt with tears of joy and surprise.

Snow Skirt

 It was 19 degrees when I started hiking today, and I had to admit that I was wrong. 

I, Tari Stage-Harvey, was absolutely and unequivocally wrong. 

Snow skirts are amazing and I apologize for all the times I made fun of friends who wore them. I'm sorry for joking about how ridiculous and impractical they are.

My husband got me one and I made fun of him. I'm kind of a horrible person, but now I know that snow skirts prevent chafing and keep me from feeling like an incarnation of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in snow pants. 

It's hard to admit when I am wrong and there are times I will latch on to something and fight for it like it is the only truth in the universe. I have learned that saying my truth louder and repeating it doesn't make it true; it only makes it more embarrassing when I am proven wrong. It's important to offer observations about what we think is true, but a little humility is not a bad thing.

I was given a helpful tool at a writer's conference when a columnist talked about introducing a thought she held strongly; she started by saying, "I could be wrong, but . . . "

At first I thought that was ridiculous, but it's actually kind of helpful. The stronger I feel about the righteousness of my opinion, the more I need to leave the window open that I could be missing something. 

The other helpful tool is thinking about Balaam's ass. It's one of my favorite stories in the Bible where the prophet Balaam is off to do something stupid and the angel of death is waiting to strike him, but Balaam's donkey sees the impending destruction and keeps stopping. Balaam gets angry and hits his donkey who immediately turns around and says, "I'm trying to save your ass." Maybe that's my paraphrase and maybe I am a middle schooler who can't refrain from ass jokes.

It's a great story and since I have been outwitted by my dog on multiple occasions I try to pay attention to what the signs around me are telling me about the direction I'm headed. Last week I got so frustrated with Cassie because she kept stopping randomly and barking into the woods. She was kind of freaking me out and then we came across the fresh bear scat. 

In the snow. 

When they are supposed to be sleeping. 

I should know by now, she is smarter than I am. 

I could be wrong, but snow skirts are God's gift to those of us who live in the cold. 

And I need to pay attention to the lives around me, especially when I'm hell bent on a certain direction, it may be my ass that's saved.

Mix Tape

 The world would be a little more beautiful if we still shared mix tapes. If you don't know what a mix tape is, then you weren't paying attention in the 80s and 90s (or you weren't alive yet). 

A mix tape was a recording of songs for someone you cared about.

The mix tape filled many roles:

1. A vulnerable offering of what you love for someone you adored

2. An indication to the other that you thought about them when you heard these songs

3. A reflection of who you thought this person was and what they would enjoy

I knew George wasn't the one for me when he offered a mix tape filled with Rush songs. I hate Rush with a burning hate. If their songs were half as long and not as annoying, then I would merely despise them. That mix tape was never played all the way through.

Kirt gave me a mix tape of Christian music, which isn't normally my cup of tea, but I was living alone in a trailer in the wilderness in Haines so comforting praise music was calming in the cacophony of mice inside and bears outside. It also made me realize what a sweet heart he has.

I fell in love with our nation on Tuesday. The church is a polling place so I watched people come and go all day to vote. And it was beautiful. There was a wonderful mix of people, they seemed happy to see each other, polite to the poll workers, and carrying lots of different opinions about how the nation should function. It stirred in my heart the same flutter I get when I watch the jury selection video. Seriously, I am close to tears when I watch how our nation models seeking justice. 

I know our institutions have serious flaws, but she's still beautiful to me and I thought about what songs I would include in her mix tape.

American Pie, Country Roads and The Gambler seem like givens. I know all the words and they bring a mix of nostalgia, love for land, and warning against over confidence that I think runs deep in our nation. 

I'd probably also include Man in Black by Johny Cash, and On the Road Again by Willie. I would want to surprise her with Lyle Lovett's rendition of Guy Clark's Step Inside this House and Nanci Griffith's Spin on a Red Brick Floor. They are good songs to introduce her to some of my favorite singers. I'd make her giggle with Robert Earl Keen's Merry Christmas from the Family. 

I'd love to hear some of your songs for the mix tape. No meanness please. It's my day off and I don't do mean on Mondays.

Octopi

I thought we were going to watch Octopussy. That didn't seem right since Sean Connery was the one who died and Roger Moore stars in it.

But, I was wrong. 

In so many ways.

We watched My Octopus Teacher. There are no gun battles or weird circus scenes in this documentary; there is a photographer who discusses his love affair with an octopus. I might have guffawed multiple times and I came up with the new term "octo-erotica" but by the time it was over there were tears running down my cheeks and I too loved his sweet octopus.

I won't ruin the movie for you, but she dies in the end since octopuses only live for a year. And it is heartbreaking to hear this professional wildlife photographer talk about the nature of loving something in its particularity. He loved this octopus and she was also cuddly and lovey with him. 

It reminded me of The Little Prince where the prince learns about relationships from the fox:

“I am looking for friends. What does that mean -- tame?"

"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. "It means to establish ties." 

"To establish ties?" 

"Just that," said the fox. "To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world....” 

― Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

The Octopus Teacher  was a beautiful witness to the gift of establishing ties with creation and with each other. In the darkest moment of his life, he goes to the depths of the sea and finds meaning. I needed that. 

It would have been easy to write about the wretchedness of shoveling snow berms or the anxiety about the election, but finding joy and beauty in dark depths seemed like a more life-affirming reflection. 

Snowflakes

 We've been watching quite a few movies recently that have to do with time travel: Back to the Future, Endgame, and Harry Potter.

Here is what I realize - don't mess with time. 

Unless snowflakes are involved. 

I don't believe in or ever hope for time travel to solve our problems and regrets, but spending an afternoon with children in the snow may be the most amazing time travel one needs. 

I got to walk with three boys this past Sunday as part of our church's walk and talks. We were gifted with big flaky snow that was perfect for catching on your tongue. We managed not to run into each other or fall down while attempting to do this and every sweet memory of childhood came rushing back as those flakes landed on my eyelids and giggles erupted around me. I then told them how I loved to imagine I was a space cowboy and would pretend I was traveling through space shooting at the stars when I looked up at snow. Then we started making zing zing zing sounds together shooting snowflakes/stars because I'm not alone in imagining that. 

When Jesus says, "Truly I tell you unless you become like little children you will never enter the kingdom of heaven," I do not think he was talking about how holy and perfect little kids are. I'm around them enough to know they can be little turds, but children offer us the gift of vulnerability and shamelessness. They offer the gift of imagination and story. 

Interrupting or preventing childhood trauma is huge for me so they may get to live in that gifted state for as long as possible. It is also vital for my own health to make space to be present with children where I get to travel in time to dwell in imagination, vulnerability and boldness. I know many hate to see the snow, but for me it was a time machine. 

Fan

Naturally a squirrel was to blame. Last Thursday a squirrel entered the Loop Substation and knocked out the electricity in Juneau and crashed the church computer. 

It was not pretty - for the church or the squirrel.

Speaking of rodents, I kind of believed before this weekend that a computer ran by magic hamsters inside the little box. Or elves.  I now know there are no magical creatures inside the box.

Like many things in Juneau, computer repair can take a while and we needed this computer so I connected with a tech by phone. He talked me through making sure the old computer was truly dead and then brain surgery. 

At least that's what it felt like to me. I'd never looked inside a computer and now I was disconnecting sacred wires and then reconnecting them so we could salvage something off the old hard drive.

My new best friend and computer tech Roy talked me through almost four hours of computer repair. It was a little slow going trying to connect at the beginning, but once I looked inside the old machine trying to figure out what wasn't working I said the most obvious thing, "Can I stick my hand in the fan?" 

Like any good computer tech, Roy asked, "Why would you do that?" 

And my brilliant response was, "Because I want to see what happens." 

He started laughing so I sang him the Fan Song:

Put your hand in the fan and you will lose a finger
Put your foot in the fan and you will lose a toe
Put your face in the fan and you will look at others differently
Put your body in the fan and rearrange your anatomy.

Everything changes in a relationship once you laugh together. Humor has taken such a mean streak recently that I want to reclaim the power of silliness. One of my favorite quotes out of Raising a Rare Girl was about her husband:

"who preached a sermon about the power of humor not just to 'lighten the mood' but to help a person transcend what Christian contemplatives call their 'small self.' For an instant a laughing person could let themselves go like a helium balloon, find themselves in the unfathomably spacious blue sky."

I won't lie, the thought of spending hours with a computer tech and dealing with technology seemed like a circle of hell. It wasn't a highlight of my life, but giggling makes everything a little more bearable and freer, especially when Roy asked every fifteen minutes if I still had all my digits. 

St. Francis

Several leaders from different congregations gathered on Sunday to join in the prayer of St. Francis. Sunday was the festival of St. Francis, which normally involves the blessing of animals since he is famous for taming a wolf and being a human bird feeder (I might be mixing up his stories with his statues).

Thanks Mary Ann Hornbuckle for photo

Francis was a privileged youth and my favorite story is when he denounces his way of life and dedicates himself to communion with God and the poor. 

His father is enraged that Francis keeps giving their wealth away to the poor so he chases him to the town center and confronts him. In front of the people gathered, Francis strips down naked, hands over his clothes and denounces his birthright. 

There are no garden statues of that. 

And a little family counseling might have been helpful.

But I love the bold defiance and vulnerability. 

We weren't naked, but standing in the freezing rain in an enraged nation and praying for peace felt like bold defiance and vulnerability. 

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace:
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy. 

O divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console,
to be understood as to understand,
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive, 
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned, 
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.
Amen.