PHOTOS: Mary van Balen
This year’s Advent wreath reflects the non-traditional path I have been traveling and the beauties to be found in it. Many of my belongings are packed away and I was not sure what kind of wreath would mark the weeks of Advent. After unsuccessfully looking for the perfect blue and rose colored candles or candle holders, I decided to use what was at hand instead.

I drove to a friend’s home, and together we walked past her old barn and along the paths that wind through fields and along fence rows to gather earth’s bounty. I had nothing particular in mind and we kept eyes and hearts open to see what would be offered for the taking.

Cold winds had stripped away petals and foliage revealing what undergirds nature’s magnificent summer displays. The spare brown stems and delicate lattices that held each flower in place have their own subtle beauty.

Winter in our lives can do the same to us as challenges and suffering strip away externals and force us to look at what holds us together and enables us to be who we are. Rather than lament the passing of summer and its extravagant gifts, we learn to wait through winters and appreciate the graces they bring.

So, my Advent wreath celebrates the simple yet profound and hard-won graces of this time in my life. It reminds me that I wait with the rest of creation for the re-birthing of the Holy One within me and within the world. I will have faith and know that I am not alone in my vigil.

Walking the fields with Melanie, warming our frozen fingers around a hot cup of tea and eating homemade bead at her counter was a liturgy celebrating the beginning of this season.

I returned home and arranged the berries, pine, stems, and grasses around four vigil candles and a bird’s nest. All creation is gathered together and it speaks of the miracle of God’s choosing to be one with us.

Jesus was born two-thousand years ago to help us recognize the Divine Presence that lives within us. The Holy One who is our center and support. Who makes us who we are. Who does not abandon us in the winters of our lives.

Jesus is re-born in each of us and will bring all things to oneness with Him and with The One Who Sent Him. Advent celebrates what was, what is, and waits expectantly for what is to come. As I ponder the events of the past year and of my present place, I know that we are called to do the same.
©2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTOS:Mary van Balen
I live in the house where she and dad raised my four silblings and me. I sit on their couch, launder clothes in the washer she’d used for years and gaze out the dining room window, watching squirrels scamper up and down the grand pin oak in the front yard. Just like mom did, and her mother before her. Over the past two years since she died, many things remind me of her and I miss her face, her hugs, her love.

Thanksgiving preparations put an ache in my heart, a deep-down “missing mom” that lingered over dinner and remained as I fell into bed.

I used her rolling pin to make pie crusts.

“There’s nothing to making a pie crust,” she always said. Her mother, Becky, who lived with us, had said the same thing. I believed them and have made my own pastry since I could reach the counter. With every handful of flour, every pass of the rolling pin over the dough, I thought of her and tried to put as much love as she had done into each pie.

“Mom,” I said, “I could use one of your smiles, or comments that everything will be fine.
Not that I doubt that it will or that I haven’t had Thanksgivings without the entire family gathered around the table, but this year is different. The separation is finally legal. A good thing.”

I put the pie crusts in the freezer to chill and moved on to pin wheels. They were a favorite and disappeared almost as quickly as they came out of the oven. The old cake pans, black with decades of patina, were still in the oven drawer were they always were. The pin wheels baked while I mixed pumpkin, eggs, and spices and filled the crusts. As sweet pungent smells filled the house, I sat at the kitchen table and continued my conversation with Mom.

She was pleased to see her daughter carrying on traditions she had passed along and reminded me that chilling the crusts and crimping their edges was an improvement. I could almost feel her arm around me and knew it was her whisper that reassured me: “Everything will be good in the end.”
©2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO:Mary van Balen
Yesterday was a struggle. Perhaps, as my spiritual director suggested, this year’s holiday season will be difficult. When she mentioned that a week ago, I was quick to respond: “Oh, I don’t think so. I have been living on my own for close to two and a half years. Besides being legally recognized, not much has changed. I’ll be fine.”

She smiled, and knew better I suspect. This time last year my three daughters joined dad and me for Thanksgiving. This year, Dad is in a nursing home, and I baked a ham tonight to give him an alternative to turkey when my daughter and I have dinner with him at noon on Thursday. Later my daughter and I will visit one of my brothers and his wife. I need to be in bed early to be ready for work in at 4:45 am on Black Friday (Stay tuned for that one!).

Many times all three daughters have not been able to make it home for Thanksgiving. What is different this year is that there is no family home for them to return to, and there will not be again, at least not in the traditional understanding of “family home.”

I thought of my sister traveling to spend the holiday with all three of her children and their spouses (and fiancee), my brother with his clan of children and grandchildren gathering at the farm. Sadness crept into my heart. Once again my spiritual director had proved wiser than me.

I felt stuck, mired in a place between what had been and what might be. Most of my belongings remain in boxes stacked around my bedroom. When self-pity threatened to take over, I did something uncharacteristic for me: I cleaned.

My office was a mess: court documents that needed filed mixed with correspondence, sales receipts and countless other bits of paper laying on my desk. The file cabinet was unorganized and deciding the right place to put freelance writing projects and bills was almost impossible. So, I decided on a deep-down clean and reorganization.

For hours, papers and file folders spilled onto the floor. I had a “shred” pile, a “return to file” pile, and a “pack away” pile. By 6am the next morning, the piles were gone and I had designated a separate drawer in the file cabinet for different projects and personal papers. After setting the alarm for 1:30 pm the, I fell into bed.

“I’m unstuck,” I thought as I closed my eyes and smiled. I had only a moment to savor the sense of purpose and direction that accompanied preparing my work space for writing projects. “I am a writer with jobs to do and ideas to pursue,” I told myself and then promptly fell asleep.
©2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO:Mary van Balen
“FAITH: May the God of FAITH be with you, sending you miracles and teaching you to expect them. May God show you things that can be seen only in darkness. May your faith see you through the unknowns in your life, calling you to trust the unseen presence of God in them. May your faith serve as a beacon to light the way for other pilgrims on the way. May the blessing of FAITH be upon you.” p 60

My group of “Sabbath House” friends sat together after dinner, pondering the blessings that come with struggle and pain in our lives. We read a meditation by Joyce Rupp and then shared our personal struggles and the blessing they offered, however difficult to see or feel at the moment.

Max, leader for the evening, had placed a stack of her new book, “Blessing Upon Blessing,” on the coffee table.

“Pick a number,” she said to Ann, and then opened her book to that page and read the blessing aloud.

“Amen,” the rest affirmed as Max handed Ann a copy of the book. Ann turned to me.

“Pick a number.”

“60,” I said, and we all chuckled since I had been celebrating my 60th birthday for the past few weeks with various friends and activities.

Ann read the blessing of FAITH quoted at the beginning of this blog. The blessing seemed particularly appropriate for my current journey, and I tried to open myself to the grace it named, appreciative of the groups “amen!”

I was given a book and turned to Lavonne, continuing the circle of blessings. Each prayer seemed meant for its recipient, and by the final “amen,” the room was awash in the awareness of God With Us at that moment and in our lives.

As I reflect on the idea of “blessing,” the words of a priest friend come to mind. We had been talking when someone came up with a bottle of water and asked him to bless it. He did, and when the woman left, happily carrying her bottle of holy water my friend turned to me and said: “The blessing just makes us aware of what is already holy.”

As Max wrote in the introduction to her book, blessings are part of “this double-edged journey to the Holy.” When a blessing is given and received, we become aware of “…what has been there all along…a loving and lavish God who never stops blessing us.”

Today I have found myself grieving for what has and has not been in my life; for things hoped for that were never realized and for things unwanted that came along anyway. Letting go of lost dreams and accepting reality is painful, and today it brought heaviness to my heart and tears to my eyes.

Yet, as I sat with Max’s book of blessings and prayed not only the blessing of Faith, but also of the blessing of BEGINNING AGAIN, peace began to seep back into my heart:

“May the God of BEGINNING AGAIN be with you. May that God hold you near as you grieve what is past and move with faith into what is to be. May the hand of God carry you across the darkness of loss into light. May your courage and your trust become for those around you a living witness to the mystery of death and rising. May the God of BEGINNING AGAIN bless you.”

Only after praying with this for a while did the structure of the blessings become obvious to me. It reflects both the desire to receive blessing and the blessing our remaining faithful to our journey is to others in our lives. I felt a little foolish that I needed so long to see why Max’s blessings moved me the first time she used them at one of our Sabbath House gatherings.

We are called to bless and be blessed, and the Holy One is the source of both. Today my need was greater than what I had to give, or so I felt, anyway. So, before going to bed I gave myself the luxury of resting in one last blessing:

“May the God of NOW, the Divine, I AM, invite you into each moment, into each circumstance and experience of your life. May you enter the NOW of your life and stand with the God who is already there. May you become aware that you are never alone and may you share this Now God with all those who are searching. May the God of NOW, the God of Presence, bless you.

Amen.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

(To order this book contact: The Spirituality Network, Inc.
614.228.8867
spiritnetwk@hotmail.com
or visit the website: spiritualitynetwork.org)

PHOTO: Internet Movie Database
The movie, “Agora,” tells the story of Hypatia, the great female mathematician, philosopher, and scientist of ancient Egypt during the fifth century CE. The story follows atheist Edward Gibbon’s account of the destruction of the great library in Alexandria that has Christians destroying the collected wisdom of the ancient world. While a number of ancient sources place the burning of the library well before the time of Christ let alone the life of Hypatia, the library’s destruction was likely not due to a single event but to many, some as mundane as crumbling papyrus and lack of time, money, and interest to maintain such a huge collection.(see The Mysterious Fate of the Great Library of Alexandria, Bede’s Library, James Hannam ; The Great “Library” of Alexandria?” by Heather Phillips; Library of Alexandria, Wikipedia; The Burning of the Library of Alexandria by Preston Chesser . )

While the story of Hypatia, an independent woman in the male domain of scholarship, the history of Alexandria, and the fate of the library kept me riveted to the screen, the theme of intolerance and violence born of religious fanaticism was uncomfortably current.

How quickly human beings divide themselves into “us” and “them,” making oppression, violence, terrorism, and holy wars acceptable, even good. My stomach felt sick as I watched Christians, Jews, and Pagans slaughter one another in the name of God.

Humankind has made great strides in science and technology, but we have not moved as far from the self-righteousness and arrogance that oozed out of the movie’s religious “leaders.” The philosophical Hypatia was the most noble of character, tolerant, peaceful, and committed to the search for understanding the mysteries of the universe.

I left the theater curious about the Royal Library and Hypatia. I also left with the conviction that people of faith must live lives of peace and justice. Many do that in quiet ways, living good lives. Little at a time they allow Grace to touch the world. Still, we should not be afraid to speak out against atrocities committed in the name of God of Love no matter who is responsible. How would today’s people of faith, I wondered, fare in a movie made about struggles in the beginnings of the twenty-first century?
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTOS:Mary van Balen
Short gray hair replaced the long dark cascades that framed her face in younger years and some songs were voiced in a lower pitch, but Joan Baez still sang songs that called blessings on the poor and homeless, the “salt of the earth,” that lamented the injustice suffered by “deportees,” and that called for peace.

Her voice occasionally soared in the same hauntingly clear tremulous soprano tones that had filled concert halls and farm worker’s fields in the 60’s and 70’s. More often, the sound was softer, and once the ending of piece appeared sooner than expected, dangling awkwardly for a moment between her and the young man who was accompanying her on guitar.

“We love you, Joan!” someone in the audience shouted.

She looked up. “Even with all my flaws?”

The answer was resounding applause. “Yes!”

“Well, they will spill out all over,” she said with a smile. If they did, no one noticed.

The evening was a delightful ninety minutes, honoring not only the woman standing humbly before us, honestly singing out her heart and soul, but also her years of giving, of challenging, of championing the poor and forgotten.

The crowd relished joining in on the chorus of “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.” I managed to refrain from singing along with so many that I had sung as a young woman myself in coffee houses, sing-a-longs, and war protest marches. Joan Baez had been a heroine. Along with Pete Seeger, Bob Dylan, and Peter, Paul, and Mary, she was an inspiration and source of songs that became part of my repertoire.

How refreshing to join with others in celebrating the gift of a life well-lived. No feigned Hollywood perfection. No attempt to hide evidence of hard fought struggles. No adulation of youth. Age does not diminish what we have to give to the world, only how we offer it. At nearly seventy, Joan Baez still tours the world, singing her songs, lifting the marginalized into view, calling for justice, recognizing God with us, and asking for blessings.

After the concert, I visited with a friend I had sung with years ago. He is recovering from open-heart surgery and this was his first night out. Like Joan Baez, he is still singing. When he left, I wandered outside and joined a handful of others hoping to see Joan. Time passed quickly as I shared conversation with a mother and daughter who had arranged to enjoy the evening together: Christy and Elise.

PHOTO:Christy
Finally Joan emerged from the theater and walked to the large touring bus. Tired as she must have been, she graciously signed autographs and posed for photos with her fans. I was grateful for the opportunity to thank her for her life, for her work, and appreciated the hug she gave me in return.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTOS: Mary van Balen

“Exultation is the going
of an inland soul to the sea
Past houses – past headlands–
Into deep Eternity.” Emily Dickinson

Such was the gift my daughter gave to me last week in celebration of my 60th birthday. The deep spiritual connection of my “inland soul” to sea is well known to family and friends, and for me, time at the beach is more retreat than vacation. This trip was no different.

From the moment she called with the invitation to spend a few days on the Outer Banks, staying in a hotel room with an ocean view (a first for me), details fell into place: This gift was meant to be.

My work schedule included the following weekend off; a friend offered to switch my Monday hours for hers on Thursday, allowing me to stay longer; air fare was affordable.

As I told my daughter, anticipation spread the joy of her gift over the week before as I grinned through every day, greeting customers with sparkling eyes, a wide smile, and interminable good humor. By Friday afternoon, I needed reminded to hand receipts to customers and I pulled wrong-sized bags out of the drawers. When workmates helped remedy my mistakes, I smiled some more and explained my absentmindedness: “In a few hours, I’m going to the beach!”

I packed for cool weather, but needn’t have taken a jacket since temperatures hovered around 80F during the day while we walked miles along the beach. I even ventured into to water to receive the salty baptism of the sea.

On Sunday we saw five weddings in various stages: 10.10.10. I had forgotten. We walked quickly trying not to clutter wedding photographs and wondered about the desirability of having strangers in swimsuits or casting fishing lines appear in one’s wedding album.

I found shells at Coquina Beach and as usually happens, some particular type, different each trip, spoke to my soul. While I collected fragments worn by decades of salt, sand, and waves, ideas for using them in retreats and presentations filled my head.

As wonderful as time at the ocean was, equally wonderful was time spent with my daughter. As our children grow into adults and come home for visits, a mother’s time with them is squeezed between errands and visits they make with old friends. Three days with my youngest was a delight. We talked, laughed, slept in, watched a little tv, drank wine, tried new restaurants, and checked out the Wright Brothers Memorial.

I had the pleasure of seeing her office and meeting one of her bosses. You who have adult children know the joy of seeing them in their own element, learning about their work, and meeting the people who fill their lives.
I am home again in landlocked Ohio, but gifts of the ocean remain in my heart wrapped in the love of my daughter.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
When my alarm rang this morning, I struggled to leave the comfort of my warm bed. A schedule change required a half-hour drive for allergy shots before work rather than after. The day was gray and rainy. After visiting the doctor’s office, I decided to stop at a local Panera’s to pick up a breakfast sandwich and coffee; the drive to work was close to an hour and the day would be long.

A young man with the interesting nametag “RAF” cheerfully took my order, but when I reached for my wallet, it was not there. After rummaging through my purse for a few moments, I found my checkbook.

“I’m sorry. I left my wallet at home. May I pay with a check?”

“I’m not sure,” RAF answered. “This is only my second day on the job. Let me check.”

He came back shaking his head.

“I’m sorry. We don’t take checks.”

I put the checkbook back in my purse, resigned to a hungry morning before lunch.

“That’s ok. Thanks for checking,” I said, but before I could pull the zipper closed, RAF had an idea.

“I’ll be right back,” he said and disappeared into the kitchen, and when he returned he held his own wallet.

“Breakfast is on me,” he said, and flashed a brilliant smile.

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yep,” he replied as he swiped his credit card.

“I could write YOU a check,” I said.

“No,” he said, “Anyone would have done the same. This will be my good deed for the day.”

I have always found the workers at Panera’s restaurants pleasant, but I don’t think anyone would have done the same. RAF’s kindness touched my heart; energy replaced tiredness and the day ahead looked much brighter. Suddenly I remembered that I had put a small camera purchased just yesterday in my purse.

“Wait! I am an author and write a blog, and I bought this little camera for just such a moment. Would you mind,” I said to RAF and to his manager who had been listening,” if I took a photo? I would like to put this on my blog tonight.”

They gave me the go ahead and you are reading the result. (RAF’s smile lit up the room, but the photo I took with the smile was a bit blurry: my fault, not the camera’s.) I found out that “RAF” stands for “Raphael,” an appropriate name for this young man. In the Catholic and Orthodox tradition, the angel, Raphael, appears in the Book of Tobit, and calling himself Azarias, he travels with the younger Tobias and heals the older Tobit of his blindness. Only after his good deed does he reveal that he is the angel Raphael.

“Raphael” from Hebrew means “It is God who heals.” Through his act of kindness to me this morning, Panera’s Raphael let God’s compassion shine through to a woman, definitely not a morning person, who was off to a rather bad start.

Coincidence or not, as I headed North for the hour drive to work, the sky was blue, and by the time I arrived at the department store, the clouds had changed from gray to pink and white.

I had to run from my car to clock in on time, and another sales clerk standing outside opened the door for me.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” she said and smiled as I thanked her.

Raphael’s kindness started a chain of goodness that lasted all day. I told his story to many of my customers and they left the counter smiling. The story helped as I struggled with a return, purchase, and gift receipts. The woman didn’t mind the long wait, but enjoyed hearing about RAF, and the recalcitrant register and my own mistakes didn’t perturb me.

Thanks, Raphael. My day and the day of many others was brighter for your good deed! Panera’s is lucky to have you on its team.
©2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
This morning I stopped at the grocery store on my way to work and bought boxes of animal crackers to share on Saint Francis’ feast day.

The morning was lovely. Clouds filled the sky, and though they looked as if they might bring rain later, in the morning they shone with sunlight. I stepped out of my car and smiled at the store employee who was collecting shopping carts from the parking lot.

“Good morning!” I said with a smile. “It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

He smiled back. “Yes, it is. They all good.”

His words stayed with me while I worked at the department store, decorated a birthday cake, and enjoyed dinner and prayer with friends.

He was right. Some days the sun shines; on others rain pours from grey skies. Some days are humid and hot; others are frigid and snowy. No matter. Each day is a gift to embraced. Each brings blessings, and even if they are not apparent at the moment, in time, creation weaves them into bounty.

Each day is an invitation to life. Sometimes I forget that, and instead of living “wide awake” I move through the hours oblivious to the present moment. No matter the weather outside or in my heart, I will try to remember the wisdom of the man in the grocery store parking lot: “They all good.”
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Another cool, blue-sky day. I rose early to bake a carrot cake before driving off to work. A friend’s birthday is Monday, and this particular recipe requires refrigeration for two days before icing and serving. A kitchen that smells of spices and carrots justifies an earlier than usual start to my day. After making counter top room for cooling cake, I noticed the striking color combination of drying Italian chili peppers and chestnuts waiting to be roasted.

Both were shared bounty from my walk with Melanie a few days before. With packing mostly finished and legal papers finally signed, I look forward to spending more time cooking and baking. One of the pleasures of making one’s own meals is enjoying the variety of colors, textures, and aromas that accompany such culinary pursuit.

I will succumb to fast food, restaurants, and take out pizza, but they will not constitute the major part of food intake. At least I hope not. Truly “seeing” an apple, feeling its shape, smelling its freshness is part of my food “ritual.” I leave eggplant resting on the counter for a day or two to drink in its shiny purpleness; appreciating the assortment of shapes and infinite shades of green in a tossed greens salad before the first forkful is raised to my mouth; smelling cinnamon and ginger when lifting the cookie tin lid.

Cooking for oneself has many advantages. Cost of course is a big one for those of us on tight budgets. Even greater than that is the opportunity for immersion in the experience, from beginning to end. Present to the moment, as I like to say, equals prayer since God is right there with us, enjoying our enjoyment.
© 2010 Mary van Balen