Stewardship, Part I: What I've Learned Riding the Bus

I promised a series of posts on stewardship, and then got caught up in a whirlwind of activity... Sort of the opposite of good stewardship of those personal resources of time and energy (but that's another post).

As an experiment in environmental stewardship, I've been riding the bus on occasion. Okay, a middle class person congratulating herself for riding the bus every so often while poor folk do it every day is sort of like a dad bragging about making breakfast for mom on mother's day. Still, there are many lessons, both spiritual and practical, that I've learned from the experience.

They let you on the bus, even if you have car keys. I so often fall into the trap of all-or-nothing thinking: either I give up my car, which I'm not willing to do, or I drive everywhere. Er, says who? It frees up a lot of energy to examine all those assumptions that back me into a corner. Maybe it really does make sense to drive to work, given the location, my schedule, and the amount of stuff I haul each way. Maybe it makes more sense to take the bus to meeting, at least on those days when I don't have a passenger and am not hauling quantities of food.

Riding the bus is expensive, inconvenient, and nausea-inducing (why would anyone think that rear-facing seats on a bus make any kind of sense!?)...And is therefore a great way to confront my sense of entitlement. The Quaker testimony of equality is what drew me to Friends as a child, and kept calling me periodically over the years. But equality as an ideal and equality in practice can be two different things. I hold myself apart (and above) other people more than I like to admit. Most of the time, I'm in my cozy, middle-class bubble, surrounded by folks who live like I do and think like I do. But riding the bus pierces that bubble a bit: I'm not one of the privileged. I don't get to have my way (and I really, really like having my way) as the schedule and route are impervious to my desires. I don't think I realized how much I depend on having the privileges of race and class until I began taking the bus.

On the bus, you realize you are inextricably connected to the people around you. This isn't always pleasant, as people are often smelly, loud, or rude. Nonetheless, there are opportunities for grace. I can knit on the bus, which is often an icebreaker with other passengers. They comment on the colors, touch the yarn, ask what I'm making and who it's for. And bus drivers can often be surprisingly patient with "Sunday riders" like me who forget to ask for their transfer, are lost and need directions, or who try to put their transfer into the wrong slot. On a surprising number of occasions, I have encountered someone I knew and been able to have a conversation, sometimes for the first time.

You might see God. A friend pointed out that I often have experiences of divine leading while waiting for public transit. I don't think that's an accident. There is something about the very mundane experience of waiting for a bus that is akin to the expectant waiting of meeting for worship. Way opens when I stop rushing about and when I accept that I'm not in control of anything.

Sojourners Here Below

Mark, Carolyn and I joined Will and Katie at Church of the Sojourners (a Christian community) for their Sunday worship service. Will gave the sermon, and had us sing Child of Grace as part of it. It was a lovely sermon in the midst of a lovely service, and I hope he'll post the text, or at least excerpts. Katie was an exceptionally gracious host and clued us in on the proceedings.

I was touched by how warmly we were welcomed as visitors, but I was even more moved by how lovingly the members treated each other, particularly the children. The children were present for a few songs, communion bread, dinner and scripture reading. Then there was a time for them to tell an adult about something good that showed that God was working in their lives, and the adult shared it with the group. Then the adults were asked to give affirmations to the kids. How great for children to have that many adults looking for what they're doing right! The kids went off for their own activities while we continued with more scripture, Will's sermon, singing, prayers and affirmations for the adults, and communion wine.

There is an old Quaker query that meetings use to examine the state of their community: How have love and unity fared among you? At the Church of the Sojourner, love and unity are faithfully tended.

More Singing

We got to welcome Natalia back on Friday with a potluck, viewing Awake My Soul, and a bit of singing. Natalia mistakenly thought we loved her baking more than her company, and arrived very late with still-not-quite-cooked pumpkin pie. She finished them off in Carolyn's oven, and they were delicious. Next time, though, I hope she will give up the culinary fight and grace us with her presence.

Monday brought the joys of our regular weekly singing. While I agree with Betty that we should be proud of ourselves for the previous week, being merely regular people, I was thrilled to have our front benches back in order. And we got to meet Kevin who was here on business, lucky us. In addition to being one of my favorite bloggers AND an awesome photographer, he's an outstanding tenor, and therefore my favorite person of the evening!

Fettered and Chained Up in Clay

I was at a retreat at Quaker Center a couple of weeks ago on "Nurturing Vocal Ministry." It was sort of a strange place to find myself, as vocal ministry hasn't been a priority for me. I went because a friend asked me to go, and was surprised to find the workshop to be personally useful.
Over the course of the weekend, I found myself coming back yet again to a message in meeting for worship from a few months ago. A person spoke about a conversation she'd had with her daughter. The children had been discussing ministry in first day school. The children were learning that unprogrammed Quakers don't have designated ministers, because we are all ministers, and speak in meeting when prompted by the spirit. This friend's daughter said that it was more than just speaking in meeting, that "a person's whole life is their ministry."

That ministry has become one of those touchstone messages, one that I return to again and again to keep myself on track. One of the recurrent themes that message touched on was the idea of stewardship. I've been thinking, in my typical scattered and circular manner, about stewardship of many kinds of resources: environmental, financial, and personal resources of time, health, talent, and energy. I've been especially pondering the spiritual underpinnings of the choices I make with regards to those resources. And I've been finding it nearly impossible to write about any of it, or speak about much of it.

One reason for my inarticulateness is that whatever changes I've made in my life are so small and not really established as routine. I worry about seeming self-righteous, hypocritical, and/or just plain silly if I talk or especially write about any of it. To deem any of what is working in me now as ministry seems the height of hubris. And yet I don't know what I think, where I'm being led, if I can't put it into words somehow.

So where is Spirit leading me right now? To the best of my ability to discern, it seems that I am being led to question assumption after assumption about how I live my life. I'm going to attempt to address this in an on-going series of posts.

Brethren Farewell

Friends from near and far, including Santa Cruz, Berkeley (both unprogrammed meetings and the Friends church), San Francisco, and Santa Rosa gathered to bid farewell to the wonderful co-directors of Ben Lomond Quaker Center at a picnic this Saturday.

I discovered Quaker Center online before I went to an actual bricks-and-mortar meeting. During those first two years, I had more Quaker connections with folks I met at Quaker Center than in my local meeting. Walter and Traci were touchstones of spiritual hospitality that sustained me during this time.

Despite a little melancholy, we managed to have a pretty good time. It's nice to get together, enjoy a potluck, and say nice things about someone before they're dead. And it was fun to catch up with Friends from all over, including several bloggers: me, Karen, Chris, Rebecca, and Lisa.

Let Us Sing

It was a beautiful singing on Monday night, if bittersweet. Several long-lost friends returned: David and Susan, Lara, Elizabeth (for the second week in a row), Jeremy (who brought yummy cookies). Sadly for us, it was the last singing for a while for Will, who is moving back home. And we saw Christmas for the last time, as Jan will be getting a new service dog.
I discovered when I got home that evening that a dear man and fellow Sacred Harp singer, Hibbard Thatcher, died recently. I only met him once, at FGC gathering last year. I was hoping to get to sing with him again this year, and was sad to hear that he was ill. He was a gentle and welcoming presence, and I am thankful for getting to know him the little that I did.

Shall we ever meet again
at the house, at the house
Then to make the chorus ring
at the house of God

Here are some wonderful Sacred Harp photos from the Chattahoochee Convention.* They really capture the feeling of a singing.

*The link should work now, thanks to Will.

Better Late Than Never...

Now that everyone is past caring, I'm finally going to post about Friends General Conference Gathering (FGC).

Wonderful things about Gathering

• Getting there... by Greyhound. Not as romantic as the Peace Train, but not as late, either.
• 5 hours of Sacred Harp a day.

• Bible Half-Hour with Janet Ross. She explored the theme of water and spirit in the Bible and in the poetry of Rumi.
• Mary Rose O'Reilley's reading...and being in the same row with two other knitters.
• Visiting Tacoma, particularly the glass museum.
• A lovely gathering of friends to celebrate my birthday.
• Meeting Quaker bloggers.
• Friendly knitters everywhere.
• Evalyn Parry's hysterical Friendly version of the Macarena, the Quakeriana, and her poem, What Flavour Quaker, excerpted here:

“was that voice I thought I was hearing in worship
actually that of the Divine Maker?
Maybe not.
Maybe in worship I’ve been asleep, not awaker!
Is it possible that I’m just a big ol’ Faker Quaker?
Just a Birkenstock-wearing muck-raker?
A potluck dinner banana bread baker?
An oatmeal maker, an organic tomato staker?
A tie-dye booty-shaker?
Oh no….
could I be a FLAKER Quaker?A “God has asked me to say that I need a ride home
from meeting today!”ministry-maker?
A placator?
An agnostic, Jewish, Buddist Pagan Universalist Quaker?A bad decision-maker?
With no creed or
dogma, sometimes I do get stuck
in this never-ending, Quaker-questioning rut.
What about you, Friend? Are you a quality Quake? Does
alphabet-soup-committee membership a real Quaker make?What flavour best
describes your Quaker stripes?Or is it unquakerly anyway to divide Friends into
different Quaker types?
Do you put your faith into practice?Do you practice what you preach?
Is it a prerequisite to believe George Bush should be
impeached?...
Has the foundation of my
query been properly laid?
Is a Quaker born, or made?Best grown in sun, or
shade?If washed too often, will a Quaker fade?

Denise is My Hero...

...and so is my Meeting.
I posted a few weeks ago about the Out of Darkness Walk that my friend Denise is doing this very evening in order to raise money for depression awareness and suicide prevention. She has since raised 557% (not a typo) of her original goal, much of it from our Meeting. Many of the donors comment on how grateful they are to Denise for doing this, how happy they are to be asked for their support.
I've been thinking about spiritual hospitality in our Meeting, which has me focusing on the ways we often don't get it right. It's nice to be reminded that often we do get it right, that our Meeting is largely comprised of folks looking for opportunities to show our loving concern for one another.
This tender care was available to me when my dad died, and to others in the Meeting during times of sickness and injury. It is absolutely true, as one Friend said, that "this is the best Meeting in the world!" At least it's true for those of us who find our way into the life of the Meeting. It is also absolutely true that our Meeting can feel indifferent to those who haven't found the "secret entrance." What I would hope for us is that we provide a few more signposts to the way in.

More Thoughts on Spiritual Hospitality

In the FGC Gathering interest group on spiritual hospitality, Martin Kelly quoted a Quaker author who said that attenders should join a Meeting if they felt comfortable with the community (Martin, help me here. I can't recall the author, plus I suspect I garbled the quotation completely). One of the questions Martin raised was whether feeling comfortable in our Meetings should be the goal. I've been reflecting on that question for a while, as it comes up frequently in discussions with Friends. One thing that bothers me about this idea of comfort is that it seems to let both the prospective member and the Meeting off the hook-- if comfort is the standard, no one has to change, right? Just keep looking until you find a comfortable Meeting. Sort of like trying on shoes. But to be fully a part of a community means being profoundly uncomfortable at times. As Chris wrote in his comments to my first post, it may mean literally chasing someone down the street! Surely an uncomfortable situation. At other times, being part of a community requires a "theology of the lead butt," to quote Will's wife, Bess. You stay in the room and labor with those with whom you disagree, and whom you might not even like. Again, not comfortable.

So if not comfort, then what? I love Martin’s notion of a culture of Friendliness from his comments to my earlier post. But how do we get there? As a start, I would hope that Friends everywhere would begin to pay attention to the people around us, the ones we don't know and the ones we do. May we all strive to be elders in the best sense of the word: attending to one another, nurturing, encouraging, listening for how God intends us to manifest Light within our relationships.

Martin commented that a culture of Friendliness is more important than an infrastructure, that Meetings can have all sorts of mechanisms in place and still be cold to newcomers. I absolutely agree that spirit trumps form any day. Drawing on my background as an elementary teacher, I will say that rarely is there culture without infrastructure. In my classroom, I want to be a part of a learning community, where respect for one another, curiosity, mutual accountability and support all thrive. To get there, I have to establish routines that allow these characteristics to flourish. Similarly, supportive structures (nametags, regularly scheduled meetings for attenders, etc.) are enormously helpful as we try to manifest our welcoming intentions in Meeting. The problems with leaving it solely to individuals who feel friendly are many. One, Quakers draw more than our fair share of introverts, and thus we need a little help getting outside ourselves. Otherwise, we tend to leave it to the “weighty Friends,” whoever they are. Also, personal friendships within the Meeting aren't enough to make an attender feel welcomed into the body of the Meeting. Additionally, individuals can burn out or move on, and with no structures in place, the concern can be dropped.

I believe that each person who attends on First Day is called by God to be there. If we are faithful ministers to one another, we can grow in love and unity and live up to our measure of Light, within in our Meetings and beyond. Hmm. Maybe the idea of Meeting as a comfortable pair of shoes isn’t so bad. After all, you don’t put on your work boots to sit on the couch and watch TV. You put on your boots to wade into the muck to do your work in the world.

Spiritual Hospitality

One of the many enriching experiences of FGC Gathering was attending an interest group entitled "Spiritual Hospitality," hosted by Martin Kelley*. I spoke a bit about my experience in my Meeting, and about a chapter entitled "Hospitality" from Amazing Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith by Kathleen Norris. She writes about the concept of Hospitality from the perspective of Benedictine monks, who have as an element of their Rule that "all guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ." That resonated so with me when I first read it, and it is a phrase that I have come back to again and again. We as Quakers say we recognize that of God in each person, yet I am not the only Friend who has at times felt, well, less than welcome in my Meeting. I have, over time, been enfolded into the tender care of that Meeting. However, recent conversations with several attenders have reminded me that not everyone has access to this care. So how do newcomers join the community? What is the Meeting's responsibility to attenders?
I did not expect the Meeting to chase me down the street and beg me to become involved. I also realize that Friends are anxious to avoid proselytizing. But when a person shows signs of wanting to deepen their involvement beyond attending Meeting for Worship, it ought to be easier than it often is. When subgroups (attenders, youth, young adults, gay/lesbian/bisexual/transgendered, disabled, Christian, nontheist, friends of color, etc.) feel excluded, I think this reflects the general health of the community. Members of a centered community will be secure and solid enough to offer hospitality, to treat each person who enters the door as if they are Christ.
This all came to a head for me as I was considering the State of the Meeting Report. In our Meeting, we typically address this by allowing time during Business Meeting to speak from the silence on the life of the Meeting during the previous year. The clerk uses this to draft the report. I was contemplating how attenders fare, how I say the same thing every year, and how nothing seems to change. I just couldn't bear another year of this! I was moved to draft a proposal for the care of attenders and took it to the Accessibility and Inclusiveness Subcommittee (0f which I am a member). They enthusiastically took it under their care. The ideas that we are implementing so far are to make nametags for all members and attenders, to institute regular meetings for attenders (3-4 times a year), and to issue personal invitations for attenders to our annual picnic (this was taken up by the Marriage and Personal Ties and Hospitality Committees). This is all very new, so I can't report on the impact of any of this, except to say that it has provoked both caution and excitement. It's been a good lesson to listen to the concerns of Friends expressing hesitation over various suggestions, while not allowing it to dampen our enthusiasm. And many Friends seem energized. I truly think that the Meeting intends to be welcoming, but there hasn't been a structure in place to facilitate that. So the challenge is how to put enough structure in place so that it isn't all about an individual's pet project, but not so much that it becomes a burden for the Meeting.
I'm curious about how this plays out in other Meetings, and what experiences Friends have had in negotiating that vast gray area between visitor and member.
*Okay, I'm far too lazy and/or too much of a Luddite to make this into a cool link-- so I encourage you to click on Quaker Ranter on my sidebar.

Pilgrims for Zion City Bound

Today's the day Karen and I head for Friends General Conference Gathering in Tacoma via Greyhound. I've been bustling about not so efficiently. I've managed to go to each place twice or three times as I try to do my errands. Argh. It's enough to almost make me look forward to a 19 hour bus ride. Almost.
Anyway, it'll all work out, and then there we will be... I'm taking a singing workshop, as I always do at Gathering, on the theory that at least one week of singing is required to exorcise the demons of the past school year. This time, I get to do Paul's Sacred Harp workshop: powerful music for a powerfully challenging year.
Then I'm on to Alaska. I hope to see a bear. And lots of birds.
Just have to get through the bus trip. This seemed a good idea at the time...

Out of the Darkness

I found out about the Out of the Darkness walk from a teacher at my school.

The Out of the Darkness Overnight is a 20-mile walk through the night, from dusk until dawn. It's a unique opportunity to help shed light on suicide, its impact and its prevention. We're bringing together friends, family members and loved ones whose lives have been touched by suicide or depression, and giving them a way to turn their heartbreak into hope for tomorrow.
Each walker agrees to raise at least $1,000. Net proceeds will benefit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, to fund research, education, survivor and awareness programs - both to prevent suicide and to assist those affected by suicide.

I told a friend from Meeting about it, and she's decided to participate, too. I'm touched by the open hearts and courage of both these women as they share the painful reasons for feeling compelled to undertake this challenge.
Our Meeting has been deeply affected by depression and suicide. In the 5 years I have been in this community, we have lost one longtime attender and a member's son-in-law to suicide. And we lose the light of everyone that cannot be fully present when they are in the grips of depression, or when a loved one is.
I hope you will visit here and search for the participant Denise Mock to donate. Spread the word to those you know who might need to do this, or at least know about it. And please hold all the walkers and their families and friends in the Light on their way through and out of darkness.

In Praise of Good Men

Happy Father's Day to all the men I know who are loving, gentle fathers to their children. And happy Father's Day, too, to all the men who may or may not be fathers themselves, but who are teachers, coaches, and mentors to young people who do not have a dad. You guys are the best men I know.

A poem for Father's Day:

Those Winter Sundays

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love's austere and lonely offices?
--Robert Hayden
collected in Good Poems by Garrison Keillor

This poem moves me, although I do not recognize my father, or the fathers I know, in this seemingly cold and angry man. I was fortunate enough to always know that my father loved me. And the fathers that I know do not chop wood for their families, or think that being a man means to be a stoic. But this poem makes me think of them anyway, for all their acts of devotion that their children do not yet fully appreciate. This week's This American Life included a beautiful illustration of this fatherly devotion. A little boy loses his teddy bear on vacation to Disneyland, and the dad flies back to Anaheim to try and find it. The father makes a rather heroic effort to recover the bear, and the son, while not ungrateful, takes it all rather for granted. Even in what seems to be a happy and open relationship, that kid will have no idea until he grows up what it meant for his dad to go to such lengths. And for the children of parents who were too broken to be gentle, to speak kindly, it can be some comfort to examine our experiences with fresh eyes, and find the love that was no less real for having not been spoken.

Out of the Garden, Into the Labyrinth

I had an unsettling experience Labor Day Weekend, and I've been mulling over it ever since.
I was invited to a potluck barbecue* at the house of my dear friend, Jenny. And, although I live my life these days in a way that belies the fact I am an introvert, really, I am. I do not like parties. I especially do not like parties where I don't know at least half of the people there. So I really had to put my brave on to even get there, but a basic tenet of my belief system is show up. A corollary is: bring food, and bring homemade food if you really mean it. I was aware that Jenny keeps kosher, and knew enough not to make anything with meat or dairy. So I spent my morning making a rather complicated cooked vegetable salad, and trundled off, secure that I had prepared a fitting offering.
I got to the barbecue only to discover, in one of the most awkward social interactions ever, that anything that I would have made would not be, well... kosher. When it finally dawned on me that this was the case, I just felt crushed. I even started to tear up, much to my embarrassment and Jenny's dismay. Not really ideal conditions for relaxing and enjoying meeting new people.
I was surprised at the bitterness this episode provoked. If my God tells me to make food, but your God tells you not to eat it, then someone's God must be wrong, right? I felt like a kid on a playground, "Oh, yeah? Well, my God is better than your God!" I realize that this is absurd, really I do. But in the moment, I just felt cast out. My friend and I were suddenly on opposite sides of a chasm that could never be crossed. In fact, it seemed to be getting wider: She's becoming more devoutly Jewish, I'm becoming more devoutly something that borders uncomfortably on Christian...
This is the side of universalism that no one talks about much: that our differences aren't always merely the spice of life. Sometimes they are genuinely painful. It's all very well to think that there are many paths, each right for those who follow it. That is what I believe most of the time. It's easiest to hold this view when our differences are trivial: I love silent worship, and I find it easiest to hear God there. I even think that more silence in the world would be good for everyone. But I don't think it's the only valid way to worship God, just the way that is most comfortable to me. And, rightly or wrongly, I can just dismiss those who seem to be motivated by fear, hatred, greed, or ignorance as they use religion to justify self-righteousness, war, or the oppression of women and gay people. But it's not so easy when someone you genuinely love and respect has beliefs that are in conflict with yours. I really value the ways in which Jenny's deepening faith has illuminated my own experience. But our paths are not the same, we are not the same, and that division felt very sharp when I was suddenly the goy with the inedible food at a kosher barbecue.
I find myself surprised to say this, but I'm actually kind of grateful for this experience in retrospect. I think it is too easy to paddle in the shallows, pretending we're all the same, never really risking being hurt even a little as we venture into our depths. Staying on the polite and comfortable surface can only result in a mirage of community, never the real thing. I'd rather be real and get bruised a bit if it means the possibility of true friendship and connection.
This all reminds me of walking a labyrinth with a group of people. Because of the way the path bends on its way to the center, sometimes you seem very far away from the person you are actually closest to on the path. Maybe instead of being on the edges of an ever-widening chasm, Jenny and I are finding our way through a labyrinth... It's helpful to remember that a labyrinth, unlike a maze, has no dead ends.
*I remember the invitation as a potluck, Jenny remembers issuing the invitation as being to a barbecue.

A Sacred Harper's Sweet Reward...

...is probably heaven, but until then, here's a pretty good recipe that I modified from Land o'Lakes Butter as follows:

Applesauce Spice Cake
Ingredients:
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup whole wheat flour
2 cups granulated sugar
1 1/2 cups applesauce 1/2 cup Butter, softened
2 large eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon Penzey's baking spice
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Heat oven to 350°F. Combine all cake ingredients except raisins and pecans in large mixer bowl. Beat at low speed, scraping bowl often, until ingredients are moistened. Beat at high speed, scraping bowl often, until smooth (3 to 4 minutes). Pour into greased and floured 13 x 9-inch baking pan. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes or until
center is firm to the touch and edges begin to pull away from sides of pan. Cool
completely.

In God's Own Good Time

Will's commentary on prayer has me thinking about an experience I had a few years before my father died. He suffered from dementia, chronic pulmonary obstructive disease, and congestive heart failure (not to mention several bouts with pneumonia and at least one stroke). After one particularly painful visit, where he was clearly unhappy and fretful over everything, I just broke down and begged God to "please take him home." I was influenced, I guess, by all those stories I've heard of people who died after their loved ones released them. But God didn't take him, not then. I was really angry about it, honestly. I could see no value in his life then: he had lost all material possessions, his health, his intelligence, most of his friends... Even I couldn't find any (sane) way to relate to him. It seemed like a cruel punishment for us both for him to be so diminished. So, if there is a God, why did my prayers go unanswered?

I'm not really sure. But when my dad did die about three years later, I was part of a loving Quaker Meeting that held me in the Light. I was also surrounded by friends, family and colleagues that supported me. Dad was in a nursing facillity staffed by people who were genuinely caring, including the wonderful chaplain that conducted his memorial service. We had the service at the nursing home chapel, and many of the staff and residents were in attendance. The memorial helped me realize that my dad's life was more than his last seven years. It also made me realize that even in his incapacitated state, his life was not meaningless. The residents and the staff spoke very touchingly about how they appreciated his warmth and humor and kindness. None of this would have been possible if my prayers had been answered at the time that I prayed them.

Friendly Bible Study

Last Tuesday, I finally made it to my Meeting's Bible study. For years, I considered myself Bible averse. This was partly from the misuse of the Bible by some to subjugate women, vilify gay people, justify war... But I've slowly come to think that reading the Bible with Quakers might not be a bad idea, and have been inching crab-like toward it ever since. So when Bible study was moved to the house of a recuperating member who is one of my favorite people on Earth and also practically a neighbor, I ran out of excuses for not going.

I was profoundly moved by the experience. We were reading II Chronicles, which doesn't particularly speak to my condition. However, what a lovely metaphor for a Quaker Meeting: to be there, each with a different version of the Bible, each with a different measure of light to shed on the text we were reading; humbly struggling through the verses--sometimes awkwardly, sometimes with grace; searching out meaning and knitting our hearts together.

Connections

Last Saturday was our Meeting's annual retreat, which I helped plan. I'm writing what will seem like a seriously self-involved post about it. This is partly because I am, in fact, self-involved. But I also want to respect the confidentiality of others, so I'm only relaying my own experiences here.
Our theme was Connections, and we had the day to explore the many connections in our lives: to the Meeting, to the Earth, to our work, families, friends, pets, avocations... We opened with a brief period of silent worship. Well, as we had managed somehow to set off the smoke alarm in the kitchen that was locked (!), it was only theoretical silence. I closed worship, announced the flow of the day, and explained our opening game. Borrowing an activity that I often use to open the school year with my students, we divided into 4 groups of 10 or so folks and made a web with yarn. The first person held onto the end of the yarn with one hand and threw the ball of yarn with the other hand to another person. That person held onto the strand with one hand, while throwing the ball to a third person. We kept doing that until everyone had caught the yarn at least once. When a person pulled on a string, everyone could feel it. We then walked our webs to back to the center of the room, laying them on top of each other, while singing a chant I learned from Betsy Rose (who set this poem by Rumi to music):

Come, come, whoever you are
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of leaving
Ours is no caravan of despair
Come, yet again, come

This was thankfully the conclusion of my mistress of ceremonies duties. Next, Catharine led us through a guided meditation, and then we went to our worship sharing groups. Our queries were: What connections are most important in your life right now? How do you see your connection with the Meeting?
I love worship sharing: The process of sitting in silence with others, the tender listening that makes people feel safe enough to be vulnerable with one another, the gift of another person's message that speaks to my condition. Even though I helped write the queries and they had been percolating a bit in the back of my mind, new and surprising thoughts came to me. I found myself thinking especially of my connection to my dad, and how after he died, I felt so adrift, like I might float off the Earth. Part of the reason I joined the Meeting was that people treated me so lovingly during this time. But the other part was that I needed to belong, to be bound to a community. Another thought that surprised me a bit was how integrated and yet distinct all my connections feel. My work in schools, singing Sacred Harp, being part of my Quaker Meeting, my friendships, birding and hiking, they all feel of a whole to me. They're all things I feel called to do, all laboratories of faith. However, the people that I know in each of those disparate yet unified communities don't cross over. I find myself missing my Quaker friends while I'm singing, my teacher friends in Meeting, my friend Beth who lives on the wrong coast while I'm doing just about anything...
After lunch, we got to do activities: movement, more worship sharing, poetry, and my choice, collage. I love doing a collage in a group. People who don't consider themselves artistic, and start out being very nervous, end up making beautiful stuff. And I love how it surprises you: the art you start out to make is not what you end up with, ever. Our facilitator, Biliana*, gave us the assignment to make a map of our connections: the ones we have now, and the ones we desire to have. Mine is posted above. Part of this collage was conscious: I planned to put an open heart in the center, I was looking for a yoga image, near the end I was looking for a Georgia O'Keefe bone or skull to represent Sacred Harp (lots of songs about death, you know. Wonderful for fostering a sense of perspective). I also planned to have the yarn connect each image to the heart as at least a nod to the map assignment. My subconscious had a field day, though. Lots of nature images were a reminder that that is a connection I've allowed to atrophy a bit. The yoga position I found is the one I hate most, and yet it echoes the bridge, and I've certainly been in a bridging position in and between my various communities. What I noticed first about the cacti were that they were prickly (which was how I was beginning to feel at being so overextended). Later I noticed that they are filled with water, and are very hardy. My fussy plan to have each area attached by yarn was quickly laid aside when I realized I could just wrap the entire collage, thereby echoing our webs of the morning and my comments in worship sharing about needing to be bound to Earth.
We closed with silent worship, in the midst of all our collages. In the last message, the speaker again sang our song from the morning. It is a song that I have sung in my heart so often in Meeting. It delights me to know that it is a song in the hearts of many other Friends now.
*Biliana is a wonderful artist. Check out her work at www.stremska.com.

Surprisingly Sweet

This was fun.

Golden Gate Memorial Lesson

At Will's suggestion, I'm posting the text of the memorial lesson from the Golden Gate singing.

This is the time in the singing when we remember singers and family members who have died in the past year. It is an opportunity for all of us, and especially those of us who did not grow up singing this music, to deepen our connection with the long line of singers that has kept this tradition alive and thriving. One of the gifts of singing from The Sacred Harp is that it allows us to honor death as life’s constant companion. When we sing together, we comfort the living and rejoin our dead for a while.

285t Arnold
Come let us join our friends above
That have obtained the prize;
And on the eagle wings of love
To joy celestial rise.
Let all the saints terrest'rial sing
With those to glory gone;
For all the servants of our King
In heav'n and earth are one.

One family we dwell in Him,
One church above, beneath.
Though now divided by the stream,
The narrow stream of death.
One army of the living God,
To His command we bow;
Part of the host have crossed the flood,
And part are crossing now.
-Charles Wesley, 1759

Golden Gate

I hesitate to write a report of a singing. The experience seems so rich and individual at the time, and yet the reports have a remarkable sameness: we came, we sang, we ate, we sang. Writing about it is sort of like photographing my Christmas tree: each year's tree looks pretty much like the last. However, since I started this blog with the intention of trying to get into words the nature of my experience of Sacred Harp, I can't let yesterday's Golden Gate Regional Singing go by without comment.

My favorite things about this year's singing:

• My friend Catherine came-and brought amazing fudge!
• I led The Christian Warfare-nothing like 60 or so people belting out your theme song for the year
• Betty's deadpan wit as she marshalled us through the day in her capacity as chairperson
• No one called 285t Arnold before I could use it for the memorial
• People wrote legibly on the memorial list, so I don't think I mangled any names when I read it
• Natalia's sweet potato creation, and someone's peanut curry (David, was that you?)
• The food that I made was edible, I didn't forget anything, and I didn't spill any of it or have any other culinary disasters*
• David's and Susan's lyrical prayers
• The moments in the day when I was surrounded by strong, loud male tenors
• I finally more or less know the words to Parting Hand so that I can actually sing while walking around to shake hands instead of having my nose in the book
• Anna's gracious hospitality for the social

Mostly though, I arrived weary from a stressful week (a teachers' strike was narrowly averted) and more than a bit nervous about leading the memorial lesson, and I left with a light heart.

*Sadly, Betty did not escape the culinary disaster karma, as the leftovers of her jello salad spilled all over everything. Amazing how warm jello just flows...

The Gospel Pool

I'm not always sure why a song takes hold of me. Sometimes the lyrics speak to my condition, sometimes the music speaks to my soul. Sometimes my rational mind can parse out the reason for the pull, and sometimes not. This is the song that has me this week:

Millbrook
How long, thou faithful God, shall I
Here in thy ways forgotten lie?
When shall the means of healing be
The channels of thy grace to me?

Sinners on every side step in,
And wash away their pain and sin;
But I, a helpless sinsick soul,
Still lie expiring at the pool.

Thou seest me lying at the pool
I would, thou know'st, I would be whole;
O let the troubled waters move,
And minister thy healing love.

Sometimes my heart just is frozen, and I am paralyzed with fear. I pray for an open heart at the same time that I am terrified that my prayer might be answered.
I was in a dither several times this week: I debated whether to organize a dinner for an singing friend from out of town, I debated and agonized over a letter to a Quaker friend, and everything has felt heavy. I want to be generous and loving and kind, and I also fear rejection. And did I mention I am an introvert? What introvert organizes a party, anyway?!*
Being a loner is something of a family tradition. I remember my Dad saying disdainfully once that we weren't "joiners," and my mother quoting her father as saying that you're lucky if you have two or three real friends in your life. For the majority of my life, I've shunned involvement in groups. Now I seem to be making up for lost time.
The gospel pool is for me the communities in which I've made my home: my Quaker meeting, my school, my shapenote singing group, my neighborhood, and all the friendships within those communities. It's through these connections that I find God's grace. Yet I'm often at the edge of that pool, unable to step in, feeling sharply that I am my mother's daughter. My mother died with a heart that would not melt. She died alone in the midst of friends and family who desperately wanted to ease her passage, but could not penetrate the walls she erected. When I can realize that I am once again at the edge of the pool, I look one way and see the path that would lead to a life and a death like hers. I look the other way, and it is unmapped, foreign territory. I have no pattern for living with an open heart, no internal compass to tell me the pitfalls and safe harbors of this terrain. Sometimes I just can't do it. I retreat. But often I tell the little worrying, nagging, sneering voices inside to hush, and I step into the pool.

*The party was lovely. I sent the letter. All is well.

Happiness Floats*

Friday was one of those perfect days, and not only because it was a holiday (Cesar Chavez's birthday).
First of all, I felt virtuous for sticking to my routine and going for a walk at 6:30 a.m. (That makes 42 out of the last 45 days!). I then met Will and his wife Bess and their daughter Jane for birding and brunch. We went to one of my favorite spots, Arrowhead Marsh. It was sunny and springlike, the rain clouds still only a billowy presence in the distance. There were snowy and great egrets in abundance, resplendent in their breeding plumage. Speaking of breeding plumage, it does renew my faith in the truth in advertising of bird names to finally see the birds when they actually are ruddy ducks (not the dull brown of winter) and blackbelllied (rather than whitebellied) plovers.
We set off for Mama's Royal Cafe, taking an unintentionally scenic route as I for the bizillionth time forgot which streets go through to Broadway and which streets make you reverse directions and drag you through Chinatown. Will and Bess said they were enjoying the sights, and I hope that wasn't just Midwest manners taking over. While I'm proud of Oakland's Chinatown and the colorful and historic downtown, it's a little harrowing trying to simultaneously avoid pedestrians, trucks, and erratic drivers while endeavoring not to lose your out of town guests in the maze.
Filled with a delicious breakfast and lovely conversation, I headed off for an adventure in the rain. I went to the ACCI seconds sale for a bit of a shopping spree. I stocked up on gifts as well as indulging my own desires for new earrings and a lovely vase. I love that the seconds sale makes art even more accessible than it already is here. Maybe it's the lingering effect of The Velveteen Rabbit, but I like to think that I'm rescuing some unloved bit of art, allowing it to fulfill its true destiny.
At brunch, Will and family indulged me in my favorite game: what is a favorite book? This inspired my next stop, the Berkeley Public Library. I am firmly convinced that heaven is a library that never closes. Well, it is also an unending shapenote singing convention, but that's a topic for another post. I applied for a library card and found many treasures. Among them: Mrs. Mike (Jane's favorite book); The Penland Book of Handmade Books, and several new magazines to try: Sculpture, Smithsonian, Birdwatcher's Digest, and Audubon.
Next stop, The Eastbay Depot for Creative Reuse. One never knows what wonders will appear here. On this trip I found: small bags of beads, tiny satin ribbons, Easter baskets, and purses for the two little girls I know; flags, patriotic bulletin board trim, and plastic dinosaur skeletons, which will make lovely Open Court Reading theme gifts for my teachers (a reading coach's work is never done); and ingredients for a surprise gift for a friend. I also found, coveted, but did not buy because I could not think of how I would use: platter-sized blue traffic light covers and huge flats of tiny glass bottles.
I rushed home to change clothes and wrap Elisa's present and then headed to her birthday party. Our friend Catherine was the host. We had an amazing dinner of cheese souffle, ratatouille, and salad (including miner's lettuce that grows wild in Catherine's yard). This was followed by ice cream sundaes and all was accompanied by more types of alcohol than I normally consume in a month. After much conversation and oohing and aahing over Elisa's gifts, I finally made my way home.

*From So Much Happiness by Naomi Shihab Nye

It is difficult to know what do do with so much
happiness
With sadness ther is something to rub against,
a wound to tend with lotion and cloth.
...
But happiness floats.

Where I've Been in the U.S.

create your own visited states map

This is really fun! I never noticed before how my destinations have been rather contiguous. It sort of makes sense on the West Coast, where I live. But not all can be explained solely in terms of being geographically linked to a primary destination.

1. California: Born, bred, educated. Interesting note: can now pass two of these sites (thr first house I lived in and my alma mater) on the way to work.
2. Oregon: vacation a few years ago. Which would have been lovely, but a nasty fall resulted in every appendage being scraped. So I was in pain and REALLY grouchy for most of it.
3. Hawaii: Vacationed twice on Maui, once on Hawaii. Warm weather really does make people nicer.
4. Nevada: Went to Reno with my dad to see Whoopi Goldberg perform.
5. Arizona: vacationed several times, most recently a birding trip to the Southeast.
6. Oklahoma: visited family a couple of summers.
7. Louisiana: visited a friend in college there, also vacationed for my birthday one year.
8. Ohio: visited a college friend.
9. Indiana: visited a (now) ex and family.
10. Pennsylvania: Friends General Conference (FGC) Gathering. in Johnstown.
11. Virginia: FGC in Blacksburg.
12. New York: my first big trip. I went to see the Chagall exhibit at MOMA and the Magritte exhibit at the Met. Also returned when my friend Beth was considering grad school.
13. Massachusetts: visited Boston with Beth on same scoping out grad school trip. Several visits since then as she bought a house on the wrong coast.
14. Maine: road trip with Beth on one of the aforementioned visits. There are some benefits to having a friend buy a house on the wrong coast, though I hate to admit it.

Try it, you'll like it!

create your own visited states map

Where I've Been in the World

A seasoned world traveler I am not. However, this is still fun. Try it yourself:
create your own visited countries map
or vertaling Duits Nederlands

At the Crossroads Between Fear and Hope

My Quaker meeting is a large, urban, liberal meeting that is currently facing a lot of major decisions. We are considering whether to renovate our properties, contemplating our relationship to the environment, and considering taking on a ministry to young adult Friends in the form of a Quaker service year. At the same time that all of these decisions are on the surface, there is an undercurrent of both grief and fear within the meeting.
The source of the grief and fear is multifaceted. One aspect is the perception of some Friends that we are an aging and dying meeting. We have had several beloved members die in the last year. Many of our members are elderly, and we have not been able to retain our young people. Another dimension is the dilemma common to many liberal meetings: how to deal with the tensions between the Christian heritage of Quakerism and the theological diversity within our meetings. The quality of our meetings for worship has become unpredictable. Some days are rich and vital, infused with the same expectant waiting that moved me to tears the first time I attended. But often there is inappropriate speech, including direct replies to previous messages that turn meeting for worship into an intellectual debate. Finally, as we swing from fear to hope and back again, it strains the ties within our community. If we're a dying meeting, what do we have to offer a newcomer? If we don't feel that we have a place in the community, how can we extend hospitality to others on the margins of the meeting?
We can choose to move forward into the Light with open hearts, or we can choose to shrink in fear and remain in the shadows. May we have the faith to trust God to open the way, and ourselves to follow Divine leading.

No Accident

Despite the title of this blog, I have lapses of consciousness when it comes to the presence of grace in my life. I am an incompletely reformed pessimist, and there are still days when I am convinced that the universe is out to get me. The Presidents' Day holiday turned out to be one such day. I made the 35 minute walk on an empty stomach to Kaiser only to find that I could not get my lab work done that day (I had asked my doctor if they would be open, checked the website, and called ahead. I don't think the fault is mine on that one). Later that day, I tried to pick up my drycleaning. Yup, they were closed, too. Then I went to Longs with a bag full of errands to complete. I hadn't allowed enough time, couldn't find the stuff I needed, and was generally feeling grouchy. The last straw came when I was unloading my cart at the checkout stand and I noticed that the frame I was about to buy had an ugly scratch on it. So I pulled my stuff off the conveyer in a huff, swearing the whole while not quite under my breath, and barged past the rather startled woman who was waiting with her son behind me in line. I abandoned the cart in the middle of the store and left.

I didn't think any more of it until I got a strange, lumpy envelope in the mail the following Friday. When I opened it, I found the bag I had been carrying in Longs. It had the bill I was planning to mail to PG&E, my National Board certificate that I was planning to frame, a check I was planning to deposit, and a letter:

Ms. _____
We at Longs have found these items in our store. By returning them to your
address we hope it will help you with your concerns.
May God continue to bless you and watch over you.
Longs Drug Store Employees
Department Manager
______________

This prompted a flood of feelings. First of all, I was a bit freaked out that I had left all that important stuff on Monday and didn't even notice until I received the envelope on Friday. There's a wake-up call that perhaps I am a bit overextended! I also felt like a complete heel for leaving the cart, making a mess for these good people to clean up. Mostly, though, I felt humbled to receive a sign of God's grace in return for my shabby behavior. I showed Suzanne the letter, and she said, "That wasn't an accident."

She's right. It wasn't.

My Life List is Now 220 (But Who's Counting?)

Well, actually, it's more than that, because that total doesn't include the Ireland trip and East Coast birds. In any case, I've been making it a point to get out on Golden Gate Audubon trips, and finally have time to catch up on my listing. The volunteer guides for GGA are encyclopedic in their knowledge. Thanks to them, I can now tell greater and lesser scaup apart, and the sharp-shinned hawk I saw at the Rose Garden was a snap to distinguish from the Cooper's (sharpies are jay-sized). I also got clarity on which golden-eye is which: comMON have the MOON-shaped patch on their faces; BARROW's has a wheelBARROW-shaped patch. Life birds are indicated with an asterisk. The Eastshore Park trip netted the most new species. We spent a lot of time on gulls and peeps, so those things I've seen forever sorted themselves out a bit. Not that I expect to replicate this expertise on my own, but at least I could see for myself the key features the guide pointed out. So I felt legitimate in counting them. It's especially sweet to get new birds at Lake Merritt, since I'm there several times a week. I also saw several things that I had not seen there before, even if they are not life birds: hermit thrush, belted kingfisher, and peregrine falcon.

Lake Merritt, solo 6:30 a.m.- 8:00 a.m., 22 species
2/19/06

1. eared grebe (beginning to show breeding plumage)
2. pied-billed grebe
3. double crested cormorant
4. ross's goose*
5. canvasback
6. greater scaup
7. lesser scaup
8. common goldeneye
9. bufflehead
10. red-breasted merganser
11. American coot
12. white pelican
13. western gull
14. glaucous-winged gull
15. ring-billed gull
16. snowy egret
17. great egret
18. black-crowned night heron
19. rock pigeon
20. anna's hummingbird
21. white-crowned sparrow
22. house sparrow

Eastshore State Park (Berkeley Marina and meadow), 8:00-11:45 a.m., Audubon trip led by Dave Quady, 48 species
2/18/06

1. common loon (beginning to show breeding plumage)
2. horned grebe
3. eared grebe
4. western grebe
5. double-crested cormorant
6. canada goose
7. mallard
8. american wigeon
9. green-winged teal
10. surf scoter
11. canvasback
12. greater scaup
13. common goldeneye
14. bufflehead
15. ruddy duck (starting to show breeding plumage)
16. western gull
17. mew gull*
18. california gull*
19. ring-billed gull
20. glaucous-winged gull
21. great blue heron
22. great egret
23. snowy egret
24. American avocet
25. marbled godwit
26. willet
27. spotted sandpiper*
28. sanderling*
29. dunlin*
30. least sandpiper* (reported on Arrowhead marsh, but I'm really sure of this sighting!)
31. northern harrier
32. red-tailed hawk
33. turkey vulture
34. American kestrel
35. mourning dove
36. anna's hummingbird (on nest)
37. northern flicker
38. black phoebe
39. american crow
40. chestnut-backed chickadee
41. ruby-crowned kinglet
42. american robin
43. red-winged blackbird
44. white-crowned sparrow
45. fox sparrow
46. song sparrow
47. house finch
48. lesser goldfinch

Oakland Rose Garden, solo, 11:00 a.m., 10 species 2/17/06

1. sharp-shinned hawk
2. downy woodpecker
3. steller's jay
4. chestnut-backed chickadee
5. bushtit
6. red-breasted nuthatch
7. cedar waxwing (on the way)
8. white-crowned sparrow
9. California towhee
10. house finch (on the way)

Lake Merritt, Audubon trip led by Travis Hails, 8:00-12:00, 36 species
1/28/06

1. eared grebe
2. double crested cormorant
3. canada goose
4. gadwall
5. mallard
6. canvasback
7. greater scaup
8. lesser scaup
9. common goldeneye
10. bufflehead
11. ruddy duck
12. red-breasted merganser*
13. American coot
14. western gull
15. glaucous-winged gull
16. ring-billed gull
17. great blue heron
18. snowy egret
19. great egret
20. black-crowned night heron
21. peregrine falcon
22. cooper's hawk
23. belted kingfisher
24. rock pigeon
25. anna's hummingbird
26. American crow
27. western scrub jay
28. chestnut-backed chickadee
29. oak titmouse
30. bushtit
31. brown creeper
32. American robin
33. hermit thrush
34. white-crowned sparrow
35. golden-crowned sparrow
36. California towhee

My Father's Gone to See That Land

Today is the fourth anniversary of my Dad's death. The first year after he died, I made the huge mistake of trying to carry on with business as usual. So I'm taking a personal day today. This has been an emotionally charged week anyway-- my parents' wedding anniversary was Valentine's Day, this is my first year without a class of kids to shower with valentines, and I had my mid-year evaluation conference. In the last two weeks, we've had two half-day meetings, one evening meeting, two professional development meetings to deliver, one all-day training to attend, all in addition to the normal workload. So taking the day to go to the doctor and dentist seems like a vacation.

One of the reasons I love Sacred Harp is that it recognizes death. I often joke that all the songs are about how happy you will be when you die, but I'm so grateful that there is a weekly opportunity to sing my dead to peace. I carry many people in my heart: my dad, my mom, all my grandparents, two good friends, a former student, and several members of my Quaker meeting. When a loss is fresh, singing these songs is a way to honor the spirit of the dead and comfort my own. It aerates the grief. As time passes, singing calls their presence to me. Well, now I think that maybe singing allows the living to join the angel choir, instead of them joining us... 153 (Resurrrected) was one of the first songs I learned to lead. It's a song that calls my parents to mind (we sing it a second time substituting mother for father), but it was also a song I sang a lot when a former student of mine finally died of cancer. He had gone out of remission the year he was in my class, and died two years later.

My father's gone to see that land...
To wear a starry crown
Away over yonder...
to wear a starry crown

A Blessing of Birds

I went Arrowhead Marsh today, one of my favorite birding spots, and a place that makes me proud of Oakland. Arrowhead is part of the Martin Luther King, Jr. Regional Shoreline Park. It was overcast, making it easy to see without squinting. Tide was high, so I got to see a lot of the little birds near the pier: marsh wrens, white-crowned sparrows, and, my favorite for the day, male and female common yellow throats. I take umbrage with the "common" in their name: they are rare enough to me, and far too beautiful to be considered "common." Ducks were abundant, too: northern pintails, green-winged teals, cinnamon teals, mallards, American wigeons, greater scaups, surf scoters, common goldeneyes, and buffleheads. The mallards were doing their mating displays, something I hadn't seen before. I spent an embarrassingly long time scrutinizing some rather faded looking canvasbacks. They turned out to be DECOYS. Although why there are decoys in a protected marsh is a bit mysterious, and rather unfair, I thought. Salvaging what remained of my dignity, I continued on in my perusal of nature's bounty. Highlights include the glaucous-winged gull and the great egret that joined me on the pier, and the plethora of American avocets. The avocets were great: some were still in their grey winter plumage (I think of it as Quaker grey), some were in breeding plumage, and some were in between.

Complete sightings (40 species):

1. horned grebe
2. double breasted cormorant
3. Canada goose
4. mallard
5. northern pintail
6. American wigeon
7. northern shoveler
8. green-winged teal
9. cinnamon teal
10. surf scoter
11. greater scaup
12. common goldeneye
13. bufflehead
14. ruddy duck
15. American coot
16. glaucous-winged gull
17. western gull
18. ring-billed gull
19. great blue heron
20. great egret
21. snowy egret
22. clapper rail
23. black-necked stilt
24. American avocet
25. killdeer
26. lesser yellowlegs
27. willet
28. least sandpiper
29. northern harrier
30. red-tailed hawk
31. turkey vulture
32. anna's hummingbird
33. black phoebe
34. marsh wren
35. northern mockingbird
36. yellow-rumped warbler
37. common yellowthroat
38. white-crowned sparrow
39. song sparrow
40. savannah sparrow

Power to the Positive, Part 2, or, Pollyannas in Combat Boots

My partner coach, Suzanne, and I are on a mission. In another installment of our militant positivity campaign, we held fluency celebrations at our staff meeting Wednesday. Each grade level shared their successes with teaching reading fluency (reading at a good rate with accuracy and expression) and got cheered on by their colleagues. All the presentations were great. Some highlights were kindergarten's chant, Sound Off (to be posted later), and first grade's demonstration of a game to engage students in learning high frequency words. My personal favorite, however, was the fourth grade presentation. The fourth grade teachers were so discouraged when we met to look at their data from the latest assessment. They have been working really hard, but they're not yet seeing the results in the data. So it was great to hear their presentation, and see them take pride in their work. I noticed how our principal started sitting up a little straighter and smiled a bit more broadly as each grade level shared their successes. When they were all done, she spoke about how proud she was of everyone.
I'm called again and again to ruminate on this famous quote from George Fox, "father" of Quakerism:

This is the word of the Lord God to you all, and a charge to you all in the presence of the living God; be patterns, be examples in all countries, places,islands, nations wherever you come; that your carriage and life may preach among all sorts of people, and to them; then you will come to walk cheerfully over the world, answering that of God in everyone; whereby in them you may be a blessing,and make the witness of God in them to bless you.

This quote is used so much that it is rather a cliche. Even so, when I really comtemplate it, it resonates so deeply that often tears will come to my eyes. I especially love the part about "answering that of God in everyone." The word answering is key, because it implies that "that of God" is not only present in each person, but is speaking. This is a concept that is easy to grasp in a classroom full of children. No matter what behavior a child is presenting, I can firmly believe that the light of God shines within her or him. Okay, not always in the moment of frustration with that child who, say, has turned around six times in the last ten minutes to make goofy faces at his friend in the back row, causing the entire class to erupt into giggles. But at least when I calm down I can come back to that faith. It has been a challenge in my coaching job to put this belief in practice as I work with adults. I would suggest that our very job description as coaches goes against the idea of answering that of God in everyone: we are there to monitor program implementation (implying that teachers need to be watched), to demonstrate lessons and to provide professional development(to show teachers the "right" way to do it). We are operating in a deficit model that is centered around looking for problems to fix. Needless to say, these aren't conditions that are conducive for building trust: who wants to be watched and told what they're doing wrong? Who wants to be led by the nose to someone else's idea of what is right?
I'm not saying that coaches shouldn't do their jobs, or that there aren't problems that can and should be fixed. What I am saying is that we shouldn't lose sight of our goal: to support teachers' growth in providing an excellent education to the students who need it most. We need to choose the coaching strategies that leverage the most positive change. Since you catch more flies with honey than vinegar, let's create a flood of honey! We "monitor" the program best by being a helpful and friendly presence. It's vitally important that we are in classrooms to be the extra pair of ears, eyes, hands, and the extra brain that has the luxury of thinking only about literacy instruction. As far as professional development goes, we get the most movement in a school when we focus on getting teachers to share what is working well. When coaches and teachers share our genuine excitement over student and teacher success, it's contagious.
So I've come to think of myself and Suzanne as Pollyannas in combat boots: stomping out negativity wherever it rears its ugly head. We hold that every student wants to learn, that all teachers want their students to be successful, that our workplace should be joyful, that each of us possesses the inner resources to grow into the educators our students need us to be.

Power to the Positive

I had a great conversation with my friend Cheryl this weekend. One of the many things we discussed was motivating positive change in organizations. Our Quaker Meeting is facing many potential changes as we contemplate renovating our meetinghouse and other buildings, consider our responsibility to the environment, and strive to be a community that is welcoming and inclusive. At the same time, I work with a staff that is trying mightily to improve the academic achievement at a school that has been chronically underperforming for years.

There are a lot of cliches about change: change is hard, change is inevitable, etc. It is easy to slip into trying to control the behavior of others. And there are some people who don't feel they have done their job unless they have ennumerated every problem or shortcoming of a situation. So it was refreshing to hear from Cheryl about a process called Appreciative Inquiry. The main points that interested me were that the best way to motivate positive change is to look for what's working and share it, and that the process of inquiring into a situation is in itself an intervention. The questions that are asked are key, not only for the data they yield, but for the change they spur.

Next week at work, we will have the second of our panel discussions, where we share videoclips of teachers, allow them to talk about their process, and invite questions and comments. This has been such an exciting project. It has improved teaching at our school far more than critiquing teachers ever would, increased morale, improved collaboration, and is just plain fun.

There's a Light in the Darkness

I recently received a flyer for "The Bay Area Masters Series" for the advaced study of the fine arts. I can't figure out why I received it, as I'm hardly advanced in the fine arts. I was thrilled, however, because the flyer had a photograph by an artist, Katherine Westerhout, whose work I had encountered years ago at the Oakland Museum. She's done a whole series of abandoned building photographs. I am amazed at her ability to go into these creepy, dark, rundown places that I wouldn't dare enter and capture light, beauty, and living water. http://www.katwest.com/architecture_bay_area.html

These photographs speak to my condition as I wrestle with a query that came to me while speaking in Meeting for Worship: How do we enable ourselves to listen to the Light in the midst of whatever impossible conditions we find ourselves? There are times and places where it is easy for me to feel the presence of God: in the company of friends, watching birds, teaching, when I sing. Yet I find these "easy places" little use to me in times of despair or conflict. Thinking of a "few of my favorite things" has never helped me to feel not so bad. So I find myself drawn to more complicated, even paradoxical, situations when searching for something to hang on to in hard times.

I heard this example a few weeks ago on the radio, as part of Sen. John McCain's essay for This I Believe http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4538138:

As a scared American prisoner of war in Vietnam, I was tied in torture ropes by my tormentors and left alone in an empty room to suffer through the night. Later in the evening, a guard I had never spoken to entered the room and silently loosened the ropes to relieve my suffering. Just before morning, that same guard came back and re-tightened the ropes before his less humanitarian comrades returned. He never said a word to me. Some months later on a Christmas morning, as I stood alone in the prison courtyard, that same guard walked up to me and stood next to me for a few moments. Then with his sandal, the guard drew
a cross in the dirt. We stood wordlessly there for a minute or two, venerating the cross, until the guard rubbed it out and walked away.

I've been thinking about this guard for weeks now. How awful, to be the person who has to tie someone up in torture ropes. Yet, had he rebelled in any obvious way, he would not have been able to make these compassionate gestures to McCain. We rarely find ourselves in such dramatic circumstances, yet we all are in compromised positions from time to time, struggling to determine the right thing to do when the very situation is not right.