An Olympics Junkie

I admit it.  This couch-surfer is an Olympics-watching junkie, and I am enjoying every minute.  I turn on the television when I awaken and turn it off well after midnight.  It is amazing to watch the very best athletes in the world perform, whether in kayaks or at  ping-pong tables, on parallel bars or in swimming pools.

This morning the cross-country dressage event was televised, the second of the three-day contest.  The horses were not as colorful as those on merry-go-rounds, but they were beautiful, athletic specimens in shades of chestnut, brown, black, and gray.  Each dynamic duo of rider and horse jumped various obstacles proceeding uphill and down, through water and sand, hopefully completing the course in about ten minutes.

One of the most amazing jumps was over the bottom of a crescent moon with the city of London in the background.  Others included a rattan chessboard, a train, a castle, a bed of logs being pulled by a tractor, Saturn, an outdoor market, a tribute to Big Ben, and so on.  Large trees providing dappled shade and charming beds of flowers added to the beauty of the course.  I was mesmerized by it all.

Well, time for the evening segment.  Signing off.

I'm sick of it

Yes, I'm sick of awakening on beautiful sun-filled mornings and finding that yet more innocent people have been killed and injured because of guns, especially semi-automatic weapons.  Can you imagine if you had let your child (middle/high school) off at the movie theatre in Aurora, CO to enjoy the big opening of the "summer blockbuster movie," the new Batman, and the next thing you received was a phone call from your child saying that a gunman was shooting at people?  Or what about a call from the hospital?  Or a visit from a policeman?

There is only one thing that guns cause, and that's blood.  I'm sick of our American "gun culture" that originated hundreds of years ago and still plays out today.  How can we have aggrandized our gun-toting westward expansion, when in fact it resulted in the deaths of many Native Americans.  We were immigrants who wanted their land, and we were not going to negotiate with words when our guns spoke more loudly.

We still have some Annie Oakleys, but too many men are all caught up in the power and masculinity of guns.  You know, the bigger, the better.  They claim they have guns for hunting, so they can hang animals parts up in their homes.  It's pathetic.  And my bet is that the larger the gun, the smaller the...well, you know what I mean.

I'm sick of it.  I'm sick of the NRA, and the control it has of our government.  I'm sick of the concealed weapons that so many people are running around with.  I'm sick of the children who are killed or kill because there are guns in their homes.

Our country was built through blood and wars, but let's put an end to it.  NOW.  (Not Owning Weapons.)

Sunset

The sky broke like an egg into full sunset and the water caught fire.

                                      - Pamela Hansford Johnson

After enjoying City Vu's flatbreads for dinner, Bob asked if we wanted to go to the Lake Michigan beach and watch the sunset.  It was Amy's last summer vacation day in Holland, and it seemed like the perfect conclusion to her time here.

Sunset comes late in western Michigan, and summer days stretch out endlessly with more than fifteen hours of sunlight, so it was after 9:00 p.m. when we reached the beach.  Sunset is live theatre and well-attended.  People gather on benches, walk out on the breakwater, or just stand and watch in wonder, all faced west with the light bouncing off their faces.  This evening, a number of pleasure boats were anchored near the channel, and a lone man on a paddleboard moved back and forth just outside of their reach, perhaps preparing for this weekend's competition.

It was cloudless and the sky blue, as the earth turned, and the sun started its descent toward the lake.  It's magic, and it's art, and it's all part of a mystical creation that draws us to this rhythmic phenomenon.  Soon the sun began to dip and a deep purple was painted across the horizon, and as it sank further, a swath of pink fell upon the purple.  We stood and waited until the very last sliver of sun had disappeared.

As always, the show was breathtaking, and we should have all applauded.  Instead, I think we each offered a silent "amen."  Amen.

Sunday Service

After the sermon, we recited A Statement of Faith:

We welcome that where people are gathered together in love
God is present and good things happen and life is full.

We celebrate that we are immersed in mystery that our lives are more than
they seem, that we belong to each other and to a universe of great creative
energies, whose source and destiny is God.

We celebrate that the spirit of God beat in the heart of Jesus of Nazareth
and God’s good news was heard by the broken and wounded.  We are glad
that the spirit of peace is present with us, the church, as we gather to celebrate
our common existence, and the fidelity of God.

And most deeply we believe that in our struggle to love, we incarnate God in
the world.  And so aware of mystery and wonder, caught in friendship
laughter, we become speechless before the joy in our hearts as we celebrate
the sacredness of life.

We have been searching for a church since we began spending time in Holland.  Locally we tried The Beechwood Church, a Reformed Church of America (almost every church in Holland is a “reformed” church).  From Father’s Day until Labor Day people are encouraged to bring their camp chairs, dress casually, and share in an outdoor contemporary 10:00 A.M. service.  Sometimes one thousand people congregate, including many campers enjoying Holland State Park.  The warm homemade donuts and snow cones that are available after the service are a great draw.  However, we were concerned about some comments made about Muslims during two sermons and decided to search again.

I attended a Writing the Psalms workshop at the Douglas Congregational United Church of Christ in Douglas, MI (about 5 miles/20 minutes from our condo) and found their minister and the mission intriguing.  Today was the second time we have worshiped there, and we were told that our permanent name tags will be awaiting us next Sunday.

The written mission of the church is one I can support with my Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) membership:

To grow together spiritually
     as progressive Christians, welcoming all;
          pursuing peace, justice, love
               and healing for all creation.

It turns out that the young minister I met has left the church, and an interim, Rev. Kathryn Davelaar, has been installed.  She and the rest of the congregation have been very welcoming to us.  The service is mostly traditional, not my favorite, but I appreciate having communion again each Sunday.  I went forward and the minister offered me the bread saying, “Beth, the body of Christ,” and then I proceeded to my left to the person who stood with a cup of wine.  He said, “Beth, the blood of Christ,” and I dipped my bread and then took it.  Had I walked to the right of the minister, I could have drunk an individual cup of grape juice.

After communion, the congregation made a circle around the pews, held hands, and prayed the Lord’s Prayer together.  It started, “Our Mother/Father, always and everywhere, hallowed be thy name…”.  This is the usual routine.

Probably the most unusual thing about the church is that we are in the minority because we are a heterosexual couple.  It is the second time in my life that I have been in a situation where I am in the minority, and, once again, I think that I have an opportunity to grow from the experience.  There are a few other heterosexual couples, and there will be a new one after their wedding next Saturday, but most of the congregation is composed of gay men.  Some are in partnerships.  Some are not, or their partners don’t attend church with them.  There are some lesbians but not many.  I feel very comfortable.

Sometimes we are hugged during the “passing of the peace.”  Room is made for us in the circle for the Lord’s Prayer.  We were even invited to the potluck after church.  And, now, we’ll have name tags.  I appreciate all they have done to make us feel included and accepted.  They are showing us hospitality.  I look forward to worshiping as part of this congregation next Sunday.  Amen.

Excessive Heat Warning

A few days ago, Bob said, "It's amazing how the birds are chirping and singing in the mornings.  I'm surprised with this heat."  I replied, "They're sending out the excessive heat warning."

The only thing worse than a mild winter with no snow is a summer with 90-plus-degree temperatures, especially in June and July.  This smothering abomination has struck much of the United States, and we can't seem to get away from it.  Today it's 100-degrees with a 72-degree dew point in Michigan, and Amy and Bob have taken the boat out to the "big water" for some swimming.  I couldn't bear the thought of leaving the air conditioning and have caught up on a week's worth of e-mails.  I really can't tolerate heat, and it plays havoc with my usual charming personality.

When I was in my teens, we didn't yet have central air conditioning in our house.  Because of my scoliosis, I wore a back brace made of steel and leather.  Not only was it unsightly and uncomfortable, it was hot.  Blessedly, my Uncle Eugene came to my rescue with the gift of a huge, used, room air conditioner.  (This was one of the greatest kindnesses that has ever been done to me.)  My parents had it installed in our den (the precursor to today's family room but on a much smaller scale), and the coolness bathed us while we watched TV.  It also wafted into our bedrooms and made sleeping bearable.

However, the steel and leather made me never like hot weather again.  Witnessing the brown dormant grass and the struggling annuals in the garden just reinforces this feeling.  Please send cooling rains our way...and send them soon.