First Challenge

Our separation started when Butch moved out the Thursday and Friday before Easter in 2015. Our youngest son, his wife and daughter came from Austin on Saturday to visit Butch and stayed the night with me. On Sunday, for probably the first time in my whole life I didn’t go to Easter services at church. It an emotional weekend. Surreal really.

And then it was Monday.

A friend had invited me to meet her for a walk. We were going to meet at her house to walk in her charming neighborhood. I woke up, dressed, got in my car, turned the key in the ignition and nothing. No click, no noise, no nothing. The battery was completely dead. My heart sank. Then it started beating rapidly in stress and panic. My first thought was I am not going to call Butch.

I knew exactly what he would do if he was there. He’d take the battery out, go to Wal-mart, buy a new battery, come home and install the new battery. Easy-beasy, nice and easy. For him. For me? Definitely not easy. First thing, I called my friend and changed the plan. She’d come to my house and we’d walk from there. That handled, I could give my full attention to my challenge.

Changing the battery myself was out of the question. Although I had helped Butch change lots of batteries, I was afraid of them. I knew they could explode if you touched the wrong place with a screwdriver. Naturally I didn’t know where that place was. I just knew I didn’t want to find out the hard way. And anyway I’d need a ride to Walmart to buy the battery. If I took my car somewhere for the battery to be changed, I would need a tow truck for the car and probably a ride for me. If the car was not working when I was with Butch, he would give me a ride. (This would continue to be a problem for me in the future.) My favor-ite neighbor–as in we could always count on each other for a favor–was out of town. She was very handy. I knew if she was there she’d know what to do. Finally, I called my service manager at the dealership where I took my car for repairs. He said I could use roadside assistance and have it towed. That did not solve the ride issue but it did spark an idea: AAA.

I had had a AAA membership for years but I only used it for travel discounts. It never occurred to me to use their roadside assistance. I had Butch. He always took care of the car and repairs and maintenance. I just drove it and filled it with gas. That I could do. So I called AAA. In about 15 minutes a mechanic arrived at my house He tested the battery, pulled out a replacement and changed it out. In about 20 minutes I was back in business. And I did it myself, well, with a little help from AAA. It probably cost more than if Butch had done it. But I solved the challenge by myself and that was priceless.

After Butch and I separated I quickly realized there were many, many things that I was going to have to do that Butch had always done. He took care of the cars, repairs and maintenance around the house, mowing the lawn, and financial matters. I took care of the inside of the house, which included cooking and cleaning. It quickly became apparent that I was going to have to learn how to do the things Butch had always done. Some of them I already knew how to do but Butch just took care of them anyway. However, there was much I had no idea how to handle. I was going to have to learn. As it turned out, the more I did, the more I knew I could do. As my confidence grew I felt better about myself. It turned out I was capable and competent. I had just never had to be that way before.

That’s when I started a list called “Things I’ve Done on My Own”. The first thing on the list is, of course, the battery challenge which happened on April 8, 2015. I put things on the list like places I went by myself for the first time, new places I went to walk or hike, driving to Marfa by myself in a bad thunderstorm. I recorded when I fixed an under cabinet light cover and changed air conditioner filters.

On May 23, another biggie occurred. As recorded on the list:

Fixed drain on washing machine! Did what the instructions said and it didn’t work. Really didn’t want to call Butch so I waited. Told myself there was no reason to call him right away. I could call repairman myself. Had lunch, prayed about it. Tried the washer again and it worked! Thank God!!!

Looking back over the “The Things I’ve Done on My Own” list, brings back so many memories of how innocent I was. In many ways I was a child. I had never had to be an adult and take care of myself. Well, now was my opportunity. Being on my own made it necessary for me to stretch my mind and, in certain cases, my body to do things for myself. The car battery and the stopped up washing machine drain happened in the first two months of being on my own. Little did I know then how many challenges and opportunities were going to come my way, times when I would be stretched almost to the breaking point. Ok, so sometimes it was the breaking point but that’s what wine and Netflix is for, right?

The list ends with my move to Austin in August which I wrote about in my last post. Sub-letting my first apartment and purchasing my TV and bed are the last two entries. Since then so many decisions, problems and challenges have come my way that looking back I am amazed at myself for being able to make those decisions, figure out solutions to the problems and meet the challenges. The results were mixed: some successes and some not so successful. Nevertheless, I did it myself.

And that was priceless.

My ATX Story

Sorry for the whiplash effect, dear Reader, but after my last post about my current broken ankle situation, I am going to pick up my story back in 2015 after a whole lot of difficult, sad conversations and events happened. These conversations and events led to Butch and I separating. Big life changes started with the question: who was going to leave the house and where would he or she go? We were fortunate that our oldest son, Trey, had a duplex in San Antonio. One side was vacant because he used it when he came to town. It was newly renovated and fully furnished. He was amenable to one of us living there for the short term. I thought Butch and I would just draw straws to determine who would move out. But Butch had a different idea; he simply volunteered to move.

After I had been living by myself at Wilderness Hill (our house was located on Wilderness Hill Road) for about two months, Butch said he wanted to switch living arrangements. I was happy to give up the house for several reasons. One, it was too much to keep up on my own. I had a maid to clean the inside but the outside had a lawn that needed to be mowed and leaves to be raked and all of those outside sorts of chores. Then there were inside chores like changing air conditioner filters. Butch had always kept track of and did these types of things. They were not even on my radar. Secondly, everything in the house reminded me of a life that had ceased to be happy and fulfilling which was what I wanted to separate from. So we switched. We chose a day, packed up our things and moved, a two-ships-passing-in-the-night sort of thing.

That was in July of 2015. In August, I filed for divorce. Trey planned to be back in San Antonio in October or November to avoid winter in west Texas. So it was time to figure out where I was going to live. The house was not an option for all the reasons I mentioned above and also we had already agreed that Butch would get that in our settlement. Now I faced a decision. I had gone from my parents’ house to married life with Butch when we were 17. Now I was 63 years old and I had never lived on my own much less made a decision on my own about where to live .

So, I had a conversation with my self.

“Self,” I said, “you never wanted to live in San Antonio as an adult, in the same city where your parents lived. But what did you do? You have lived in San Antonio your whole life. So, where do you want to live?”

Now, my only grandchild, Emy, lived in Austin. She was one year old and went to day care four days a week. Her other grandmother and I switched off Fridays to spend the day with her. As you can imagine, dear Reader, I spent a lot of time in Austin. It was important to me to spend as much time with her as I could. So logically–I’m not usually so logical–it made sense to move to Austin.

“It does make sense, doesn’t it, self?” I asked hopefully.

“Yes,” my self said. “It makes perfect sense.”

“I’m so glad you agree with me. Let’s do it!”

Now the question was settled about which city but questions still loomed: where in Austin and how do I figure that out? How should I go about finding a place, not a permanent place but a test place to see if Austin was really where I want to be? And definitely not a permanent place, not a place that I would buy or live in for the rest of my life. Yikes! That was way to scary to think about or even imagine. I was really afraid. So I started talking to my kids and friends about how to go about this move. And the idea came up about sub-leasing so I wouldn’t have to sign a long lease. I could just finish out someone else’s long lease. If I didn’t like where I was, it would be easy to change. So that’s the course I decided to take.

I started by searching Craigs List for sub-leases. And there were a lot of them. All kinds from just a room–not gonna work–to a whole house–again, nope. But there were lots of apartments in between. I picked four in the area of town I wanted to be in–close to Emy, of course–called and made two appointments. My self and I had conferred and agreed that this was a reconnaissance mission just to see what was out there. We agree on so many things, it’s uncanny.

The first apartment complex was difficult to turn into from a very busy street. People turned at the corner and went through a gas station to access the entrance gate. The apartment itself was nice, very new. However, I would have to buy my own refrigerator and the place seemed big, too big for just little ol’ me. It just did not seem like a good fit. The second place was in a complex that was easy to access, a little one-bedroom, with all its own appliances. And the lease had four months on it. Although I did not confer with my self, reconnoitering went out the window. The mission had changed. I took it. I could take possession on August 15. I was both ecstatic and scared. But I had a place to go.

Oh, yeah, there was one little timing thing: I was scheduled to go to Australia to visit my sister in September. I was flying out of San Antonio. I’d be away about 3 weeks. Crazy.

I didn’t let that deter me. I just got to work. I figured I didn’t have to completely move until I got back from my trip. So I took possession on August 15. Then the next morning, I bought a bed and a TV. The cable guy was coming in the afternoon and the bed was going to be delivered at 10 pm–honest, that was the delivery time set by the store. I set up the TV all by myself. Just purchasing the thing was a major accomplishment for me because, again, I had never bought my own TV before. But I had shopped with Butch several times so I sort of knew what to look for. I still have that TV but it needs to be replaced. It’s a smart tv but I don’t think it went to college.

Anyway, I had it all ready to go by the time the cable guy got there. Very proud of myself for that. Once the bed was delivered, I got in my car and drove back to San Antonio to get ready to go to Australia. Not sure why I didn’t spend the night in my new digs. Again, crazy.

When I returned from my trip I began moving in earnest. My apartment was not big, about 900 square feet. The downside was the 19 steps from the parking lot to the second floor where my place was. I didn’t have much stuff and very little furniture. I was able to move it all with many loads in my Mountaineer. Since I was still going back and forth to San Antonio for various reasons and staying in Trey’s duplex, I didn’t have to make special trips.

Finally, in early October I was all moved in, not unpacked, but all the furniture and boxes were there. About that time I found a letter from the apartment management taped to my front door. It was a reminder letter that my lease would be up in December. It explained what my rent would be if I re-upped right away, what it would be if I re-upped later and what the rate would be if I wanted to go on a month to month basis–yikes! it was high. Oh, yes, and by the way, the letter explained, if you are planning to move out your lease requires 90 day notice. I was reading this letter on the day notice was due! I hadn’t even unpacked all my boxes. And anyway this was supposed to be my let’s-see-how-this-works experimental place. I couldn’t move. Where would I go? And I hadn’t lived there long enough to know if I liked either Austin or the apartment. (What am I saying? Of course I liked Austin; Emy lived there.) This time there was no discussion with my self. I just told her, “This is where you’re going to live at least for another year. I hope you like it. Now let’s get this rate locked in and finish unpacking.” And that was that. Again, my self was very agreeable. She was tired of carrying boxes up those 19 steps.

As it turned out I enjoyed both Austin and my little apartment. Having my own place was scary at first; there were so many things I didn’t know about and things I didn’t know how to do. But I learned. Well, first, I usually panicked and frequently cried. After that, I figured it out and learned and gained confidence. Little by little.

So Woodpile Kitty has changed to Woodpile Kitty ATX. That’s Austin, Texas. My new home.

Thanks for coming along on the journey,

Woodpile Kitty ATX

Journeys

When I first left my marriage, I began a journey.

The journey has been physical: moving from one place to another. The journey has been relational: moving from being identified as being part of a couple to being alone. The journey has been financial: moving from being taken care of by someone else to taking care of myself. And there have been other less consequential or outstanding journeys. But then life is a journey, isn’t it?

One of my journeys that was the most arduous, the most physical and the most transforming was walking the Camino de Santiago in Spain. I walked this journey in May of 2017 when I had been divorced about 18 months. The Camino is a very ancient and revered Christian pilgrimage that began ten centuries ago. There are many routes, many Caminos, but the route I walked is the Camino Frances.

This journey began for me when I was still married. And it began with a book: The Way is Made by Walking by Arthur Paul Boers. I had never heard of the Camino de Santiago but I enjoy books about travel so when it was recommended to me I bought it. From the first moment of reading, I was captivated. Even before I finished reading it I knew I wanted to go. The Camino described in this book is a 500 mile trek across northern Spain from east to west beginning in St. Jean Pied de Port, France, and ending in Santiago, Spain. Pilgrims, which is what everyone walking the trail is called, carry a backpack that holds all the worldly goods they will need for a month. When I told Butch I’d like for he and I to do it, he said he didn’t want to. I didn’t argue–or at least I don’t remember arguing or even trying to talk him into it–and I didn’t ask or tell him I’d do it by myself. In fact, it didn’t even occur to me to do it by myself. I put the book away. But the journey stayed in the back of my mind popping up every now and then without me giving it much consideration.

In 2015 when I was packing for the journey of moving out of the house we had shared, I came across the book again. Instead of dropping it into a box with a lot of other books, I set it aside and told myself “I’m going to read that again”. And so I did. Another step in my journey.

After the second reading I was determined to go and I decided to go alone. I had hiked many times but they were always short hikes much less than 10 miles long. And I had traveled by myself but never to a place where I didn’t know the language or someone who was already there. This was like stepping off the edge of the world. All I had to do was get ready.

My getting ready plan was training which included carrying a loaded backpack on trails around Austin for multiple miles at a time. Researching and purchasing clothing and gear. And fielding questions from family and friends who thought I was a little crazy and some thought I was brave. What I knew was that I was afraid, very afraid. But determined.

Besides the walking thing, the backpack is the most overwhelming obstacle about the trip. There is a lot of gear and personal items to pack for a month and still keep the weight manageable. Full disclosure: there are services that will, for a very affordable fee, transport backpacks or luggage from one starting point in the morning to the afternoon’s ending point. But in 2017 most pilgrims carried their own backpacks unless they were hurt and not carrying their pack allowed them to continue. The transports were sort of for emergencies only. My pack weighed about 13 or 14 pounds I think. I weighed it the first time I had it all packed and I was stunned. I was trying to keep it to 12 pounds. Then I took things out and put things in and did not weigh it again. I figured what I didn’t know wouldn’t hurt me. And I figured that as time went on my pack was likely to get lighter as I used things up and it would feel lighter as I got stronger. But no matter how I looked at it, that pack was heavy. Every time I picked it up, I gave a little groan, not loud but I heard it. After a couple of days on the trail, I told myself–I do talk to myself a lot, don’t I?–that I needed to stop the groaning. After that I made a concerted effort not to groan and you know what? My pack didn’t feel as heavy. A lesson of the Camino.

Well, that was 2017. I have walked two more Caminos since then, one every year. In 2018, I walked the Camino de Portugues with Robert Deming. He and I met on my first Camino which was also his first. Then in 2019, I walked the Camino de Frances again by myself because I wanted to do it better. Robert was in Europe at the same time traveling and walking with some friends. We met in Santiago and walked to Finisterre together. Even to this day each Camino continues to teach it’s lessons. And planned and unplanned journeys continue.

A couple of weeks ago an unplanned journey started during a planned journey. Confused? Here’s what happened.

Robert and I live about an hour and a half from each other, he in Fredericksburg, me in Lakeway near Austin. Robert is also lives near Enchanted Rock State Natural Area which is one of the many Texas state parks. The main attraction is a pink granite dome 1800 feet in the air. It is a very popular hiking and climbing site. On August 6, I met him at Enchanted Rock for a hike.

First we hiked to the top of the main dome and then down to ground level to a part of the park that not many people know about. He has hiked the park for 25 years and is the president of the Friends of Enchanted Rock. So going to a little-visited part of the park is normal for him. We were having a great hike, not too strenuous, although it was just as hot as we expected. As we descended a low but steep hill, I stepped into a soft place, twisted my ankle, felt a snapped and fell to the ground. Suddenly our pleasant hike was changed into an emergency. Luckily we were under a stand of trees with shade and a nice breeze. Robert called on all his backpacking experience and applied first aid to my foot. He made contact with the park ranger and got us transported out. He even carried me on his back to meet the four-wheeler. It was quite the adventure. And, yes, my ankle is broken. Not the journey we were expecting.

Me taking a picture, Robert making sure we were where the rangers would meet us.

Back home my journey continued. I live alone in a two-story condo with my bedroom upstairs. From the moment I fell the thought uppermost in my mind–well, maybe second-most under how to get out of there–was how to manage at home. Ever since I bought and moved into my condo I’ve wondered what would happen if I couldn’t get up and down the stairs. Now that it is reality, what I do is crawl on my knees going up and down on my butt moving my crutches and a bag with my belongings in it as I progress up or down. It’s inconvenient to say the least, but it works and it’s good exercise.

However, with crutches everything takes 3 times longer to accomplish. It’s exhausting! I’ve stumbled a few times on my crutches and even fallen once when I didn’t have my crutches set quite right. But they are always within arms reach. I rely on them to get me from one place to another even if it’s one or two steps. There’s no hopping and certainly no weight put on my broken ankle. Always the crutches. I cannot manage any journey without them. Even with how important they are to me, I don’t like them. I wish they weren’t here. I wish I could walk without them. I wish I didn’t need them. Frankly, I realize I thought I was Superwoman* and now I learn I am not. Kinda hurts my feelings.

A couple of nights ago I woke up, slowly sat up, got my crutches and stood, pausing to get my balance, and started crutching to the bathroom. Suddenly I had the feeling I had done this same sort of action for some other reason in some other place and time. After I finished my in-the-middle-of-the-night errand and was crutching back to bed I realized that what I was feeling was my backpack. Not the weight of it but the ever-presentness of it, the life-sustaining of it, the dependence of it and yet also the independence of it.

On the camino, I needed my backpack. All my worldly goods were in it. My life was in it. I didn’t want to carry it. It was heavy and cumbersome. It certainly was not a good look. But I grew to love it for the life and freedom it gave me. Suddenly my crutches became life-giving, beautiful inventions of mobility. Yes, they are clunky and inconvenient and not a good look. But I am able to live and move around because of them. They remind me of a Bible verse that I latched onto when I started living alone. The verse is Acts 17:28: For in him we live and move and have our being.’ As some of your own poets have said, ‘We are His offspring.’

Yes, the Camino continues at home. Backpack or crutches, both help me to live and move and have my being. Maybe inconvenient, maybe not a good look, but life nevertheless.

Buen Camino from Woodpile Kitty ATX

*My sons realized very early on–maybe they were about 12 or 13–that I was not Superwoman. But they kept the secret to themselves until now. They have all three rallied to help me. Even though I’m not Superwoman I have super kids.

Re-Start

Welcome back.

Actually, I’m the one being welcomed back. You may have always been here, dear Reader, I’m the one who left. So, you’re wondering, where did I go?

To make a long story short, my marriage broke up. In December of 2015, my husband and I got divorced. After 46 years of marriage. Yep. I hear you: that’s a long time. But that’s another story. For this short story, we’ll pick up at December 2015. No, I think I’ll go back to June 12, 2014, back to when I left you.

That was an exciting month for me. My first grandchild was due to be born around the end of the June or first of July. As sometimes happens there was some question about when to expect her. But if you have any experience with babies, you know that a due date does not mean an appointment. It’s just a goal written in very loose sand. But I digress. On June 12 my grandbaby was thinking about entering the world and my marriage was breaking up. I was distracted to say the least and I had a difficult time finding something to write about. There was plenty going on but, not surprisingly, nothing I wanted to share.

Our divorce was final in December 2015. To set the question to rest: it was me who wanted the divorce. And right now I’ll settle another question: this blog is not about the divorce; it is about my journey after divorce. I started out as a child and became an adult. But enough of that or there will be no need for blog posts!

So why the re-start now? To be honest, I attempted to start a brand new blog in February 2017. It had the same purpose as this one: to tell my story of post-divorce. I wrote one post in which I said much of what I have said in this one. I marked the site as private and sent that first post to some friends who encouraged me to keep going. Then when I sat down to write the second post, I just couldn’t do it. Looking back, of course I couldn’t do it. I had only been divorced a little over a year. I was still recovering and figuring out what had happened and what to do with the rest of my life.

Now with pandemia and so, so, so much time to to be alone and think, I got the urge to write about my adventure of growing up and becoming an adult. Although I am not a perfect adult–is there any such thing?–I have recovered a lot. The journey has been quite an adventure. And just like any adventure, there have been mountaintop vistas and scary storms. Times stuck by the side of the road when even AAA couldn’t help and times when I breezed down the road, top down, wind in my hair. God brought me through each experience, day by day, faithfully for almost five years.

So, it’s Woodpile Kitty ATX style. That’s Austin, Texas, in case you didn’t know. Same ol’ kitty, different location. The blog has a new look but the same little kitty attracted to the woodpile. I hope you’ll join me as I regale you with stories of my adventurous journey.

Oh, and thanks, dear Reader, for patiently waiting for the last six years.

Stay safe out there in pandemia,

Woodpile Kitty ATX

How Do You Define Vacation?

I love words. Using just the right word conveys meaning that another word close in meaning just can’t convey. I have a friend who enjoys words as much as I do. When we get together we choose three words whose definitions are either unknown to us or our understanding lacks the necessary nuance that makes the word unique. Then we try to use the words during our time together. Sometimes we have to stretch the definition a bit to work a word in, but at least it helps to get it into the ol’ memory bank.

One word that is used a lot at this time of year is vacation. I’ve noticed lately that a new word has been coined: vacay. The Urban Dictionary shed some light on this new word for me. I had already figured out that it derived from vacation–no, duh–and meant the same thing as vacation, or at least the same thing as one of the official definitions. What I didn’t know is how long the word has been around. It was first used the movie Legally Blonde: You won’t be seeing me for two weeks. I’m going on vacay! I am assuming this line was uttered by Reese Witherspoon. But then I didn’t see the movie. Maybe I was on vacay.

According to my favorite dictionary, Webster’s, however, the word “vacation” has it’s own interesting definitions.

Definition #1: a respite or a time of respite from something, such as an intermission.

This summer I have taken a respite from Greek. If you are a logophile (lover of words) then you know that a respite is a short period of rest or relief from something difficult or unpleasant. I want to correct any misunderstandings; Greek is not unpleasant. But it is difficult. However, that’s still not why I took a break. My Greek reading partner–the same person with the English words–and I simply decided to take a vacation. After all, it is summer. And we both had projects to work on from which Greek was a distraction. The intermission will be over eventually and hopefully we’ll pick up where we left off reading the New Testament in the original Greek.

Definition #2 is a two-parter:
Part A is a scheduled period during which activity (as of a court or school) is suspended.

Besides taking a vacay from Greek, I am giving myself a period of suspended activity starting July 1 and lasting all of July. I have marked my calendar as busy the whole month so I don’t accidentally schedule something. The reason for this vacation? Our first grandchild is due on July 1. We’re having a girl, Emaline. Since Butch and I had three boys, anticipating a girl is a whole new experience. Oh, yeah, the baby is the child of Joe and his wife, Meredith. Trey and Andrew, Joe’s brothers, are as excited as Butch and me. In fact, they have given themselves the title of Bruncle, a melding of brother and uncle (they are all three logophiles and constantly make up new words, sort of brother-speak).

Part B is a period of exemption from work granted to an employee.

Since I don’t work a 9-to-5, I don’t have to wait to take a vacation until I am granted an exemption by my employer. However, when I did work a 9-to-5 I took every allowable day of vacay. There are some who don’t work a 9-to-5, who would love to take a vacation but are unable to because of the work they do in the home. They are called caregivers, those who tirelessly take care of the needs of loved ones who can’t take care of themselves. They need a vacation most of all. If you click here you can view the webcast of a reflection I presented for these caregivers on the Morningside Ministries website, www.mmlearn.org.

Definition #3: a period spent away from home or business in travel or recreation. For instance, “You won’t be seeing me for two weeks. I’m going on vacay!”

Due to Emaline’s impending birth and the joyous aftermath, we are not taking a vacation this summer. It’s all part of suspending my usual activity of definition #2A. ‘nough said.

Definition #4: an act or an instance of vacating, as in “I am ending this blog post and vacating my desk”.

The Woodpile Kitty wishes you a safe and happy summer whether or not you take a vacation or even a vacay.

There’s a Rock Stuck in My Shoe!

Today I walked a labyrinth.

An ancient spiritual tool, a labyrinth is sometimes confused with a maze whose purpose is to disorient or deceive. A labyrinth has only one path that is well-defined and leads to the center of the labyrinth and back out again. It is designed to encourage the use of intuition and imagination in order to increase our sensitivity to listen to God.

The labyrinth I walked is located at Mo Ranch Conference Center near Hunt, Texas. Bisected by the beautiful Guadalupe River, the ranch nestles in the Hill Country. Because my husband serves on the board, I go with him to his twice-a-year meetings and make it a point to go to the labyrinth. It is often the highlight of my trip. It is not unusual for me to have some trepidation wondering if I will hear God and what I will hear. Sometimes I bring a specific question. Sometimes I bring a problem. Sometimes I simply desire to bask in the presence of God allowing him to determine the topic of discussion. But on this visit I knew my need was confession.

The labyrinth is located on the far side of the river from the rest of the Ranch and all of the noise and activity that goes along with hosting various groups ranging from children to senior adults. Even though it’s possible to use a car to get close to the labyrinth, I prefer to walk. I have found that the rather strenuous walk prepares me for my intended meeting with God.

First, I traverse the roadways up and down inclines, some gentle, some steep. Then the course takes me across a road that skims just above the river–in Texas we call it a low water crossing. From there a shady path covered in cedar mulch passes between the river on the right and the gently rising hillside to the left. Squirrels and birds dance and sing among the trees. As the path bends and curves up the hillside, the scenery, fragrances and sounds quiet my mind and heart preparing me for my time at the labyrinth.

The labyrinth itself is a path of 11 concentric circles with a twelfth circle that is the center. There are large rocks in the center in case a pray-er wants to sit for a while. To do the walk a pray-er walks inward on the circular path, reaches the center and then walks the circular paths out again. Oftentimes I have the sensation that I have wound myself up and wound myself out. It seems that would be stressful, but the contrary is true. The circuitous walk leaves me peacefully unburdened at the end.

This time, however, I did something different. Before I started walking the labyrinth’s path, I walked along the outer edge that is marked with round paving stones just to get my mind emptied before I started. I had gone about five steps when I noticed that I had a rock in the tread of my shoe. I scrapped my foot against a paver but the rock was still there. When I turned my foot up, I saw that a rather large rock had lodged itself in a pocket of tread. It was in there so tight I had to pry it out with my fingers.

Through my prayer walk I could not get that stone out of my mind until I understood that it was like the habits and thoughts and attitudes I was laying open before God in my confession. I wanted these things to stop coming between me and God. That’s when I knew I did not get that stone stuck in my shoe by accident. Just as there are rocks that have to be pried out of my shoes, my life accumulates sins that have to be pried out of my heart. They will not come out with simply scrapping or wishing or rationalizing or ignoring. The rock hampered my physical walking just as my sin–the thoughts and actions that come between me and God–hamper my spiritual walking.

On the labyrinth instruction sheet, Mo Ranch includes this quote from T.S. Elliot: What we call the beginning is often the end, and to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from. Walking the labyrinth is only the beginning. When I stepped out of the labyrinth, the work of prying out the rocks began.

You probably don’t have access to a labyrinth today, but I urge you to spend time reflecting. What rock is stuck in your shoe?

Called to Stand

In my last post I told you that Butch and I participated in a pilgrimage to Israel. Our tour leader was Mike Fanning and our pastor, Trey Little, was co-leader. Mike took care of the archeology and Trey took care of the spirituality. Two busloads of people, mostly from our church, toured from one end of Israel to the other. More than a check-off on the bucket list, it was indeed the trip of a lifetime.

People who had been before warned me that I would never read the Bible the same way nor think about Jesus the same way. This was certainly my experience. For instance, I was amazed at how small Israel is and how close together all the famous biblical sites are. The gospels are jammed packed with stories about Jesus and his travels from this town to that village. But while sailing on the Sea of Galilee, Mike pointed out that the area of Jesus’ ministry encompassed less than a quarter of the shore. I was shocked. Such big things happening in such a small area. How I read the Bible will never be the same.

I learned that Jesus probably traveled to a large Roman city, Sepphoris, that was within a few miles of Nazareth in order to work as a carpenter. While he was there he was undoubtedly exposed to Roman culture, religion, architecture and society. He was not the small-town, unsophisticated boy that I have always pictured. I will never think of him in the same way.

Before the trip I expected that visiting the Garden Tomb would be spiritually overwhelming. But no. It was interesting and enlightening, but not the knock-your-socks-off experience I was sure it would be. I anticipated that I would feel the crush of historic and spiritual significance at the Wailing Wall. But again, no. Don’t misunderstand; both were significant experiences, just not as I imagined.

Where I did experience the most profound spiritual experience was in the Garden of Gethsemane. I’m not going to write about it here. But if you go to this link (click here) you will be taken to a reflection I recorded for Morningside Ministries* and hear what I experienced that morning. In the video you will see a photo of what I saw as I gazed across the Kidron Valley toward the walls of the Old City. As I saw what Jesus saw it helped me to understood more profoundly what he experienced. Now I know him better. I certainly will never think of him the same way.

Moving through Lent toward Holy Week and Easter Sunday always causes me to pause and reflect on what Jesus was doing and feeling on those days. However, this year my Garden experience is illuminating my meditations of that time so long ago and what it means in my life today. Jesus was called to stand during the most agonizing time of his life. And he did it faithfully. I will never be called to stand and wait to be arrested and then crucified, but every day I am called to stand. I’m called to stand in difficult situations from which I’d rather run. I’m called to stand and wait patiently when what I’d rather do is run, or scream, or threaten to get my way and get it now. My hope and prayer is for me, and for you, to stand when called to do so and to do so faithfully.

Woodpile Kitty hopes for you a meaningful Lenten season in preparation for a joyous Easter.

* The website mmLearn.org is a service of Morningside Ministries. mmLearn was created and designed for caregivers, both those who work in care facilities and those who care for loved ones at home. The webcast, Called to Stand: A Lenten Reflection, is part of mmLearn’s Prayers for a Caregiver series which offers spiritual support to caregivers in the home.

Happy Belated New Year

In my very first blog post (click here to read it), I confessed how scared I was. More than scared, I was terrified. Terrified of being vulnerable to people I know, not to mention people I don’t know. Even though that was two years ago just thinking about it makes my heart beat faster and my palms start to sweat. Now I’ve been away from the Woodpile Kitty since August and I am feeling a little terrified once again. The best remedy for those feelings is to get right back in the saddle. So here goes:

It’s the end of January and I’m still thinking about New Year’s Resolutions. One of which is getting this blog going again. I think the best way to start is to bring you up to date on what’s been going on.

First of all, our youngest son got married on November 9 to a smart, sweet, beautiful young woman named Meredith. I am now a mother-in-law. That title carries a lot of connotations; however, I am striving to bring a new reputation to the office of mother-in-law. If I fail at this endeavor, it won’t be because of my daughter-in-law; she’s great. I remember a day well before Joe and Meredith got engaged when I was feeling like I wanted to take my relationship with Meredith to the next level. I was beginning to fall in love with her and I didn’t want to make that kind of emotional commitment if Joe didn’t intend to marry her. So I asked him, prefacing my question with “you don’t have to tell me if you think it’s none of my business”. He laughed his little laugh and said he thought that they would get married. They just weren’t talking about it. It wasn’t too many months later when Joe popped the question in New York City at the Guggenheim Museum and sent a video so we could cyber-witness the occasion. There wasn’t any audio, but the body language said it all.

Secondly, Butch and I went to Israel right after Christmas. We flew out on December 27th and returned home on January 5th. It was a trip we had always wanted to take but every time there was an opportunity the time wasn’t right. Then last spring I read an announcement in our church newsletter that our pastor, Trey Little, was organizing an “In the Steps of Jesus” trip. We immediately signed up. Everyone who has ever been to Israel has told me that once you go you will never read the Bible in the same way and you will never think about Jesus in the same way. My expectation was just that. But the trip was so much more. I fell in love with Israel and especially with Jerusalem. Stories in the Bible came to life. After our first full day in Jerusalem my brain was tired from all I had learned, my body was tired from walking five miles and standing on stone pavement, and my spirit was tired–in a good way–from all I had experienced. I’m sure Israel experiences will enter my blogs as time goes on. I even dreamed about aspects of Israel for two weeks after my return. My own bed and dreams of Israel, what could be better.

The worst part of returning home was being thrown into the midst of the Christmas aftermath. Almost all the decorations were still out. Joe had taken down the things the cats might knock over: the nativity displayed on the piano along with Mary, Baby Jesus and Joseph who lived on the mantle with the Wise Men. Everything else was still out including the tree. Trey and Andy stayed a few days after we left. But they followed my instructions on what to do with leftovers so that the kitchen and, especially, the refrigerator were in good shape. There was still some of the general disarray six people leave after opening gifts, eating and drinking enough to peg the gorge-o-meter and playing dominoes until all hours for three nights in a row. As I write this, Christmas is but a memory–except, oops, the outside lights. We forgot the outside lights! OK, so there’s one more thing to do.

In between all of this we competed in the Rock n Roll Half-Marathon in San Antonio, spent Thanksgiving in Marfa–all 6 of us, thanks to Trey–weathered an ice storm and are waiting for another to arrive tonight.

It was a fun end of the year even though some of it was a lot of work. Some things were joyous–wedding–and some were sad–leaving Jerusalem. But the best part of all is what’s going to happen: the first grandchild! She’s due to arrive on July 2, but since she doesn’t know how to read a calendar she will probably not appear on that exact date. Grandparents and uncles of the Gerfers household are looking forward to being grandparents and uncles. I’m sure she will also star in several upcoming posts. With photos, too, of course.

So now you’re up to date. Let me hear from you. What’s new in your life? What are you looking forward to in 2014?

Woodpile Kitty wishes you the very happiest New Year!

Beginning of the End–Again

The post below is a reblog from August 27, 2012. I am re-posting it today because I recently presented this story as a reflection for webcasting on the website of mmLearn.org which is a service of Morningside Ministries. mmLearn was created and designed for caregivers, both those who work in care facilities and those who care for loved ones at home. In the webcast, which is part of mmLearn’s Prayers for a Caregiver series, the lesson of the Beginning of the End is applied to the dear caregivers serving their loved ones in the trek up and down the mountain. You can view the reflection by clicking here. For the orginal story just keep reading.

Trey, thanks for this story. Little did we know that night that it would be repeated in so many different venues.

Today is the first day of school. Even though I don’t have kids at home, the school year dictates my calendar. Until next June, I will allow extra time to drive through school zones or, better yet, avoid them if possible. I will stay away from the grocery store after 3:00 in the afternoon, too many moms with tired students in tow grabbing just one more ingredient for dinner. And the lack of traffic on the road at odd hours will remind me of holidays of which I was not aware.

Nevertheless, the first day of school is a nostalgic day for me. Because I was fortunate enough to have been a stay-at-home mom, my whole life revolved around the school calendar. Let’s see, 3 boys times 12 years of school, that’s 36 individual first days of school! However, one year stands out in my memory, because, for that son, it set the tone for all the days to follow.

A week or so before the start of our oldest son’s freshman year at Churchill High School, we attended orientation night. At the end of the program a slide show took parents and students on a virtual tour of the next four years by showing all the activities that go on at Churchill ending with pictures of graduation. That’s when it hit me. This was it. Trey would be home for four more years. Then he would go off to college and there would be no more first days of school for him.

As we walked to the car, I put my arm around his shoulder and, with tears in my eyes, said, “Well, Trey, this is it, the beginning of the end.”

He looked at me with his biggest smile and earnestly responded, “Isn’t it great!”

Our viewpoints could not have been more different. I was looking down the mountain toward the end of the trek. He was looking up the mountain at the beginning of the trek. Little did I know that he would be gone much sooner than I expected.

It happened in his junior year. For one semester he was an exchange student to Germany and lived in West Berlin at the time the wall was still standing. The sadness and uncertainty of allowing him to go into the unknown was overwhelming. This was in the old-timey days when anyone could go to the gate at the airport; Butch and I, his brothers, Andy and Joe, stayed glued to the window until we saw his plane soar into the air. Six months later I felt like I was flying I was so happy and relieved when we met him at the airport to welcome him home. But this was his beginning. Years later when the wall fell, he called his German host parents from Chile where he was doing a college semester abroad.

He’s an adult now and we are still experiencing beginnings. This Sunday he arrives from Buenos Aires, Argentina, where he now lives, for a thirty-day visit to the states. We will experience another ending when he leaves to go back home.

Yes, for he and I both that night was the beginning of the end. And today for the students in my city it is a beginning of the end with all the anticipation and trepidation that goes with beginnings and endings. Parents and students, my advice: whether your view is up or down the mountain take it one beginning at a time. The ending will be here before you know it. Relish the beginning and the ending will be that much sweeter.

From the Woodpile Kitty to parents and students everywhere,

Have a happy and safe back-to-school!

I Had a Dream

I had a dream in which the governor of a particular state declared that the priority of his administration was to be nurturing children. The legislature, both the senate and the representatives, proposed, considered and passed laws that had at their core nurturing children.

One of the first departments to move toward nurturing children was Education. After all, the customers for education are children. Soon children were allowed to attend schools that were the best place for that individual student. Teachers were unleashed to teach children in the highest and best teaching methods in an effort to nurture each child’s intellect and help them grow into self-reliant, productive adults. School buildings were both modernized and adequately maintained. Children learned that they had options. If they worked hard and well, they could be anything they wanted to be when they grew up.

The Health Department was close behind. Every child had proper health care regardless of where the child lived or at what socio-economic level. Vaccinations were available. Well-child check-ups were encouraged. Soon nutrition improved in schools and also in the home. Children didn’t miss school because of illness. Schools and families were full of healthy and happy children.

The Housing Department implemented programs to create safe and attractive places for children and their families to live. Not extravagant housing, but adequate in all respects of cleanliness and appearance. There was less vandalism and graffiti. Because children had safe housing, they played outside. Communities were strengthened and neighbors helped one another.

Because children were nurtured in schools, in health care, and in homes, they made better decisions. They went to college or apprenticed for a trade. They put off childbearing because there were so many other things they wanted to accomplish. Schools and colleges graduated good, dedicated workers. Towns, cities and countryside were filled with responsible adults who worked to make a better life for their children. It took a long time, but gradually these good changes became normal for the state that put nurturing children first.

As happens in dreams, there wasn’t any explanation of how all of this happened. But I somehow knew that the government did not tax the citizenry exorbitantly in order to pay for all of the nurturing children programs. It seemed there was less crime so less jails and less law enforcement was needed. As education increased, citizens took responsibility for their own situations and relied on the government less. Non-governmental agencies as well as faith-based organizations flourished as they stepped to the forefront ministering to and nurturing children.

As wakefulness began to intrude on my dream state, my dream played over again in my head. I basked in the remembrance of scenes of children being nurtured. During the day, images and impressions from this dream bubbled up triggered by a word, a sight or smell. The things I saw in my dream seemed extreme. They seemed impossible. They seemed pie-in-the-sky. But, hey, it was a dream. Isn’t that how dreams are?

Nevertheless, I yearned for the dream to be true. I yearned to live in a place where people didn’t just work against something, they worked for something. I yearned to live in a place in which hope was. And I wondered if it could really happen here in the land of wakefulness.

A long time ago I learned that dreams happen because of day residue: things that happen during wakefulness are stored in the sub-conscious and are then acted out in dreams. So what was the day residue that was acted out in this dream? It was the abortion bill. I live in Texas and for months the state legislature has been considering and debating a bill that would effectively end abortion in Texas. This is a volatile issue. Here is what I believe:

A fact of life about the facts of life is that women get pregnant. Sometimes those pregnancies are unwanted. Abortion is one option open to women. Other options are parenting and adoption. Abortion is the law of the land. However, whether it is legally available to women or not, women will seek abortions. It’s better to have a safe procedure than an unsafe procedure. In lieu of making abortion effectively not an alternative, it seems to me that there are things that can be done to empower women before pregnancy occurs: education, health, safe housing and much more.

Abortion is a complicated issue. There is so much more to it than simply being Pro-Life or Pro-Choice. Why can’t we be for something instead of against something? Why can’t we focus on all of life and not just the beginning of life? Focusing on nurturing children could be a good place to start.

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