Here’s looking forward to 2018… may it bring you all bountiful love, laughter, and life! May you meet new friends; discover unexpected moments of beauty; find lots of reasons to laugh; and find all kinds of wonderful opportunities to show kindness and love to your fellow creatures, and to use your talents. I’m glad to know you.
-Karen
I was in the car with Scott, listening to a radio show – there was some comedy bit about avocados and bananas, and then a story about potato gun wars between the employees of neighboring restaurants. And the guys talking were completely relaxed and enjoying themselves – there was no hint of worry about the state of the world, no mention of Donald Trump. They seemed totally free of doubt or fear. They were joyful without question, or reason. And for just a moment that silly radio show helped me transcend Trump and politics and war and fear and worry. For just a moment I felt an indescribable, effortless, fearless joy. For a moment I caught a glimmer of simple, uncomplicated happiness – a moment of heaven. And that moment gave me hope, my friends. I saw that this kind of joy is possible – and I remembered, vaguely, experiencing it as a child…
A glimmer of joy
pure, fearless, free, soaring high
taste of what can be
– Karen Molenaar Terrell
Dressed up to greet Dad when he gets home from work. (I’m guessing Mom went through a lot of laundry detergent.)
Karen in her twirly dress.
Happiness is spiritual, born of truth and love. It is unselfish; therefore it cannot exist alone, but requires all mankind to share it.
– Mary Baker Eddy, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures
Originally published on December 29, 2011.
We really have no choice but to progress, you know? You and I can no more go backwards than an oak can become an acorn, or a butterfly a caterpillar. Grow we must.
Years ago I heard a lecture titled “Grow We Must” given by a Christian Science teacher named Harvey Wood. I don’t remember much detail from the lecture anymore – but I do remember Harvey talking about asparagus. He said that just because we can’t see progress in our lives, doesn’t mean progress isn’t happening, and he used asparagus as an example of this – Harvey said that we don’t see the asparagus growing under the concrete in our driveways, but once it starts growing nothing can stop it – it’ll break right through the concrete in its journey upwards. (If you don’t believe this – google “asparagus growing through concrete” and take a gander at the interesting…
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We went to church today. It had been a while. It felt good to be back among my church family again. I looked around at the faces there – all of them dear and familiar to me – and realized that, of all the people sitting there, I was one of the people who had been attending this church the longest – almost 33 years. I began remembering, then, all the beautiful people I’d met in this edifice. A parade of precious faces from the past went by my inner vision. Gordo and Babs. Gordon and Jane. Another Jane and her three beautiful daughters. Sue. Laurie. Sabra and Dave. Darlene and Elliot, John and Linda and Becky and another Linda and a Zach. Mary and Serena and Jennifer and two Walts and a couple of Dons. Magnolia and Connie and Win and Bob. The Tall Family. Jack and Anne. Geraldine. Marcie. Shirley. Merrle! All of them had played a part in my spiritual journey – nurtured and cultivated the good in me, and shared their inspiration with me. I felt filled with gratitude for each and every one of them – fellow adventurers and explorers and pioneers.
That final scene from Places in the Heart came to my thoughts – that scene where the camera pans down the pews in the church as the characters in the story drink from a communal cup – passing it from person-to-person – and we realize that the characters who died during the movie are sitting there, too, sharing in the cup. And we realize that the people who had battled with each other during the movie are also sharing in the cup. We see forgiveness. We see fellowship. We see love.
We don’t, literally, pass around a cup or eat wafers in the Christian Science church. But we do commune with Love. We do share in the atonement, the at-one-ment, with Love. And there have sure been some wonderful church friends sharing in that atonement with me.
“Atonement is the exemplification of man’s unity with God, whereby man reflects divine Truth, Life, and Love.”
– Mary Baker Eddy
“Hold thought steadfastly to the enduring, the good, and the true, and you will bring these into your experience proportionately to their occupancy of your thoughts.”
– Mary Baker Eddy
I woke up this morning feeling melancholy. Thinking about death. Steeped in gloom. Full of fear. I’ve lost a lot of people dear to me this year – and some of them have not been much older than me. Some of them have been younger. And all of that led my thoughts down a dark and dreary road as I woke to a new day – pondering the how, why, when, and where of my own demise.
***
I asked my husband what he was planning to do today and he mentioned some work he needed to do in his orchard. That reminded me that I had been hoping to dig up some crocosmia bulbs that aren’t getting enough sunshine in my Secret Garden, and transfer them to the front yard. So I grabbed a shovel and headed back to the garden. Spent some time rooting around for the bulbs and re-planted them in the front of the house. But while I’d been back in the Secret Garden I’d discovered blackberry vines trying to take over back there. And my butterfly bush and climbing rose needed some pruning. And the clematis and grape vines had gotten completely out of control. Accordingly, I fetched some pruning shears and the wheelbarrow and went back, again, to my garden to try to bring some order to the chaos.
I spent a good part of the day working outside in the fresh air, in the dirt and among the living things – digging, pruning, loading stuff up in the wheelbarrow to add to our brush pile. And while I was working I didn’t think about death for even one moment. I was on a mission. I had purpose. I had before me the vision of what the crocosmia were going to look like when they bloomed, and the hummingbirds that would be attracted to them, and the roses that would bloom on the climbing rose bush, and the butterflies that would flit among the butterfly bush branches come spring.
***
As the sun started setting, I headed out to the local supermarket to get fixings for dinner. And look what was waiting for me!
Now I ask you – who has time to think about death when there’s so much of Life that invites our attention?
I’ve decided my job right now is to live. I want to be where the living people are.
“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.”
– Philippians 4:8
Ode to Boxing Day
It’s a humble holiday, tucked in between
Christmas and New Year’s, but it’s really keen.
Things look a little bedraggled, it’s true
The tree’s a little droopy and no longer new
The movies and music of the Christmas season
Are getting on our nerves now, and we’re seeing no reason
To eat even one more sugary oversweet sweet
It’s time for broccoli and carrots (maybe hold on the beets)
The pressure for perfection comes off on this day,
the toys have been opened, and it’s come time to play.
And if before we were wearing faux holiday cheer
to blend in with the others and not Scroogey appear
It’s time now to be genuine, and honest and real.
The food banks are empty, people still need a warm meal.
The homeless and hungry and jobless and alone
still need love and care, still need a home.
So maybe we can celebrate the day after Christmas
by keeping the spirit of hope alive,
we might make that our business.
– Karen Molenaar Terrell, from A Poem Lives on My Windowsill
“…Behold, I make all things new.”
– II Corinthians 5
I wasn’t sure what this Christmas would be like for us. Moz is gone now. Dad has been in and out of hospice twice since her passing. A lot of people who were dear to me are no longer here. It has been a challenging year. I wondered if we might feel holes in our Christmas. But this weekend has been precious.
Scotty, the sons, my youngest brother, niece, nephew, and special friends, Sierra and Michael, came together for caroling through the neighborhood, a rousing game of “spoons” around the kitchen table, some improv in the family room, brunch at Skylark’s, a walk along the boardwalk in Bellingham, and precious time with Dad. There were moments when I laughed so hard I had tears running down my face. There were tender moments that filled my heart. It was magic!
I think losing so many dear ones this year has made me appreciate all the more the time we have to spend with those we love.
Snippets –
(On our neighborhood caroling adventure)
Oldest son: I think we totally crushed Joy to the World. We nailed that one, don’t you think?
Dad to youngest son: Are you still running?
Youngest son: Yeah (nods his head and gives the thumbs up).
Dad to youngest son: This is beautiful country. Do you like living in the desert?
Youngest son: (none of us are in the desert, but Xander doesn’t miss a beat…) Yes. (And he gives the thumbs up.)
After I’ve taken Dad back to his home.
Karen: Merry Christmas, Daddy!
Dad: Thank you, sweetie! (Dad hasn’t called me “sweetie” for a long time and his use of the term really touches me.)
Karen: Good bye.
Dad: Good bye.
Karen: I love you.
Dad: I love you!
Merry Christmas, my friends!
Karen
“Each successive stage of experience unfolds new views of divine goodness and love.”
– Mary Baker Eddy
So yesterday I take my car in for an oil change at the local Ford dealership. The air is really bad in the waiting area – it has the same smell as rubber glue. It takes an hour and a half for them to accomplish the oil change. At some point – wanting to get away from the bad air – I wander onto the sales floor. You probably all can imagine what this looks like – shiny new cars, shiny floors, shiny windows. And in the middle of all this is a huge nativity scene. It’s unexpected and takes me off guard. I stop and look it over – trying to make sense of a nativity scene in the middle of all these shiny new cars. It does not compute. And there’s Mary and Joseph and the wise guys kneeling next to Baby Jesus. And Jesus has a…
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Nona was one of Moz’s dear friends. I hadn’t talked to her since shortly after Moz passed last February. I don’t remember much of what was said in our conversation anymore – another blur in a month of blurs. But this week, as I was working on Christmas cards, Nona entered my thoughts. I knew I needed to send her a card. She’d moved recently, and I didn’t have her current address, but I knew that Moz had talked to Nona not long before she passed on, and figured I could probably find Nona’s phone number in Moz’s address book. And sure enough – there it was!
I called. I guess I was half-expecting to hear the fragile, quavery voice of an elderly lady on the other end of the line, but when Nona answered the phone it was in the same voice I remembered from 40 years ago – strong and healthy and joyful.
“Hi, Nona – this is Colleen’s daughter, Karen…” I began. And she knew immediately who i was and seemed really happy to hear from me.
We talked about Moz, and Nona asked about my 99 year-old Dad. I told her that he’d been in and out of hospice twice now. He’d recovered from a UTI and been taken off hospice, then gotten a blood clot that I was told would kill him within a matter of months and put back on hospice. The blood clot had dissolved and disappeared on its own, and he was taken off hospice. Then he’d developed cellulitis and pneumonia. And had recovered from those things. I’d told my sons they were probably going to inherit Dad someday. The older son had said that we would just pass him on from generation to generation like an heirloom. Nona got a kick out of that. She said Dad is just like that Energizer Bunny. And I agreed.
Nona told me a little about her new home – and how she was led to find it not long after her husband died, and how beautifully everything had unfolded for her.
It was so good to hear her voice again – so good to hear the strong joyful voice of one of Moz’s contemporaries. There was something kind of fortifying and reassuring about it, you know? It was nice to be of the “younger generation” for just a few minutes.
And when we finally hung up I started sobbing.
No. I’m not sure why.
Maybe it’s because I didn’t want to have to go back to being the grown-up.
Adventures of the Madcap Christian Scientist 