Sounds Of Discovery

Awhile back, I made my annual pilgrimage to Discovery Cove in Orlando.  Those of you who have been journeying along with me over the past several years know that I originally visited this dolphin adventuring, sting ray swimming, lazy river flowing day resort as a once-in-a-lifetime experience.  I enjoyed it so much and found it so reinvigorating, I began going every year as a kind of Terri Time retreat.  I go by myself.  I use the time alone to ponder, pray, and play.  Each time I go, I learn something different. 

This trip, my attention focused on the sounds.  I often closed my eyes and let my mind wander around the world of the audio.  I heard the music of the birds.  I heard the slap of water shoes traveling along pathways.  I heard flamingos gossiping and cackling.  I heard tin drums.  I heard people laughing.  I heard the ropes of hammocks creaking as they swayed.  I heard dolphins squeaking.  I heard the fins of sting rays skim through the surface of the water. 

I think some people are more “in tune” with the audial than others.  I have musical friends who I think have long found whole universes in melodies. They say people who are blind discern more information from their sense of hearing.  I have read monks and nuns who live in relative silence can appreciate sounds that most of us never hear. When there is no talking, it is probably easier to hear what God is whispering.   

Since I was alone during my Dolphin Day retreat, I was not talking to anyone much.  I listened and spoke with the dolphin trainer who was facilitating my dolphin interaction.  I talked with a few servers.  In general, though, my day was filled with my quiet.  I wanted to discover what there was to hear besides words.  It was very peaceful. 

I discovered you can hear wind rustling through plants.  It sounds like wrapping a present.  I discovered you can hear pebbles crunch under people’s feet.  It sounds like eating popcorn. I discovered you can hear wet sand squish between your toes.  It sounds like rubbing two pieces of corduroy together.  I discovered you can hear happiness.  It sounds like laughter.  I discovered you can hear God.  He sounds like sunshine feels.

I did not completely forsake words.  As I was floating gently along a lazy river with my eyes closed, I focused on the exclamations of the people around me.  I wanted to learn what they were discovering.  One little boy was clearly exalting in his day of discovery.  As he floated near, I heard him cry, “Mom, Mom…. I see a gecko!”

In the midst of swimming with sting rays, playing with dolphins, and parading with flamingoes, this little boy decided his big discovery for the day was a gecko. This probably was not the kind of discovery Mom had in mind when she plunked down several hundreds of dollars for a day at Discovery Cove.  If it were, I could make millions selling day passes to my backyard.  But good for him!  Discovering joy sounds different for each of us. 

Have a joyful day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

What sounds bring you joy and why?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com

Thank You, MyKayla Skinner

Last week, I was bemoaning the lack of inspirational stories associated with this season of Olympic games. Everything seemed to be depressing. From the opening ceremonies with their emphasis on the pandemic to the lack of spectators in stands seemed to scream “joy void” and I was not having it. I was missing the infusion of powerful human spirit that the Olympics usually provides. I, like the rest of the world, have been hopefully waiting through the past year, for the Olympics to finally begin. I felt a little cheated. I am sure one could say that I have no cause to feel cheated when I have no real skin in the game. The athletes, their families, the economy of Japan, and many other stakeholders have much more standing to complain. You will get no dispute from me. That does not mean that I will not complain… because it all makes me sad.

I asked you all to help me out last week with some inspirational Olympic stories you were hearing. Some of you came through and told me about special moments I missed. That helped. What really turned me around the corner, though, is the story of silver medalist MyKayla Skinner. MyKayla’s story reminds me to never give up on joy, even when it seems that it is long past time to give up on joy.

This is especially important to me, as we seem to be losing ground in our return to pre-COVID normalcy. I have been feeling like I’m done hoping and waiting. I feel like this strange, disconnected world is going to go on forever. I am tired of mourning. I am tired of wearing masks. I am tired of refraining from hugging people. I am tired of navigating the etiquette of COVID. I just feel deflated. It feels long past the time to give up on joy.

MyKayla Skinner’s story would refute that hypothesis, however.

I remember the Olympic trials for the 2016 USA women’s gymnastics team. I remember pulling for MyKayla Skinner, as the decisions about the team were being made. There was something coming through the television screen that connected me to her energy. There was such a longing and such a powerful hope. When she was named “only” the alternate on the most dominating women’s gymnastic team of all time, my heart broke for her. I was sitting in my living room, crying for a young woman I had never met.

I am sure MyKayla cried, as well. I know, based on what I have read, that the road that took her away from the world of elite athletics was difficult for her. How could it not be? However, while I was thinking that it must be the worst feeling to be so close, yet so far away, from an Olympic experience, MyKayla was not giving up the dream. She ultimately decided to try for the 2020 Olympics. Then, the 2020 Olympics were postponed a year. Then she sustained what could have been a career-ending injury. Then she battled COVID. She made it onto the USA gymnastics Olympic team, however. Then, once she got to the Olympics, she was excluded from the event finals because only two competitors from each country are permitted to compete for medals and she had the third highest score of the US women on the vault.

Stuff can always happen, though. I might have given up on joy, but MyKayla did not. She was booked to fly home when she learned that her teammate Simone Biles was withdrawing from the vault competition. MyKayla ended up competing in the vault final and coming home with the silver medal.

Let’s hear it for MyKayla Skinner, generator of joy and poster child for hope!

Have a spirited day!

Terri/Dorry

What reminds you that there is power and joy in the world when times seem dark? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

The Anti-Post

I’m sorry. I did not have time to write a new blog post this week. I have been far too busy watching Olympics and ugly crying.

I am crying sentimental tears for the athletes who are realizing their brightest dreams.

I am crying for the shattered hearts of the athletes who compete, but disappoint themselves and wonder what might have been.

I am crying for the proud parents, spouses, siblings, children, and everyone who should have been at Tokyo in the stands watching their loved ones compete because they can only send support from the other side of a television screen.

I am crying for those athletes who are sitting home, missing their Olympic opportunity because their golden moment would have been a year ago.

I am crying because the opening ceremonies, though stunning, reminded me of the isolation and brokeness the worldwide pandemic continues to force down our collective throats, even now.

I am crying for the people who have suffered and died too soon.

I am crying because I am tired of grief, after seventeen months of mourning.

I am crying for the beauty of the spirit- challenge, endurance, selflessness, love, creativity, inspiration.

I am crying because I feel my own spirit eroding. The Olympics usually fill me with warmth and hope and belief in miracles. I was looking forward to these games as an infusion of positivity at a time when the rock of COVID seems to be sliding down the hill again, negating all the strides we were making towards getting back to our communal life. It isn’t working.

Have an inspiring day, even if I am not!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Okay, throw a girl a bone, please! What Olympic moments have touched your heart with joy? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Flying Lessons

My friend and I decided to take a trip to the beach the other day.  We have both been craving saltwater and ocean breezes.  We decided to hop to it when we saw a day that weather.com decreed would likely avoid rain. 

We ran into a few snags as we made our way to Clearwater Beach, but we were having a good time and enjoying each other’s company.  We stopped at a Christmas shop in route, which is always a plus in my book.  We inched our way across the 10 miles or so of causeway to get to the beach area.  Circling around several blocks several times, we finally found a parking structure.  We drove up, up, and up before we found a place to park.  The elevator did not work, so we climbed down, down, down four flights of stairs to the street level. 

Maybe we should have stayed in the car.

We had not walked ten feet on the sidewalk, when my foot caught on a raised square of concrete.  That was when I learned how to fly.  I am convinced that I did fly.  I was airborne for long enough to have the sensation of soaring across stopped time.  It was like those commercials for paper towels when someone spills a drink.  The film goes into slow motion.  I was flying in slow motion.  I even had enough hang time to realize what was happening, analyze whether I could right myself, and maneuver my body into the most viable, least harmful way to fall.  What is weird is that I even felt kind of graceful.  I am absolutely positive I did not look graceful.

Yes, I did learn to fly.  The problem is that I did not learn how to land.  Nobody told me where the landing gear lever was.  I came down on my undercarriage with more force than a flying machine should.  It took me a few minutes to figure out that I was still in one piece.  Getting up was also a challenge.  Several nice people stopped to see if I needed help.  My friend also tried to help.  All I could see was me pulling all these nice people down right along with me.  I sat on the ground for a few moments and then I figured out a strategy for getting back on my feet.  A few feet in front of me, there were some metal chairs cabled together.  I crawled over to them on my battered knees and steadied myself on one of the chairs as I carefully moved myself into standing position. 

We walked over to the beach.  Before we even set our things down on the sand, it began to rain.  Lesser women would have turned tail and gone back to the car.  Not us.  It is Florida and it is summer.  We waited a few minutes and the rain stopped.  I do not know if I decided to wait because of my fortitude or because I was afraid to face the scene of my unscheduled landing quite so soon. 

Luckily, I did not sustain any significant damage.  I attribute that to my general physique.  Sometimes it is better to be shaped like Winnie the Pooh than like Tinker Bell.  My fluffiness certainly saved me from serious injury.

I do have some impressive bruises on my thighs, elbows, knees, and toes.  I did not do a lot of kneeling during the church service this week.  Jack and Jill, the twin bruises on my left and right knees were not happy about putting themselves under that much pressure just yet.  The bruises look way worse than they feel.  There is very little tenderness now.  I have been wearing a lot of navy blue to match the bruises.  Now that they are starting to fade, I guess I am going to have to clash.  Yellow is not my color.

I am going to try to avoid flying lessons in the future.  Orville and Wilbur might have been Wright, but Terri LaBonte is definitely wrong!

What new skills have you learned since retirement? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com

Have an earth-bound day!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Special

I have never thought I was anything special.   In fact, I think I may be the most unextraordinary person I know.  I go through life trying to simply fit in, while still trying to be true to myself.  It is not that I go around martyring myself to other people’s preferences.  I have worked hard in my life to learn to ask for what I want.   If I really, really want something, I will ask for it.  On the other hand, I usually do not feel strongly enough about things to assert myself (except on my birthday… then, I am selfish and self-absorbed!).  It is pleasant to go with the flow.  I often find myself enjoying life more when I ride whichever wave happens by than if I had insisted on putting my choice first.

Even though I truly do not think there is anything terribly unique or wonderful about me, I do find that I blossom when someone else finds me special.  It baffles me…but delights me. 

Let me tell you about something that happened recently.  I must explain the backstory for it to make sense, so please bear with me for a few seconds.

A few weeks back, I went to a lovely outdoor restaurant with a group of friends.  The restaurant was getting ready to close for the summer (remember, I live in Florida where outdoor restaurants sound a whole lot more appealing than they actually are from the Memorial Day to Halloween.)  It was a bit of a zoo due to crowding and we waited a long time for a table.  Also, they were out of most of the menu items by the time we ordered.  When we were finally finished, they were closing the place down.  The food was yummy, though, and the server was excellent.  Besides, there was a friendly German Shepherd Dog roaming around looking for diners to give him hands to pet and hand-outs to eat.  All in all, it was a lovely experience.  As we were leaving, the manager approached our table with eight boxed desserts that were leftover.  She gave them to us. 

I did not take one.  As I explained to my friends, I must carefully consider priorities when eating, especially desserts.  As a person with diabetes, I should not be eating them at all, so it has to be something I know I am going to love if I am going to indulge.  I am a very unadventurous (read picky) eater.  Neither peanut butter chiffon pie nor pistachio cream pie sounded like a certain winner to me.  One of my friends mentioned that they had blueberry pie the last time she was there.  I pointed out, very adamantly, that if there had been blueberry pie, my friends would have needed weapons to beat me out for a slice. 

A week or so later, I was getting ready to run some errands when I received a text from one of my friends.  She said she had a surprise for me and wanted to arrange to deliver it.  I agreed to meet her near her house when we finished our errands. 

The surprise was a piece of homemade blueberry pie.  She was playing bridge with some friends the night before and the friend had made the pie for her guests.  My friend asked if she could have hers “to go” and brought it to me. 

This thoughtfulness of hers tickled me more than reasonable, I suppose.  I was so surprised and delighted!  It was not just that I love blueberry pie (and it was very yummy, by the way).  It was more because my friend remembered me and what I had said in a very out-of-context situation.  The surprise was the pie, but the surprise was also that she thought of me.  My friend seemed surprised at the exuberance of my reaction.  She probably did not think it was any big deal to bring me a piece of blueberry pie.  It was.

The pie is long gone.  The thought will be with me for a very long time, I know. 

The next time you think about doing something nice for someone, don’t talk yourself out of it.  Go ahead and do it.  You may not think it is something special, but I bet the person for whom you do it will think it is special… and it will make you both feel special!

I truly am not writing this to fish for compliments that I am extraordinary and special.  I really am not, except in the way everyone is extraordinary and special to those who love him or her.  I would like to know, however, what you do to make the people in your life feel special and how do you feel when you do it?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Terri/Dorry 😊

Happy Historical Hunting!

Last week, I offered you a concert.  I gave you a list of proud historical dates in the history of the United States and asked you to identify what happened on each of those dates.  Thank you all for playing. 

Because inquiring minds want to know, here are the answers to this historical scavenger hunt:

On this date in United States History…

6/21/1788- The United States Constitution went into effect.

4/30/1803- The Louisiana Purchase geometrically increased the land within the boundaries of the United States.

1/24/1848- Gold was discovered in California.

4/9/1865- The civil war ended.

12/8/1865- The 13th amendment, which abolished slavery, was added to the Constitution.

8/18/1920- The ratification of the 19th amendment, which gave women the right to vote, was completed.

7/2/1964- The Civil Rights Act of 1964, probably the most all-encompassing civil rights legislation in history, went into effect.

7/20/1969- Neil Armstrong was the first man to walk on the moon.

7/7/1981- Sandra Day O’Connor was the first woman to be named a Supreme Court justice.

1/20/2009- Barack Obama, the first person of color to be elected president of the United States, took office. 

Congratulations to Sharon Salcedo, who is our winner.  Congratulations also to our runner-ups, Mary Sorenson and Mary Ann McGinley.  Fabulous prizes will be forthcoming!

What dates or events would you include in a list of “proud moments” in U.S. history?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com

Have a historic day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Celebrate!

Happy 4th of July, everyone!  For us living in the USA, Independence Day is an opportunity to pause and remember the beginning of the “American experiment.”  It is a day to celebrate who we are, what we have done, and how we have evolved.  I am glad that we have a holiday to encourage this reflection.  Hopefully, as we remember the day our ancestors signed the Declaration of Independence on July 4, 1776, we also remember that there have been many other dates worth remembering and celebrating. 

Contest alert! 

Below, I am going to list ten other dates that mark occasions worth celebrating in United States history.  This list of dates simply reflects some events that I, in my very subjective opinion, consider to be ten proud moments in our history. The list is certainly not exhaustive.  The list may not even be the most important dates, as importance is somewhat in the eye of the beholder.  Also, important events are not necessarily proud events worthy of celebration.  These dates mark happy days in our history. 

If you would like to participate, please email me at terriretirement@gmail.com, identifying what happened on each of these dates. Please submit your entries by midnight EDT on Sunday, 7/4/21. There is a fabulous prize for the one who properly identifies the most events.  If there is a tie, the entry I receive first will be the winner.  I will report back next week with the answers. 

On this date in United States History…

6/21/1788

4/30/1803

1/24/1848

4/9/1865

12/8/1865

8/18/1920

7/2/1964

7/20/1969

7/7/1981

1/20/2009

Okay… on your mark, get set, GO!  Happy history, everybody!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Warning: Mandatory Annual Summer Weather Whine Ahead

It is that time of year again… time for me to vent about how uncomfortable and inconvenient the weather in Florida can be during the summer.  Summer happens from May through all of October here, so I think I am entitled to rage against the rain.  Last year, we had a relatively mild summer.  I made it to September before I published my mandatory annual summer weather whine.  I fear that will not be the case in 2021. 

You know how people use all those lovely poetic similes to describe weather… a blanket of snow, a blanket of fog, a veil of mist, etc.?  In Florida, we have a blanket of mug.  For almost half the year, our air is too heavy to breathe.  When I was a child in Southern California, there were sometimes smog alerts.  We were encouraged to stay inside and to avoid breathing.  Smog was nothing compared to the liquid-laden air we are expected to inhale in central Florida. 

When I began writing this piece, on June 13, the summer mug descended upon us.  I realize that the calendar says it is not yet summer, but someone forgot to tell Mother Nature.  When I went into church that morning, it looked like a beautiful spring day.  Some time during the service, a noise began to rise through the rafters of the church.  At first, I thought it might be our air conditioner, which always starts with an overture.  Soon, however, I realized it was the sound of driving rain whooshing through the atmosphere and pelting the roof of the church.  God confirmed this understanding by sending several huge cracks of thunder bellowing through my cognizance.  Then, lightning flashed through our stained-glass windows.  It was a “thunderwower.”

It is now June 17th, and the rain has not stopped for more than a few hours since.  The respite provided by those “few hours” is not all that relieving because the cooler air that typically appears when the rain cracks the humidity barrier is very short-lived.  It is a constant unpleasant cycle of heightened heat and humidity, interrupted briefly by a thunderwower when the cloudburst cools things off and lances the boil of the water-heavy air, only to find the atmosphere building sog once again when the shower has passed. The weather teases in this way, making us believe that there is going to be a break but the discomfort marches on.  The worst part is that it is already difficult to see the light at the end of the lightning.  It feels like the summer weather will NEVER stop.  I look at pictures of myself at Disney World last December wearing a jacket, jeans, and UGGs.  I cannot quite believe that time will ever come again.

It is not simply the discomfort of the weather that is the problem.  I am one of those people who genuinely enjoys planning the simplest of activities and looking forward to them.  I am not really a spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment kind of gal.  I delight in scheduling fun activities weeks ahead of time. I get excited as the appointed day gets closer.  In the summer, planning and scheduling any activity is a fool’s errand.  Obviously, outdoor activities are weather-dependent.  Even indoor activities are iffy because it is common for the storms to be so bad that one cannot see the road in front of them when driving.   I cannot even schedule a series of back-up plans because the weather is so contrary and unpredictable.  We never know what the skies will bring even a day ahead of time.  Plans are wishes and schedules are fantasies.  This makes me fidgety. 

I am afraid that I am not the most pleasant of companions from June to October.  You know how some people have that Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) and need light treatment to replicate sun exposure?  I have something like that.  It is not so much lack of sun.  After all, Florida is the “Sunshine State.”  Why it is the “Sunshine State,” I am not sure, considering how much it rains.  Still, there is plenty of sunshine… just like there is plenty of sunshine on Venus.  It is more that the rain, humidity, and inability to look forward to fun activities feels oppressive to me.  My mood feels as heavy as the air.  I try to be self-aware.  I try to force myself to be engaged and pleasant.  Sometimes, I succeed.   

Last summer, I think I was more tolerant of the wicked weather partly because the summer was milder but also because we were in the midst of COVID-19 lockdown.  I could not go out and do things, anyway.  It seemed churlish and insensitive to complain about my life being limited by weather when there was a much more serious limitation stalking all of us.  This year, I am even less tolerant than usual.  It feels like the world is finally opening and the weather is pushing the door shut again. 

I know I am being petulant and whiny. I know that I made the choice to live in Florida.  I know that I like living here for the most part.  I know I am raging about something that would be no big deal to just about anybody who does not live in Florida.  Frankly, it would not be a big deal to most people who DO live in Florida.  I do not care.  This is my blog, and I will cry if I want to!

What do you like or dislike most about where you live?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com

Have a whine-free day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Father’s Day

We will be celebrating Father’s Day this weekend, so I thought I would share a few memories about my own father.

My father was always good with his hands.

When I was four, I wanted bunkbeds in the worst way.  He built a bunkbed from two regular twin beds.

When I was five, my father built a crib for my new Christmas doll baby.  He painted it purple.  Purple was my very favorite color.  In those days, nothing was purple.  Toys came in primary colors and sometimes pink, but not purple.  To this day, I remember standing beneath the Christmas tree, hugging the doll to my chest, and exclaiming over her purple crib. 

When I was six, my father built a playhouse for my brother and me in the backyard.  It was two stories.  The bottom story was a six-by-six apartment, complete with counters and cabinets and furniture.  The upper story, accessed by a hand-made ladder, was a rooftop fort. 

When I was seven, I got a pogo stick for Christmas. I have always been lacking in grace and coordination.  Because my father fancied being the parent of a live child rather than the parent of a child killed in a tragic pogo-ing accident, he attached the pogo stick to a sturdy rope safety line tied to a sturdy tree limb.

When I was eight, my father decided it was time to turn our rusty old swing set into a water park attraction.  He rigged up a series of garden soaker hoses to the frame of the swing set so they would water the children when he turned on the faucet.

When I was sixteen, I wanted a cedar hope chest.  My father spirited away the pine toy chest my grandfather made me when I was born.  He refinished it, lined it with cedar, and presented me with the most special hope chest ever. 

When I was twenty-one, my father single-handedly moved me into my first apartment.  He pulled all my possessions out of the storage shed where they were housed, loaded them into his pick-up truck, and hauled them up a flight of steep cement stairs to my new home.

When I was twenty-nine, my father bartered with an attorney friend to submit my divorce paperwork in return for my father’s labor in refinishing the attorney’s dining room set.

When I was thirty-two, I moved into the condo I purchased.  In addition to leaving my rented apartment, I was also leaving a rather creepy relationship.  Unfortunately, the guy in the creepy relationship did not want to be left.  My father stayed with me in my new place for two weeks, making sure I was safe.  During that time, he quietly hung a bedroom door, painted a bookcase, put pictures on my wall, and repaired the finish on the bathroom sink. 

When I was thirty-four, my father rigged up a seatbelt for my mutant Welsh corgi to keep her from trying to shift gears on my car as I traversed the rather steep and treacherous highway that took me from my house to the town were my parents lived.  The said Welsh corgi had taken it into her head to push the gear shift into “park” one day as I was curving my way down the mountain, so my father built a solution. 

When I was thirty-six, my father died suddenly.  His body sputtered, stalled, and could not be restarted. His death was life-shattering. His loss left a huge tear in my soul that never healed properly.  This was the one and only instance I can remember when my father could not use his skill with his hands to fix a problem for me. 

Yes, my father was always very good with his hands.  He was also very good with his heart. 

Happy Father’s Day!  What memories do you have of your father?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a heart-filled day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

It’s A God Thing

The first Christmas my mother was in Florida, Max and I went to her mobile home to get our festive on.  We enjoyed a meal together, opened presents, called my brother, laughed, and had a wonderful time.  We brought a home video with us of a recent visit to Disney World.  Max asked my mother if she would like to see it.  She said “yes, but I’d like to tell you about something first, if you don’t mind.”  She seemed very purposeful about the conversation, as if she had been saving some big news to tell us at just the right time.  She told us it was something she had never told anyone before.  Of course, we told her we did not mind and focused our attention on her story. 

When my mother was living in California, she was the queen of the volunteers at a local dam, lake, and hydroelectric power center.  She was a docent at the education center and coordinated all the volunteers.  My mom’s story involved an incident that happened at the lake over a year before that Christmas.  She told us that there was a group of visitors from a church group at the lake one day.  After she gave them her normal educational spiel, she chatted with them for a little while.  They noticed that she had a walker and that her mobility was severely limited.  They asked if they could pray for her.  As she explained to us, she said yes because “why not?” After they prayed, she felt stronger and more physically comfortable.  When she got up to go home, she realized she could move without pain and could walk unassisted without her walker.  It only lasted a few hours, but she always remembered the experience.  Mom asked us if we thought she was crazy.  I told her that I definitely did not think she was crazy- I thought she had experienced a mini-miracle.  God was just letting her know He was still there.

I always did believe God can heal.  I think He sometimes does heal, but I also think He does not often interfere with the natural order of things.  Still, my mother’s experience really got me thinking about how God works in our lives in a variety of ways.  Ever since she told us about her mini-miracle experience, I have tried to pay attention for little “coincidences” that might not be coincidences. 

Soon after I joined the Episcopal Church, I attended a “ministry fair” after service one day. I did not know a lot of people very well at that time.  My mother had died a few months earlier and I had some time to devote to volunteering.  Remembering a conversation I had with the rector when I was “church-shopping,” I wanted to find a way I could serve in my new congregation.  One of the church employees (let’s call him Dave) was manning a table to drum up interest in the Alpha program.  Alpha is an international program designed to nurture people who are wrestling with the big questions of life and faith.  Intended for people who would not necessarily identify as Christian, it is also a faith-builder for people who do consider themselves Christian but do not feel as connected as they wish they did.  Alpha was a new ministry in our parish.  I thought it might be a good fit for me because the techniques and approach in the Alpha program seemed similar to the leadership training programs I taught during my career. 

I agreed to go to a meeting of those who were interested in volunteering.  One of the positions that Dave was trying to fill was a hospitality coordinator.  This volunteer would be responsible for creating environment, making guests feel comfortable, arranging for a meal to be served during each of the twelve sessions, cleaning up, and other duties as assigned.  It seemed very much like hosting a dinner party for about 50 people every week for twelve weeks.  Now, I am about as far on the introversion as one can get without falling off the edge of the world.  Up until I started working with Alpha, I had never given a party in my life.  I don’t really cook.  I certainly don’t iron tablecloths.  However, I do have a rather good background in creating the environment from my leadership training days.  I explained my strengths and weaknesses to Dave who was quick to tell me that “we” could get me help for all the things I do not do well if I would only agree to coordinate the hospitality piece of the program.  I agreed.  For those of you who would like to read more about my Alpha adventures, you can read these earlier posts (alpha course – Terri LaBonte- Reinventing Myself in Retirement and alpha – Terri LaBonte- Reinventing Myself in Retirement). 

I struggled my way through several weeks of hospitality-ing still wondering how on earth I ended up in this position.  One day, Dave told me about a conversation he had with our rector and his wife, Sunny, early in the planning process- weeks before the ministry fair.  He told them he was excited about launching the Alpha program but was worried about who he could find to do the hospitality piece of the undertaking.  Sunny said, “Don’t worry.  Terri will do it.”  She had been praying and felt like God was directing her that I would take on the role.  She barely knew me at the time and certainly did not know my leadership training background. 

I have continued with Alpha in a leadership role through three courses now.

During this past Alpha season, there was another odd occurrence.  Because of the COVID-19 pandemic, we were not able to host our regular “in person,” “shared meal” version of Alpha.  We decided to try to run the course on Zoom.  It turned out to be surprisingly successful, despite the lack of tablecloths, real coffee mugs, and dinner for fifty. However, there was one annoying barrier- internet upload speed.  Because we were showing downloaded videos, it was critical that the person hosting the evening (that would be me) have above average internet speed and stability.  In the area where I live, internet upload speed sucks.  We are still living in a location that has not been fiber-opticized, so everyone’s technology is at least a generation behind more urban areas.  I can easily use Zoom from my home but showing videos on it is much more of a challenge.  Other members of the team tried also but were unable to do the video sharing from home.  Even at the church, everyone except me seemed to have trouble getting any connection at all and certainly could not show the videos.  I was going on a trip during one week of the course.  One of my teammates was going to host the session that night.  Laughingly, I left my laptop with her in case she had trouble doing exactly what I did each week on her computer.  Neither of us could imagine why she would not be able to do exactly what I did when she was using the same program, the same internet location, and the same process.  Guess what?  Neither of the two computers she brought with her worked.  The only way the process worked was if she used my computer in the church office.

Later in the Alpha program, I was preparing for a session about whether God still heals today.  To prepare for the Alpha evenings, I usually watch the video, review the information in both the Alpha guest guide and the team leader guide, think about points I want to make sure come up in the after-video discussion, and craft discussion questions to try to elicit those points.  That week, I just had an extraordinarily strong sense that I was not supposed to do any of that… I was just supposed to pray.  In the days leading up to the session, two words kept coming into my head.  I mulled them over in my mind and safeguarded them until it was time for the discussion.  I told my group what had been going on and shared the two words with them.  It turned out that they were significant to someone close to one of my group members.  We prayed for that person and my group member told her about what had happened.  It was very meaningful and encouraging for that person.

Recently, a close friend of mine died.  A few days before she passed, I sat by her bed, stroking her hair.  Suddenly, it came into my head to sing “You Are My Sunshine” to her.  She smiled at me, closed her eyes, and seemed to feel peaceful.  A few days later, her husband called me to ask my assistance in planning her funeral.  He told me that he was arranging the music and would make sure the music included “You Are My Sunshine” because it was her favorite song.  I did not know that.  He did not know that I had sung it to her shortly before she died. 

These are just a few of the experiences I have had that could be explained away as coincidences.  I could relate many more.  As their numbers start to mount up as I pay more and more attention to them, I wonder about them.  What do you think?  Coincidence or grace?  All I will say is that they don’t call it amazing grace for nothing. 

Have you ever had an experience that you cannot quite explain away as a coincidence?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have an amazing day!

Terri/Dorry 😊