The Great Chasm

I hardly know how to act. A week or so ago, I looked at my calendar and realized that my life has become underscheduled. This is a cataclysmic shift in my Universe.

 I knew this phenomenon was coming. I wanted it. I planned for it. For a long time, I have been trying to capture a season of stillness. I have been telling myself to concentrate on the people most important to me. I have been telling myself that I should only take on commitments that speak specifically to my soul. I have been telling myself, as far as ministry goes, I should only do what only I can do.

The talking-tos I’ve given myself don’t usually land. More often, they crash. There is always someone who needs a little extra love and attention. There is always some activity that sounds interesting. There is always some need that cries out for me to meet it. I get caught in a weird dichotomy. I never think that I am the person who is best qualified to do anything, yet I always think that disaster will ensue if I do not volunteer.

Now that I’ve finally found some breathing space, I was not prepared for how it would feel.

As usual, Lent was a busy time. I had my array of Lenten activities to fulfill. I have also been leaning into a quiet ministry that I feel is my calling right now- providing support one-on-one to people who need love. I know a lot of people going through difficult circumstances right now. I try to be intentional about providing support and tender loving care in a way that speaks a language that the recipient best understands. Also, a very close friend in Florida picked this time to move back to Delaware. I was trying to spend as much time as I could with her and I wanted to participate in all the farewell events leading up to her departure.

As Lent wound down and I finished the planned activities, I realized that I was no longer having to look three weeks forward in my calendar to find a time slot when I wanted to arrange a date for something. I have plans on the schedule, but there ae no longer days when I have the calendar booked with back-to-back activities. I won’t have to break basic laws of physics to meet my scheduled commitments. My first reaction was a feeling of elation. For a few days, it felt so good to know that the wind of life was going to still to a gentle breeze.

Then, I got uncomfortable and flustered. I felt empty. I struggled with some decrepit demons about appearance and worthlessness that refuse to die. Finally, I realized that this reaction is rooted in a wave of insecurity. Some people fly into a flurry of activity because they feel their value comes from doing. The act of completing tasks and achieving and “being important” helps give their lives meaning. I’m not exactly one of those people. In fact, I dislike “being important” and the attention it brings. What I love and crave is connection. Attaching to people and becoming interdependent with them feeds my soul. Relationships are my coin of the realm. More scheduled on my calendar suggests more connections. When my calendar doesn’t feel overfull, I worry that my relationships will disappear. I feel I must force an intentional opportunity to keep me at the forefront of people’s radar screens, or they will detach from me.

If I am being rational, I know that more activity does not necessarily translate to more connection. I also know that the people with whom I am in relationship love me and will still love me even if they go more than a few days… or even a few weeks… without the awesomeness of my presence. I know that I have value and worth to a relationship that does not depend on busyness.

But…

What I know rationally has very little value in a conversation about insecurity. Neither does anyone else’s assurances. The fact remains that I am having an internal experience that is not congruent with reality. I can’t change it. Certainly, no amount of thinking is going to change it. Believe me, I have tried. It does not work. My stubborn heart does what it does. This time, I am not even going to waste the emotional effort of trying to force myself to feel the way my brain insists I should.

So, I go along for the ride. I pray. I meditate. I inventory my blessings. I move my body. I try to get enough sleep. I eat things that are going to make me feel holistically better instead of worse. I am gentle with myself. I surf the wave until it crashes to the shore. It will pass and I trust that I will be okay. I know I will recall the truth of my rational self. I know that God equips me in mysterious ways to be the person He created me to be.

This Lent, I realized I was standing on one side a rickety bridge. Beneath the bridge is a huge chasm of nothingness. The bridge looks shaky and difficult to maneuver. Truth be told, however, the ground on which I am standing- the ground of insecurity- is much more shaky than the bridge. On the other side of the bridge, there is steadier ground- an internal land in which I have a secure foothold on my sense of self and my worth. The other side of the bridge is the land where God’s perspective of me resides.

I would like to say that, during Lent, I courageously crossed the bridge and am happily on the other side. That isn’t quite true. This Holy Week, though, I did take enough steps to truly see the other side and begin to appreciate what living on that side feels like. This Easter, the work of my Lent culminated and the fruit ripened.

At the same time, Easter invited me to continue. Ripe fruit is delicious and I want more.

Dear Blog Readers:

In my last post, I discussed some of my Lenten journey this year. Today, I wanted to mention another Lenten discipline I have been embracing.

Every few years, I use Lent as a time to reflect on my blessings. I like to think of the people that God has put in my life who have positively impacted my spiritual growth. I send a thank you letter each day in Lent to someone who has inspired me, helped me, or just loved me through something.

Today, I want to thank you all. Thank you for reading my blog. Thank you for encouraging me. Thank you for making it safe for me to experiment and consider the big issues of life- big issues that are sometimes displayed in the smallest of silliness. It has been such a blessing to have this creative outlet. Sometimes, it has been a veritable lifeline of mental health. At other times, it has been a pure escape to the lighter places in my befuddled brain. The act of writing, in itself, is an excellent emotional processing vehicle. Knowing there are people reading and caring makes it even more effective. Hoping that maybe I am inspiring someone or helping someone feel less alone or even just making someone laugh- these are all dreams of mine.

In short, thank you all for being part of my dream. All my life I have wanted to write, but I never had the confidence to do so. It takes a certain amount of arrogance for me to believe that anything I write could be of the slightest interest to anyone else. That may be why I started using the name Terri LaBonte. Terri LaBonte might have the confidence that Dorry Curran lacks.

Blessings,

Dorry/Terri

The Lightening Lent

A Lightening Lent

Although I have been an Episcopalian for nearly ten years, I grew up in an observant Roman Catholic family. I wouldn’t say we were especially devout or even consistent, but there were certain traditions that my family followed. One of those traditions was that my parents expected my brother and I to “give up something” for Lent. As I have evolved in my own spiritual maturity, I think about Lenten disciplines differently. However, I continued to make an intentional Lenten commitment before Ash Wednesday each year.

In recent years, I’ve struggled a little to settle into a special observance every Lent. It seems that I have not always found something to do for Lent, but I have to say Lent has ALWAYS found something for me to do for Lent. I have learned that, for me at least, this tends to be the most powerful Lenten discipline- trusting in the Holy Spirit to find me where my open heart is and giving me the curriculum for what I most need to learn.

This year has been a little different. I was more than a week into Lent, and I had not felt the Holy Spirit tapping on my shoulder. I was starting to get antsy. There were a few things I had decided to do- listening to a series of lessons comparing the parable of the Prodigal Son to the novel The Brothers Karamazov, helping to coordinate and teach a Sunday School series, finishing a Young Adult Spiritual Formation Course. These all felt like appropriate Lenten observances, but not THE THING that was going to grow my soul this year.

For several days it seemed like I encountered the concept of fasting in different readings, sermons, devotionals, prayers. I decided I might be getting the nudge I needed after all. Better late than never, I suppose. But fast from what, exactly?

Typically, people think of food. That is problematic for me because of my diabetes. Also, I have never found food deprivation makes me holier- just grumpier. I have nearly 60 years as an observant Roman Catholic. I have experience with the food fasting thing. I tried to be holy. I really did. I understood that fasting is supposed to feel uncomfortable and sacrificial. However, the uncomfortable and sacrificial feeling was supposed to be a vehicle to get closer to God. It never worked for me. I doubt it will now.

Last year, I did commit to a fast- no Facebook for 40 days. It was challenging and uncomfortable… and I did find it to be spiritually refreshing. So was the additional sleep that resulted from the Facebook fast. Coming back to Facebook after Easter did show me that I engage with social media differently now. I am much more discriminating about what I view. I do not simply scroll and kill time. I read and watch only content providers that I specifically find entertaining, informative, and/or truly uplifting. I post when I want to do so but no longer feel compelled to document everything good that happens. It is a pleasant shift.

This brings us to Lent 2026. I bumbled around in prayer for awhile and then an idea came to me. As part of my own journey of self-discovery and mental health, I am coming face-to-face with a scary, painful tendency of mine. I believe a lot of really cruel and negative things about myself- things I want to believe are lies, but I can’t quite get there. I think I’ve always known about this tendency of mine but never believed I could do anything about it. I didn’t believe I could do anything about it because I couldn’t quite shake the certainty that the negative assertions are true.

In my first draft of this post, I recounted a partial list of the fundamental truths or lies I believe about myself. However, I decided I would be breaking my fast by even mentioning them. You see, this year I am fasting from engaging in views of myself that differ from God’s view of me. I have this mantra that I produced a few years ago that I tell myself when I am feeling especially wobbly…. I am a precious child of God, and I bring joy to the world. He has created me elegantly and equips me perfectly to walk the path He sets before me. I suppose this mantra is the gist of my fast this year- reprogramming my brain to believe it and honor God in it.

I don’t know where these negative perceptions of myself originate. Maybe they are things that other people tell me because, of course, everyone else’s perception is clearly much more valid than my own. Maybe they are things I tell myself because they are true. Maybe they are things that people told me so long ago they are my own. Maybe they are things Satan is telling me. I say that only half-facetiously.

I can’t make myself stop thinking or feeling the negative things- I cannot control my natural reactions. I can control my responses, however. I can choose to recognize the truth-lies when they appear and banish them.

This is the work of Lent for me this year. The rest of my observances- the classes and the studies- are not wrong or unhelpful. It is just that they feel more like busyness. My fast from engaging with the lies is the heavy lifting that nurtures growth. I hope that heavy lifting creates a shift that survives long past Easter.

Please pray for me!

Terri/Dorry 🙂

Living On The Edge

I have never been much of a thrill seeker, but I’ve been thinking it is about time I shook things up a bit.

I recently began teaching a spiritual formation course for a group of young adults. The participants are between the ages of 17 and 30. I am a 66-year-old woman who has never had children. Additionally, some of the participants are also students at a nearby college for students with learning differences. The wide range of ages, life experiences, backgrounds, learning styles, and personalities would be a challenge for anyone, but it is especially difficult for someone like me. I do so love a plan, preparation, and predictable processes.

I taught this same course to our parish at large last year. It is helpful to note that our “parish at large” consists of a plethora of senior citizens, many of whom have been churchgoers their whole lives. I knew going into my young adult class that the experience would be different. I was excited about it. I looked forward to learning from them and sharing with them. I looked forward to stretching my sensibilities.

The premise of the course is that adults, young and old, have plenty of ideas, life experiences, feelings, and assorted other mental material in their brains. There is no need for the instructor to “fill them up.”  The role of the instructor is to help the participants look at the stuff that has been sitting in their brains for a long time and “stir it up,” to see if it is still within the “use by” date and if it can grow richer.

I could not have known what a blessing it would be for me. Plans, preparation, and predictable processes have absolutely no place in this adventure. In fact, the experience is wild, wooly, and completely unpredictable. I would say there is no process whatsoever, but that would not be strictly true. I believe there is a process, but it is not I who has designed it. It is the Holy Spirit. I often stop for a moment and think about what a marvel it is that I have been able to step back and let the Holy Spirit truly take the reins. It is good for me to get knocked off my perch.

We have just finished session five of a six-session program. So often, my carefully prepared lesson plan has gone completely by the wayside. This week, I do not think I even picked it up. The students are driving the bus. And that is a wonderful thing. Sometimes, the segues are non-existent and the gear shifting transitions threaten to destroy the transmission. Sometimes, I am not even sure what we are talking about. However, at least once in every session, someone says something so introspective and profound that it is clear Grace has entered the building. Additionally, the students’ kindness, sense of ownership, and accountability are inspiring.

Sometimes, there is a clash of world views, even from all of us in the arms of Jesus. Sometimes, it feels a little too intense for comfort. I’m talking about my world view as well as those of the different students. We haven’t quite figured out how to settle all that, but everyone is unfailingly kind. That, perhaps, is the best world view to have. Besides, don’t “they” always say there is no comfort in growth and no growth in comfort? These students are stirring me up AND filling me up!

A Little Slice Of Heaven In Orlando

Thoughts, feelings, and words can be slippery things. Sometimes, I have an experience that ignites an explosion within me. I want to blog about the internal inferno but I struggle to gather sufficient shrapnel to craft a coherent response. This is one of those times, so please grant me some grace.

I recently attended the annual convention of the Episcopal Diocese of Central Florida. Some of you know that I converted to the Episcopal Church in January of 2018 after spending my life as an observant Roman Catholic. My blog body of work probably clearly screams that I am a “churchy” kind of gal. My relationship with God is the most important thing in my life. One of my highest priorities in retirement has been to find out how I can grow closer to God and to serve Him.

The Episcopal community I found in 2016 seemed to speak to my soul. For the first year or two, I largely consumed. I allowed God to feed me. I did not engage much with the other church members because my mother was on her end-of-life journey. The only life I had then was walking beside her during her time in the shadowland between life and death. Gradually, I connected with the church community and became attached. I blossomed spiritually. I began shouldering more of the family responsibilities- getting involved in activities, tithing, serving.  I feel nourished by my church. I enjoy the worship and the fellowship. I have nurturing relationships with people I now believe are my family, including my pastor and his actual family. I have been very active in ministry since at least 2019.  

That is the pretty picture. It is a accurate, true picture. But it isn’t the whole picture. There have been times of brokenness and despair.  Sometimes, loving means hurting. Jesus talked about the blessings that are intrinsic in the painful places in life. He, himself, gave us the greatest blessing- beyond anything any of us can conceive- in the most painful place imaginable when He gave himself over for crucifixion.

I am certainly not Jesus. I am certainly not even complaining because my pain seems insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I am certainly not oblivious to the blessings God provides me- in the good times AND the painful times.

Let’s just say, though, that I’ve had my share of hurt in the church because I loved and because I tried to answer my baptismal call. There have been times when people feared me. There have been times when people misunderstood me. There have been times when people attacked me. It is difficult for me to express the beauty and depth of the bond I share with most of the people in my church… which makes it all the more painful and jarring when something happens to show me that the same brush does not paint everyone.

Over the past couple of years, the crucible of congregational development sucked me into its flashpoint. This period of metamorphosis turned a blinding spotlight on some of the more uncomfortable facets of “being church.” I got scorched by the spotlight. It took me an unreasonably long time to work my way through that period.

As my congregation grew in numbers and vibrancy, I could see so much good happening. The opportunities for personal harm paled in comparison to what I could intuitively feel happening. Church attendance seemed to be increasing. New ministries commenced.  The love seemed to be growing.  I spoke to my pastor about the way events played out over the past couple of years. I came to the conclusion that I would not have changed a thing. I believe most of what I tumbled through was necessary for our church to achieve this new growth. Also, I achieved much growth. Despite the pain, anxiety, and drama- probably even BECAUSE of it.

As I observed all the positive movement in my congregation, it was easy for me to think it was all in my head or to attribute it to “just happening.”  Up until the diocesan convention, everything I thought I observed was intuitive rather than cognitive. Still, my gut saw it as a win and all felt right in my world.

On the first day of the convention, a social scientist famous for analyzing the dechurchification of America, discussed depressing statistics about church attendance and Christian identification. The bishop addressed the delegation on the morning of the second day to present a more optimistic perspective. He relayed a conversation he had with the presiding bishop of the United States. Our diocese has the fourth highest average Sunday attendance in the entire nation. This is a positive sign, in and of itself. The presiding bishop went a step further. He explained that, if we look at that statistic by congregation, we have the highest average Sunday attendance in the nation- over 20% higher than the second diocese on the list. I could take it even a step further. My church has a congregation that is approximately 30% higher than the average for our diocese. The bishop went on to explain that high average Sunday attendance is attributable to three factors- excellent preaching, genuinely welcoming congregations, and vibrant ministries.  

As the impact of his words traveled from my ears to my brain, I felt something akin to hope warm my whole body. I even started to cry quietly. What I heard was that what my instinct observed at my church is not all in my head. My intuition now had hard data to support its truth. What I also heard was that it wasn’t “just happening.”  God is using His people to make it happen. And I get to be part of that.  That thought was so transcendent, my body could not contain it. The tears overflowed my spirit.

What a perfect, exquisite glimpse of Heaven!

Next To Nieveaux- Part One

Last week, I told you about a story I told at the general meeting of my church women’s group.  I mentioned that the story I told was the extremely abridged version of a longer narrative I wrot a couple of years ago. I asked you if you would be interested in reading a serialized version of the original story.  One person responded with a resounding “Yes, please.”  To show you that I do not need to be asked twice, here we go…

Part One: Introducing Princess Picclopena

There is no dark in the kingdom of Nieveaux. The sun and the moon and the stars all shine simultaneously around the clock. It snows there frequently, although most of the silver white fluttery powder melts before it leaves the sky. Only a thin layer of snow blankets the ground, but that blanket never goes away. It does not matter how warm the sun gets, that layer of snow never quite recedes. The people in Nieveaux live with sparkle in their eyes.

Nieveaux’s government is virtually nonexistent. There is no need for one. People keep to themselves, meticulously following the laws of civilized society wrought over centuries of Nieveaux culture. No one ever comes from outside the kingdom to cause trouble. In fact, no one ever comes from outside the kingdom, period. Nominally, King Noble and his wife Queen Theodora rule the kingdom as benevolent, if somewhat indifferent, monarchs. Their daughter, Princess Picclapena, is the culmination of their lives’ work. The only real job for the monarchs of Nieveaux is to produce and preserve more monarchs.

When Noble and Theodora married, there was a collective sigh of relief in Nieveaux. Noble was the first in line to the throne but had shown no interest in marrying throughout his twenties. Right after his 30th birthday, he met a beautiful, kind, accomplished young lady named Mariette. Mariette had a pure, open heart that generated love effortlessly. Noble began to pay court to Mariette. This scandalized his parents. His actions also scandalized the small fraction of the Nieveaux population who paid any attention to anything beyond their own  front doors. Mariette was not of royal blood. Also, Mariette and her family lived at the Edge of the Curve, the official boundary of Nieveaux. No one in Nieveaux knew what lay beyond the Edge of the Curve, but the people of Nieveaux believed that citizens who lived too close to the boundary were tainted by the kingdoms of the Outside.

Noble defied his parents and the community by continuing his courtship. He finally proposed a union between his royal house and Mariette’s humble family. While such a marriage of unequals was the closest thing to trouble that Nieveaux had seen in generations, the families eventually agreed. The work of a monarch is to produce monarchs and, at 30, it was long past time that Noble got to work.

Noble and Mariette floated along on the amazement of their love for some months. There were elaborate preparations for a wedding worthy of a prince of the realm. Mariette’s family was not able to match the opulence of a royal wedding, but they gathered flowers and ribbons and lace to make gorgeous bouquets for every pre-wedding event. The day of the wedding rehearsal, Mariette went out to gather fresh flowers to grace the altar. A severe snowstorm arose. That day, the snow did not melt quickly. The storm raged and flurried all around her for hours. She never returned. Mariette’s family and Noble went looking for Mariette, but it was useless. All they found was a bouquet of white roses, trimmed with icicles and evergreen. The bouquet appeared to have been dropped next to the largest tree in Nieveaux, thrown from Mariette’s hands as the wind and snow threw her against the tree. Her people had to assume that Mariette was blinded by the snow and disoriented. They believed she sustained a blow to her head that caused her to lose consciousness and freeze to death. They decided that they must wait until the snow in the area melted to a reasonable level so they could excavate to find her body.

The snow in that area of Nieveaux never melted from that day forward. Elsewhere in Nieveaux, the topography returned to its pre-storm state. There was a thin layer of snow all over the ground all the time, but it would have been easy to unearth anything covered beneath it. In the Curve of the Edge area, however, the snow stayed mounded. Another strange coincidence was that the bouquet of white flowers stayed as fresh as the day Mariette picked them. The evergreen never wilted. The icicles never melted. Her family kept the bouquet in a protective case to always remind them of Mariette’s beauty and pure goodness.

Noble locked himself away in his castle for a month after Mariette’s death. When his family and his people told him he must marry, he refused. It was as if all the vibrancy and power he had within him died with Mariette. As time went on, though, he did tire of living within his own head. He came out of his locked room and began to go about the normal daily routine of a dashing young monarch. He was rich, popular, and quite the catch. He knew that he was born to marry. He also knew he would never love again the way he had loved Mariette. He decided that he might as well marry to please his family and his kingdom.

Noble decide to propose to Theodora. It was a highly satisfactory match in the eyes of the people of Nieveaux. Theodora was Noble’s third cousin and was fifth in line to the throne in her own right. She lived in the third castle on the right from Noble’s palace. She was beautiful and accomplished. She was poised and intelligent. She was born to be a queen. Noble found her to be an attractive and pleasant companion.

Once again, a royal wedding was in the works in Nieveaux. This time, everything went according to plan. The bride was stunning. The groom beamed. The decorations of gold and silver and precious gems gleamed… but the flowers were not quite as special as they had been for Mariette’s wedding. That night, when Noble and Mariette arrived at the Palace in the Pines, where they were to honeymoon, Noble found a fresh white rose bouquet, trimmed with icicles and evergreens, on the doorstep.

Time passed. Noble ascended to the throne. The kingdom celebrated a magnificent coronation for King Noble and Queen Theodora. They were the “it” couple, lauded at every turn. It seemed that the king’s sad romantic history had retreated into nostalgia. King Noble and Queen Theodora seemed very happy together. The kingdom ran just as it always had, to everyone’s satisfaction.

Everyone became even happier one day when the royal herald announced that Queen Theodora had given birth to a healthy baby girl. Her father named her Princess Picclapena. Princess Picclapena went to live in her own household, meticulously cared for by servants appointed by her parents to keep her safe. Her governess, Lady Agnes, guarded her fiercely from all things ferocious. Because Princess Picclapena was so precious to the royal house and no one wanted to risk her getting hurt or sick or endangered in any way, she only left her personal palace on rare state occasions. Even in the gardens of her palace, servants watched her play to make sure she stayed happy, healthy, and safe. King Noble and Queen Theodora visited her each day in the early evening hours. Picclapena loved that time of day. She always put on her coziest nightgown and wrapped herself in her quilted satin robe. Her queen would bundle the princess onto her lap in a rocking chair and quietly rock her to the sound of silence. The atmosphere was silent because King Noble and Queen Theodora did not speak to their daughter for fear of scaring her or hurting her. Since her parents did not speak, Picclapena did not either. She just snuggled close to her mother while her father looked on with an incredulous smile on his face. When Princess Picclapena went to bed, her parents went back to their castle until the next evening.

Princess Picclapena’s world was not always silent. Every day, her tutors came to teach her the great history and culture of Nieveaux. Picclapena learned the story of the royal succession, the importance of safeguarding the monarchy, and the need for caution in all things. She learned not to open the door to strangers. She learned not to question the great truths of the Nieveaux philosophers. She learned not to play too hard or jump too high or laugh too loudly. She learned to never leave her palace grounds without her parents. She especially learned that she must never, ever go beyond the Edge of the Curve. Picclapena would often watch the world of Nieveaux pass by outside the palace gates and wonder what it would be like to wander the kingdom on her own. Sometimes, she even thought she heard the far-off sound of music playing.

Whenever she mentioned her dream of life beyond the gates to her tutors, they explained that such a thing was not possible, nor even desirable. Clever, well-brought-up  princesses understood that they could have everything their hearts desired inside the palace grounds and there was nothing to be gained from the risk entailed with leaving her sanctuary. Picclapena was not sure this was true, but she liked to believe she was clever, and she knew she was well-brought up. After a while, she stopped asking about the world outside the palace gates.

Finally, an exciting day came. Princess Picclapena was going to join her parents for her very first official public appearance since her christening. She was to cut the ribbon at the opening of a new ice-skating rink at the center of the kingdom. The ceremony would take place in the evening when the second star twinkled. All day long, people came to the princess’s palace to prepare for her outing. Her tutors came to instruct her on her royal duties at the event. The seamstress came to fit her new dress. The hairdresser came to freshen her curls and change the color of the ribbons in her hair. The cobbler came with brand new slippers to match her new dress. A florist came, delivering a corsage of beautiful flowers to wear on her wrist. Princess Picclapena saw more people on skating rink day than she had seen in the entire year combined. She watched excitedly by the palace gates, as they swung open and closed multiple times. Once, she even jumped on the gate and began to swing on it. Her governess, Lady Agnes, quickly and gently removed her from the hazard.

Not to be deterred, Picclapena kept watching the hubbub at the gate. As she watched, she noticed a small white puppy just outside the gate. Delighted, she rushed to pet him, but he ran away before she could reach him. At first, she did not even notice that she was outside the gate completely on her own. Then, she noticed a man standing a few feet from her gate.

“Hello,” he said. “I am Ezra. How are you?”

“I think I am okay,” replied the princess. “How are you?”

“I’m very well,” Ezra responded. “Who are you and how did you get here?”

“What do you mean? I am Princess Picclapena, and I am standing right outside my palace,” responded the princess a little irritably.

“Are you sure?” Ezra asked politely, “I don’t see any palace.”

Picclapena looked around and was surprised to see that, in fact, the palace was not in sight.

“Oh no,” she cried, “I must have followed that little white puppy further than I intended. I have no idea where I am. And I am supposed to cut the ribbon at the ice-skating rink opening this evening!”

“Well, I might be able to help you,” Ezra said. “I can tell you that you are just next to the Edge of the Curve. It is quite a pleasant place to be. It may not seem like it to some people, but I think you will like it if you give it a chance.”

“But I am a royal princess! And I am not supposed to leave the palace grounds by myself. I am certainly not supposed to get this close to the Edge of the Curve!” Princess Picclapena retorted.

“Why not?” asked Ezra, quite reasonably.

“I’m just not. It isn’t safe. I have to be extra careful because I will one day be the monarch of Nieveaux. In the palace, there is no danger. Everyone is kind to me. Everyone makes sure I am comfortable. I know exactly what to do.”

“Oh, so what do you do?” Ezra asked.

“I, I, I, uh, I can’t explain it very well. Mostly, I am attended by my tutors to learn things so that I can be a good queen of Nieveaux… you know, history, culture, how to behave properly. I am particularly good at behaving properly,” Picclapena replied doubtfully.

“Hmm… it doesn’t sound very interesting.”

“It might not always be interesting. My governess tells me that it isn’t important that life be interesting or fun or exciting. It is important that I remain safe, learn how to do my duty, and be a good queen one day.”

“And what does a good queen do?” asked Ezra.

“There are Things.” Picclapena proclaimed importantly.

“Like what? Your father is king, right? What does he do?”

“He mostly just proclaims things. He is a very smart man and knows the answers.”

“The answers to what?”

“What is Right. He never talks to me, so I do not know exactly.”

“He never talks to you? At all?”

“No, my mother and father want to make sure I am not hurt or scared. If they talk, they might tell me something that will harm me. I did hear them talking once, though, as they left my palace to go back home.”

“What did you hear them say?”

“Hmm… let me think. I don’t remember exactly. My father was talking rather loudly. He sounded angry. My mother was crying. It had something to do with me, but it was not exactly about me.”

“That sounds confusing.”

“Yes, it was. After that day, I always waited next to the door when my parents left to see if I could hear anything else. I could not hear the words clearly, but I often heard snippets of tones. It was like faraway music. Sometimes, their voices tinkled like bells, and I could hear laughter. Most of the time, though, my father’s voice was like timpani and cymbals, crashing percussively against the halls of the palace. My mother’s sound was an oboe- mournful and piercing.”

“Did you ever ask anyone about what you heard?”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It just isn’t done in Nieveaux.”

“Well, that’s true enough. Don’t you think it would be nice to know, though?”

“Yes, but I am sure I never will.”

“Hmmm… maybe not. What do you want to do now?”

“I don’t really know. I should go back to the palace. I would like to find that puppy, though, before I go back. Could you help me do that?”

“Sure. I know exactly where that puppy would be. It wasn’t a puppy, though.”

“It looked like a puppy!”

“Yes, but things are not always what they look like.”

Picclapena thought things were always what they looked like, but she did not want to be impolite and contradict.

“So, if it wasn’t a puppy, what was it?”

“Oh, those creatures are called churlas. They live right outside the curve.”

“OUTSIDE the curve?! Oh no, am I outside the curve? I thought you said we were at the Edge of the Curve.”

“Yes, yes… you are still inside. The churlas often creep into Nieveaux from the outside to check us out and then scuttle back outside the curve.”

“They must be very dangerous.”

“Do they look dangerous? What makes you think they must be dangerous?”

“No, they don’t look dangerous at all. They look cute and fluffy and sweet, and I want to pet one. I am sorry, Ezra, but they could not actually live outside the curve. Nothing but dangerous things live out there.”

“Well, you know best, of course,” replied Ezra, looking quite bemused. “Perhaps we could go over to see the Curve and you can show me how I am wrong. I am fairly certain we will see some churlas right beyond the Edge.”

“Is that safe?” asked Picclapena doubtfully. “I mustn’t go outside the Edge.”

“You should still be able to see those churlas, even at the Edge. However, if you don’t want to go, I quite understand.”

Ezra began to walk away towards the Edge of the Curve. Picclapena hesitated and then followed.

“After all,” she said, “there can’t be anything too dangerous as long as I stay inside Nieveaux.”

“You can stay as far from the Edge as you wish,” Ezra reassured her.

They walked in silence until Ezra exclaimed, “There it is!”

“What?” asked Picclapena. “I don’t see anything.”

“The Curve! Look, it is right over there.”

Picclapena looked quite carefully but did not see anything. Slowly, she moved forward until she finally noticed a small shimmer in the sky above her, creating a prism of multi-colored melted sunlight all around her.

“Is this it? Is this the Curve?”

“Yes, it is. Be careful, though; you do not want to get too close.”

Picclapena stood with her head bent upwards and squinted at the beautiful designs the prism of the Curve made. At first, they seemed to dance and morph and tease her senses. Then, as if by magic, her eyes cleared, and she could see outside the Edge of the Curve. Sure enough, there were churlas playing in the field right outside the Edge.

“Oh, there they are! You were right. They do live out there. Oh, how cute! I want one! I want to pet one!”

“Well, you can if you really want to.”

“How?”

“You could try calling them and see if one will breech the Curve and come inside. It probably will not work, though. Churlas only go where they want to go when they want to go. If you really want to pet one, you’ll have to venture outside the Curve. I do it all the time. It isn’t so bad. You can do it if you want to. Oh look! There is one of the churlas right outside the Curve over there.”

Stay tuned for the next exciting installment- Part Two: Princess Picclopena Breaches The Curve!

Have a royal day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Random Ramblings On The Road To Spiritual Maturity

Have you missed me? January is always a bit hard for me. This year, I feel like I’ve been in a period of incubation, percolating the next chapter of my journey. . 

I think I walked right into a long maelstrom of spiritual exploration and growth after my mother died. I flirted with it some before then, but that transition in my life pushed me firmly onto the path. That was in 2018. I feel like it has not let up much in the past six plus years. God has led me through a windy, thundering storm. I have felt the lightning bolts. The storm has thrown me off the road at times. The emotional weather has exhausted and bewildered me. Much of the experience was unpleasant, but also immensely satisfying. The storm has stripped away layers of debris and watered the seeds of what is good within me.

In the tumult of the last several years, I thought I was making good progress in my spiritual life. I thought I knew who I was. I thought I knew how to live in the world with some degree of emotional safety. I thought I knew where God was leading me. I thought I had a strategy for accomplishing the goals I envisioned. I thought I was filling needs around the church.  The thing is, there are an awful lot of “Is” in this paragraph. As well-intended as I was and as much reflection as I did, I still had a hard time letting God set the agenda and plan the strategy. Somehow, I thought He was relying on me to do all that. I certainly did not want to let Him down!

Lately, I have been concentrating on listening for God and assuming He will direct me rather than fretting over figuring out what He wants me to do. That means trusting that He has given me and will continue to give me whatever I need in the way of directions and tools to do what He wants me to do. I do not always get it right. I often end up having to intentionally stop my brain from thrashing around spastically to redirect myself. I say I must stop myself mid-mindspin. It requires me to exercise considerable spiritual discipline to simply keep trying. I think I can say that it is now a habit to be intentional about letting God take the reins. I may not fulfill my intentions all the time, but at least I have them.

A friend of mine who is studying for ordination into the priesthood just delivered a thought-provoking sermon on 1 Corinthians 12:12-31. This lovely bit of Scripture compares the parts of the body with various spiritual gifts contributed by different Christians. She ended her sermon challenging the congregation to think and pray about what gifts we had to contribute to the body of Christ. She asked, “What part of Christ’s body are you?”

I take these things to heart. I spent some time on Sunday afternoon thinking about it. It struck me that, at this time last year, I was feeling a bit like I was the tonsils. I was catching all the infection and bacteria. I was feeling decayed and inflamed. There were a few experiences that functioned as a kind of antibiotic, removing the bacteria du jour in the moment. Still, the spiritual step throat kept recurring. Sometime over the year, God finally decided to remove the tonsils and get rid of that infection more permanently. It was a great feeling to be healed of this burden.

On the other hand, I was left without a purpose. This week I found I needed to rethink my friend’s sermon challenge, “What part of Christ’s body are you?”  I am afraid that I might be the appendix.

I texted my friend and shared with her that I thought I might be the appendix. She vehemently disagreed. She said she saw me as being the heart. I hope she is right. But even if she is not, I think God can do something wonderful- even through an appendix!

What part of Christ’s body are you?  Please share your perspective by leaving a comment.  In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com

Have a blessed day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

ALPHA In A Good Way

My church, St. James Episcopal Church at 204 N. Lee St. in Leesburg, FL, 34748, is offering a free ALPHA course starting on August 6th. An ALPHA course is an opportunity to grapple with the bigger questions of life and faith in a fun, nonthreatening, nonjudgmental environment. ALPHA was originally designed for people who would not necessarily identify as churchgoers, but we find that it is equally valuable to ANYONE who wants to feel closer to God and His Church. ALPHA is an 11-week course, meeting from 6:00-8:00pm on Tuesday evenings in the parish hall. It also includes one Saturday retreat day. Each session includes a shared meal, a video about some aspect of Christian belief, and small group discussions. Our guests find open conversations, during which they are encouraged to share as much or as little as they wish about their perspectives, questions, doubts, and experiences.

I have been helping to coordinate the ALPHA program for several years. When I started with the program, I had no idea what I was getting into, to  be honest. God has stretched me and supported me and shown me a small glimpse of His power. He has used this opportunity to help me learn to trust His plan over my own. This is a lesson that I am sure I will have to keep learning for the rest of my life, but my work with ALPHA has been the most significant factor in this aspect of my spiritual development. I have experienced many other growth spurts related to my work with ALPHA, also.

I’ve also witnessed other people grow in faith and joy during the program. We call our participants “guests” rather than “students” because we are truly all students. One of our guests told me that, even though she had been a faithful, obedient, God-worshipping Christian for as long as she could remember, ALPHA was the first time she ever understood that God loved her. I saw young men, climbing their way out of dark, disastrous living situations, find a foothold with God and a community that is helping them step into the light. I watched people who had let God go because of what people have done in God’s name slowly and cautiously come back home to Him. I’ve met sturdy, faith-filled elderly people whose souls house a treasure of spiritual love and steadfastness. These people, some of whom mourned because they believed they were no longer useful, have been absolute rock stars in sharing faith. In the process, they have been able to grow even closer to God and His people, as well.

Sometimes, we look at religious conversions and spiritual experiences as a lightening strike.  One perfect moment when the electricity and passion of faith hits someone with a certain overwhelming, momentous power. Sometimes it is like that. In my observations of nearly 65 years of spiritual searching, I find religious  conversions and spiritual experiences are more often soft and gentle. They creep over us and cozy us, like a warm blanket on a cold night after a tough day. There are “aha!” moments in ALPHA, but there are so many more “aaaaah” moments. I love “aaaaah” moments. I am privileged to be present when people have them… or even when they simply open themselves up to them.

Our ALPHA courses get fantastic feedback. Our guests enjoy the fellowship and focus of faith formation. In a noisy, busy, secular culture that runs on the energy of  secular values, it is sometimes a relief to step away for a dedicated time to intentionally focus on the Kingdom values. I call ALPHA a “search party”- a “party” because we are all hanging out together and having fun and “search” because we are all seeking something. 

When we start a course, we never know where the guests will be on their spiritual development paths. We never know what people will need. We never know how to do it. We never know how to slant a course- towards the unchurched or towards those who have strong faith. The most important thing we don’t know is that we never know what is going to happen. I always say that my job is simply to turn on the lights and open the door. The rest is up to the Holy Spirit. She has not let me down yet. Something wonderful ALWAYS happens. I tell people, “Come and see.” (John 1:46)

In our last ALPHA course, we did have one interesting bit of constructive criticism. One guest questioned the name of the class. He came to the course with a societal  understanding of the word “Alpha.”   He understood it as meaning dominant, perhaps bullying, and toxic… like the terms “alpha dog” or “alpha male.”  This, of course, is not the Kingdom understanding of “ALPHA.”  ALPHA does not mean best or dominating in our lexicon. ALPHA means “the first.”  The ALPHA course is a first step for many people in developing their relationship with God. Even if it is not the first step a person ever took towards a relationship with God, an ALPHA course can usher in a new season of “firsts” of spiritual development for a guest…. And for ALPHA team members.

If you are anywhere in the Leesburg area, please do consider joining us for ALPHA. It is a lot of fun, in addition to being an opportunity to explore the big issues of life and faith. Please contact me at terriretirement@gmail.com if you would like more information. I also have a brochure that includes snippets of perspectives from some of our past guests.

Have a blessed day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Church Lab- Sample C

More in the continuing saga of my Lenten pilgriming…

For my final church visit in Lent, I selected a United Methodist church in the next town north from me. I felt like I needed to change things up a little more dramatically. There is a United Methodist church right down the road from my Episcopal church, but I decided it would be better to go further afield in order to get a feel for a completely different culture. I think it was the wise decision, but, let me tell you… there is no growth in comfort and no comfort in growth!

I picked this particular church because their website seemed to feature many adult faith formation opportunities. Adult education is a passion of mine, so it was exciting to me to see a congregation so dialed in to congregational faith formation. Unfortunately, the website was somewhat vague and opaque about what these classes and events looked like and what they taught. I was interested to learn more, so decided to get up early one Sunday and attend their 8:00am service.

When I arrived at the church, I noticed a parking lot with about forty spaces in front of the church, with additional parking in the rear. There were plenty of spaces in the front. In fact, cars occupied only one or two of the spots. However, when I entered the lot, I noticed that every one of the forty spaces were designated as handicapped parking. Hmmm, I thought. This might tell me something about the congregation.

I parked in the back of the church and walked up to the front door. A gentleman standing there handed me a program. He looked at me and asked if I was new. When I replied that I was visiting, he perked up considerably. Straightening his whole body and projecting his voice vociferously across the twenty-five feet of narthex behind him, he called to someone standing at a little kiosk, “Marge! I have a newcomer!” Everyone standing in the narthex immediately turned to look. The man pointed to the lady at the kiosk, presumably Marge, placed his hand on my back, and propelled me to what turned out to be the greeter’s table. As I walked across the narthex towards Marge, the people parted to make a path for me. It all felt dramatic and almost ceremonial. One thing it was not was anonymous. If I had any hope of slinking in quietly and invisibly, it was dashed in that moment. Marge said hello and asked if I would like my free gift then or if I wanted her to keep it until after the service. When I said I would like to wait, she immediately pounced on the opportunity to commit me to meeting her after the service at her little kiosk.

Armed with the new understanding of my personal growth and bravery which I discovered during my first pilgriming trip, I pulled my psyche up by its bootstraps and entered the worship space. They had a slide show projecting announcements and upcoming events. I watched closely, hoping they would reveal a little more information about the mysterious faith formation opportunities. They did not.

When the minister stepped out onto the raised platform, he greeted everyone and asked any newcomers to stand up and introduce themselves. Heads all over the church swiveled in my direction. Since there were only about 40 or 50 people in the congregation and virtually all of them had been in the narthex to witness my very conspicuous entrance, everyone knew how to spot me. I wanted to climb under a pew, but I would not have fit. I hesitated a moment. I really did not want to be on public display. I know the intentions were good, but it felt extremely uncomfortable to me. As I took a nanosecond to process my discomfort, congregants started calling out- “Get up! It won’t hurt!,” “Here’s someone new!” and other exclamations meant to be welcoming. I did get up and quickly give my name and my town before sinking back into my seat like wet clay on a potter’s wheel. In that instance, I made a mental note- “Report back to the welcome committee at the church I currently attend- let’s NOT do this!”

When the service began, I noticed that this church was musically oriented as the Sample B church was. I enjoyed the singing, but I still missed the fellowship of communal spoken prayer. This was the least “liturgical” of my church samples- the service felt much less structured. It intrigued me that they read only 1.5 verses of Scripture as part of the service. I am accustomed to hearing an Old Testament or Acts of the Apostles reading, a Psalm, a New Testament reading, and a Gospel reading. The sermon didn’t align closely with my own spiritual biorhythm. It was not that I thought it unorthodox or unchristian or anything like that. It was simply a question of emphasis. The core of the message seemed to lean a little more towards humanism than felt right to me. It also enhanced my curiosity about what the various faith formation classes and groups actually teach.

During the passing of the peace, one lady came up to me to try to convince me to stay for Sunday School. She told me a little about her Sunday School group, but it did feel more “current event-y” and humanistic than the sort of faith formation for which my heart yearns. Besides, in that moment I realized I wanted to be at my church for the later service. The fact that my soul was again reflexively identifying the church I’ve attended for the past seven plus as my church seemed very telling.

I did reach out after the service to ask for more information about the faith formation opportunities. The minister responded quickly and warmly. If at some point, my current church again stops feeling like my church, I would be comfortable exploring their education opportunities further.

I felt a little bad for not continuing to engage with this United Methodist church because they were so obviously excited to have me. On the other hand, I have to say that one of the primary reasons I felt uncomfortable continuing to engage was… they were so obviously excited to have me. It was a good lesson in balance. It is important to be warm to visitors, but maybe it is even better to avoid boiling them alive!

Have you ever received a welcome somewhere that made you uncomfortable, even if the welcomers had the best of intentions? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a warm and welcoming day!

Terri/Dorry 😊

Church Lab- Sample B

More in the continuing saga of my Lenten pilgriming…

I chose the second church I visited by accident. I thought I was choosing a Missouri Synod Lutheran church, but I got stuck in Google quicksand. In my zeal to learn as much as I could about the different denominations and churches, I got a little mixed up. I ended up choosing another Evangelical Lutheran Church of America. It was okay, though. I chose a Saturday evening contemporary service in The Villages. The service was a much different experience than the traditional Sunday morning service I experienced in my town the prior week.

To provide some context, I need to explain a little about The Villages. I have mentioned this place in past blogs. The Villages are a weird, almost supernatural phenomenon. It is the housing development that took over the world. It is a mammoth senior independent living facility of over thirty-two square miles. The population is over 80.000 people. The heart of The Villages is a system of residential neighborhoods for people over fifty-five, augmented by health care facilities, restaurants, bars (lots of bars), major shopping areas, entertainment venues, and every service a person could ever need. There are social and activity clubs to serve people of every interest- including being majorettes. Yes, I have seen them practicing in full regalia in the Target parking lot. You can access any place within The Villages by golf cart. Their road system involves a great many traffic circles. I have always thought that was an odd urban planning choice for a community intended for people who, by definition, have probably lost a lot of peripheral vision.

The Villages is the fastest growing city in the United States. They brand themselves as “America’s Hometown.” The way they are expanding, they might have to broaden the term beyond “America’s.”  We live about fifteen miles from the heart of The Villages, although that distance is shrinking as the town seeps ever southward. The Villages pretend they are a city unto themselves. In reality, their property spans across at least four different cities in three different counties.

This brings me to Sample B of my Church Lab experiment. I am not sure you would describe the church I attended in The Villages as a mega church, but it certainly seemed that way to me. I spent most of my church years in Roman Catholic churches, so I am familiar with large service attendance. However, after nearly eight years at my small Episcopal church, I am now more accustomed to moderate congregations of 100-150 people. The church I attended in The Villages pushed me out of that paradigm, for sure. This church has three separate campuses and a membership of over 4,000 people. They hold seven services each weekend. There had to be around four hundred people at the service I attended.

This service was much more casual. The minister wore a purple polo shirt and black pants. There was not a clerical collar or vestment to be seen. The hallmark of the service was singing. There was little spoken prayer, especially communal spoken prayer. When I entered the enveloping worship space, I asked an usher for a program or Order of Worship. He looked confused and said I should just follow along with the video screens. There were two MASSIVE screens hanging from the ceiling. As the service progressed, I saw why programs were not necessary. Mostly, the service involved just following the bouncing ball to sing worship songs along with the small, but powerful choir. The singing, for me, was rather restful, focusing, and meditative. I am not sure if that was the vibe they were going for, but it worked for me. I did miss the communal recitation of spoken prayer, though.

The minister preached a helpful sermon. The communion process was beautiful. Both the sermon and communion were similar to my church, with just a snippet more of a modern flair. I loved the communion distribution. Each communion station had a large one-piece ceramic vessel- a plate of hosts surrounding a cup of wine molded into the center. As I write about it, I can’t help thinking you will all visualize a chip and dip plate, which seems very irreverent. It did not strike me like that at the time. I guess there was a functional similarity between the communion vessel and a chip and dip plate, but the communion vessel was so much more elegant and transcendent. Don’t ask me how it was elegant and transcendent. It was just a vibe.

Because there were so many people, I had plenty of time to look around at the congregation. Something occurred to me that I would normally never notice. It still seems odd to me that it even registered to me. As a white, middle-class woman, I typically don’t have to notice stuff like this. People who look like me are usually in the majority. However, when I looked around the congregation at The Villages church, all I saw were people who all fit in one particular dynamic. Every single person was white. At the age of almost sixty-five, I was the youngest person there except for a couple of the singers. Knowing what I know of The Villages, I am pretty sure all the worshippers fell into an upper middle class economic status. I doubt there was anyone there who was very rich. I doubt there was anyone there who was poor or even lower middle class.

My own church is fairly homogenous. However, I have seen a shift in the eight years or so I have been attending. Younger people are popping in- at our recent Alpha program, we had 8 or 10 young men who showed up regularly. I see faces of color in the congregation. We have members with generational ties to my town and to my church. We have people who have only recently moved to the area. We have very wealthy people, and we have people who have to decide whether to pay the electric bill or the car insurance each month. Our congregation is becoming a blended family. It is a rich environment. It enriches me to be part of it.

As I was sitting in my car after the service… waiting for the parking lot to clear out… I was praying and meditating. Facebook recently decided that Proverbs 3:5-6 “Trust in God with all your heart, and don’t lean on your own understand. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will direct your paths” is my very own Bible passage. If Facebook says it, it must be true, so I decided to contemplate that message. Considering that this Lent was a season of discovery for me… a season to look for where God wanted me to serve… Facebook did a pretty good job.

Something happened at that point. Now, I am not a mystical kind of person. I am intuitive, but I am also very, very practical. If I have a feeling or an impulse, I analyze it to shreds to figure out from whence it came. I tend to think that this “feeling” or “impulse” or “intuition” is the result of me observing and analyzing information so automatically that I don’t even realize I am doing it. That may be what happened in the parking lot at The Villages church. It may be that I simply wanted to see something to give me a direction. Or it may be that I had a bona fide vision. Whatever it was, it was powerful and compelling.

As I sat quietly in my car with my eyes closed thinking about Proverbs 3:5-6, I suddenly had an undeniable picture of what my church could be like. I know it was my church because I saw people I know sitting in the pews. I should say “sitting in the stands” because it was such a large space- almost an arena. They were people the people that I have noticed coming into our congregation in the past several years- the younger ones, the newly moved to the area, the non-Caucasian faces, those who struggle financially, brothers and sisters with varied backgrounds. I am close to these people. I can’t say they came to my church because I was there or because I invited them. I have come to know them since they started attending my church. God seemed to be telling me, though, that these people were there and thriving in their spiritual lives partly because of me… that I had behaved in a way towards them that reflected God’s love and acceptance. My initial takeaway was that God was showing me that I have had value in supporting His work in my current congregation.

The next takeaway might reflect the work that He still has for me to do where I am. I had such a sense that what I was seeing behind my eyelids was God’s vision for my church. God wants it to continue to grow in love and grace and fellowship. He wants it to be a haven for everyone who is searching for Him, in any way. He wants me to have a part in preserving the beauty I have seen grow in my congregation while also expanding to include some of the benefits of a large church. When you have a ton of people come to your church and contribute, it is easier and more efficient to use resources. You can usually offer more programs and ministries. You can hire more staff for pastoral care. You can reach out more to the community.

The “God’s vision” I saw was extraordinary. It was exciting. I don’t know if we will get there in my lifetime. That is up to God. I don’t know if we will ever get there at all. That is up to the people to strive for His vision. All I know is that God has something on the horizon for my church and for me. I guess I will stick around for a while.

Do you think I had a mystical vision? Or something more prosaic? Do you think it matters if it was a message directly from God or something I just made up out of my own little brain? Please share your perspective by leaving a comment. In the alternative, you can email me at terriretirement@gmail.com.

Have a visionary day!

Terri/Dorry😊