Jonathan

April 11, 2015March 20, 2017 Sally1 Comment

J is for Jonathan, Jonathan Rogers, to be exact.

Jonathan Rogers is a writer, speaker, teacher, and Flannery O’Connor expert.

For whatever reason, I am prone to say the most awful things to him — insults and degradations.

Like this past fall, when I saw him in Nashville, and he was talking about Georgia, a state dear to him because he grew up there.

“Every time we drive through Georgia,” I told him, “my kids complain because it smells so bad.” (There must be a rendering plant or something near I-95.)

I realized how awful that was as soon as I said it. I looked around to see if the words had maybe come from someone else’s mouth, but, no, I was the only one standing there.

He stopped what he was doing and looked at me. “Do you sit at home thinking of ways to insult me?” he finally asked.

No, Jonathan, those insults seem to come quite naturally to me.

I knew that Jonathan would be at Laity Lodge and felt the anxiety rising. I would not insult him this go-round. I gritted my teeth in firm resolve.

I’ve been the recipient of enough rude statements, mostly regarding my family size.

“Again??!??!” — on seeing me pregnant for the 6th, 7th, or 8th time.

“Don’t you know what causes that?” — generally followed by guffaws and elbows to the ribs.

“You have too many children.” — a statement to which I responded, “Which one should I get rid of?”

“You got your girl. You can stop now.” — after Helen was born, my first girl after three boys, as if having a girl had been a goal.

But, Jonathan — I don’t know why unkind words roll off my tongue in his presence. And I don’t like that about me.

“Really,” I told a friend, “I may just try to avoid him.”

When I saw that Jonathan wasn’t present at dinner or the first talk, I actually felt a little sad, because these were his people far more than my people. I’m an interloper, but they are all too gracious to expel me.

The next morning I got up early, my usual routine. When I went to get coffee, two other people were also getting morning beverages. I stopped partway through the doorway — it was Jonathan Rogers and his wife.

“Good morning, Sally,” he smiled. Did I mention the fact that he is nice and I am not? “I’d like you to meet my wife.”

We said our hellos.

I think I was polite.

As it turns out, his wife is delightful. One of my favorite conversations from the whole retreat was an honest vulnerable breakfast we shared.

I liked her so much that I braved a Facebook conversation with Jonathan to get her email address.

I may have insulted him by asking for it.

“This happens every time I take her anywhere,” he wrote. “I write for the Rabbit Room for what, 8 years? One weekend and she is more popular than me.”

Sorry, Jonathan.

A to Z Blogging Challenge

Inklings

April 10, 2015March 20, 2017 Sally8 Comments

I is for the Inklings.

Ralph Wood, in his first talk at Laity Lodge, spoke about the Inklings, that group of men who met in an English pub to discuss life and literature, and whose best-known members were C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien.

I scribbled in my notes, “Friendship is the only love that when divided is not diminished,” and looked for the “real” quote later. I found it, in C. S. Lewis’ book, The Four Loves,

“In each of my friends there is something that only some other friend can fully bring out. By myself I am not large enough to call the whole man into activity; I want other lights than my own to show all his facets… Hence true Friendship is the least jealous of loves. Two friends delight to be joined by a third, and three by a fourth, if only the newcomer is qualified to become a real friend. They can then say, as the blessed souls say in Dante, ‘Here comes one who will augment our loves.’ For in this love ‘to divide is not to take away.”

Several years ago, when my life journey had taken a steep uphill turn, I summoned a group of Friendlings. We didn’t meet in a pub, but rather, through the magic of the interwebs, through social media and email.

Dr. Wood told us that The Lord of the Rings would not have happened without the constant encouragement of C. S. Lewis. Sometimes I wonder how I would have fared without the constant encouragement of my Friendlings.

Like the Inklings, mine has been a group with some fluidity, but also with some mainstays. With them, I have not only shared the trials in my life, but also my joys and the mundane. They share the same with me.

Each of them brings a different perspective, but that only enriches me all the more.

They staunchly stand beside me when I am at my weakest.

They know me at my ugliest and still love me.

In turn, they have shared their sunshine and their dark times with me.

“I’m hurting today,” one might say, and I will stop what I am doing to pray and to reach out across hundred of miles to tell her that I love her.

Friendlings have been a safe place to share and to listen.

Dr. Wood said that we are all Inklings.

Some of us may not be literary types, with ink stains on our fingers, but I daresay we all have the capacity to love and be loved.

Everyone can wear some friend-stains on their heart.

A to Z Blogging Challenge

The Good Guide

April 8, 2015March 20, 2017 Sally3 Comments

G is for Flannery O’Connor’s story that wasn’t called “The Good Guide.”

That’s not a typo.

She wrote a story called “The Artificial N——” — I can’t even bring myself to type the word — and her editor pleaded with her to change the title to “The Good Guide.” FO stood up for her title, saying it was the essence of the story.

At Laity Lodge, this story was the topic of Dr. Ralph Wood’s final talk for the retreat. It is a story of pride, betrayal, and grace.

As soon as Dr. Wood introduced the story, as soon as he said the word, as soon as he dropped that bomb, every heart turned toward the one man of color in our midst.

Every heart turned that way, I’m sure, though every eye politely stared straight ahead or focused on some speck on the floor.

He might as well have called a Jew to the front and offered to tattoo a number on his or her arm.

We are stung by certain words, by the sheer profanity of them, as we should be.

At the beginning of the retreat we were challenged to write two words on blocks of wood. One was to be the word that represents that thing that holds us back from our art. The other was to be a word that we would like to see eliminated from the English language.

I immediately knew my two words. I scrawled the first one onto a block, but couldn’t bring myself to write the second because, in my mind, it is such an awful word that it makes me want to throw up just to look at it.

I took a deep breath and finally scribbled it onto the block. Quickly, I laid the block face down on the sofa. I really didn’t want to see it.

Words can be such powerful things, can’t they?

Writing it down felt like I was empowering it, the last thing I ever wanted to do.

All those blocks were burned, though, in a vortex of fire on the last night.

The blocks were stacked on a potter’s wheel, doused with lighter fluid, and lit with the wheel spinning.

Vortex of Fire (photograph by Kristen Kopp)

I wish it were so easy to rid our country of hate.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · Faith

Frio River

April 7, 2015March 20, 2017 Sally7 Comments

F is for Frio — as in the Frio River.

Every time I think about Laity Lodge and the Frio River, these words scroll across my mind – A river runs through it.

Because a river runs through the canyon and is such an integral part of the Laity experience.

We drive through the river to get to the lodge.

Driving in the Frio River. (photograph by Kristen Kopp)

We can sit on the balcony to look at the river and listen to river.

Our view from the bluff looked down on the river and we could see how it wound its way through.

A river runs through it.

Years ago, I happened to catch the movie, A River Runs Through It, when it was shown on television. It is rare when I sit down to watch a whole movie unplanned, but something about it drew me. Something about it lingers, still today, in my heart.

Perhaps it was the mention of grace.

Perhaps it was the art, the stunning beauty of Montana.

Perhaps it was the human drama of a family and brothers and self-destructive behaviors and grace again.

Rivers run through our lives. They draw us together. We can stand in their waters side-by-side. We can feel their coolness and refreshment. We are washed clean in them.

Yes, it’s all grace.

Shall we gather at the river?

*****

“Each one of us here today will at one time in our lives look upon a loved one who is in need and ask the same question: We are willing to help, Lord, but what, if anything, is needed? For it is true we can seldom help those closest to us. Either we don’t know what part of ourselves to give or, more often than not, the part we have to give is not wanted. And so it is those we live with and should know who elude us. But we can still love them – we can love completely without complete understanding.”

A River Runs Through It by Norman Maclean

A to Z Blogging Challenge · Faith

Empire Swimming (and Easter)

April 6, 2015March 20, 2017 Sally10 Comments

E is for Empire Swimming and Easter.

As a swim coach, I thought it funny that I ended up on my first flight to Laity Lodge with a swim team. I didn’t mind. Swimmers are some of my favorite people in the whole world.

Especially when I get to overhear conversations like this —

Swimmer A: This is my first time flying. I hope I get a window seat.

Swimmer B: You know you can’t open the window, right?

I laughed, wondering if Swimmer A thought he could open the window and stick his hand out to zoom through the oncoming air.

When the plane took off, I thought of him again, especially when I got that giddy feeling that makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time as the wheels leave the ground.

Flying is such a miracle.

Over a hundred people crammed into a metal tube, with their suitcases and laptops and books — but somehow that heavy thing climbs into the sky.

I really do grin like a 10-year-old and get the watery eyes of a senior citizen at the moment of transformation from earthbound to air-born.

It happened to me again yesterday. Not the flying part, but the laughing/crying part.

Easter Sunday is, in my opinion, the most important Christian holiday. The crux of our faith lies in the truth that Jesus bore the penalty for our sins on the cross and then conquered death in His resurrection.

Churches around the world have traditions associated with Easter. Over the years we’ve attended churches with sunrise services, cardboard testimonies, hymn sings, dramas, and traditional liturgies. Each new way of celebrating offers a fresh look at an old but oh-so-beautiful story.

The church we currently attend closes with Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus and a joyful procession of the children.

Curmudgeonly me, I said to Bud yesterday morning before church, “I’m ready to move on to something besides caterpillars and butterflies.”

I’ll blame it on the persistent headache I’ve had for the past week, but, more likely, I’m just a grump.

When the procession started, though, and the caterpillar came waddling up the center aisle, I felt that wheels-leaving-the-runway giddiness.

And when the children threw off the caterpillar shroud to reveal the butterflies, I confess, my eyes got a little watery.

As the procession continued with waving flags and ever larger butterflies, I was thankful for the joy that filled our sanctuary.

Because, if there was one thing I needed to be reminded of yesterday, it was joy.

Confetti-filled, silly-stringed, laugh-out-loud joy.

The kind where it doesn’t matter whether or not the window opens, because you can still feel the wheels leave the tarmac, and know that it’s a miracle, and that you’re being carried somewhere beyond, somewhere amazing.

Easter is that kind of amazing, pressed down, shaken over, overflowing.

The biggest miracle of them all.

For me.

A to Z Blogging Challenge · Travel

Bluff

April 2, 2015March 20, 2017 Sally5 Comments

Wouldn’t you know it? Yesterday I discovered the A to Z Blogging Challenge for April, where for the month of April the challenge is to blog every day except Sunday, and use the letters of the alphabet to mark off the days.

April 1st, A, I decided could be Assistance, since that’s what the story was about. Today, I could say B is for Bus, but I semi-promised no more bus stories.

So B is for Bluff, more precisely, Circle Bluff.

I’m no longer telling a chronological story; it’s an alphabetical one, but I hope you’ll bear with me.

The destination for all my travels was a place called Laity Lodge in the wilds of Texas. I’ll have to come back to my time at LaGuardia and Charlotte airports, my short stay in San Antonio, my first real Texas barbecue, and even my drive through the river to get to Laity Lodge.

Let me simply say that Laity Lodge is pretty close to heaven on earth. Pretty. Darn. Close.

I heard someone say “Friggin'” there, so I knew it wasn’t heaven. Still.

A group of us went for a hike on Friday. The fact that it felt like it was straight up half the time was a testament to how out of shape I am.

It was up, but not straight. Straight up is a cliff.

And straight down is the direction I looked once we were up on the bluff.

Apparently there was a sign — “Don’t go past these rocks.”

I honestly didn’t notice the sign.

I just saw all these other people out there and climbed over the rocks.

The view was spectacular. I kept looking at this little out-jutting ledge, thinking how fun it would be sit on it, and dangle my legs, and really enjoy the view, but when I looked back at our trusty hike leader, she was literally holding her heart in her chest, like it might fall out from the palpitations we all were causing.

So I just took a picture of the ledge.

It would have given me a great view. — I considered sitting here.

Because, really, I never got that close to the edge. See?

Me, taking pictures of the view. (photo by Kristen Kopp)

And the truth is, the farther away from the edge, the less spectacular the view.

In fact, Evel Knievel said, “Where there is little risk, there is little reward.” I remember watching his daredevil stunts when I was a kid.

But he is also listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the survivor of “most bones broken in a lifetime”. 433, to be exact.

So I risked a little, but not too much, and loved the view.

From the bluff.

Which begins with B.

Travel

Assistance

April 1, 2015March 20, 2017 Sally1 Comment

Q: How many stories can I eke out of one bus trip?

A: This is the last one. I think.

When I began the trip, I was determined to have writer’s eyes and ears, paying attention to the details and scribbling them down. Once I reached my destination, that plan evaporated, like a puddle in the Texas sun.

Still, I now have this notebook full of notes. When I pulled it out this morning to help me recall the next leg of my journey, I realized that I had left out a little chapter about my bus ride.

Here is the story verbatim from my notes.

*****

I’m dozing.

Dubai mom walks to the front of the bus.

“Anyone have a paper bag?”

Someone gives her one.

She goes back to her seat and hands the bag across the aisle.

Vomiting.

Take-charge nurse-type across the aisle from me calls back questions.

“Does she have asthma?”

“Yes.”

“Does she have an inhaler?”

No answer — vomiting.

“Does she have a pump?”

“Yes.”

“I’m coming back…”

Thank you for these little heroes on a bus.

“I work in a hospital,” she said to me later, “used to work in the ER.”

*****

As fair and lovely as Dubai mom was, ER nurse was dark and strong. She reminded me of Hattie McDaniel who played Mammy in Gone with the Wind.

I was so thankful for both of them. Dubai mom (who turned out to be from Greene) was compassionate and caring enough to not ignore the distressed passenger across the aisle from her. ER Nurse was exactly the kind of person to handle such a situation to a safe conclusion.

Another woman in my vicinity kept muttering that the driver is supposed to stop if someone is sick. However, we were already an hour late, and he was hired to drive, not talk; I’m not sure that compassion was in his job description either.

A final note from my notes on this (“she” refers to Dubai mom)

“Quite a ride, wasn’t it?” she said, smiling.

Was she referring to the broken down bus or the vomiting woman?

Blogging from A to Z Challenge — my word for the day: Assistance