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This year, as Christmas Eve falls on Sunday, I have had two services to plan for Christmas Eve day and evening.  We also were able to have a community chorus sing a cantata, in which I participated so there were practices weekly and two performances.  Consequently, I have put little effort towards the usual baking, decorating, gift purchasing and sending, holiday greeting letter and cards.  We no longer have the huge tree that often graced our multi-story living room on the farm.  We have a tiny little artificial tree that sits on a table, which I have become very fond of. It is well-suited to this smaller space.  But I suddenly realized this week that we had never hung Christmas stockings this year.  Although we no longer have a fire place, we do have a book case that works well from which to hang stockings.

I don’t recall much about Christmas stockings growing up.  I do remember that at some point I decorated a furry stocking with my name in glitter.  But we didn’t have a fireplace or any ideal place for stockings in our home so it wasn’t a practiced tradition in our home.    When Terry and I had children at home, we routinely hung stockings for everyone from the fireplace mantle.  I loved finding little things to put in them.  I miss that tradition.  Thus this weekend I will dig out the stockings and hang one for Terry and for me. 

I read that the tradition apparently stems from a legend about a very poor man who anticipated his daughters would have few suitors because he had no dowry for either of them.  The charitable St. Nicholas was in the village and heard of their plight.  That night he went down the chimney and left gold coins in their stockings that were hanging by the fireplace to dry. (Presumably the result was they married well!)

 May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate 

Hope’s Café Bonus:  You can skip the fireplace.  Get an old headboard.  Add knobs and you have a family Christmas stocking holder. 😊 Wishing all a lovely holiday season with the people and traditions you love most. 

Rosalynn Carter said there were four kinds of people:  people who had been caregivers, people who currently are caregivers, those who will be caregivers and those who will need caregivers.  In other words, we have been, are currently or eventually will be affected.  No one escapes this reality.

The pandemic affected caregiving in ways we had not imagined.  Nursing homes struggled to find staff.  As restaurants and other businesses raised wages trying to attract staff, nursing homes, reliant on Medicaid funds, could not compete.  Nursing homes became more susceptible to covid and people were not able to visit their loved ones due to the need to isolate residents from the possibility of infection.  This seems to have triggered a move away from nursing homes.  The last number I heard quoted was that Montana has closed 12 facilities.

  “This current data, as well as recent trends, suggest low demand and an overbuilt, underutilized nursing facility system in Montana,” said Jon Ebelt, of the Department of Public Health and Human Services, who noted the vast majority of closures included high vacancy rates.

“Rose Hughes, executive director of the Montana Health Care Association, said low reimbursement rates play a large role in whether a facility can accept residents and operate.

“According to the association, Medicaid accounts for 63 percent of the payment source for nursing homes. And preliminary data show nursing homes are being underpaid by more than 30 percent, said Hughes, who responded to questions via email.”  (Information obtained from article in the Daily Montanan November 20,2022.)

I can recognize that this issue is a complex one.  However, I am appalled at how blithely the state government here refers to “research that indicates the elderly want to stay in their homes.”  Well, of course they do.  Why wouldn’t they?  But so many need care not possible in their own homes. 

As a society faced with an aging population we must do better.  It is commendable to make more in-home services available, if in fact there is a plan in place to do so and funds are made available for said services. But this simply must not preclude adequate nursing home and assisted living facilities for people when living at home is no longer a viable option.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate 

Hope’s Café Bonus:  This blog was inspired by an article on “Johnny Rotten,” otherwise known as John Lydon, who was the singer in The Sex Pistols.  Lydon, 67, was a caregiver for the last six years of the life of his wife Nora, who died in April at age 80.  He talked about using humor with her and said they “laughed at the world together.” 

“Of course,” he relayed, “it reached its inevitable conclusion, but the last several years were probably the most fantastic experience that both of us could have had.”

I’m not sure how much difference there is in caring for a dying spouse than in caring for a dying parent.  But his description of “the most fantastic experience that both of us could have had” echoes my own thoughts in the months I cared for my father before his death.

“Caregivers are the heart of the healthcare system. They are the glue and the heart of care.” Dr. Ronald Adelman

Some random thoughts have rattled around in my brain this week, based partly on the 77-year marriage of Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter, so recently brought to an end by Rosalynn’s death, and partly on an interview with Tom Hanks that I read.  I suspect when the Carters pledged their vows “till death do us part” that they had little expectation of a marriage lasting 77 years.  Life expectancy in 1946 when they married was 66.4.  She was 19 at the time.  He was 21.  At the outside, they might have hoped to make it to celebrate their golden anniversary.

              Tom Hanks, himself in a stable marriage of 35 years, remarkable for Hollywood, spoke in the interview about a different kind of union.  “I was in a movie called Cloud Atlas that went right over everybody’s head,” he said. ‘What is the point of trying to do the right thing when it is just a drop in the ocean?’  But what is an ocean but a multitude of drops?  Things get better when a multitude of drops form an ocean and sweep things away.

              “World War II,” he elaborated: “the Nazis were defeated, as was the Japanese empire, because enough good people said no. Civil rights came about because of, I think, an American belief that our responsibility as citizens is to work toward making a more perfect union.”

              Whether the issue is our responsibility in a marriage to work together with our spouses or our responsibility as citizens to cooperate for the good of all, the dynamics are much the same.  We do not get our way all the time.  We recognize and respect that give and take is necessary; that people totally different from one another can find ways to seek common ground; that power and control inevitably lead to unnecessary struggles. As one would cultivate the soil to enhance one’s garden, cultivating cooperation is good for society’s soil…and its soul.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate “

At the time of Rosalynn’s death, Jimmy Carter said:

“Rosalynn was my equal partner in everything I ever accomplished. She gave me wise guidance and encouragement when I needed it. As long as Rosalynn was in the world, I always knew somebody loved and supported me.”

This past week one of the news stations aired a piece on John Bienvenue, who is still living 6 years past a glioblastoma surgery in which a lemon-sized tumor was removed from his brain.  At the time his little son was just eight months old.

“Glioblastoma is a fast-growing brain or spinal cord tumor. These tumors grow from glial cells which form the (supportive) tissue of the brain and spinal cord,” writes Dr. Howard LeWine. “Indeed, this cancer has a very poor prognosis because most often not all the cancer cells can be removed in surgery. While additional therapies such as radiation and chemotherapy can slow tumor growth, they usually don’t stop the cancer completely.”

Bienvenue was initially given three to six months to live. Post surgery, chemotherapy and radiation treatment, the cancer recurred.  His response to his expected death was to live fully. Committed to living simply, they live what they call their “bucket list life.”  Unlike a more typical “bucket list,” theirs is not focused on extravagant or exotic but on things like planting a garden, having some chickens.  Bienvenue gave up his desk job as a vice president of a development company and became a landscaper. They spend time with their son, now six, and with extended family and friends.  And, despite uncertainty about the impact of his treatment on fertility, they have learned his wife is pregnant with their second child. 

When I searched information about glioblastoma, I discovered that there were numerous success stories.  Despite median life span beyond diagnosis being 13 months, one such story was documented of a young man 20 years past diagnosis. His response to his unusual years of survival?  “I seek refuge in happiness, humor, and love. My world has never revolved around the fear of cancer, but rather how grateful I am to be able to live the life I have lived, even if it’s on ‘borrowed time’ in the eyes of some of my past doctors.”

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate “

Hope’s Café Bonus: What Makes a Good Bucket List?

“Simply packing your life with cool experiences can ultimately feel kind of hollow. There is more to a life well-lived than pleasure-seeking.

To answer the question ‘What makes a good bucket list?’ we must also ask ‘What makes a good life?’.

Good bucket list goals will contribute to your flourishing as a human being and not just be empty trips to overhyped tourist attractions or a box-ticking exercise.” — Traveling Light

Tonight we attended the community Thanksgiving meal at the local brewery, which has become something of a community center, with regular activities like Sip n Paint and game night and the site for occasional special events. 

Elsewhere in the community, two nights ago, the community choir met to work on a Christmas cantata.  Ten days ago, 23 people gathered for a program called Community Connect, special sessions periodically offered locally by the Community Congregational Church.  At a time when loneliness is being reported as epidemic in America and elsewhere, community events, participation, and spirit seem essential.

“We need to return to an idea that was central to our founding and is at the heart of many great religious traditions: We have commitments to ourselves, but we also have vital commitments to each other, including to those who are vulnerable,” wrote the authors of “Loneliness in America,” as reported in the February 2021 edition of Making Caring Common of the Harvard Graduate School of Education.

This same study stated that about half of lonely young adults in their survey reported that no one in the past few weeks had “taken more than just a few minutes” to ask how they are doing in a way that made them feel like the person “genuinely cared.”

There is much in the world that we cannot directly impact.  But we have no excuse for not taking time to do even the smallest things that convey we genuinely care

I heard a sweet story in the hair salon last week.  A young woman described their Christmas traditions with their children.  They allow the children to open their gifts the day before Christmas Eve because they have extended family they are with on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.  But after the children open their gifts they go “elfing,” a term I had not heard before.  They leave gifts anonymously at various homes of folks they know or people they have learned have some need.  The lesson for her children I would think is that the gifts they receive are secondary to the pleasure of giving. That is also one demonstration of a way to build a sense of community in one’s children.

I told my husband about this and we have been discussing how we might include “elfing” in our Christmas this year.  We don’t have to limit community building to this season of goodwill but it is an excellent time to start.

 May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate “

Hope’s Café Bonus: “ One of the most important things you can do on this earth is to let people know they are not alone.”— Shannon L. Adler

Tonight I participated in what in our denomination is called an Ecclesiastical Council, the step that enables one, when they have completed the arduous process, to be “Ordainable Pending Call.” Tonight the woman I had mentored for several years, whom I had watched blossom, became “Ordainable Pending Call.” 

I don’t write a lot about matters pertaining to religion because I wanted this blog to be something that anyone regardless of background might find worth their time to read.  But this is not really about religion anyway.  This is about what it means to be a mentor. 

“The greatest gift you can give someone is not just to share your riches but to reveal to them their own,” wrote Benjamin Disreali.  What amazed me over the time we worked together was how much a gift it was to me to be involved in the process.  Whatever I may have contributed to her process was enabled by my own mentoring through the years, going all the way back to grade school when Ms. Ada Tenney encouraged me to write and followed my life over decades, always impressing on me that writing would evolve out of “paying attention” to people, to life, to my experiences. 

Thinking back, including Ms. Tenney, I can count thirteen people who in one capacity or another, served as mentors.  A few examples:

              The college advisor my sophomore year who “talked me off the ledge” of jumping ship in the middle of a semester. 

              The advisor my senior year who, when I was afraid to go out into the big wide world on my own, and wanted to stay to do a graduate degree that wouldn’t take me towards my career goal, said “You can do that if you want, but a Family Relations and Child Development degree will not give you the same opportunities as a Master in Social Work,” which was not available at my school. (Thank you, thank you, thank you for that nudge that made all the difference!)

              My first boss at the Oklahoma Department of Public Welfare who wrote in my evaluation something to the effect that my soft, gentle demeanor belied a tougher, more substantial character, something that startled me.  I began to see myself differently.

              I could go on….supervisors who helped me hone my therapy skills…..mentors as I began on a path to ministry who made immense impact in my development.  Think of your own.  Whose gifts are you grateful for?  Whose efforts helped you learn and grow?  Think of those people who are thankful for your contributions to their development.   Think of the benefits they will pass on to others. 

              May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate “

Hope’s Café Bonus:  “A mentor is someone who helps you see the hope inside yourself.” — Oprah Winfrey

This is how I remember it:  in third grade, the teacher introduced some poetry and we were encouraged to write a poem.  I’m not certain that is an accurate report of what happened.  I just know that I began writing little “poems.”  One that I recall:

              “The sun is slowly sinking down.

               It changes from its golden gown

               Into another one of red.

              And then it tumbles into bed.

I sent it off to a magazine which rejected it.  I was heartbroken.

Eventually, I began to write stories.  My father, a printer on the newspaper, brought me home the end of rolls of newsprint paper that kept me supplied for my writing.  These stories were made up adventures about my classmates and I was allowed to read them in class by my indulgent teacher.  I helped start a school newspaper although I’m not sure we put out more than one edition! 

In junior high, we had an English assignment to write a poem.  My teacher questioned the authenticity of mine, titled “Winter Sunset,” which hurt my feelings. But she sent it off to the state poetry contest where it placed.  I wish I had a copy of it.  I only recall it started “The sun’s last feebled-fingered hands spread threads across the sky.” By high school, I was into journalism and was writing articles for the newspaper, but I took up some poetry attempts as well. 

I continued writing for school newspapers throughout college, while sometimes composing the occasional poem.  One that I wrote during those years, was chosen by my daughter for her high school year book when each senior had to select a quote placed by their school photo.  That was a higher honor than winning an award.

I am not a disciplined writer, but I am currently part of a writer’s group at the local library, the Sheepdip Scribes, Sheepdip being the original name of our little burg.   The “Scribes” decided to put together a booklet of some of our work.  Because I spend most of my time now writing sermons (and blogs!) I haven’t contributed much.  I decided to search for the folder with my work from over the years.  When I found it, it was like discovering treasures.  Some of the works in that folder were in the script in which I had written them years ago, including one poem from a creative writing class in 1976 at a local community college and a poem that had come to me as I was driving from Waco, TX to Oklahoma City, OK.  I had composed it mentally and then memorized the verses until my arrival in Oklahoma City when I promptly put it on paper.  These are like old friends and reading them feels like I am getting reacquainted.   Yet it seems to me, as we age, perhaps we begin to recognize such treasures discovered from our past are embedded in who we are.  We ourselves are the treasure.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate “

Hope’s Café Bonus: “As steady as the tides, life constantly reveals the treasures within us.” emilyquotes.com

My apology to Victoria Erickson for borrowing the title of her book for the title of today’s blog. Who, you might ask, is Victoria Erickson?  Well, allow me to introduce you.  I have only just now discovered her, having come across one of her quotes on the ubiquitous Facebook postings, which read:

“I love getting older.  My understanding deepens.  I can see what connects.  I can weave stories of experience and apply them.  I can integrate the lessons.  Things simply become more and more fascinating.  Beauty reveals itself in thousands of forms.”

What draws me seems to be her passion for life, along with a recognition of time as fleeting, an emphasis on living in the present, while the opportunity is there, knowing we are mortal.  This is especially brought home to me in this season. 

As I write this, I am aware Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead, has just been celebrated, particularly in Mexican culture.   Although the dates can vary according to the region where it is being celebrated, more typically on November 1 families welcome back the souls of deceased children with a brief reunion that includes food, drink and festivity.  On November 2, families pay their respects to the souls of adults who have passed away.  This is intended to honor the cycle of life and death and to remember loved ones who have died. 

Closer to home, this Sunday at the church I pastor, we will honor All Saints Day, and the following two weeks we have programs offered on aging and the preparations to consider before one faces end of life. On an even more personal level, I am aware of my own aging, of how differently I experience time now, of how I am beginning to grapple with my own mortality.  I return to quote Ms. Erickson:

“We blinked, and it’s the holidays again. How many more laps around the sun are left? Life is slippery and fleeting, and distance so cold. Stay humble and warm. Remember what counts.” 

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate

Hope’s Café Bonus:

For my writer friends, and all who appreciate writing that offers a mirror to our lives,  I point you to Ms. Erickson’s self-description:  “ Hi, I’m Victoria. Most of my time is spent with words, as they have been my passion since I could hold a pencil. I find them to be fascinating- the way the sound, shape, and texture of words can move off a page and through the cells, weaving through one’s veins, and circling to the heart.”

The silence that seems to engulf the world when it snows, surrounded me as I walked to work in the first snowfall this week.    Hardly anyone was about.  Momentarily I felt like the sole inhabitant of space and time.  This sensation felt oddly spiritual.  Curious, I searched for what might have been written about spiritual characteristics of snow. 

              I became a fan of Frederick and Mary Ann Brussat’s website spiritualityandpractice.com some years ago.  Under their section on spiritual practices, they offer “A month’s worth of practices to explore the many moods and meanings of winter, including its pristine beaty and its many opportunities for playfulness. “

            The Brussats make reference to Alan Epstein’s How to Be Happier Day by Day: A Year of Mindful Actions,  in which he writes about the spiritual practice of being grateful for all kinds of weather — even the kind of winter weather that inconveniences us: “Look forward to the approach of strong or unusual weather. Instead of griping when the days turn foul—snow, sleet, freezing rain, or rain with cold temperatures—see them as an exciting adventure, as a time when nature reminds you that she exists, that when it comes to the earth, it is her domain.”

Imagine considering all phenomena—including bad weather—as contributing to our experience of life. Epstein’s recommendation is “Don’t discriminate. Enjoy the adventure.”

Another source of their suggestions comes from Robert Fulghum who wrote in a blog (Nov. 28, 2010) that” the northern plains tribes of Native American Indians made it a habit to keep track of time and tribal history by placing graphic symbols on a large, tanned buffalo hide. A village elder would mark the events in the community from the first snowfall of the year to the last. They called these collections of memorabilia “Winter Counts.”

The Brussats recommend creating “ your own ‘Winter Count’ as a kind of homemade history of what is going on inside and around you during winter. Feel free to include anything that strikes your fancy.”

Practicing hospitality is another means on their list of ways to honor winter’s spiritual dimension. Including people you know less well in your gatherings enhances the neighborly effort.

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate “

Hope Café’s Bonus:  Based on an essay called “The Cold” by John Updike, the Brussats write:“Don’t fight with the cold and allow it to deplete all of your energies. It is very easy to make winter into a terrorist out to bring us harm. When your furnace breaks down or your car doesn’t start in the morning, talk kindly to it. Let go of your idea of controlling the day or villainizing the season. Just go with what shows up — with the ice, the snow, and the cold.”

A dear friend died this morning.  As I was about to lead a Celebration of Life for a community member,  the text came through that my friend was in ICU requesting hospice care.  That was two days ago.  I feel like I have been hit in the solar plexus. 

Years ago, I read Necessary Losses by Judith Viorst, in which she encouraged the acceptance of losses as inevitable because this allows us to engage with all of life more fully.  I did not realize how much she had written since then, much of it about the process of aging and eventual death.  Her poem “The Pleasures of an Ordinary Life” resonates with me about now. The final verse reads:

“Young fantasies of magic and of mystery
Are over. But they really can’t compete
With all we’ve built together: A long history.
Connections that help render us complete.
Ties that hold and heal us. And the sweet,
Sweet pleasures of an ordinary life.”

  My friend had been the most physically active person I’ve ever known.  Yet even as her body began to fail her badly she maintained such a peaceful countenance about it all. Though I am comforted by the memory of the attitude with which she approached life, I think what will sustain me is “the ties that hold and heal us, ” the connections “that help render us complete.”  I am so grateful to be part of the network of friends that loved her over the years and surrounded and supported her in the final months.   

May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter.  Shalom, Kate 

Hope’s Café Bonus:  And a verse from her poem “Happiness (Reconsidered)”:

 And on Saturday nights
  When my husband and I have rented
  Something with Fred Astaire for the VCR,
  And we’re sitting around in our robes discussing,
  The state of the world, back exercises, our Keoghs,
  And whether to fix the transmission or buy a new car,
  And we’re eating a pint of rum-raisin ice cream
       on the grounds that
  Tomorrow we’re starting a diet of fish, fruit and grain,
  And my dad’s in Miami dating a very nice widow,
  And no one we love is in serious trouble or pain,
  And our bringing-up-baby days are far behind us,
  But our senior-citizen days have not begun,
  It’s not what I called happiness
  When I was twenty-one,
  But it’s turning out to be
  What happiness is.