I begin the year 2022 at home, on day 7 of subfreezing weather, and with a sense of both hope and sorrow. It’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything to my blog. Halfway through 2018 I tore a cartilage in my wrist which made it extremely painful to do even the most basic of things like typing on a keyboard, or putting on my clothes. I had to withdraw from a jazz camp which I had been accepted to becauses my piano teacher said that I would be putting myself into jeopardy of making the injury significantly worse. I attended camp anyway as an audit student, and attended a lot of classes which was fun, but I still so missed playing with others. One night at camp, I sat on a bench overlooking Puget Sound. The moon was up and the moonlight shimmered on the water. I prayed that night and wept and asked God to heal my hand so that I could play piano at church again for Him.

After numerous acupuncture treatments and tubes of various painkilling remedies, I was able to begin to play piano again, very gently and carefully at first, but gradually I could play more and more with coaching from my teacher. My hand healed enough so that I could audition for and play at jazz camp in the summer of 2019. My wrist was still painful and weak, and I had lost a lot of capability, but I could play piano again. That simple fact gave me great hope and joy every day. I purchased a software called Dragon which allowed me to type on my computer using my voice instead of my fingers. Today, I can largely spend a goodly chunk of time using the keyboard like I used to. But I still use Dragon because it’s pretty convenient and I’m still, even now, regaining strength in my hand.

In March 2020, after completing my audition files for another chance at jazz camp, COVID swept our country and the world and we were locked down. We could leave the house to go food shopping but so many other things were closed. I started taking long walks around the neighborhood because parks and trails were closed, along with gyms and swimming pools. 2021 brought new hope in the form of vaccines to provide protection against the virus. Cautiously, I began to resume some activities in person. This year, after being vaccinated, I finally was able to play piano at both indoor and outdoor church services. To be able to make music with others has given me so much joy and hope.

So here I am at the beginning of a new year. I am filled with hope and joy and sorrow and lament. Lament and sorrow over all the people who have been lost to COVID, or who are still suffering from long-term effects of this virus. I am filled with sorrow over the omicron COVID variant which has caused so much suffering this year. And yet, even in the dark times of the pandemic, I have always had hope – hope that things would get better. Very slowly, things have gotten better. It has not been a linear, predictable path however. In the late summer, I took a very brave step and I went to a restaurant for the first time in 2 years to have a meal in person so that I could listen to live music again. I wept. I wept because I was scared about getting sick, and I wept with joy simply because I was having a meal in a restaurant and listening to some beautiful music, just like I did before we were locked down. I was such a bundle of emotions- sometimes there are just no good words to describe what’s going on.

A few weeks ago, I attended an online worship service with Pastor Kathy Escobar, author of “A Weary World – Reflections for a Blue Christmas.” Pastor Kathy spoke that day about paradox, how life is complicated – sometimes there are no simple answers, and sometimes you have to be able to carry opposites at the same time – good and bad; sad and happy; energetic and depleted. As I began to accept the concept of “paradoxing,” I began to understand that it’s okay to hold space for the things in life that are complicated and difficult. I can’t tie everything in my life up with a pretty bow at the end of a one hour reflection and wait for the “happily-ever-after” ending. But I can accept this unshakable truth – that God is always with me. God is always with me in my sorrows and joys, in sickness and in health.  God is with me no matter what my financial situation is. No matter if I am a totally screwed up imperfect human, God will still be with me – sharing my joys; comforting me in my times of sorrow because of life events or my imperfection; God will always be encouraging me to see that I am strong enough and wise enough to be able to paradox when I need to. There will always be struggle, and God will always be with me in my struggles. That assurance is what gives me strength and hope to carry on every day as best as I can.

May we find the year 2022 to be full of infinite possibilities, peace, joy and love. May we find God speaking to us in every thing we do, in every encounter, and in every moment.

One of the blessings of being a lot older than I used to be is having the gift of perspective.  Lately, I have been pondering how, throughout much of our lives, we are defined by boxes of various shapes and sizes.  Some of the boxes are chosen for us, or are boxes we have no choices about.  Others are boxes that we decide on.  Sometimes, when boxes are chosen for us, they are the result of desires and hopes of others, such as desires and hopes of our parents.  Other boxes are the result of societal expectations.  Others are simply assigned out of convenience, and not necessarily our convenience.

How many times in our lives do we meet a new person and are asked, “what do you do?”  In that instant, we must decide whether or not we are going to deliver our 30 second “elevator speech”, or we must decide whether or how to indulge the inquiry.

I have often struggled to deliver elevator speeches, not for lack of content, but for feeling incomplete when doing so.  One of the blessings from working at my former employer was a fully paid 12 week Dale Carnegie Training course.  Admittedly I was somewhat skeptical of the training when I started.  But as I went through the class I began to realize that every person I meet has an interesting story to tell, a lot more than we know from random snippets of conversations, if we only had enough time to listen to each and every story.  It’s sad that sometimes we only hear that whole life story at the end, after that person has slipped the surly bonds of earth.

I picked a random friend from the top of my head, and here are only a few things I know about him:

• Prep school educated
• Navy veteran
• Son, brother, husband, father
• Retired administrator
• Board of directors
• Suffers some medical issues
• Beer and wine lover
• Homeowner
• Caring friend and father

These are all words, but these words are boxes that try to encapsulate a human and a soul which is so much richer than these mere words can describe.  How can I describe my friend’s great humanity, sense of humor and caring for people so much that he would try and use his amazing sense of humor to defuse a politically charged situation?  That he cares so much about his friends that he maintains a list of all their birthdays and sends out birthday cards to all of them?  That he coaches youth soccer just for the thrill of seeing kids learn something fun?  Why do I have to put him in a box to try and understand him?  I will never fully know all of who my friend is, and all that he is capable of.

Throughout my life, I have chafed from being put into boxes, and especially those which were not of my choosing.  To their credit, my parents said that being an American means that you can choose to be anything you want to be.  But right after that, they would say, “and these are the types of things that are good to grow up to be:  doctors, lawyers.  Don’t be a teacher or a preacher or a musician, they don’t make any money.  Oh, but if you got accepted at the famous Juilliard Conservatory, which you will never be, that would be okay.  And don’t be an accountant, they are never home on April 15.  And whatever you do, don’t be a garbageman or a fireman or a police officer.”  What’s wrong with being a police officer if that’s what I would want to do?

Not all boxes are verbally described.  One day, in an evening discussion about worship music, someone important said that our church’s worship music was not proper because we didn’t sing laments.  I heard that statement, and it had been a long, long tough couple of months at my workplace, and from the deepest bowels of my soul came this cry, “Listen – when I come to church on Sunday, I don’t want to sing a bunch of laments.  My whole week is a lament.  I come to church on Sunday to be reminded that God is Good, and that He cares.”  My cry of absolute anguish was met with silence.  Absolute silence.  Not one of the people at that table would look at me or even make eye contact.  Not one person ever acknowledged that I had even said anything.  But I can tell you that things were quite different after that.  I had been put into a box.  I couldn’t tell which one, but I knew it wasn’t a good box.  And I knew I had been heard because a few weeks later, our worship leader said, “We have this song this week, it’s a lament, but it’s a happy lament.”  Ouch.  After that, nobody would talk with me about what had happened, but I knew something had happened.  The most disappointing thing to me was the mere fact that nobody had the courage to tell me what, if anything, I had done or what policy or position I violated, or who I had upset.  It is a frustrating place to be – knowing that you have been put “on the outside” without knowing why.

Fortunately in my life, others reminded me that I had a heart.  A big caring heart.  That I was capable.  And Honest.  Also, that I “gave a shit.”  That I was a good mentor and teacher.  And other people believed in me.  Because some people believed in me, supported me, coached me, pushed me, I have learned to do many things, including, but not limited to:

• fly a small airplane
• sail a boat
• sew
• quilt
• take photographs

I know that I am not perfect, and I knew, after another amount of time had gone by that I was not in a good, healthy space, either.  I didn’t want to leave, but I couldn’t stay in an environment where people would not be honest with me.  I finally decided I should look for a new church.  After some searching, I found another church where people encourage me in my faith and accept that I am imperfect.  I still miss the people I left at my old church.  My new church is by no means a perfect place either, but it doesn’t claim to be.  Because of the grace extended to us by Jesus, my new community feels free to embrace everyone, just because.  This community accepts everyone without limitation.  In this more listening, caring and nurturing environment, I am slowly healing and learning to be:

• a writer
• a companion
• myself
• a follower of Jesus

If there is a box I don’t mind being in, it’s the one called “follower of Jesus.”  And I like that I don’t have to and will not hide who I am anymore.  There are those who may want to put me in a box, but nobody can put me in a box not of my choosing anymore.  I don’t fit in anybody else’s box any more than someone can try to put God in a box.  I’m done with trying to fit in other peoples’ boxes.  I’m going to keep working for the rest of my life on being the person that God made me to be, and use the gifts He gave me, some of which I am sure I am not aware of yet, to make his kingdom on earth a little bit better place than when I arrived.  Every day, I learn a little bit more about me and what more I am capable of.  It is a scary journey, to keep taking new beginning steps, but I have forced myself this year to be courageous and take those new steps out of those old boxes, into a new place which has infinite possibilities.

For as long as I can remember, I have loved the beach.  I love the sound of waves breaking on the shore.  I love the power and sound of big surf (as along as I am far enough away to not get pounded by it).  I love how sunlight sparkles off of water.  I love the many colors of water – from the milky blue gray of glacial-fed rivers, to the emerald green of freshwater pools, and to the deep azure blue of tropical beaches.

One of my favorite beaches is a long stretch of sand in the quiet town of Gearhart, Oregon, which is near the bustling town of Seaside.  While cars and trucks can drive on part of the beach in Gearhart, the other part of the beach is restricted to foot traffic only and is marked “restricted” by a large sign.  Last summer, my husband and I were taking a morning walk along the quiet beach when we spotted a motorized vehicle heading our way.  In all my years of walking along that beach I had never seen a car or truck there before.  As we walked toward the vehicle, it became apparent that it was a very large camper and that it had driven well past the warning sign.  At some point, the camper stopped and then it turned and stopped moving.  They were stuck.  As we got closer, I watched as two people walked toward the camper and then pushed on the hood of the camper.  Nothing happened.  I knew that the low tide had passed about an hour ago so the tide was definitely coming back up, and I had concerns about the camper in the rising water.

I have some fuzzy childhood memories of my dad helping some people get their car out of some sand at the beach with our station wagon – and then getting stuck himself with nobody to help.  What’s needed to get out of sand is traction.  It’s hard to get traction in soft sand.  And a vehicle as large as a camper?  Surely a big tow truck for pulling big trucks would be needed.

But a funny thing happened.  I kept hearing the phrases “faith as small as a mustard seed”, “Good Samaritan”, and “Neighbors” repeating themselves, over and over again in my head as I walked toward the camper.  What was that about?  I thought the mustard seed story was about growing big plants from small seeds in good soil.  I said to my husband something about the tide changing and that the camper would probably be really in trouble because the camper was stuck below the high tide mark on the sand.  I vaguely heard my husband say, “well, we can’t do anything to help them, they are stuck pretty good.”

The funny thing was, at that point, I didn’t feel like I was in charge of my body anymore.  As my husband walked on, I found myself walking toward the camper and observing that the tires of the camper were partially buried in sand.  They must have already tried to get out by going forwards and backwards.  I glanced in the front window of the camper and saw some children and a woman inside.  Outside, I saw the two women who had tried to push the camper and one of them was talking on a cell phone.  I saw a man with short, wavy dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard.  He looked agitated, and I asked him about the camper.  In heavily accented English he explained that he had driven down the beach without seeing the sign and had been told that he had to turn around, and when he tried to turn around, the camper got stuck in the sand.  He shared that his family was on vacation and that they were touring the west coast of the U.S.  In response to a question by me, he explained that, yes, he had tried to move the camper by going forward and backward but they were truly stuck now.

I was looking at the sand around the camper tires when I vaguely heard the woman on the phone say to the man, “nobody in town has a tow truck big enough to pull a motorhome out from the sand.”  The man looked straight ahead and said nothing, looking very distressed and deep in thought.  I kept thinking about this family and their camper, about being stuck in the sand, and surrounded by the rising tide.

The town police officer showed up in his car.  The woman with the phone walked over to him, but there didn’t appear to be anything the police officer could do either.

My whole soul screamed inside of me the words “do something!”  I looked at the camper’s tires again and I heard myself say to the man, “excuse me sir, do your children have any beach buckets or beach toys or shovels?”  And he looked at me with a puzzled look on his face.  And I said, “You know shovels?  Bucket?”  And I made some scooping motions with my arms.  “We need to move the sand away from the tires so we can try to push you out.”  And I motioned that we needed to push him back toward the harder packed sand.  I have no idea where that suggestion came from.  I have a vague recollection that a voice said in my head had said, “it might be easier to push the camper toward the ocean if we could get that sand out from the back of the tires so when you push backwards you won’t have to roll it over those small mounds of sand.”  He quickly talked to his wife in a foreign language that I didn’t understand.  The woman with the cell phone said to him, “yeah maybe a shovel?”

The man got out of the camper and got down on his belly and began scooping the sand away from the camper tires with his arms.  I said to myself, “well that works just as well” as the man quickly got the sand out from behind all of the camper’s tires.  When he was done, he got back into the seat of the camper.  I found myself, my husband, the two women positioned ourselves at the front of the camper and we began to push as the engine of the camper roared and tried to reverse out from where it was stuck.  The camper’s grill was spongy and soft to my surprise, not a good place to push from.  I felt the camper give a little and then nothing.   We stopped pushing.  I heard myself say, “darn, I think we almost had it moving there.”  I heard somebody else say, “the police officer is laughing at us.”

I stood up and looked at the family inside the camper.  I couldn’t see the police officer, but I clasped my hands, closed my eyes, and began to pray.  I prayed something on the order of, “Almighty and Powerful God, if it is your will, please help us be strong enough to move this camper to get this family on their way.  Amen.”

The man talked again to his wife and she got out of the camper and stood by on the side of the camper, not even trying to help push.  I thought, “well, that will make the camper a bit lighter, don’t know how much THAT will help, but let’s give it a shot.”

This time, I crouched lower and dug my bare feet into the sand.  I made sure that I would be pushing on the bumper rather than the spongy grill.  When the camper engine revved this time, I pushed with my legs as hard as I could.  Nothing was happening.  I kept pushing harder, harder than I thought I could and screamed in my head and possibly even with my voice “GOD HELP!!!!”  And the bumper moved!  The camper was moving backwards!  Oh my God!

We kept pushing and screaming at the man to not stop, and finally the camper was easily moving on the firm sand.  I heard a bunch of screaming and shouts of joy.  At that moment, I stopped pushing, raised my arms in the air, pumped fists, looked to the sky and said, “THANK YOU GOD FOR HELPING US!!”  I danced back toward the coat and sandals I had left on the beach, saying, “GOD IS GOOD!  GOD IS SO GOOD!  GOD YOU ARE AMAZING!  THANK YOU GOD!  THAT WAS AMAZING!”  I heard shouting and screaming behind me.  And then I stopped and when I turned around, I saw the man running toward me with so much joy in his face.  We gave each other big hugs and I remember saying, “I prayed!  I prayed so hard that God would help us move your camper!  God is SO GOOD!”  He looked overjoyed and thanked me so much.   And I told him that I hoped that he and his family would have a wonderful vacation.

As they drove back out of the restricted beach zone toward the zone where they could drive along the beach, the police officer followed along behind, and I hoped that he followed them not give them a ticket, but hopefully so that they would get to a place where they could safely park and enjoy the beach before continuing on their tour of our country.

Later that day I searched the Bible app on my phone to look for phrases in the Bible which had to do with “faith as small as mustard seeds.”  And when I found this text, I broke into tears:

Matthew 17:19-20:
¹⁹ Then the disciples came to Jesus in private and said, “Why couldn’t we throw the demon out?”  ²⁰ “Because you have little faith,” he said. “I assure you that if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mountain, ‘Go from here to there,’ and it will go. There will be nothing that you can’t do.” (CEB)

I know that even the biggest of campers is no where near as heavy as a mountain, and it certainly felt like a mountain when we were all pushing on it.  But I can’t say that I had doubts.  All I knew with absolute certainty was that I was there to help, and that I was supposed to be there, in that moment, at that location for whatever reason God had intended.