We belong to that one over there and isn't she marvelous?

photo credit*

So many anecdotes come to mind these last weeks when I'm pondering all your days.  Actually a billion stories, but two that rise to the top.

The standing on your chair and hollering during a school play story:  When you were around the age of 3 your Daddy's friend -- the same friend who said you had personality times three, at least -- taught you to mimic a popular television commercial in which animated characters heckle each other with the call "You stink. Get off the stage!"  It was a punch line you repeated often for laughs.  We never expected you to translate the smack talk into real life context though.  Imagine our horror when we took you and your brothers to an elementary school play in our new town to see a neighbor kid perform.  At a perfect, quiet moment you stood right up on your chair and hollered, "You stink. Get off the stage!".  Oh, yes, you did.

The wearing a glove on one hand all summer story:  You were my only child to suck her thumb.  It was a rather adorable habit when you were a baby and still kind of cute as a toddler.  As a preschooler we felt obligated to be concerned, but no matter what we tried you could not kick the habit.  The summer before you were to enter "real" school (as opposed to the year of kindergarten we schooled at home) you took matters into your own hands -- literally.  

Your great-grandmother offered you a suggestion and you made it work.  Wear a glove on the thumb-sucking hand until you don't have the urge to do it anymore.  In every picture we have from that summer, there you are short-sleeves, shorts and one winter glove.  We did not ask you to do this -- it was all your own 5-year-old initiative.  Night and day, in preschool, at church, everywhere we went you wore that glove.  And it worked.  We knew then we were parents to a genius.  

You used that same determination to teach yourself how to read and ride your bike when you got tired of waiting for your distracted parents to do the job.  You used that same organizational focus to pack your preschool bag each Tuesday and Thursday -- the snack, the glove and a ragged little New Testament Bible you wanted to have with you at all times.

May it be so now and forever, amen, sweet girl.

So maybe what I'm trying to say is that these tales I'm pondering I feel like I barely know my own girl. You are so self-contained, you often elude me.  You are a mystery I am trying to name and, for now, I'm using stories.

You are my third child. When you were born I felt peace for the first time that I could do this -- mother a newborn. Your calmness as an infant led me to believe I finally knew what I was doing.  Now I think it was more like, "No worries, Mom.  I can take care of myself."

I'm pretty sure you got the natural, self-confidence from your Dad. That sort of fearlessness is so foreign to me it has to be from your father. 

My memories of your first year come back to me gentle and warm, wrapped in a feeling of calm delight.  Calm even though that same year Dad was finishing his bachelor's degree with 3 kids under 5 running around his study space, even though we didn't yet have a regular salary or health benefits, even though we outgrew our second-story apartment and had to move a few days before Christmas.  

You were the first child I felt like I might know something about caring for an infant. So maybe some of that confidence came from me after all?

Either way, this tenacious spirit fueled you for the many challenges you've faced the past few years. You've made a whole bunch of new stories:

The persevering through three different high schools in two different states in four years story. 

The falling in love with Jhostin and Potter's House and Guatemala story. 

The singing your heart out even when you weren't recognized by your choir director story. 

The loving on little kids in Austin even when you didn't have friends your own age yet story.

Now you get ready to leap into this new season of life with that same determination -- calm and fierce.  

Dad and I cried when we watched you process into the arena last week.  "It's the song" everyone told us.  Probably.  But it's also the knowing that there's a fire lit in you that is not fueled by our ability to be good parents.  You sort of entered the world with it and we've been lucky enough to be warmed by its light these 18 years.  

During the ceremony I cried again at the press and rush of familial energy in the stadium -- each tribe wanting desperately to be known as present and connected to their own blue-gowned child in the center.  It's something to behold, this sort of anthemic devotion.  When your name was called we hooted and hollered.  And I shouted -- without premeditation -- "THAT'S MY GIRL!". It's our own last opportunity to claim you before you toss the cap, shrug off the gown and slip into the world as your own solid self.

We holler to hear the echo in our own ears.  To remind ourselves that we had a part in the unfolding of your life and it's something to celebrate.  We hope you heard us, yes, but we mostly needed to remind ourselves.  We belong with that one there and isn't she marvelous?!?

We holler to absorb the jolt of your stunning life processing outward to this needy, beautiful world.  We pin the moment down in hullabaloo, collect words and photographs from your childhood.  We do these things as a substitute for trapping the beautiful mystery of you. Your light already too bright to be contained in this house.

Go in your fierce tenderness, my girl.  May the needy world be warmed by your steady light.

* Thank you to the also marvellous photography duo, Stephen & Whitney Henderson at 

The Habit of Seeing, for these gorgeous senior photos of our girl.*

5 favorites:stuff to watch this summer that isn't about zombies, C-list celebrities or drunk suburban housewives + other good online

before the favorites list, here's a a favorite image from our week

Friends, aka 3rd Course Theatre, performing a staged reading of Stacey Isom's new play Dough & Cookies in a backyard in our neighborhood. So glad my sister-in-law JoAnn was visiting from NY and could join us for this lovely, magical evening!  (also if you look closely at the actor in the center of this picture you'll recognize him in the film trailer below...)

5 Favorites: stuff to watch this summer that isn't about zombies, C-list celebrities or drunk suburban housewives

-- 1 --

Chalk

Watch the film here or on Amazon Instant Video here

From the website:  "In the comedic tradition of 'MODERN FAMILY' and 'THE OFFICE', CHALK pulls its viewer into the frenetic and awkwardly painful journey of three novice high school teachers as they navigate one memorable school year. Director Mike Akel provides a rare and realistic teacher’s perspective into the absurd, provocative and occasionally volatile world of public education, where “fifty percent of America’s teachers quit within their first three years.” Ultimately as touching as it is comedic, CHALK offers a hilarious and hopeful look at public education in America."

Also, watch this brief intro: Morgan Spurlock Introduces Chalk

(does it count as a "humble brag" if I say that we go to church with some of the people associated with this film?)

-- 2 --

Mr. Ginger

Also brought to you by New Sky Pictures:  Mr. Ginger, a short form comedy series that follows the daily antics of the lovable yet politically incorrect Life Skills teacher, Mr. Ginger.  We're excited to share our work and through Patreon we invite you to subscribe and enjoy the show!

(Ever hear of Patreon?  I hadn't either.  Maybe reading this will help.)

-- 3 --

The French Chef with Julia Child

 (10 seasons on Amazon Prime!)

(I don't know if this will help my cooking, but it sure is fun to listen to while I work on other things!)

-- 4 --

I Love Lucy

(5 volumes of "The Best of..." on Amazon Prime)

(I do not want to like Amazon.  But then they go and do something like this.)

-- 5 --

Blank on Blank (with PBS Digital Studios)
Famous People, Lost Interivews

I'm utterly mesmerized with this series of lost interviews with famous people -- most of whom have died.  Blank on Blank combines audio files of interview excerpts with animation to re-frame the thoughts and feelings of actors, comedians, writers, musicians, innovators and cultural icons.  Somehow the whole thing adds up to a sort of profundity that I can't stop watching.  Try for yourself.  (you can subscribe to the YouTube series to be notified every other Tuesday when a new interview is released)

Here's a few of my favorites:

Carol Burnett on Finding Home

Kurt Cobain on Identity

Gene Wilder on The Truth

Johnny Cash on The Gospel

John Updike on Family Affairs

Janis Joplin on Rejection

.....

Other good stuff online

• How A Web Design Goes Straight to Hell at The Oatmeal:  I'm not a designer, but I manage web design projects and can verify this spoof is 100% true.

• The reason for the divorce* at  Yarn Harlot:  On the importance of caffeine to the cause of fidelity.  (In spite of the dire title, it's funny -- I promise.)

• Pop-Rock Worship, in 3 parts at Diary of An Arts Pastor:  David Taylor's presentation to a group of men and women gathered at the kind invitation of the Calvin Institute of Christian Worship for a consultation on the function of pop-rock worship in contemporary church life.

• There Are No “Good People” and “Bad People”: A Must-Read Response to the Hurt and the Heroism at Seattle Pacific University from Jeffrey Overstreet: "Watch as the media turns the story of what happened at Seattle Pacific University into a story of a Hero and a Villain, “a good person” and “a bad person.” ... That’s the story we want to believe. But no… there is the potential for heroism and the potential for destruction within each of us."

• All (not each) of them were filled at The Christian Century: A beautiful reflection for Pentecost, "Rather than imaging Pentecost as a dove descending like it did on Jesus at his baptism, maybe we should picture flocks of birds, swarming and ready to move, mysteriously drawn by winds and season, to travel to new places. If I were directing the Pentecost movie, I would show the disciples with eyes wide open, focused on the gathering crowds, their energy and their speech drawing them outward into the world. I would try to portray the burning desire deep within them to find the explosive connection between Spirit, culture, language, and community, a movement that gathers until it reaches the ends of the earth."  Also, see my post I do not know the trick to conjure Pentecost flames

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A good word and image weekend for us all, dear ones.

For more Five Favorites, visit Moxie Wife!

5 favorites: graduation celebration photo diary + 5 great links I liked a whole bunch

5 Favorites: photo diary of graduation week

-- 1 --

Our after ceremony pictures with Kendra

-- 2 --

That even though we're far from "home" we were still surrounded by family

-- 3 --

The simple party centerpieces that our first guests to arrive helped us set up because I was scurrying badly. (also Aunt JoAnn's cupcakes!)

-- 4 --

Friends filling our front yard into the night

-- 5 --

 Playing and laughter

-- bonus --

Also tears.  

------------------------------

Other good words online this week

• 'Empathetically Correct' Is the New Politically Correct  by Karen Swallow Prior at The Atlantic:
  The movement for "trigger warnings" in college classrooms is part of a troubling trend toward protecting people from their own individual sensitivities.

• The 400+ year old Japanese art of pottery repair that celebrates the break at The Kid Should See This:  While this video is not the  highest quality, the artform and the concept behind it is stunning.  I don't want to forget it as a metaphor for life.

• Four Poems by Joseph Gascho at Art House America blog:  Just in time for summer and reunions, these poems totally hit the spot and made me want to write a bunch like them!

• Slow Church Stories #2: Munsey Memorial United Methodist Church at Slow Church: Yes.  Just yes.

• Quasi medieval Tolkien illustrations by Russian artist Sergey Yuhimov at let us lie in the sun blog:  In the blogger's words these illustrations from his childhood are not on the nose, but really badass.  I think it'd be a good idea for us to not get too confused between Peter Jackson and J.R.R. Tolkien, don't you?

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A celebration-filled weekend for us all, dear ones.

For more Five Favorites, visit Moxie Wife!

I do not know the trick to conjure Pentecost flames

Three years ago during the season of Pentecost, Brian and I waited to hear God's direction on a life-changing move for our family.  My imagination had been watered with the Gospel accounts of Jesus-followers waiting for the promise of Pentecost power and direction. I wrote this poem after waiting in our hallway by the closed door of our bedroom. Behind the closed door, Brian answered questions during a phone interview with a group of dedicated and kind Vestry members from a growing Anglican church in Austin, Texas.  

Passion to Pentecost

Linda McCray via CIVA Network

circling the Presence
by Tamara Hill Murphy


I wonder what marked the moment as the acceptable time for tongues of fire to fall down? 

A certain magic word?

What ancient riddle opened the door?  Moved the mountain into the sea?

What familiar Spirit fluttered the dead eyelid?  Called deep up from deep?  

I do not have the word, have not discovered the incantation.

                                                           But I've met the Spirit

and I think I know the answer.

I do not know the answer in the way one memorizes a flashcard formula, babbles
incessant technical jargon, wishful thinking, vain repetitions of one-hit wonders.

Not in short-term memory exercises.  Not in altar-call professions

sudden inspiration,  prickly goose-bumpy revelation.

I do not know the trick to conjure down the flames.

                                      

                                      But I studied the dusty photographs
read unfeeling the prayers, practiced the old language on inert tongue,
                                slept under the canopy of intercession, 
squatted in the hallway with the Son,
rocked sweaty in the lap of the Father,
eavesdropped under the door crack the Spirit-guide

and we knew it when we saw it

....................

May I recommend?

• A Pentecost sermon from Anne Kennedy, Church of the Good Shepherd, Binghamton, NY:  a good summary of how the history of the Jewish Feast of Weeks and how it forms our New Testament celebration of Pentecost

• A collect for Pentecost: 

Almighty God, on this day you opened the way of eternal lifeto every race and nation by the promised gift of your HolySpirit: Shed abroad this gift throughout the world by thepreaching of the Gospel, that it may reach to the ends of theearth; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reignswith you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for everand ever. Amen.

• Pentecost art at The Text This Week

• A collection of songs I've put together for Pentecost:

a stream of consciousness post about shalom found in flat tires and graduation parties and daughter's tears and getting stranded and becoming a priest's wife and messy, broken love

Yes, this is totally stream of consciousness.  Also I'm writing it at the same time as I'm searching YouTube for instructions on how to add the collar to my daughter's graduation gown for her Baccalaureate service happening in 1 hour.

all manner of things shall be well

Close to 18 years ago, I sat through a Sunday service in the church I grew up worshipping in week after week.  It's the church my father founded from a Bible study in our living room.  A group of people who loved God in the midst of really messy, broken lives and often demonstrated love to us -- the preacher's family in much the same way.  Messy and broken.  If I'd learned nothing else from my Dad it was to love people regardless -- and sometimes even especially -- because of the mess.

This particular Sunday -- around 18 years ago -- I was already a mother to a couple of children.  It was a gloriously sunny June Sunday in upstate New York.  A group of men had just returned from a weekend away at a conference together.  One that filled a stadium and encouraged men to be faithful to the promises they'd made to their families.  Because we were a small and rather informal congregation it was completely normal for "testimony time" during the middle of a service.  And so several of the men shared their joy from the time they'd had together.  One particular man -- the very handsome husband of my close friend -- shared with passion all the good things God had showed him and how much he loved his family.

My heart filled up in praise for this good Sunday.  The feeling was the closest I could recognize as Shalom.  The sense of things being the way they should be.  All was right with the world.  But there was also a giddy edge to it that in later years I recognized was my own drive for my ideal to match God's Shalom.  As in a hyper-driven need for everyone in the small circle of our congregation to be at peace with God and each other.  For conflict to cease.  My hyper-driven need for everyone to treat each other kindly all the time was a result of my own messy, broken sort of love.
  

After the service, I was floating with good feelings and told my mom, "Isn't this day perfect?"  As soon as I said that to her I recognized the difference in her demeanor.  She was wisened, even a bit jaded with church folk.  She was not naive and did not share the same ideal as I for everyone to get along.  I think, now her ideal was for everyone to be honest about themselves.

She discerned what in my ideal flitting about I'd missed.  Something about that testimony time wasn't truthful.

Not too many months later that girlfriend with the handsome, testifying husband called me to ask if I'd come over to house with her so that I could be with her when she confronted her husband about the affair she'd discovered he was having.  I went.  I sat in her living room and played with her two toddlers and waited for him to come home.   But before that I asked her to meet me at my mom's house so we could pray with someone.  This sort of messy brokenness freaked me out.  I needed someone older and wiser to lean on.

Oddly I'm remembering this story this morning as I come home feeling a giddy joy about the morning.  My husband preaches a couple of times a year and this was one of them.  He is one of my favorite preachers and since he only preaches a couple times a year I haven't gotten tired of listening to him yet.  I recognized sitting there that for almost 24 years God has been grooming us for what is not yet but will soon be -- our opportunity to shepherd a church with Brian as priest.  I realized this morning that for the last 3 years of full-time intentional pursuit of this goal (his seminary degree)  I've been holding my breath.  I've been counting the cost and trying to figure out how to soften the blow I know will come -- day in and day out. The messy, broken relationships we will experience in a way that will be new to us in some ways, but frighteningly familiar to me as a preacher's daughter.  

And today, I recognized again what I'd been discounting -- an anointing.  I recognized the anointing power of the Spirit of Christ -- the ascended and reigning Christ -- on my husband.   And I realized that self-protection would mean missing out on the shalom that comes with spiritual power from on high.  

It is no small thing that I recognized this on a weekend we have criss-crossed the city of Austin from one ministry event to another -- stepping through the thresholds of dear families we've grown to love in this community.  Giving and receiving messy and broken love.  Yesterday in the middle stop -- between the farewell blessing brunch and the high school graduation party and before the night of prayer and commissioning for the camp counsellors -- our tire popped in South Austin.  We rolled off the road into an empty parking lot and my husband calmly went through all the motions of changing that tire.  It was a little blip in the day and one we'd rather have avoided but it had this effect on me of adding -- rather than detracting from the shalom.

There's this British sitcom Brian and I love called Rev.  The fact that it's a sitcom about an Anglican vicar should clue you in that the comedy is frequently irreverent.  But somehow the writers of the show aren't so jaded that they exclude all moments of grace, peace and truth (shalom) from the story lines.  So you get the bike-riding priest dealing with blown bike tires while trying to balance the needs of true believers, drug addict sometimes believers, social climbing cultural believers, a wife who isn't afraid to speak her mind and his own bouts with doubt and exhaustion.  When we pulled into our driveway last night after a 12-hour Saturday of ministry-related events (and Brian still needing a couple of hours of sermon preparation), he turned the key in the ignition and we both leaned back in our seats and I said "This was a Rev. kind of day, wasn't it?"

And today as Brian oversees preaching as well as a baptism and mission team commissioning and children's ministry director farewell we're also texting with our 20-year-old son who is on a plane to Washington D.C. for his summer internship and coordinating our schedules with our 18-year-old daughter who has her high school graduation baccalaureate service this afternoon  somehow my youngest daughter and I got stranded at home with no vehicle to get to church.  And I had to call my husband a few minutes before service started for someone to come pick us up.  

And in the middle of the service our soon-to-be graduate fell apart emotionally and we walked together for healing prayer and on our way I got to hug a dear person who's family is sort of falling apart and smile into the sad face of their little girl.  And on the way back out -- after the prayer and the healing oil -- I got to hug my dear friend who is a widow, absolutely radiant with the holiness of grief. And after service my daughter and I scurried up to the table holding the remaining bread and wine to take communion before the good altar guild people drank and ate it all up (it's actually a liturgical thing!) 

And I felt the giddy joy of it all creeping up in me.  The beauty of messy, broken love.   This is not my ideal, certainly.  I'd prefer everyone just do one thing at a time, calmly and in order.  And I'd rather no family falls apart and no good husband dies.  To be honest, I'd have preferred to go forward for communion at the same time as everyone else.

But there was a rightness about it all, too.  That recognition as my husband preached the fierce but good power of YHWH who suspended the Red Sea to claim for himself fame as the God of his people.  That anointing power settled on me, too.  Hopefully a much wiser, humbler knowing than 18 years ago when one man's testimony made me believe all was perfect in the world and therefore I finally had permission to be happy.

I walked out the sanctuary to my car, barely noticing the olive-skinned couple wandering in the parking lot. So full of the giddiness of messy, broken love I saw them but did not discern.  Just before I put the key in the ignition -- yes the same van still wobbling around on the spare doughnut tire from yesterday's flat -- I recognized their plight and hopped back out.  

"Are you looking for the entrance?"  I holler across the parking lot, not even taking the time to close the door of my vehicle.

"Yes.  Can you help us?"

I get near enough to shake their hands and ask their names. "Are you from Austin and is this your first time at Christ Church?"  

"No, we're from Egypt and, yes, this is our first time here."  

I show them the entry way and bless them before running back to my van wondering what they'd think of Brian's sermon about the evil Pharaoh's army being drowned by the force of God? And I pray for them and text friends to pray for them. 

And I am full with the knowing that I was made for this.  I am full of shalom.