Heart Sense

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” September 13, 2023

I haven’t written in a while. It is hard to know how to begin this morning. Anything I say feels trite and unfeeling after these weeks of suffering that sisters and brothers around the world have been through. The ongoing loss of the devastated Maui, total destruction of towns and families in Morocco, violent genocide in Sudan, and thousands of human beings swept out into the Mediterranean Sea in Libya, what horror! I haven’t even mentioned the war in Ukraine and the fierce heat cooking the land and its inhabitants in much of the world. I won’t go into the politics of our nation, both embarassing and infuriating, deflecting attention and draining energy from all the real problems that we face. Or choose not to face.

In conversation at cardiac rehab this week, I was amazed by the number of people who “don’t watch or read the news anymore.” They could rattle off all the football scores from the weekend, but had no idea about the scores of people who died in Libya or Marrakesh. How easy it is for us humans to live lives of distraction, planning our days and nights by what we don’t want to see. Or know. I do not think that this really makes our lives any easier. I know my anxiety would rise not knowing what was going on. For I believe there is a level of awareness in us that links us to all being on this earth. We can either develop this awareness or try to shut it off. The more we develop it, the more human we become. The more we distract ourselves from it, the more we cut ourselves off from growing in care and understanding. Essential human traits.

Why should we care? Because this ability helps to develop our heart sense, which is something we have sadly left undeveloped in our world today. We have educated our minds, but have devalued the knowledge that is key to our hearts, which begins with our innate sense of interconnection. This is an important aspect of the wisdom so desperately needed to address the suffering and the destruction of our earth.

Nothing changes if people with well-nurtured and developed heart sense do not come together to employ this gift. But when they/we do, hope is born. Energy returns. Commitments are made. Change is possible. So my question this morning is: Do I/you live primarily a life of distraction or a life of heart sense?

When you begin to hear the cries of the Libyan people, or to feel the despair of the Moroccans, or suffer the scars of the earth in your own body, do not suffer these on your own. Find others who honor the wisdom of their hearts and begin to grow hope for all being on earth.

TRAFFIC ON THE DECK

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” August 30, 2023

As the chickadee stares at me from the edge of the birdbath for longer than I thought she would, I am reminded that I have not once tried to feed her this summer out of my hand. Or from the hat on top of my head. Is she wondering if I’ve given up on her? “No, little one,” I say. “I have just been sulking on the sofa.” She flies into the lilac bush and begins to sing her usual song. “I hear you. I never thought you would miss me out on this deck. But maybe you do.” And in this moment, I fall in love all over again. She’s been my favorite since my beloved grandfather taught me how to feed sunflower seeds to the chickadees many years ago from the deck in Connecticut.

Oh, who’s here now? Whoever it is, perhaps the song sparrow, there are wings splashing water all over. He leaves and two goldfinches take his place, one a dull green and the other neon yellow. By the time I look up again from my journal, they are replaced by two hummingbirds on the feeder hung over the bath. It feels like rush hour on the back deck! Perhaps it is like this at 5 p.m. every day in this spot. Or, could it be that they all want me to know that I’ve been missed? I can feel my gratitude flow out from me. Can they feel it as it glances their feathers and moves out into the trees?

A thought strikes me as the chatter of the goldfinches rises…oh wait…the chickadee is back and has joined one of the hummingbirds on the feeder. Yes, she is sipping the sugar water. Her usual chickadee-dee-dee-dee call has gentled, as if she does not want to disturb the hummer. I have not heard this particular call from this particular bird before. It’s actually melodic. More soothing. Perhaps it is her peace offering for getting a share at the hummingbird’s table.

Okay, back to the striking thought. I have spent many an hour over the years on this backyard deck looking for a connection with the wildlife, especially the birds. But could it be that what I yearn for, a deep relationship even unity with them, is already there? Are we not already a part of one another through living on this miraculous earth? We are made of the same stuff. We have the same source. We need the same things. I was warned over time not to “anthropomorphize” the creatures, not to assume they think or feel like I do. However, is it possible that in our fear of anthropmorphizing, we have built a deep chasm between them and ourselves. It may be that we do share some of the same yearnings, to feel the profound connections among and between one another.

These beautiful and wild creatures approach me as I approach them, with caution and care. We all want to know that we are safe and secure with one another. After all, we have all been created by the same love.

COMING TO TERMS

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” August 23, 2023

It is one of those perfect Maine summer days, low 70’s, crisp air, brilliant blue sky, and two competitive hummingbirds chattering next to me at the feeder. Make that three. A little male just chased the two females into the tree. I thought that season was over!

This is the first day since last year that I am writing in my screen tent on the deck. I don’t really know what took me so long. Although our prairie has been cut down to grass with hay on the side, I am surrounded by pink, purple, and white phlox, hundreds of black-eyed susans, bright orange nasturtium, and can hear our solar-powered fountain gently splashing in the bird bath. Certainly a more pastoral scene than my corner of the couch offered.

Now that I think about it, since retirement I may have been avoiding the spaces I equated with doing my work. I have written many a sermon/message in this tent. The most joyful part of my work hands-down. I also did a lot of liturgy planning and hymn writing at my desk in front of the wide living room window. It always gave me inspiration, like the osprey spreading its wings and the dragon fly lifted on the breeze. The trees in every season spoke to a different phase of the year and the heart. The empty branches rising in prayer and spring leaf buds hinting at rebirth. The dawn sky of Advent wearing the blue of hope and promise. But lately, I have been using the desk only for e-mail or word processing on the computer, never upon which to write. Any creative activity since January was done in one corner of the sofa. I did most of my grieving and my healing there under an afghan made for me by a dear friend. It was my refuge.

So what brings me outside today? What has changed? Perhaps I am moving from denial of what I have lost in the last seven months to acceptance. Joel and I participated in the installation of a colleague as pastor of another church on Sunday. It was strange putting on our clergy robes and stoles once again. But it was a reminder that even though we have let go the position of pastor at First Church, we are still ordained as pastor/teacher in the wider United Church of Christ. We are still called to serve the church and the world. It will simply have to take another form and be in a new place. Isn’t this the pattern of growth? To let go of one particular thing to open our arms to wider experience?

At the beginning of the installation service, the pianist played “Here I Am, Lord.” This was sung at my ordination service in Ohio. I was immediately transported back to that day in Septamber of 2000. It seemed that only yesterday I was taking the vows of ordination and feeling the weight of the hands upon my head as the Spirit was called to fill me and guide me on my way. A part of me was thinking I wish I could do it all over again. On the other hand, a deeper part knows that I am not the same woman anymore, except that I am still burning with a desire to know, love, and serve God in whatever form she manifests herself to me.

Finally, just before I set myself up to write in my tent, I was flipping through TV channels after the news. Sunddenly, there was Josh Fitterling, the new designated interim pastor at The First Church, leading worship on the local access channel. My first impulse was to flip on by, not wanting to deal with my feelings. But then, I just stopped and watched. I noted that he was preaching from the lectern, as I used to do, and not the raised pulpit. And yes, he belonged there. It was his turn to find himself at the heart of that good community. It was his turn to speak. To lead prayer. To love and be loved by the people. It is my turn to sit here on my deck in the summer breeze, listening to the racket of the ravens above me, the zooming by of the hummingbirds, and the whisper deep down in my soul – “Be still. Get ready to open your arms and your heart ever wider.” And I answer, “Yes.”

THE TEACHER COMES

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” Auguest 16, 2023

People become obsessed with their ego-driven goals, forgetting that the present moment is the source of well-being and fulfillment.” Kabir Helminski, Living Presence, p. 150

How is it that we can know something deep inside but not until someone articulates it in simple words, unearthing the insight from within, do we acknowledge the truth? It seems to me that a spiritual teacher is a kind of excavator who is able to wrest insight from the depths of our own awareness to make it available for our understanding and growth. I think this is what Jesus did. Not speaking in esoteric terms, he used words that would resonate down to the hearts of people, giving them access to inner wisdom that could transform their lives. Unless, of course, they were not quite ready. Think Nicodemus or the rich young man. On the flip side, think of the woman at the well. Yes, Jesus simply helped her to see what she already knew, but until then, hadn’t been able to trust. But once the light was shone on what was already in her heart, she could no longer contain it. She became the teacher.

Kabir Helminski, author of the book I mentioned a few posts back, seems to be my personal excavator right now. It reminds me of a phrase I heard long ago – “When you are ready, the teacher will come.” What has made me ready to learn at this time? Two things, I think – retirement and heart surgery. To be honest, I was truly dreading my retirement from The First Church in Belfast last January for so many reasons. Relationships would change. I would miss the people, especially the children. I would miss planning and leading worship, a passion of mine. I would miss preaching – I loved the whole process, from preparation and prayer, to the writing, to the sharing. Most of all, I knew I would miss having the identity and purpose of pastor. I had a recognized role to play in the community. I was afforded almost instant intimacy with people at sacred times in their lives – weddings, births, illnesses, and deaths. Being a pastor was all-consuming, and yes, at times, exhausting. But I knew who I was and what I was for.

I immediately discovered after retirement that though it was a major change, it wasn’t enough to make me ready for the next stage of my life. I let go of the church and my role, but not my preoccupations. If I wasn’t a pastor, who was I now? What could I do? How do I use all this education? Who could I perform for now (a powerful habit from childhood)? How can I give purpose to my life? Who was I meant to serve? What does God want of me?

After about eight weeks of this anxious questioning, my chest started to feel tight. I visited a cardiologist and within days I had a stress test, an echocardiogram, a heart catheterization, and was shocked to be told I needed triple bypass surgery. My focus changed to simple survival. The questions took a back seat and all I could do was submit to present need and allow myself to be cared for. Thank God for Joel in this time and for the doctors and skilled medical personnel who knew what they were doing.

Now, nearly four months later, I realize that the surgery was a necessary step in embracing this next phase of life. No, I do not think that the powers that be sent heart disease for this purpose. But I do think that the All Loving One regularly transforms suffering into wisdom and light. In this time, I was shown that the questions preoccupying me following retirement were very much of the ego, the very questions that I had been wrestling with all my life. Now, ego can be a helpful guide in life, but it can also subvert other kinds of growth that are available at this later stage.

So, enter Kabir Helminski, teaming up with my retirement and heart surgery, to guide me away from egoic striving and lead me into the Present. The Present – the very place that was calling me when I first heard in my heart – “Go into the silence.” I know I’ll be writing more about this later. For now, I can only say that the Present has brought me the cool morning breeze, the soothing waters, the call of the owl, the sway of the prairies grasses, blessed time and rest, and the smile of my beloved. In other words, joy.

HENRY

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” August 12, 2023

I rose to an unusual sky this morning. Pale peach clouds stretched horizontally over the southern horizon. At one point in the east, three separate strands seemed to break out of order to jump straight up, shining with the sun that had not fully risen. They seemed to be trying to touch the tiny sliver of a moon that was hanging above them. Why? Why this little spurt of exuberance from clouds in the sky? I’d never seen anything like it. Perhaps I would have to take that meteorologist training I sometimes wish I had to better undertand the skies that so often transfix my attention. But no, with time to observe and wonder, I think I will be satisfied with this extraordinary skyscape as gift.

I watched until the clouds merged with the baby blue sky and the moon was barely visible. Then my eyes fell on our three year old hydrangea bush in full flourish. It is called a “Watermelon” hydrangea, the blossom beginning as creamy white, turning from stem up into a pale pink. Soon it will take on its full color – a deep pinkish rose – resembling the color of a ripe watermelon. How does this happen? Do I need a course in horticulture? I guess some things are just meant to be loved and enjoyed if not understood. Like the skies, they are to be gratefully received as gift.

Yesterday, Joel and I received the most precious of gifts. Our friends, Katelyn and Isaac, brought their newborn son, Henry, over to the house to meet us. It sounded like all three of them had quite an adventure in his being born, and so I was especially amazed when the first thing Katelyn did was put Henry right in my arms, with none of the anxiety and hesitancy that I have experienced with many newborn moms being coaxed into letting others hold their little ones. With Henry, I didn’t even have to ask!

Two things bring me nearly to tears as I think about them this morning. First, of course, was this tiny little life I cradled close to me for the first time. How beautifully and intricately he was created. I do not often express myself in Bible quotes, but this brought me right to my favorite Psalm 139, which cries “For you created my inmost being, you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made…” There is absolutely nothing, nothing like holding a newborn baby, this breathing, wiggly little miracle of life. In that moment, it feels as if the world is just as it should be and you are just as you should be. Suddenly filled with a brand new love that immediately ignites not only a concern for the baby’s wellbeing, but for the wellbeing of the world that he will grow up in. As I cradled his tiny head in my hand, I was both blessed and awed.

Secondly, I was also blessed and awed by the tremendous trust and generosity of his parents, Isaac and Katelyn. The love that flows through their marriage and shows on their faces, is shared readily with their community. And their community is wide – family, friends, town, work places, church, school where Isaac teaches, all the places where they sing! It reaches from Maine to Texas and beyond! They offer themselves and their gifts with such grace and ease. And now, they are sharing their most precious gift, Henry. I am sure that Henry is already thriving in this lifegiving environment he was born into – being showered with all that trust, love, wonder and joy. That is one fortunate little man! I feel fortunate to be able to watch all of them grow and stretch together – like the three strands of exuberant clouds reaching for the moon, a rare and beautiful sight.

THE GENEROUS HEALER

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” August 9, 2023

I was determined to use this early morning to read my new book or write my next blog post. But after I made my coffee and went to the living room, I heard the leaves singing the breeze through the trees outside. I felt the cool flow of air on my face and bare legs and settled down to take it all in. To enjoy it. My book and journal remained untouched for over an hour as these gifts of the earth touched my senses and soothed my soul. Joel emerged from the bedroom expecting me to be lost in a book, but instread I was lost in the pleasure of the wind, the song of the trees, and the scent of high summer.

I am sensing changes occurring in me. Yesterday I was reading an article about the numerous natural springs located throughout Maine. I was reminded of a single spring that we used to visit in the summer in Putnam County, New York, when I was a child. It was piped out of a rock configuration and it was sheer joy to cup our hands and drink straight from it, the water crystal clear and freezing cold! I asked Joel if we could journey to visit these springs in their various settings in the Maine countryside. This was an unusual request to come from me, the nearly agoraphobic homebody of late. I am usually asking him to accompany me to a new bookstore or a coffee shop. I think he, my nature man, was happy with this new venture.

I can sense a yearning to have these waters splash all over me. Now, where did that come from? The desire to cool off in that freezing spray? The more that I think about it, I think it is connected to my longing for healing. Inner and outer.

When I was in the hospital, not long after coming out of anaesthesia, the television set was on a channel of music and nature scenes, mostly water – ocean waves, babbling brooks, flowing streams, cascading waterfalls. I remember imagining all that water flowing over me when I was not really conscious of anything else. It soothed me. Touched me in a way that the soft breeze is caressing me this morning. I think the healing nature and feel of water was planted in my brain when I was barely aware of what was going on.

Unfortunately, when I got home, I was terrified of taking a shower because of having to deal with the fresh incision. But now that my scar and I are on much friendlier terms, I am actually considering shopping for a bathing suit even though I have not put one on in years! I am longing for the water. It is calling me like the morning wind song.

The earth is a healer. I want to learn to touch and heal her in return.

THE POWER OF A BOOK

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” August 7, 2023

Have you ever opened a book, begun to read, and found your heart beating faster with the realization that you were about to be changed in some essential way? You surmise that the way you look at the world and your life is about to be expanded, deepened, or blown up all together? The moment stands out in your memory, even if it was decades ago, as a crucial turning point.

I remember clear as day the moment in my junior year of college when I took a book off a shelf in a retreat house I was staying at for the weekend. It was Out of Solitude by Father Henri Nouwen. I took myself somewhere outside to read. It was not a long book, and by the time I got to the end, my whole body and mind felt different. The best I can describe it is as a state of deep longing, an ache to know and to live by what I had just read. The text was both simple and profound.

I have no doubt that that book gave direction to my life, from college to grad school (where I did get to study with Henri), to teaching and ministry. It also took me where I would have the privilege to be advised by Dr. Margaret Farley, RSM at Yale Divinity School, which led to a feminist awakening as well as to the realization that the reason I was so taken by Fr. Nouwen was that he was articulating things that were already singing deep inside my heart. Margaret helped me to see clearly the idol I had erected and enabled me to reclaim my own mind. I am grateful to them both as significant human touchstones in my coming to adulthood.

Certain other books have had similar, if not as clearly momentous, influences on me; Women’s Ways of Knowing by Mary Field Belenky, et. al., Sexism and God-Talk by one of my Ph.D. advisors, Rosemary Radford Ruether, The Evolving Self by Robert Kegan, Adult Faith by James Fowler. All of these from graduate school and seminary days helped to shape my developmental perspective on life and a focus on women’s experience. Then more recently, books by John O’Donohue, J. Philip Newell, Martin Laird, Kathleen Dowling Singh, and others have encouraged the next phase – the aspirational Celtic writer-theologian-contemplative!

What started this whole stream of consciousness was a book I began this morning that instantly had my heart beating in that old “get ready for change” rhythm. Kabir Helminski writes: “Our churches emphasize beliefs rather than experience, emotion rather than transcendent experience, conventional religious behavior rather than inner transformation. We are starved for the food of the soul.” (Living Presence: The Sufi Path to Mindfulness and the Essential Self, p. 11) He also writes that our eduational institutions are solely about intellectual pursuits and collecting head knowledge, not about formation of the heart. When I look back on my academic career, it amazes me how on point this is, even including the work I did for three seminary degrees. As I read Helminski, I realized how much catch up work there is to do to get my heart as prepared and ready for something new as my intellect often is.

One of the first things I learn here is that food for the soul cannot be found solely in solitary pursuits. This is a good reminder and motivator to find myself a new kind of community in this retirement, or help to create one, one that is not satisfied with traditional beliefs or conventional religious behavior. Perhaps this is partly what this blog is all about. But I am becoming aware that the blog itself is not sufficient – I need the physical presence of others on this journey. I also need the couage and will at this time to make myself physically present. I am way too comfortable these days in my own company. But for now, I’ll be at least conversing with Kabir Helminski and the rest of you!

A COUPLE’S WILD RETIRED LIFE

Rev. Dr. Kate Winters, “Dwelling in Presence,” August 3, 2023

The prairie lives on! No Mow May slipped into No Mow June, became No Mow July, and, lo and behold, it is August! Seas of grasses surround our house, and “seas” is the right word as the surface of the wild growth often reminds me of choppy waters in a storm. Nothing placid about them.

I am glad that Joel has continued to mow walking paths around the grasses giving a bit of shape and edge to the overgrown fields. Otherwise it might seem as if the whole house was sinking under all the turbulent life thriving around it. Also, the paths allow the various patches of garden that he has planted over the years to be seen. They are worth seeing – blue salvia, yellow and orange day lilies, deep rose coneflower, blue and purple delphinium, blackeyed susans, bright fuchsia phlox, holly, winterberry, and azalea bushes, foxglove, columbine, watermelon and blue hydrangea, brilliant orange nasturtium, and errant sunflowers planted by the birds.

Perhaps inspired by the unfettered growth around them, the milkweed and Joe pye weed plants have sprouted all over the grounds, strong and healthy. But sadly, we have seen very few monarch butterflies this year. Yesterday, we spied our third. We used to have two or three daily. Joel did follow this one and was able to witness it laying her eggs on the leaves of a milkweed. In years past, he collected the tiny caterpillars and fed them until they formed the chrysalis and then released the butterflies a few weeks later. But honestly, I think he is busier now than when he was working. He is designing and building a window seat to put under my new “hermitage” window and then building some bookshelves around it. He is starting up his pottery business and is often in his back garage studio kneading, throwing, carving, firing, glazing, and finishing his pieces. The yard and garden still take a good deal of his attention. And, of course, he took really good care of me while I was convalescing. I am blessed with an extraordinary partner. Tonight I plan to cook the eggplant parmesan he has been craving. I have to do my part now, and food is one of Joel’s favorite things! I might even add a blueberry cheesecake pie.

There are so many stories of couples who go crazy in retirement because they have way too much time on their hands, together. That’s not our story, at least so far. My idea of a perfect day is to get up at dawn and bring my pen, a journal, a book or two, and lots of coffee into solitude. Joel goes out a little later for his morning walk downtown where he will run into numerous people, talk to almost every one of them, then return to tell me all about it! I will spend hourse with nature, not so much out in it, but taking in the views from the windows or on the back deck. Joel will put on his hiking bootts, make his own path through the woods, find new birds and insects to study, take numerous pictures, bringing his whole body and soul into the surroundings. We seem to see and experience things in different ways – he with all his bodily senses, me with some kind of inner awareness and intuition. We are both enriched as we bring these gifts to one another.

No, it’s hardly perfect. You can imagine that our differences can become points of contention. He gets lots of energy when surrounded by people. I can only interact for so long before I need to withdraw. How in the world did I stay in ministry for over thirty years? And we stay married for almost thirty? I think it may be that introverted and extroverted energy can both be employed in serving and loving the people. Because we both did and do. Just as we employ them in caring for and loving one another.

I end with another glimpse of the seas of grasses outside my writing desk window. There is no wind today. The waters are calm. I will sit here for a little longer to see what they will teach me. At least until Joel returns from his walk with tales of life from out little city!

Coming Full Circle

Rev. Kate Winters, Ph.D., “Dwelling in Presence,” July 30, 2023

Born the second child in a family of five, with an older brother and three younger sisters, I took on many traits of an eldest child; an overly developed sense of responsibility, a need to take care of people (including my mother who had her hands full with five children under the age of ten), and a deep desire for the attention of my father in the midst of all those kids. While some children act out to get noticed, I took an opposite tactic: I would be good.

Now goodness meant a couple of things to me. Deeply influenced by the Franciscan Capuchin nuns of my grammar school, I endeavored to be obedient, helpful, and, as much as I could, I would be holy, whatever that meant to an over-eager Roman Catholic child. But good moral behavior was not enough – I would also need to excel in whatever I did. Get the solos in the dance recitals, win the spelling bees, get the best grades in school, which would be certain to have the priests tell me that my father would be very proud when they handed out the report cards. Anything less than perfect meant my father in heaven and on earth would be disappointed in me, at least in my mind, bringing on not guilt, but feelings of shame. It came with the recognition that I was not enough and bound to fail. In other words, I was not the saint I aspired to be, I was only human. The problem with all of this is that I never fully accepted my humanity as lovable.

Why do I rehearse and rehash this past? Some would say that I was being dramatic. I’m an adult now, not the attention seeking “holy ghost” as I was labeled by my siblings. I should just put it all behind me. After all, I am now a teacher and clergyperson myself, therefore should practice what I preach – the worth and dignity of every fallible human and non-human being, and that God is not judgment, but infinite love.

Well, I have learned something in this new retirement stage of being. Life seems to come full circle. Back to when I was only starting out trying to figure out what it was all about. Who and how I am meant to be…now. With approximately six decades of experience behind me, you would think that this would be easy. On the other hand, the patterns I have lived in these years are awfully set in their ways and hard to break. They may have contributed to my current condition – an over-stressed and broken heart. Step one has to be to mend the brokenness, relax, accept, and love all the imperfections, trade in sainthood for simply human. Then, I think, I must learn to allow myself to just be. Could it be that the grace I’ve been helping others to know is meant for me as well?

May it be so, and may I have the humility to receive it.

A DEATH IN THE FAMILY

Rev. Kate Winters, Ph.D., “Dwelling in Presence,” July 21, 2023

I write this morning from a hotel room near Cold Spring, New York, where yesterday Joel and I attended a funeral service for my Uncle Jimmy. Jim was a good and powerful man, a former New York City police officer, who disarmed explosives as head of the bomb squad and learned to ride a horse to lead the mounted police division. He ended his career as deputy chief, well respected and admired by many. He was then asked to head the security detail for the entire Rockefeller family. And he did. He was the kind of man who seemed unstoppable, too strong to fall and fail. Until he was plagued by a brain disease that would steal much of him away from his family, his wife of 68 years, my mother’s younger sister Marie.

I was moved at his service when two of his children, my cousins, gave the eulogy. Paul, a son who also served as a New York City cop and detective, spoke of his work accomplishments, told stories, and recalled his father’s love for dogs and for the new babies in the family, displaying a tender side. Christine, we call her “Tine”, pronounced “TEEN”, did something wonderful that I have rarely experienced at a memorial service. She spoke the hard truth about his disease. What it was, what it does, and the decision they made with Jim to donate his brain to learn more about this miserable illness. I wanted to stand and applaud when she was done.

As a pastor, I have presided at memorial services where the family of the deceased refused to allow me or anyone else speak of the nature of the death, whether it was a debilitating illness such as this, or, in a few instances, a suicide. These events always felt like a disservice to the person whose suffering went unacknowledged and to the family and friends who shared it. I felt as if I was participating in a charade, as no one learned anything important and no one was truly comforted. I will not do it again. I was both proud of and grateful to both my cousins and my aunt.

Jimmy was my last uncle on both sides of the family. It was a joy to see my mother’s sisters, Marie and the youngest, Claire, my godmother, and my cousins who I and my family spent all our childhood summers with on the eight acres of heaven provided by my mother’s parents that we called “the country.” What a gift it was, the place where I began my writing practice as I would rise before anyone else was awake, pen in hand, and stare out of the picture window at the huge fir (we called it the “Christmas tree”) down the hill that lit up whenever there was lightning in the valley. I remember going into the kitchen where my Grammy would be reheating yesterday’s coffee and have a cup with her. If I was lucky, there would be a remaining piece of Popa’s butter cake to share with her! The thought of those mornings fills me with a feeling of home.

I end this reflection with both a sense of joy and deep sadness. It was such a joy to see Marie and Jimmy’s huge family, with all the babies as a sign that life goes on. And sadness, as I couldn’t shake the feeling that along with the powerful Uncle Jimmy, the world that I once knew is passing, and passing fast. As Joel and I drove around on Wednesday getting down to Cold Spring, we found that parts of this area and the very road to “the country” were flooded and closed due to this week’s storms. The heat and humidity that is plaguing half the country is continuing to come east and to rise. I wondered what kind of world these babies and my own nieces and nephews would grow up in. It is certainly long past time for all of us to become honest about the plague we have brought to the earth. Anything else is a charade. May our grief and our love spur us on. Rest in peace, Uncle Jimmy.