Confessions of a Gun Buyer

    I used to buy guns.  Lots of them.  As the hunting buyer for a wholesaler in Denver I bought everything from reloading equipment to Remingtons, bright orange hunting vests to Savage Arms, Smith & Wessons to binoculars. It didn't seem strange to be in the business; my dad had given me a 28 gauge shotgun years before and I enjoyed shooting trap and skeet with it.  My dad and brother both hunted.  When not using the shotguns or rifles they were stored way in the back of a hall closet.
    I've been thinking about that time in my life as I hear many sides of the gun debate.  I used to be a member of the NRA, but let my membership expire.  Thirty years ago they seemed to be taking the same stand as today - any type of gun control might mean that individuals would no longer have the right to own guns.  I never did and still do not understand that kind of thinking.  It seems rather paranoid.
    You can google "gun control" and get a timeline of legislation that has placed restrictions on owning guns.  We've had restrictions on automatic weapons like machine guns since the 1930s.  In 1968 the Gun Control Act was passed that limited who could purchase a gun and required any business selling firearms to keep records of the serial numbers of guns sold.  We've had gun control for years, and as far as I can tell people can still own guns.  In fact, unlike when I was in the business, most states now allow people to carry concealed weapons.  Concealed weapons can even be carried into our National Parks in those states where they are legal.
    I remember the moment when I knew I needed to get out of the "gun" business.  I had moved to MA to head a wholesale buying co-operative (a group of 18 hunting distributors who pooled their orders so they could compete with the "big-box" retailers like Wal-Mart).  One day I was proof-reading a flyer and my eye stopped on the ad for Colt AR-15s.  I knew that the AR-15 was the civilian version of the M16 used by the military and for the first time I started to wonder why anyone would need or want a military-type gun.  And I realized I didn't want to be part of the industry that provided these guns to individuals.
    Interestingly enough, it was the hunting business that brought me out to New England, and it was in New England that God and I were reacquainted.  I had been raised in the church, baptized and confirmed, but after college I drifted away from attending worship regularly.  But as I was driving to Massachusetts from Colorado I heard a voice saying, "Get thee to a church."  It was God, of course.  I know this because the voice actually spoke in God's language, King James English.  I knew it was time and found Trinity United Methodist Church in Springfield.  I started to participate in Bible Studies and prayer groups.  I listened to the sermons and participated in discussions.  The steady work of prayer and scripture and the Holy Spirit showed itself the day I read that flyer.  I had crossed a point and saw there was no turning back.  It was time for me to leave.
     But it was hard.  I had many friends in the business; I'm still in touch with some.  They were good people.  They are good people.  I told the buying co-operative members that I felt I was being called into ministry.  One of them asked if they couldn't be my ministry.  I think of the people I know who own guns.  The guns are not an obsession with them, but simply a means by which they go hunting, or enjoy target shooting.  It's interesting... what I don't know is which of my friends own guns for protection.  Maybe they've told me and I just didn't want to know.
     So I confess, I used to buy guns.  I'm sure the Second Amendment will continue to protect the right to own guns.  But I am 100% FOR banning automatic and semi-automatic weapons along with clips and magazines that hold more than 10 rounds.  I believe there should be a waiting period so background checks can be completed and I think that there should be some definite restrictions on who can buy a gun. 
     Jesus did not live in a time of guns, but as I read the Gospel stories I notice something about him.  Here he is living in an occupied country.  I don't know for a fact, but I have a feeling the Jews are not allowed to arm themselves. But not once do I hear Jesus say, "let's work for the right to carry a sword."  Or "If only we had weapons, then things would be good."   Instead Jesus reminds us of the most important commandment: You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your mind, all your strength, and your neighbor as yourself.  Loving God, loving others.  In no way will an AR-15 help me to love others.  Can we possibly live in a world without them?  I can.
   

Remember your baptism

   Do you remember your baptism?  I've been thinking about this since worship Sunday morning.  We read the story in Mark of Jesus' baptism.  Heard a great sermon, then the congregation had the opportunity to come forward to the baptismal font and take up water as they remembered their baptism.  I was unable to go forward, but my friend David picked up a handful of water and tossed it back 3 rows, spraying my face with God's cleansing grace (and a few of my neighbors also). 
    I have a sketchy memory of my own baptism.  My brother was born in October 1952 and was probably 3 or 4 months old which means I was about two.  I think this must be one of my earliest memories.  I don't remember the water of baptism - what I remember is holding onto the rail that surrounded the altar - maybe even swinging on it a little bit?  All the attention seemed to be on my brother as far as I can remember.
   My baptism is my first memory of church.  I was baptized at First United Methodist Church in Great Bend Kansas.  We had moved to Great Bend from Casper WY the summer of 1951.  I remember the building with its center dome high above the sanctuary.  A number of years ago my husband Richard and I were driving home from visiting my parents in Texas and went through Great Bend.  We attended an Ash Wednesday service in the chapel.  As I walked through the sanctuary (which I had not seen since I was 10 years old) it had a familiar feel to it.  I saw the rail around the large altar area and the memory of my baptism returned.  I went to Sunday School, worshiped, & attended Vacation Bible School at First UMC.  It is a part of my spiritual family tree.
   Last Sunday our pastor pointed out the paradox that we consider Jesus to be without sin, pure and divine, yet he steps forward and insists that John baptize him.  Jesus enters into this ritual of repentance and cleansing; perhaps a reminder to us that Jesus is fully Divine, but also fully human, and in being fully human with us he too receives his baptism.  I am always moved by the final verses of this story when the dove descends and a voice from heaven says, "You are my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased."  I believe God says that to all of us, baptized or not:  "You are my beloved son or daughter." 
    I felt tears rising as I watched the members of our congregation walk down the aisle to remember their baptism, to remember that God loves each one of them.  They were invited to come forward, whether or not they had actually been baptized,  whether or not they were Christian.  They were invited to come forward and receive this reminder that each one is a beloved son or daughter of God.  And then, towards the end, water splashed upon my all face and I felt that glorious cleansing power of the Holy Spirit.  The water that is so necessary for life reminds me of how I thirst for God's love, and how God's love never goes away - I just need to turn my face to God. 
      Do you remember your baptism?  Whether you do or not, whether you were baptized or not, I hope you will remember that you are God's beloved daughter, God's beloved son.  May God's blessings be with you on the journey.
   

Going deeper, reaching farther

    It's a little odd to be using a technology that I don't completely understand.  For instance, when I started this blog up again I thought I'd write a couple of entries, then let people know I was writing again.  I was so surprised to start hearing from people.  Someone emailed me and a copy of the "Accidental Pilgrim" was in the body of the email - that's when I realized that it was being sent out automatically to those who had signed up.  Someday I might learn how to change the subject line of the emails so it doesn't continue to read "Camino..."
     I remember when I was planning for the Camino and the first few days of walking;  I was going to memorize some of the Psalms.  Well, that required pulling my attention away from the walk itself and that wasn't working.  I really wanted to be present to everything I was seeing, hearing, smelling, and feeling, as I walked.
     It's different when you're sitting in one place.  I do try to take the time to stare out the window.  In the mornings I have some quiet time looking out our bedroom window at the garden - which is beautiful when it's covered with snow.  But spending all day on the couch with my computer and books and the remotes does not lend itself to being present in the same way.  Instead my presence is with the book I am reading, or the person who is visiting, or the program I'm watching or the music I'm listening to -- all happening from my same seat in the living room.  So I continue to practice being present, even in these new circumstances.
    Last Thursday night I had my first outing - to see the dress rehearsal for the Boar's Head Festival at our church (you can see pictures and a short video at the Trinity UMC website: http://trinityspringfield.org.)  It was so great to get out!  On Friday morning I had another outing - to see the orthopedic surgeon for a follow-up.  Staples were taken out of incisions, a new, lighter splint was put on, swelling was down - all good things.  We were talking, trying to get a better sense of how this recuperation would go.  Finally I asked about a trip I was planning to New Orleans in March.  I wanted to hear that my ankle might be painful as I worked at walking, but it would be fine to travel.  What I was actually told was that yes, I could travel, if I didn't mind using the walker, or wheelchair, and or crutches.  When I asked if I would be using these aids while walking on one foot or both the Dr. told me I'd still be on one foot.  Ouch!!  He went on to say it was more realistic that I'd start gradually putting weight on the ankle and walking again in during the month of April.
    That was a setback!  I felt the same fear I'd felt at the beginning of the Camino - what if I can't really do this?   As we headed home my mind started working actively:  you need to start exercising again, work on strength so you can get out more and get around more easily; plan some projects; start this, start that.  Oh, my mind really misses its "to do" list.  We came to an agreement (my mind and I) that there are some things I can do that will help with these next months, but by the time I got home, I knew there was one thing, just one thing I needed to do with this: take it to God.  For God isn't looking at just the next 3 months, God knows my whole life.  God isn't counting the days until I get around again, God is asking me to live fully in every day.  God doesn't really care about my time "laid up" --God just cares about me "period".  God isn't about chronological time, God is about creation, being, loving.  The news from the Dr. reminded me that indeed I am on a pilgrimage.  There will be obstacles, but each is an opportunity to return once more to God, to trust in God, to live more deeply in God's love.
    So God - I'm in your hands.  Help me to go deeper that I might see how to live more fully during this chapter of my life.  And in going deeper, may I learn to reach farther as I learn more about myself, about the world and about You.  Amen.
   

A Quieter Pilgrimage

   
    I slept well that first night out of the hospital.  Though I came home on New Year's Eve I didn't stay up long, and I'm sure the pain pill I took helped.  A couple of trips to the bathroom using my new "push the walker, hop on right foot" technique made it clear that this was going to be a very long six weeks.  Actually, I'm hoping it's only going to be six weeks - the orthopedic surgeon had mentioned being laid up that long, but another time he was talking about 3-4 months.  I checked with Richard and yes, he heard the same thing.  We are both hoping the longer period is just a time line for gradually adding weight to my left leg and getting back on track.
    New Year's Day was nice - watched the parade, family came by the visit, watched football games.  But then came Wednesday.  I had a terrible night's sleep and this "push the walker, hop on right foot" thing was really getting old.  I couldn't believe how tired I was arriving at the couch or back on my bed!  Oh yes, this was going to be a long six weeks.  I don't know how this popped into my mind, but I started looking at the similarities of this time to my pilgrimage on the Camino:  I had only two changes of clothes in Spain, now I have two pair of flannel pants that will fit over the splint; I had to pack very lightly in order to carry everything with me, I can't carry anything with me as the walker is so awkward (I do now have a light pack that I use); there's lots of time set aside to think, or just be while walking, there's lots of time set aside to think, or just be while sitting; having the support of friends and family meant a lot while I was in Spain, having the support of friends and family means a lot as I heal; my feet were often burning and aching so badly, now my hands are burning and aching from pushing on the walker.
    There are some big differences also: no walking, of course, and also no nightly dinner meeting new people from other countries around the world, reunions with people met earlier on the way, seeing new geography along the way.  But I started to think about what made the Camino a pilgrimage -- it had everything to do with how I intentional responded to each situation.  By making the decision to be on a pilgrimage, I decided to do some things differently.  I tried to recognize when I was falling into my fears, not trusting God, limiting myself.  As I set in my living room last week I decided that I wanted to approach this six weeks of healing as a pilgrimage also - being intentional in how I responded to my situation.
    For you see, a part of me really wanted to throw a big pity party.  I was so irritated with myself for having this accident and changing everything for this winter.  I was so tired, uncomfortable, still with a little pain, and more than a little anxious about having day in/day out of sitting for weeks to come.  When I stopped and decided to turn it over to God in prayer, I had that final connection to my pilgrimage in Spain.  I realized that once again this would be a time to trust in God, stay in prayer, and make the best of this new reality.
    So here I am on a pilgrimage with absolutely no planning at all!  I didn't have to purchase a lot of gear (though Richard did pick up a wonderful "convoluted seat cushion" for me which is giving relief to my rather sore bum.  I'm trying to keep up with the work items I can do from my lap top, but I also have copious amounts of time to read and look out the window - because I can't really do much else.
   The irony is not lost on me that I went on my Camino pilgrimage to sort of lay the ground work for entering the final third of my life.  I have to say I did not expect to be laid up so completely less than 2 years later and I'm thankful that it is only temporary.  No, I won't be walking on this Camino, and in the shelter of my home it is much quieter.  This pilgrimage will be one that includes silence in some new ways.   I'm looking forward to finding out what else is in store for this accidental pilgrim!

Ooops! Ouch! Pilgrimage.

Well, it was a week ago today that I had my accident.  One minute I'm walking to church; one second later I'm sitting on my bum with the realization that my left ankle is hurt... badly.  I love walking to church.  While I was completing my pilgrimage in Spain in 2011 my mind turned to home and how I could continue the experience.  I decided I would start walking to church every Sunday.
    Now I'd walked to church often over the years.  Richard and I would walk with Darcie and Gabrielle when they were kids.  In the summer months I would get back into the routine for a while.  But in October 2011 I decided to be very intentional about my walk.  I love it!  My worship begins when I say "goodbye" and walk out the back door.  Sometimes it's enriched by one or more of my grandchildren joining me.   Sometimes it meant really bundling up last winter.  There were Sundays when my face hurt where my cold sunglasses touched my skin.  On many Sundays I walked along with my scarf pulled up over my nose and hat down over my forehead.  I always had a choice as to whether or not I would walk, but it did not take long to notice that others had no choice and were often out in the frigid air with minimal protection.
    So last Sunday I looked outside.  We'd had a fresh snowfall and it was a beautiful world of white.  That was the initial enticement.  I thought about ice, yeah, there will be some ice.  But I figured my snow boots would help with traction.  I also thought about the fact that I was preaching - not a time to take chances.  But again, I thought of how I walked all last winter... what could happen?   I didn't want to lose my rhythm of walking this early in the winter.
    I do have to say that I was thoroughly enjoying my walk when I went down.  It caught me by surprise and as I sat there it occurred to me (finally) that there was ice already under the snow from rain freezing earlier in the week.  I sat there and begged my leg to not be broken - maybe just a bad ankle sprain?  After unsuccessfully engaging the guy 3 houses down trying to start his snow blower (he looked at me, then went back to his snow blower), I got on all fours and headed to the little ledge around the shop and sat down.  As I looked up I saw the guy behind me who had been snow blowing the business on the other side of the street.  He had stopped and was looking at me.  I waved at him and he came over and let me use his phone (yes, I forgot to put mine in my pack). 

   As I sat there for the few minutes it took for Richard to come over, I started letting things go: no, there was no way I was going to preach, no way I'd be able to participate in the Boar's Head Festival, and on and on.  If I hadn't been in such pain I would have noticed the beginning of a pilgrimage right then... for much of my Camino experience was about letting go.  But after a trip to the brand new E.R. at Baystate (which was so quiet!), surgery, pain meds, and finally a return home, I got around to reflecting about pilgrimage and realized that accidentally, I had become a pilgrim. 

The Handkerchief

   One of the decisions made as I prepared for the Camino was around blowing my nose.  Every morning I have to blow my nose.  I've assumed it's my sinuses draining, and that's a good thing, so I always try to have a tissue in my pocket.  Cold weather also activates my nose, and I knew there was a possibility of some cold mornings and nights in Spain.  I was going to have to take tissues with me - lots of them.
   But one day I noticed my husband pulling out his handkerchief.  The light went on and I saw a better solution:  take two handkerchiefs so I could wash one each day: a simple but great solution. 
    A couple of weeks before I made it to Santiago I fell into step with three pilgrims from Vancouver Canada.  One of them, Gail, noticed me hanging out my handkerchief one day and commented that she had brought her husband's handkerchief and thought of him each time she pulled it out of her pocket.  I realized I was doing the same thing only I thought of Richard as I blew my nose.  It sounded more romantic to say I thought of him as I went for my handkerchief, or as I pulled it from my pocket. 
    Now that I am home, I have made a change based on this Camino experience.  After my mom died I tucked away a large collection of handkerchiefs.  I think they came from at least of three of her four sisters from my grandmother also.  Now I have them out and am using them.  It's great!  They work better than tissue, never falling apart on me.  If I forget one in a pocket it does not make a mess of my wash.  My use of tissues is greatly reduced, and hopefully that will save some trees along the way.   And best of all, I carry wonderful memories of my Grandmother, Mom, and Aunts with me as I carry their handkerchiefs in my pocket.
     I've mentioned that part of my fascination with the Camino was walking a path that thousands have walked before me.  Now, a very ordinary part of my daily routine, putting a handkerchief in my pocket, connects me with some strong women who also walked before me.  Only they knew me, laughed with me, corrected me, sang to and with me and prayed for me.  May you be blessed by the memory of people who have enriched your life.  Buen Camino!

Sophia

    I'm going through my journal to see what stories did not get into the blog.  I wrote quite a bit about the ruins of the Convent of San Anton (shooting stars and hospitality), but did not share about a little girl I met.  She arrived with her father that evening.  I don't know if they drove or walked over, but he settled on a bench and was trying to get his young daughter (about 4?) to eat.  She was much more interested in everything else.  She had big blue eyes and a beautiful round face surrounded by black curls.  And she smiled constantly.  I asked her father her name.  He answered, "Sophia."
     I was sitting on a bench on the other side of the courtyard and she made her way to me.  She spoke to me in Spanish, then I told her "No hablo Espanol."  That didn't phase her.  I told her "Hablo Inglese."  She continued to talk away in Spanish.  I would love to have known what she was telling me as she turned around and began to look around among the rocks on the grounds.  She spied a feather and brought it over to me.  She made it very clear that she was giving it to me and I told her "Gracias."  She looked more and found another feather, and another.  I realized that a pigeon had probably met its end in this courtyard and wasn't sure I wanted all of the remaining feathers, but Sophia continued to gather and bring them over to me - always accompanied by a lovely string of explanation, narration, or maybe exhortation.  I continued to smile, tell her "Gracias" and every so often remind her that I didn't speak Spanish.
    It is a lovely experience to receive the gifts of a child.  She did not need a mall or a large department store.  She didn't have to know me really well.  She saw something that to her was special, and she saw someone she could give it to.  It was great for me to practice just receiving without feeling I had to give her something also.  It seemed that all she needed or wanted was my acceptance of her gift.   I don't know if Sophia's father takes her to San Anton often, or if they were traveling that night and he knew it was a good place to stop, but I am grateful for that short time with this lovely little girl and her gifts.
    May you cherish the simple gifts in your life.  Buen Camino!