At The Bend in the Road

Back in the day, we vacationed with friends in Maine and decided to pick up lobsters for dinner.  John claimed he knew just where to get them, at a roadside stand with a great price for the crustaceans just around the bend in the road.  As stories go, there were quite a few bends in the road before they got to The Bend in The Road, and most of the water had boiled out of the lobster pot by the time they returned with the main course and soupy ice cream.

I’m remembering that story in these days of transition, as Larry and I enter a time of retirement from active Salvation Army leadership.  I wasn’t sure if the days of preparation for the transition would ever end, if we’d ever make it to The Bend in the Road called retirement.  But after 34 years and 16 days of ministry as a Salvation Army officer (somebody was counting), we’re at The Bend in The Road that concludes our active service.   [Note to loyal fans – read about it in At the Bend in the Road: Reflections of a Smitten Corps Officer].

It’s been an absolutely amazing journey.  Who would have known that the young girl with the bouncing pigtails who could barely reach the pedals on the piano would get her first job playing the piano in a small Salvation Army chapel?  Who would have known that she would fall in love with Jesus, fall in love with Long Point Camp, and then fall in love with a young man who sensed a calling to Salvation Army officership?  Who would have known that Frederick Buechner’s words would speak so clearly to the young woman’s heart: “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet?”

Who would have known that this amazing journey would wind its way through the Garden State of New Jersey, stop for a few years in the city of Rocky, brotherly love and Philly cheesesteaks, make an unexpected  detour to the inner city of Cleveland, and put down roots in Canton, Ohio?  Who would have known that the billions of hamburgers flipped beneath golden arches would fund Salvation Army Kroc Centers across the country, and that Larry and I would be midwives for this wonder-filled place of community right here in Ashland, Ohio?   I’ll let you in on the secret:  even when we were clueless, God knew what the plan was, and around each bend in the road opportunities for ministry blossomed before us, planted by those who had been faithful in the preparation of the soil.

And now?  At The Bend in The Road, words of wisdom spoken by a spiritual companion resound.  “We often talk about the life of faith in terms of journey, but sometimes we simply have to stop where we are and dig a well.”  Albert Orsborn, an international leader of the Salvation Army in the 1950’s, recognized the need:  “The well is deep and I require a draught of the water of life.”  After all the years of Christmas kettles, sermons, government contracts, construction meetings, and even sprayparks, it’s time to put down roots, lay claim to a home and reach down deep.

So what’s next?  Salvation Army Captains Brett and Jessica DeMichael are Ashland’s newest immigrants, and will keep the spraypark buckets tumbling and the Salvation Army flags flying.  We’ve passed on the mantle of leadership, the keys to the Kroc Center, and my “dump-the-bucket” list so they will get the call when the alarm goes off at 2 a.m.  We’re taking time to sort the accumulation of stuff from 34 years of ministry, as well as to dream of the opportunities waiting around the next corner.   I’m looking forward to savoring a Coney at the A & W, walking the labyrinth on the hill at the Kroc Center, and writing to my heart’s content whenever the muse taps my shoulder.  Watch the Times-Gazette for Gracednotes every Saturday, as a writer’s eye, a pastor’s heart and a grandmother’s joy bring you a unique perspective on life in Ashland, Ohio, a place for roots and new wells.

Space, Light and Order

With my final day at work less than 3 weeks away, I’m sorting out how best to move around the next bend of the journey.  What to do?  How to choose?  I’ve articulated a ‘dump the bucket’ list, those job tasks I won’t miss, but what exactly will I do?  Is it possible to earn any money through the act and art of writing?  And can I do that with a laptop at the coffee shop or a legal pad balanced on my knees in the hammock?  

Knowing how easily I can be distracted, I recognize that I need space dedicated to work, so the hammock and spraypark are out of the question.  When we moved into our home two years ago, the former owners had created an adorable playspace surrounded by rainbow stripes and featuring its own blackboard wall, complete with chalk.  Keeping with the theme of the room, we set up a crib for Madelyn’s visits, and filled much of the space with the requisite Legos, doll cradle and a children’s gathering drum (gotta keep the percussionist tradition going in our family).  While my desk and computer occupied one corner of the room and its bookshelves housed the bulk of my library, it was obviously a playroom/office, not an office/playroom.    

Although I was able to produce quite a few meaningful words from that space, my writing has by necessity taken a second seat to the work at the Kroc Center, and I certainly never considered it my “day job.”  So it is fitting that as writing moves a few rungs up life’s priority ladder, it was time to take a large, deliberate step this week and move my home office out of the playroom.

Its new home is a wonderful space, a tiny bedroom at the corner of the house, filled with light.  The wrap-around desk spreads out my workspace, with cubbyholes for paperclips and stamps, a real Roget’s Thesaurus, Webster’s Dictionary and rhyming dictionary, and lots of in-progress purple file folders.  It is a vivid reminder that I, like so many of my generation, straddle between two worlds, the typewriter and computer world, the cassette tape and the Ipod world, the checkbook and the on-line banking world.  Oh, I’d better keep that thought for another column – I might need it!

Does space really matter to our creativity or the well-being of a workplace? Yes.  When the drive-through accident shut down the office wing housing the social services staff at the Kroc Center, caseworkers were consigned to temporary desks scattered throughout the building.  The ensuing rhythm of disconnection and the formation of new connection was a challenge for both staff and visitors, and they were glad to get back to the routine their own space allowed.

What should our workspace look like?  As we focused on the design for the new Kroc Center, we were functioning out of what had been bedrooms in the apartment on the third floor of the 1937 Salvation Army facility, so anything was an improvement over those digs.  I had no idea there were so many models for workplaces, such as hotel, touchdown, desk sharing, cave and commons, huddle space, booth, war room, meeting room and storage (never enough for those of us who audition for Hoarders).  We stuck with the traditional model of individual offices, but I wonder what might have happened if we’d allowed for more flexible space.  Well, the next time I design a Kroc Center . . . 

Twentieth century architect and designer Le Corbusier reminds us: “Space and light and order.  Those are the things that men [and women] need just as much as they need bread or a place to sleep.”  What I’m discovering with my own miniature office is that it’s possible to claim that space and light and order for our own.  It’s true in our churches, offices, and homes – light, order, color and beauty all help space to become sacred ground.  Add in the reminders of places, seasons, and people who have shaped my life, the scent of a fragrant candle, a Billy Holiday CD, and photos of the lovely Madelyn Simone – I may never come up for air!

Time to Make the Donuts

“It’s time to make the donuts.”  Fred the baker first uttered that memorable line for a Dunkin’ Donuts commercial in 1983, and it has since become part of the American vernacular.   I must admit that getting up at 3 a.m. every morning to make donuts is not my dream job.  At that hour of the day, I’d do worse than Lucille Ball did on the candy assembly line.  But Michael Vale’s oft-repeated declaration stands as a symbol to those who, day after day, do what needs to be done to support their family, to stand tall in their community, and yes, to make sure we’ve got fresh donuts for the breakfast table or the office coffee break.

There’s something about a donut that spells comfort.  Whether it’s an old-fashioned fried cake dusted with sugar, a puffy glazed donut that melts in your mouth, or the luscious creamstick worth fighting over, a donut and a cup of coffee can make a bad day bearable.  And yes, I know that too many donuts can pack on the pounds, but that’s a subject for another day. 

Today is National Donut Day, surely on my top ten list of favorite holidays, along with National Go Barefoot Day (today as well) and Old Maid Day (Monday).  Unfortunately, I missed celebrating No Diet Day last month, so I’ll just have to eat a donut in the spirit of that day.  Any excuse for a donut!

While donuts may simply seem a fattening addition to our caloric intake, they are also an integral part of the Salvation Army’s heritage, symbolic of service in the most dangerous of venues.  The story began with the Army’s national commander, Evangeline Booth, determined to do something in support of the war effort as the US entered World War I.  The service centers and hostels adjacent to United States military camps weren’t enough for Evangeline.  “American boys are going to France," she said.  "We must go with them."     

About 250 young Salvation Army volunteers, many of them girls in their teens, went to France with the Commandant’s words ringing in their ears: "I promise you nothing. I don't know what you will get into, it may be life, it may be death; it may be sickness, it may be loss - I promise you nothing!"   

Helen Purviance and Margaret Sheldon were two of these young women, and after weeks of terrible weather, they wanted lift the spirits of the soldiers in their charge.  With supplies at a premium, they were only able to get flour, sugar, lard, and a bit of sugar and cinnamon.  Frying just a few at a time, these young women met a need in the midst of the war zone, a taste of home for those bedraggled, homesick young soldiers. The aroma of frying donuts was enticing, and soon donuts were appearing in huts across the battle zone in France.  The Salvation Army Donut Girl was born, and the lowly donut became a Salvation Army symbol of service that extends into this century.

So I was excited to discover that our own Buehlers Market has a promotion every Friday and Saturday in June, with a special price on a dozen Salvation Army Cake Donuts.  Sweet!  Let’s see – we can have donuts for Sunday School class, donuts to celebrate the spraypark opening, donuts for the Rio movie under the stars, donuts for . . . you get the picture.

So how can this column be redeemed from a blatant “go buy donuts” ploy?  I return to Fred the Baker – “it’s time to make the donuts.” That’s the clarion call of all those who serve – from the Salvation Army donut girls of 1917 to the Kroc Center caseworkers in 2012; to the plumber, the cook, the firefighter and many more.  When it’s time to “make the donuts,” they are there – ready to do what has to be done so that the people of our community have what we need.   

Go ahead.  Get yourself a donut.  And as you lick your fingers in contentment, take a moment to whisper a word of thanks for the Fred the Baker’s of our world.