Sing Me to Heaven

Those of us who have had responsibility for children’s programming understand the need for an emergency plan when the special guest doesn’t show up, the internet is down, or the carefully constructed activity flops. My go-to activity is a penny hike, where the group’s direction at each corner is determined by flipping a coin. Heads to the right; tails to the left. Sounds like a line-dancing refrain. There is plenty of opportunity to talk about life choices in that adventure, especially when two groups start at the same place but end up in totally different neighborhoods.

Flipping a coin for major life choices may not be the wisest method of decision-making, but life brings us to corners where we must turn one way or the other. The world-renown philosopher Yogi Berra understood those defining moments: “When you come to a fork in the road, take it.” I’ve been pondering Yogi’s counsel this week, as word of the deaths of Lloyd, Debra and Dorothy have drawn me back to the corners where our lives first intersected, when the choice of a fork or two in the road was influenced by their presence.

Lloyd Larsen, affectionately known as PL, was a Tonawanda, New York pastor who was the area director of Young Life in the 1970s. At Young Life, hoards of teen-agers would sit armpit-to-armpit in a local funeral home, singing “Michael Row the Boat Ashore” and celebrating Jesus. At the club meetings, I’d pray earnestly that I wouldn’t be chosen for the goofy stunt or skit of the night, but in the early morning campaigner small groups, the scriptures came alive to me in ways that transformed my path of faith. Lloyd opened the door for a sacred turning.

When I graduated from high school, I moved into a counselor room in a cabin at Long Point Camp, a picturesque spot on the shores of Seneca Lake. I shared a living space about 8’ by 10’ with my co-counselor Pat and the camp office aide, Debra. Feisty and friendly, Deb and I clicked. With responsibility for a dozen twelve-year-olds, it surely was a memorable summer, culminating with Debra proudly claiming responsibility for my budding relationship with the young man who would one day become my husband.

Our subsequent marriages and relocations intervened n our friendship, and it wasn’t until the advent of Facebook that we reconnected, if only briefly. That’s how I learned of her recent death. Scrolling through Debra’s Facebook posts, I’m recognizing how connected we still were in spirit, even though separated by too many years, too many miles. A passion for TED Talks, women’s opportunities, Ignatian spirituality, grandbabies, Pope Francis: that’s us. Her quote of Mary Oliver’s words speaks deeply: “I believe in kindness. Also in mischief. Also in singing, especially when singing is not necessarily prescribed.”

A third influence appeared in the form of one who came alongside. We’d been assigned to inner city Cleveland, where our family integrated our congregation. Dorothy Lykes, aka Major Mom, was at the neighboring Salvation Army center, and her example and encouragement walked with us through many challenging days. When she died last week at the age of eighty-four, she’d just finished ministering at the Salvation Army Harbor Light Center in Cleveland.

Lyricist Jane Griner gently instructs us: “If you would mourn me and bring me to God, sing me a requiem, sing me to heaven.” For PL, it’s likely that echoes of a raucous rendition of “I am the light of the world” were heard at his home-going. For Dorothy, her calling card, “Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King,” accompanied her transition from this world to the next. And for Debra, Marty Haugen’s refrain resonates: “Shepherd me O God, beyond my wants, beyond my fears, from death into life.”

I’m grateful for the nudges of companions who have been there, as Griner explains, to “sing me a lullaby, a love song, a requiem.” Now, with a catch in my throat, I sing my companions to heaven, knowing that their presence wasn’t a lucky penny crammed in a pocket, but instead, a gift of discerning grace. 

Friday Night Lights

My high school athletic career started with enthusiasm, but petered out during an undistinguished stint with the track team. To make up for my personal sports deficit, I’ve vicariously experienced the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat as long as I can remember, and this month is giving me plenty of opportunity for both.

Here’s  the agony. (I’m a ‘give me the bad news first’ kind of person). Four consecutive Super Bowls. Four consecutive losses. That’s an anguish only a Buffalo Bills fan can fully grasp. I hoped for a fresh start when I moved to Northeast Ohio, but the Brownies haven’t cooperated. After last Sunday’s debacle, I wondered what advantage a visibly bruised and battered QB provides? Might as well paint a target on his jersey. Johnny fared a bit better Thursday night, but only because he can run away faster. At least there’s one bright light for local fans – Ashland University grad Jamie Meder at defensive end.

As for the Cleveland Indians, why does it always seem to be too little, too late? Yet by April, I’ll be tuning in with renewed hope as Tom Hamilton woos me back into the fold with his enticing invitation: “We’re underway at the the corner of Carnegie and Ontario.” Play ball!

Basketball has been a third choice for me over the years, but I’ll admit it: I’m hooked on the Cleveland Cavaliers. I know I’m being played by their marketing department, but I like being Facebook friends with Kevin, Delly, and Kyrie. I may share LeBron’s “friendship” with 22 million other people, but I like being one of the popular kids. The clips of their Halloween party were brilliant, with Delly in operating room scrubs, J.R. Smith with diaper, bib and baby bottle, Kevin Love appearing as a perfectly mustached Jackie Moon from the movie Semi-Pro, and ‘Prince’ LeBron singing “Purple Rain.” Yes, I know how much money they make, but it’s still fun to watch a bunch of super-tall kids being silly together.

Basketball may be underway, but it is still Autumn in Ohio, still football weather. Once again, the Ohio State Buckeyes are on top of the polls, number one in the country, having survived undefeated to this point. Go Bucks! But something just as exciting is happening on local gridirons, on Friday nights at Community Stadium and on Saturdays at Jack Miller Stadium. What a season for the Ashland University Eagles. With their last regular season game today at 1 p.m., a win will cap off a perfect 2015 regular season. They may “only” be Division II, but we’ve witnessed some amazing football in purple and gold. We’re on a role, Dr. Campo. Hope you’re enjoying your first football season in Ashland.

Not to be overshadowed, the Ashland Arrows finished their regular season 9-1, losing only to their nemesis neighbor Wooster, and played their first playoff game last night. Writing during the week, I’m sending good vibes to Scott Valentine and his players for a win, as we’d love to spend our Friday nights in November under the lights. Win or lose, our hometown Arrows will continue to stand strong and proud, cheering our cross country runners at the state finals today and celebrating successful seasons with their tennis, volleyball, golf, soccer and cross-country brothers and sisters.

Friday night football is much more than the boys on the field. Cheerleaders, band members, the student section, and even the sophomore class cleaning up the stadium after each game – all contribute to a shared experience of pride and accomplishment.

Yet on the turf and trails, courts and courses of our community, high school and college athletics go beyond competition. Former Baltimore Raven’s linebacker Ray Lewis gets it. “Don’t walk through life just playing football. Don’t walk through life just being an athlete. Athletics will fade. Character and integrity and really making an impact on someone’s life, that’s the ultimate vision, that’s the ultimate goal – bottom line.” Enhanced by their participation in athletics and yes, the arts as well, character is being formed in our young men and women, and our community is strengthened. Glad to say it – we’re Ashland proud!

The Fog is Lifting

In 1956, a scrawny, 43-year-old man wandered down a busy New Jersey highway, and later was admitted to Greystone Park Psychiatric Hospital. First thought as the delusional ramblings of schizophrenia, instead, the diagnosis was Huntington’s Disease, a degenerative neurological disorder. For five years, each week his wife escorted the man from “Wardy Forty” to “the Magiky Tree,” on Greystone’s grounds. As they shared a picnic lunch with their children, did they sing of redwood forests, endless skyways and golden valleys? Perhaps, for this was America’s Troubadour, Woody Guthrie, composer of “This Land is Your Land.”

Larry and I began our Salvation Army ministry in Dover, New Jersey, where we did holiday visitation at Greystone Park. The complex was huge, its continuous foundation design surpassed in size only by the building of the Pentagon. Opened in the 1870s, its population peaked at 7700 in the early 1950s, in part due to World War II veterans and PTSD. By our visits in the late 1970s, its census was rapidly decreasing, due to the nation-wide push for the deinstitutionalization of mental health patients.

The majority of the facility has been abandoned for many years, and neglect had taken such a toll that the cost of saving the grand old building was astronomical. Images of its demolition reminded me of Guthrie’s story and our holiday visits. As videos of the wrecking ball captured the structure’s demise, I thought of those we’d met as we caroled through the wards, sharing warm socks and new toothbrushes with people abandoned by the outside world. Over the years, some had come to Greystone for the hoped-for miracle cure of electroshock therapy or hydrotherapy, but over time, many lived out their years in its cloistered environment.

The rise and ultimate fall of the State Asylum for the Insane at Morristown, New Jersey (its earliest name) echoes that of similar institutions here in Ohio, illustrating much of the history of mental health services in our country. What Quaker physician Thomas Kirkbride believed to be innovative, moral treatment located in beautiful surroundings, quickly grew to massive institutions plagued by overcrowding, decaying infrastructure, and sketchy treatment of patients. By the time we visited, Greystone bore an eerie resemblance to Nurse Ratched’s ward in the 1975 film, “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.”

As I attended a recent conference sponsored by the Ashland County Mental Health and Recovery Board (MHRB), I remembered those discomforting visits to Greystone, and caught myself humming the tune from the old Virginia Slims cigarette ads: “You’ve come a long way baby . . .” (great commercials except for the product they sold). The world of mental health treatment and support is light years away from the Greystones of our history. Amazing strides have been made in our understanding of mental health disorders, the development of effective medication, and the availability of effective treatments – although there is still much work to be done.

Here in Ashland County, the MHRB is tasked with ensuring the availability and accessibility of quality services that support recovery for individuals with mental illness and/or alcohol and drug addiction. In doing so, the local MHRB and its partners work to create an environment of hope. Through a focus on resiliency, empowerment and transparency, the mental health conversation is shifting from “what’s wrong with you?” to “what has happened to you?” University of Houston professor Brené Brown explains the premise: “Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it.”

Perhaps Guthrie’s voice was prophetic as he sang, “I roamed and rambled and I followed my footsteps . . . a voice was chanting, the fog was lifting . . .” In the 1950s, there was little commitment to the Ashland County MHRB’s vision that “everyone is entitled to live a quality life in the community.” Thankfully, today the fog fueled by a lack of understanding, stigma and shame is lifting. Tuesday, our community’s continued caring at the polls will empower all of our neighbors to have community-based, compassionate options for mental health support here in Ashland County, helping Guthrie’s legacy to be true for all of us: “This land was made for you and me.”

Henri Nouwen prays, "We are your people, walking in darkness, yet seeking the light." Join JoAnn Streeter Shade as she walks us toward the light that is Christmas in her latest publication - "We Hear The Angels: Ancient Prayers for Advent" BUY NOW AT: http://go.usawest.org/Angels

Our Lives Are Measured By These

As I’ve waited for the cashier at Hawkins to ring up my groceries in recent weeks, I’ve noticed a sign near the cash register: Tuesday is Senior Citizen Discount Day. Yet until this week, Tuesdays and my craving for delectable donuts hadn’t coincided. But finally, I was at the right place at the right time – with my Golden Buckeye Card in hand. Somehow the day didn’t have the same thrill I experienced at age sixteen when I first held my long-awaited driver’s license in my hands, but my first use of that golden card did bring a smile to my lips. I’ve carried it around for some time, but finally got the chance to use it. Mark that on the calendar!

While I doubt that particular milestone will make our Christmas newsletter, October is a month of official milestones for our family. Over the next few days, we’ll celebrate our son Dan’s birthday, one marked by the loss of his parent-provided medical coverage extended through the Affordable Care Act. Larry will have his sixty-fifth birthday, grateful to have his own Medicare Card, a more valuable addition to his wallet than the Golden Buckeye one. And in this same week, we’ll celebrate our fortieth wedding anniversary. Forty years seems like an incredibly long time to me. How can this be?

Now in our seventh decade (yikes, that sounds ancient), most of our milestones will be marked vicariously, as others graduate, marry, and give birth. What I’m recognizing is that the major milestones of life will now belong to someone else. As Lilly Ledbetter, a retired supervisor from Goodyear Tire and Rubber in Gadsden, Alabama remembers, “I sometimes worried I’d never experience that sense of wonder you’d feel meeting a new friend or traveling to a new place for the first time. I was afraid the major milestones of my life, marriage and childbirth, were past. Was it foolish to hope I still had something exciting ahead of me, something even important, that I could have a life of my own?”

Yet retirement, as Ms. Ledbetter discovered, wasn’t the last frontier. Her subsequent lawsuit over what she believed to be a discriminatory policy based upon gender ultimately led to what’s known as the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act. As she stood at the podium of the Democratic National Convention in 2012, she’d found her personal “something even important.”

She is not alone, as I have many friends who are reaching exciting milestones of achievement well into their sixties, seventies and eighties. At times, I do feel a twinge of envy as they accomplish, achieve and soar. But I do have to ask myself, what is “something even important”? Susan B. Anthony helps with that question: “Sooner or later we all discover that the important moments in life are not the advertised ones, not the birthdays, the graduations, the weddings, nor the great goals achieved. The real milestones are less prepossessing. They come to the door of memory unannounced, stray dogs that amble in, sniff around a bit and simply never leave. Our lives are measured by these.”

In that light, these October days are blessedly interspersed with milestones great and small, yet valued nonetheless. The lively Elizabeth Holiday rolled over twice (but hasn’t yet repeated that trick in my presence). I completed the first draft of my new book on teen women in the Bible. We’ll celebrate our fortieth wedding anniversary and that milestone birthday in the company of family and friends. My car’s odometer hit the magic number 123456 this week, although I missed capturing a photo for posterity (or at least for Facebook). A major change of policy within my denomination, one that I’d championed for nearly forty years, was finally achieved. The lovely Madelyn Simone brought home her first school pictures, proudly telling me the names of her classmates, with a shy grin when identifying two of the boys (not ready for that milestone).

With tremendous achievement and unfathomable tragedy as her companions, Rose Kennedy still understood. “Life isn’t a matter of milestones, but of moments.” Here’s to savoring these moments that sniff around and never leave, for indeed, as Ms. Anthony reminds us, “our lives are measured by these.”

Small is Still Beautiful

In our relative old-age, Larry and I have become creatures of habit, although we’ve not yet succumbed to the 10 p.m. bowl of ice cream my parents enjoyed for so many years. When it’s time for “Madame Secretary” and “The Good Wife” on Sunday nights, or Gibbs and Abby searching for answers on NCIS on Tuesdays, we’re right there, glad that new episodes are finally airing. What’s ironic is that we could record “our shows” to watch at a different time, view them “on demand,” or catch a back episode from the network’s website. But at 8 p.m. on Tuesday nights, guess where we’re at? Definitely showing our age.

A friend recently introduced me to “On Being with Krista Tippett,” self-described as a public radio conversation and podcast, website and online exploration, focused on what it means to be human. Its underlying question asks, “How do we want to live?” Tippett and her colleagues, “pursue wisdom and moral imagination as much as knowledge,” in disciplines ranging from economics and religion to astrophysics and the arts.

I am definitely late to this dance, but better late than never, as proverbial wisdom teaches us. I hadn’t come across her radio broadcast before now because I seldom turn on the radio when it airs on Sunday mornings at 7 a.m. on WKSU-FM. But with podcasts, mobile apps, website access and Facebook links, it’s pretty much available any time, any place – just like NCIS. Welcome to the twenty-first century, JoAnn.

Courtney Martin, one of the regular “On Being” columnists recently wrote a piece entitled, “Small is Still Beautiful.” In searching for ways in which an economy can be stabilized, she suggests we ask this question: “What if one of the virtues for a stable economy wasn’t scale, but its opposite? What if the safest thing we could possibly do is invest in the people and places within walking distance of us?” Or, in our not-so-urban county, within a five mile radius, a ten mile circle of our home?

One of the obvious ways to do this is to shop local. Climbing aboard the downtown Ashland bandwagon, I’m excited the Gilbert’s building has a number of small shops in its renovated space. Across the street, Juliana Bridal just won the Best Retail Rehabilitation Award at the Heritage Ohio Annual Conference. Woohoo! With a wedding in our family’s future, I’ll be stopping in soon.

But local is not just downtown. Just around the corner on Claremont, Kimberly’s Closet is now opening where the fabric store had been, and Eva’s Treats is a fun stop for dessert after dinner at Kelly’s Restaurant, Lotus Chinese Cuisine or O’Bryan’s. On the other side of town, “local” is even in the name of Local Roots, a great place to shop for – you’ve guessed it – local produce, baked goods and lots more.

Here the challenge: before you let your fingers do the walking to the Internet, or head for Wooster or Mansfield, ask the question – could I get this service, this merchandise locally? What would that mean for my neighbor who owns a small business, or for the waitress at a local restaurant?

We also invest in the people around us by giving local. One delicious way is at the ACCESS Soup-er Saturday event today at Grace Brethren Church from 11 a.m. – 3 p.m. Because of ACCESS, homeless families right here in Ashland County have a safe, warm place to sleep each night. It’s on my list for today, and I’m already tasting the soup. Or make an investment in United Way by “tripping the light fantastic” at the Harvest Moon Dance with the Kroc Center Big Band – tonight from 7 – 10 p.m. on East Liberty Street.

Eat soup local, dance local, dream local, invest local. I’m committed to investing in Ashland because I know that “small is still beautiful.” I’m right there with Ms. Martin, except . . . my precious granddaughters live nearly sixty miles away. So yes, once a week I climb in the car before the sun rises so I can be present with two sweet little girls. How much more beautiful small is when named Madelyn Simone and Elizabeth Holiday. 

The Real Thing

Most Americans were touched in some way by the visit of Pope Francis to our nation’s capital, the Big Apple, and the City of Brotherly Love (aka Philadelphia). Many people in those three cities are breathing a sigh of relief that the visit went well – no riots, no out-of-control protests, no major embarrassment to their cities. But many more are still basking in the afterglow of the pontiff’s presence. What kind of man rejects the luxury of a limo for the confines of a little black Fiat? Who skips lunch with people of power to eat at St. Maria’s Meals, a food program for the homeless? Apparently a man who has taken on the name of Francis of Assisi, a man of poverty, a man of peace, and a man who loves and protects creation.

What more can be said about the Pope’s visit to the United States? Columnist Kathleen Parker wrote of her personal response: “It was magical. Palliative. Heavenly. For a few hours, I felt un-cynical. I wanted to be a better person and say nice things about Donald Trump. I wanted to invite strangers into my home, wash their feet, and feed them fishes and loaves.”

Pope Francis, the best known religious leader of our times, is on the world’s stage. As the leader of the Catholic Church, he offers a remarkable voice to the world’s conversations not just because of his position, but also because he is recognized as someone who lives out his own beliefs. Yet his voice is not alone. The faith-informed presence that he brings to us is replicated in men and women of conviction who speak truth to power and who inspire us to be better people.

Here in Ashland, we too have those who stand tall for peace, who call us to spiritual truths, and who “walk the walk and talk the talk.” Two in particular come to mind this week. The first, Dr. Luke Keefer, departed this world for the next in 2010, but he is being remembered this weekend at an event at Ashland University and Ashland Theological Seminary created to honor his life and extend his influence.

Instead of focusing on testimonials to Dr. Keefer’s life and work, the conveners are committed to a living legacy. Thus, Shane Claiborne will speak this morning at 9 a.m. on the topic of “Tearing Down the Walls,” encouraging the Body of Christ to be alive in the world around them [free admission – walk-ins welcome at AU’s Upper Convo]. Claiborne has been involved in the development of The Simple Way, an intentional faith community in the Kensington neighborhood of Philadelphia. What better way to honor a man who blessed and inspired many “by his genuine and gentle example,” as Dr. John Swope remembers, than to explore new ways of living a faithful life.

A second person of influence is retired ATS professor Dr. Jerry Flora. In his newly released book, “Into Your Hands: Memoir and Witness,” Flora’s essays remind us of ourselves, of our childhood catastrophes and cherished memories, of our moments of unpredicted terror and great joy, and of decisive life moments that change us forever. Images of seven ducklings at Brookside Park, uninterrupted green traffic lights, and a preemptive strike to the jaw of a bully allow Flora to weave everyday experiences into the fabric of faith and life. Leaning on the windowsill of heaven, he speaks of prayerful living, empathetic listening, and a persistent concern for peace among all peoples. Might there be an echo of the Francis of today and of history?

Why these three? In the early 1970s, Viet Nam, Watergate, and Attica flooded our television screens with images of hatred and pain. An enterprising advertising campaign suggested an alternative world, a renewed America, ending with the tag line, “It’s the real thing – Coke is.” I don’t know about sugary brown soft drinks, but Pope Francis, Luke Keefer, and Jerry Flora are “the real thing.” Through painful sensitivity and persistent obedience, they have lived whole and holy lives. That’s why we are drawn to Francis, to Luke and to Jerry. Their lives truly teach the world to sing in perfect – and peaceful – harmony.