Faith-Filled Friends

A friend and I were once talking about how people handle death and dying issues. I mentioned that people of faith seem to handle death better than those without strong beliefs. His answer was, "People of faith believe that whatever happens, they will be okay."  I guess that really sums up the way people of faith approach all of life. How wonderful it is to watch people who walk in the glow of their God. How much better it is for me when they invite me to walk along with them.

I believe that building faith is like building a fire. An ember can glow for years without burning out, and is always available to help generate fire when called upon with breath and substance to create light. I am blessed by having many people in my life who live lives aglow with the Divine Light given to humanity as a special gift. While their own lights may often be silently burning embers, the energy generated when any two get together blazes with a glorious faith-fire.

While south Louisiana seems to always be burning with wild, passionate faith and fantasy, the faith in Coker Creek seems to be more of a patiently waiting warmth. It is pure joy for me to touch these quietly passionate people and have all of our joy join together in celebration and sharing of our gifts. Sometimes I feel like we're all Tinker Bells touching others with our magic wands, and bringing all we touch to light up with laughter and other signs of love.

While it is wonderful to have faithful friends, the rewards are so much greater when they are also faith-filled friends. The bonds that are formed when we share our faith-based feelings live on in others even after the deaths of our earthly bodies. On our last trip to Coker Creek, I reassured Mountain Mama that she'd never be dead as long as I live because I am making a point of absorbing as much of her Sacred Spirit as I can while she's alive. She has touched so many lives in her ninety-three years that I suspect, like the mother of Jesus, all generations will call her blessed.

I just hope that I don't cause her to feel that I'm sucking out her soul. I like to think that Richard brings her some comfort and I bring her some joy. I hope our friendship creates a positive energy that will outlive all of us.

Appalachian Artists

Where does one begin with describing a bit of heaven on earth? Our recent visit to Coker Creek was filled with more Divine moments than I can count, and not only because most of the people there are so religious.

I firmly believe that all the arts come from a depth in our spirits that we cannot express any way but through our artistic endeavors. I also believe that all of us have some art in our souls, and that anything that brings others to a peaceful or painful plane in our consciousness is art. For this reason, I have spent most of my adult life pursuing artists of one medium or another. I have sought to bask in the depths of their spirits.

It is a great honor to me when artistic friends ask for my participation in their art, even if it is simply planning a party for a showing of their works. I have been privileged to name, publish, promote, and purchase some of the artistic expressions of many talented people. My life-long dream has been to host an artists' salon for the energy that I feel creating a scared space with their combined sensibilities. The recent visit to Our Tennessee Mountain Home came close to realization of that dream, if only for a couple of days.

My second book of Our Tennessee Mountain Home blog entries is in print, and a new friend has moved her old gallery to a new location in Coker Creek. As is my usual speed, I took the opportunity to sign Richard up for some work for a friend.

My new friend Stephanie is creating a working co-op gallery for Appalachian artists, including weavers. I signed Richard on with Ralph, the builder of many of the weaving looms in Coker Creek, to help this happen in her gallery space. I then enlisted Jack to do a dual book signing with me. This led to Ralph's songbird wife Wanda, and her cousin Shirley, singing at an open house where Wanda could also promote her new CD. Mary brought in Don's wood burning work, and The Monroe County Buzz covered it all. We had a wonderful time.

I later spent an entire afternoon with a great group of artists working together as Mountain Pine Needlers, the Coker Creek chapter of Quilts for Kids. The co-chairs Bonnie Soucy, Donna Powers, and Delight House (called collectively by me Bonnie PowerHouse) lead this talented bunch of beauties in creating quilts for kids in crisis. Many of these women are multi-talented artists who have also declared interest in participating in Stephanie's "salon."

Visions of Josie's wearable objects de art, Mary making stained glass, Mountain Mama and her friends Esther and Edna weaving away the winter doldrums, Judy, Judi, and Judy painting perfect pictures, Don wood burning, and Robert and Mark making bows are dancing through my head. Maybe Donna, and Anita will give quilting classes. Perhaps Bonnie will teach us to replicate her purses and Tina will weave baskets. MarySue is making me some custom ornaments.We even have our own policeman Adam to keep us all feeling safe, as long as we can convince Eda to keep us in cookies to feed him.

Even without snow, Coker Creek was my version of a winter wonderland.

Competition Kills Community

I am saddened by how many believe gratitude is a sign of weakness
Even though I believe that gratitude is the way, we love, confess.
Why do members of the same communities continue to compete,
And the mistakes of Cain and Able, over generations, repeat?

We'll never know who translated or interpreted the book of Genesis
In proclaiming that either Cain or Able's sacrifice was considered best.
I prefer to look at it, and all the Old Testament, as cautionary tales,
Portraying the evil of human competition that, even today, prevails.

We are each given a path to enrich humanity with our gifts of Divinity,
But we continue to lust after gifts that were not meant, to ours, be.
If each of we were meant to be wholly Divine on our own,
There would never have been a second human, Divine light, shown.

And if two were ever enough to take care of all earthly creation,
There would never have been many generations and many nations.
We have come from a world and communities, perfect in every way,
To relying on only what each of our animal instincts' have to say.

Can we all simply admit that it is time to start community over,
That the patriarchs of past generations are not our problem solvers?
Do we want to continue in wars, generation after generation,
Or do we want to seek all creation's peaceful salvation?

I can only succeed in a group who will freely continue to share
In the gifts that support the values about which we all care.
Until we are all ready to admit strengths, weakness, and gratitude,
It seems that competition will continue to kill community good.

Abuse and Absolution

I had lunch with a friend, educated in the same religion and school as was I,
We met through our husbands, but to form a friendship, we didn't try.
Our conversation turned to patriarchy and the need to pursue true justice;
So many of my most passionate beliefs were given a new thrust.

None of us can undo what we've done to others, nor what others did to us,
But it's harmful, from those who have been abused, to expect human trust.
I'm sick of forgiveness rhetoric that comes without any obligation
To admit the harm done and make attempts at community repatriation.

We run from victims of abuse, afraid that we may see some of ourselves;
People don't want to admit to the evil that in all of humanity dwells.
It is not that we don't all have challenges to holding a compassionate course,
But we must be willing to face hard facts to begin a truly just discourse.

It is not healing to me if my abuser is prosecuted or even executed,
If his or her damage to me continues to be ignored or refuted.
I can only take the acceptance of the abusers' denial of guilt
As a sign that I'm not honored in the community that we built.

Why are we, as Judeo-Christians, afraid to hold each other to rules?
By forgiving those who admit no wrongdoing, we are made fools.
It is not, and has never been, enough to make peace with our own souls,
When we've destroyed part of a another, leaving him or her less than whole.

There is no way to rebuild innocence, once it is taken away,
But until the abusers are confronted by community, they continue to prey.
Communities are only strong when rules are evenly enforced
Otherwise, animal instinct and behaviors continue to run their course.

We cannot continue to have a civil society ruled by man-made fear;
The fear mongers are destroying what civilized society holds most dear.
We must re-frame our attitudes about what makes an animal human.
It's not thought, but the compassion we show for our fellow woman and man.

Knowing that I thought about abusing another shouldn't give me shame;
Only for the evil actions we don't resist, should we accept blame.
When we admit that all of us are faced with similar temptations,
We will support and hold each other to living up to humanity's obligations.

It is not the power of our thoughts, but our words and deeds
That allow, in our world and communities, evil to succeed.
When we feel with each other while standing strong in our values
We will not, the true road to responsible compassion, lose.

Richard's Ride

Richard's first lady love needs a heart transplant. The engine on his beloved 1989 Bronco II finally beat her last piston pump. He bought the  new vehicle just before we met, so I have always considered it the valiant steed of my knight in shining armor. She was with us through Richard's heart transplant, waiting for him as he recuperated. She is the vehicle into which we packed all the plans for the Higgins boats to save them from Hurricane Katrina for the National World War II Museum.

Richard lost his head over me, his heart to a congenital defect, our home, and his workshop with all of his tools to Hurricane Katrina. My fears for his health even forced him to leave his heavenly holler in the mountains of Tennessee. I simply couldn't bear to see him lose the last thing he has from our early days together.

Unbeknownst to me, he secretly planned to replace the engine when the Bronco  II reached her classic status. He did confess, however, that he actually thought he'd be dead before that decision had to be made. He will be seventy-one by then and always believed that statistics would kill him by the time he's seventy-two. I insist that the new heart gave him many more years than statistics do.

Hear we are facing a great decision, to deal with car salesmen or to fix our faithful steed. Replacing her heart wins hands down for me. We had a friend who paid over $100,000 to restore a classic car. Richard's Bronco II is only two years from classic car designation. We will only have to spend around $8,000 to get her back to being beautiful and functional.

I do have the provision that since we are spending that kind of money, we will also spring for a paint job and that he has to scrub twenty-three years of meals eaten and coffee spilled in his vehicle off the upholstery and carpet. As Fernando Lamas said, "It's not how good you feel; it's how good you look."

Richard's now trying to figure a way  to explain all this rationally. He just can't admit that he can do things simply based on emotion. I keep reminding him that he'd have never married at the age of forty-nine if he had stayed rational. And I like to encourage him to take care of his ladies even as they grow old and don't work so well. I wish we could spend $8,000 on me and have me almost good as new.

Worship and Wonder

Sacred Sunday, on this beautiful fall day, began as they all do;
Richard and I rose from our bed and had coffee, just us two.
Our discussions usually touch on the ways we practiced our faith
In everyday actions, in which we have the privilege to participate.

We love sharing stories of the victories of others in which we share,
And joy in the holiday in which we saw so many for whom we care.
Sundays are days for afterglow, reliving our new and old memories;
I think we both feel that gratitude is that for which we're conceived.

We then went out for a leisurely breakfast in a favorite local place,
And to a local grocery store at an equally leisurely pace.
Then it was on to begin the season of winter's wonder,
With celestial sounds of peace instead of religious thunder.

We thought the Christmas music was to be that of cheer;
Musica da Camera doesn't share our Christmas music idea.
We both enjoyed the nostalgia of being in a grand church;
Marveling at the acoustics was enough to give me mirth.

It occurred to me that the old churches had it figured out,
That acoustics is the secret for what heavenly music is about.
Even this small group of musicians playing and vocalists singing
Sounded, as if through this sacred space, the Seraphim were winging.

We agreed to try, in this year of our adult Christmas spirit
We would seek sacred joy wherever we can hear it.
We have long ago gotten over the need to open presents;
Sharing worship and wonder is that for which we're meant.

Conception and Committed Community

When you wrap a blanket around yourself, the warmth is coming from you;
When you feel power of The Holy Spirit, that's coming from inside you too.
Each of us is endowed at our conception with this remarkable energy;
Parents should prepare before conceiving to protect and nurture our Divinity.


I believe our unborn children grow or diminish their souls' lives;
Based on the environment in the womb, their Spirits die or thrive.

When children come into the light of earth, their first sense should be joy

From committed community ready to, their own Holy Spirits, employ.

I am eternally thankful to my daughter's deceased godmother
Who shared with me the magnitude of joy I could share with no other.
We celebrated together from the moment I knew that I'd conceived;
As my mother-in-law lay dying, this gift, some of my grief, relieved.

My neighbor who lived next door said my daughter had an old soul;
I believe her godmother's love is what helped her Holy Spirit to mold.
When I conceived my son, our community was in a state of sadness;
My daughter's godmother was afraid that I would succumb to madness.

She sought out a source of people who would share their joy with me;
The failing was that these people were not committed community.
My son was born with a restless Spirit and a brilliant Holy light;
Few had the sacred strength to guide his Spirit toward right.

Where are the great warriors who will fight for our children's souls,
Men who nurture the mother and child while the baby's Spirit molds?
When children are seen as a burden or a trick to secure maternal support,
Escaping responsibility will continue to be a competitive sport.

There can be joy in changing a diaper and earning the daily bread;
If we begin with communal support, these are not tasks to dread.
Unless we properly prepare ourselves before a child's conception
The belief that we will bring up Sacred Souls seems a huge deception.

Preparation includes the presence of a community that blesses your union,
People committed to the children's bodies and souls before their lives are begun.
Perhaps churches and neighborhoods could form rocking granny groups,
Allowing sleep deprived parents to go home, shower, sleep, and recoup.

Perhaps our schools could become committed community centers,
Where rules of responsibility and compassion must be followed by all who enter.
A place where all with skills could come and share them with our young,
The perimeter patrolled and protected by the compassionately strong.

Could we mandate that all children who tire of regular school
Be assigned to learn to work in centers with the communities' tools?
Perhaps less teens would be so anxious to become parents
If they worked in these centers with the community "uncles" and "aunts."

The teens could be assigned to work out their excess energy,
Playing with children who need protection while running free.
This would all be under the watchful eyes of the community elders,
Under whose wings all the community children would be sheltered.

There is much physical labor in maintaining the building and grounds;
This could be done by those the elders don't want children around.
What could be wrong with each person educated in our country
Giving two years of their lives to helping build strong community?

Perhaps in this era of charter schools, we could begin again
Re-thinking the purpose of the school buildings that remain.
Go back to the way it worked in the early days of our country
Where schools and their guardians mirrored values of the community.