A change of pace and a new book

 I have two announcements. 1) As part of my endeavor to simplify my life and lighten the load, I have decided to post to this blog every other week. I’ve been posting weekly for the last four years. I do it with a sense of ministry and joy, and I’m learning as I go. My purpose has been to explore ways of aging with courage and humor, and exploration is the right word. I’m finding the path even as I walk it. And I’ve been doing it with you. That will continue. I hope you’ll stick with me.

By the way, I invite you to check out my website, if you haven’t already (nancyjthomas.com). You can go directly to my blogs from there. The advantage is that it’s easier to comment if you should wish to. I invite comments and would love to have conversations around the subject of each blog. Think about it.

2) This is the exciting announcement. I have a new poetry book coming out later this year. It’s called Before Our Very Eyes: Poems of the Incarnation. The poems center on the life, work, and words of Jesus. I’ve been working on some of them for years. Others are new.

Several years ago, I took on the challenge of meditating, praying, and writing poetry through all the books of the Bible. It hasn’t been an academic exercise and I certainly haven’t had publication in mind. It’s a devotional practice, a form of prayer.

Let me quote from the introduction to the book to give you some of its flavor:

This book of poems begins with a brief prophetic prologue from Isaiah, then covers the words and experiences of Jesus in the four Gospels and the first chapter of Acts. A short epilogue ends in Revelation. . . .

Essentially, the poems are my conversations with God based on Scripture. God graciously give me permission to say anything, get mad with him at times, ask any questions, take him to task, worship him, be amazed. Nothing offends. God can take it. Often the poem ends with an unanswered question and that’s OK. I can wait. We have a back-and-forth relationship. In addition, this way of reading, praying, and writing through the Bible is tremendous fun. . . .

As I ponder the whole story of Jesus, from the Old Testament prophecies, through his time in our neighborhood, and on to end of the story (and its real beginning), I am amazed and blessed. . . . I pray you will experience the same.

Right now I have the galley proofs in hand. That means the publisher (Wipf & Stock) has already type-set the book. I now get to do one last proofreading and then it’s ready to print.

Previously, before sending the completed manuscript to the publisher, I had a professional proofreader meticulously go over it. My friend, Susan Fawver, did the job beautifully, so my task now is not so hard. Nonetheless I’m finding some things in the type-setting to correct. There’s always a chance a typo will sneak in. So I’m reading it slowly out loud, not for the content, but for the nitty-gritty small stuff—consistency, matching the titles in the book to the titles in the table of contents, checking page numbers, re-reading all the Bible references, and so on. It’s hard work, but I’m motivated knowing that the end is in sight and I’ll be able to share the book with the world. With you.

In many ways, the whole process—from the conception of the idea, experiencing the initial excitement, then on to the hard labor—is like giving birth. At this point I’m anxious for the whole thing to be over. I can’t wait to introduce my new child to you.

Thoughts on simplicity while shredding paper

As anyone who has attempted to de-clutter their life knows, simplicity can be complicated. It involves tackling not only the accumulation of stuff—those bins of college syllabi, old magazines, childhood treasures—but extra tasks we’ve taken on, organizations we’ve joined, the demands other people make on us, and all the clutter in our minds.

I remember one of the biggest decluttering jobs I ever undertook. It was over 25 years ago. After more than 75 years of service, the Friends Mission officially pulled out of Bolivia, leaving behind a national church of over 200 congregations with its own leadership, forms, and finances. It was time. Hal and I were the last missionaries on the field, so our task was deciding what to do with 75 years of accumulated mission files.

The first phase required that we decide what to keep, which basically came down to legal documents and records that had historical significance: correspondence, yearly financial reports, minutes, working agreements, and so on. Since most of this history took place before the internet and safe-keeping in the Cloud, that meant boxes of paper.

After setting aside the keeper documents, we had to deal with reams of minutia. We were overwhelmed with stuff, from multiple mimeographed copies of some class a missionary gave, to receipts for bottles of aspirin. We decided to shred the minutia, bag it, and let the municipal garbage service haul it off. That became our job description: sort, shred, bag.

As I sat on the rug shredding, many thoughts came to mind. I remembered that all these pieces of paper were related to real people and real situations. Long financial worksheets reminded me of the economic crisis of the 1980s when run-away inflation caused many of our Bolivian friends to lose their life-savings. The medical receipts brought forth images of Vicente and Arturo, Friends pastors who literally gave their lives in the service of the gospel.

I was impressed by the integrity all the receipts and reports represented. Every thing was accounted for and recorded. I also thought about all the trees that were sacrificed to maintain such integrity.

And I reflected on the values this task represented. I noted how one person’s garbage can be another person’s treasure. I observed how the bags of shredded paper we put in front of our gate almost always disappeared before the garbage truck arrived. Apparently a local industry was finding this stuff useful as packing material. It was cheaper than plastic bubbles. This made me feel a little better about the trees.

But mostly I reflected on the value of simplicity. It felt good. As the accumulation of paper lessoned, I felt relief. And today, too, whether it’s clearing out closets or the refrigerator, cleaning my desktop, simplifying my schedule, or re-ordering my priorities, the resulting sense of lightness and rightness makes it worth the effort.

I also reflected on the fact that, as mentioned above, simplicity is complicated. That’s a great oxymoron. None of this is easy or automatic. Simplicity is not simple. To let the stuff in my files or on my desk accumulate takes no effort whatsoever. Bringing order out of chaos does. It requires time, energy, organization, wisdom, and generosity, a willingness to give away what might be useful to someone else.

Recently as I was walking the labyrinth our Friends meeting has constructed in an adjacent field, I found myself repeating a simple prayer: “You are my life. You are my life.” It was as though God was reeling me in, bringing me back to the basic simplicity of soul from which all else flows. I found myself asking, with the psalmist, “Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire beside you” (Psalm 73).

I felt God reminding me that simplicity begins in the heart. It flows from a life oriented to the source of all life, from the deep knowledge that in God alone we “live and move and have our being.” That’s basic to Christianity, yet somehow I keep forgetting.

As I walked that path, I began to affirm, “Above all relationships—husband, children, grandchildren, friends—you are my life. Above all I possess or hold on to for security—my car, my books, my insurance policies, my investments—you are my life. Above all the intangibles I cling to—my health, my education, my achievements, my talents, my rights, my dreams—you are my life.” And I found myself praying, “Oh, Lord. Let it be. Change my heart. Keep reeling me in to yourself.”

I am sensing that only when I live from the simplicity of a life oriented to God can I move freely into the world as God’s agent of reconciliation and peace.

When will I start remembering this so much that I live by it? When will this attitude become a holy habit?

Prayer: “Take from our souls the strain and stress, and let our ordered lives confess the beauty of thy peace.” (John Greenlead Whittier)