Lenten Writing Project Reboot 2020! Writers' Reflections in the Wilderness of Lent
Words of Faith
Spirit to Spirit Writing Project
The word Lentcomes from an old English word meaning lengthening of days. In Christianity, it refers to the time before Easter, traditionally observed through repentance and learning. It's a season to be intentional about changing and growing. Some people give up items to create space and time for new life and habits to grow. Instead of giving something up, I invite you to try to commit to answering these writing prompts each of the 40 days of Lent. The discipline it takes to set aside time each day to reflect and write about God and your relationship with spirituality is a journey that you will emerge from with a renewed spirit. Every writer has their own special voice to add to this project, whether poetry, prose, essay, thoughts, lists, or through comments, prayer, and encouragement.
How do I participate? Each day, a writing prompt will be posted. A prompt is a question or statement that is meant to inspire your thoughts in whatever genre you feel moved to write. Post your reflections as a comment under each day's prompt (for further instructions, see 'How To Post' on the right side of the page). It is up to you if you write, read, or pray along with us each of the 40 days of Lent or just drop in from time to time when the spirit moves you to participate. Writing regularly is a discipline that many writers struggle with and this is a way to involve that discipline as a Lenten practice. Through writing and leaving encouraging words for others in this project, we become a supportive spiritual writing community
Monday, November 11, 2013
Filled with Thanksgiving
This November, write about a Thanksgiving tradition or memory that you have. You can write about as many as you like!
November can be a pretty grim month. The colors of fall are gone, swept away in puddles and gutters. The bare tree limbs point to the sky like bony fingers. November is to be endured - until the very last of the month when we are lifted out of the doldrums by Thanksgiving. Not only the day, but the very act of Thanksgiving. My birthday is on the 29th. My mother's was on November 24th. That was also my due date. When I didn't arrive on schedule, it didn't matter. We chose to celebrate both of our birthdays on Thanksgiving. So all my life, Thanksgiving has had this double value. It is a nice memory and a very fine way to prepare for Advent.
Interestingly enough, as I try to recall Thanksgivings from my childhood, I don't remember a lot of it. I know we alternated each year, visiting "the inlaws" (Dad's side of the family) with "the outlaws" (my mom's side) and once we had it at our own home, but I don't remember who attended. I only remember that it was at our house because I used the aluminum turkey roasting pan to make a worm bin to raise worms to start a worm-selling business (for bait). However, some lady, collecting aluminum to turn in for money, turned my worms free and took the pan and I was pretty disappointed about that. I remember another Thanksgiving when I was about 19 years old. Both of my dad's parents' health were failing and my parents' marriage wasn't doing well either. There was a lot of family stress at the time. My parents decided to have us spend Thanksgiving as a family of 4 at Disneyland (we lived nearby) and avoid all of the negativity by spending the holiday at the happiest place on earth. Does that sound selfish? Well, it was one of the best Thanksgivings we ever had. Disneyland was mostly empty, so we had the rides all to ourselves (suspend your understandable sympathy for the workers at Disneyland on this holiday - bear with me). I think it was probably the last family Thanksgiving we celebrated together, or at least the last nice one. I should have felt sad or weird about it, but I really didn't. We were all having a fun time and taking silly pictures and suspending all our baggage in the magic kingdom, and I think that my parents were really looking out for their kids in making this decision, which was the right one at the time.
I remember - the holidays at the Knudson family were so confusing! All of us kids would sit in the kitchen around the big table. There were about 10 of us. The adults would all sit in the dining room. When we were young we thought it would be kind of cool to sit with the adults. As we grew, one of us would be invited to sit with the adults. I think they thought it was a privilege. It only took one holiday meal with the adults for each of us kids to figure out that the adult table was boring - so we gladly gave it up at the next holiday to the next dreamer, in line!
My overwhelming memories are from my mother's house. Every single time we had the same thing. I loved it- bird, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy and pie. There must have been other stuff I was pressed into eating, but I can't remember, or don't care. What really made it special was that the table was set with a cloth tablecloth, flowers, candles and silver service. The house was decked out as she liked it. Dinner was always served. The kids sat at a kid's table and were duly moved up when they could be trusted to "be civil" as my mother said. She collected furniture like I do old radios. She gradually had a simple and elegant living room with wonderful and interesting furniture. . She had two things that didn't fit. She had a horrible TV and an electric range that she hated. She had had a White gas range that was a deluxe model that she had for years. She also sharpened her knives frequently but apparently had no idea how to tell whether they were sharp. She apparently sharpened on them until they should be sharp. One of her dictums was that more "elbow grease" always yielded better results. The knives were straight on the dull side and S shaped underneath. Oh, and dull. Thanksgivings were always peaceful happy times in a house that had seen more than enough abuse and anger. Somehow all the food and company kept away the ghosts. I try to do the best I can to memorialize those times in these latter years. It is the tablecloth and candles that bring back the most memories Doug Millar.
THE CHURCH SERVICE (why always the night before?) Festal decorations red and gold cornucopia on display Many hymns well known well loved well sung Thankofferings brought forward solemnly single file Choral anthems sung firmly often with brass accompaniment Extra prayers of Thanks for Past, Present, and Things to Come
THE JOURNEY After riding all night to Grandma and Grandpa’s house, which sits just below the Great San Bernardino Mountains, we know we are getting close as we drive through dense and ethereal, grey fog see ghostly heated smudgepots set among vast orange groves smell the sweet, unmistakable aroma of orange blossoms wafting through window cracks and holes in the floorboard of our dark green, ’54 Savoy Plymouth, named ‘Betsy Then, Warm, enveloping hugs from loved ones seldom seen thankful for the safe journey
THE MEAL Watching dark, shiny mysterious turkey gizzards floating in a special gravy ‘boat’ waiting to begin the bargaining over who gets the first pick (as the eldest grandchild, it’s usually me) Orange, tangy, whipped-up ‘beggies’ full of gravy, butter, salt and pepper lusting for the first, savory bite Fresh cranberries ground up with sugar, mini-marshmallows, crushed pineapple and whipped cream: transform into a sweet, crunchy salad Dark, sweet, tender turkey meat with real mashed potatoes and butter slathered with gravy, salt and pepper That’s the Taste of Thanksgiving for me The rest is optional Oh ..... don’t forget the milk and pumpkin pie!
THE ENTERTAINMENT We warm up by singing “Over the River and Through the Woods” and “There’s a Great Big Turkey Up on Grandpa’s Farm” on the way to the meal Followed by Family Grace, sung in three-part harmony (sometimes in Norwegian) After dinner, the Family Chorus sings: Renaissance rounds and favorite cantatas Father’s sweet compositions as well as tunes learned from Broadway musicals and folk songs often accompanied by the family piano, other instruments, or accappella --- makes no difference The Finale is when all the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren present fantastic programs, of their own design, for their elders complete with dancing, singing, recitations, instrumentals, and costumes Proof of Harvest Home
END NOTE In all the years with all the busyness of our large family gatherings we never forgot how lucky we were to be born into this one, big, wonderful Family the Family of God and to share it with each other and with others
Holiday celebrations of my childhood were most often in Tracy, Montana (one of several small towns grown out of railroad coal mining camps along Sand Coulee Creek, 12 miles South and East of Great Fall, Montana. An uncle and aunt lived next to my grandparents, separated by the large chicken yard. Ma and Pa’s (my grandparents) house had one bedroom, a living room, kitchen and attached shed. Outhouses sat across the front yard from the house, near the fence.
Those of us living in the city arrived in the early afternoon to the house, overly warmed by the kitchen wood stove in which part of the meal was being roasted and kept warm. Each subgroup of the family carried in their contributions to the feast and looked for a clear spot to unload. The aunts, after gauging how soon we would eat, put cold dishes in the shed and hot dishes on the top shelf on the back of the stove or in the oven itself. Voices filled the kitchen in a medley of Croation and English. The men set up the extra card tables and chairs they had brought where they were directed and immediately opened the living room door to bring the temperature down before sitting down to have a beer and talk while for the meal.
If Pa was not there to greet us, he’d be hanging out with his cronies at the Tracy Bar a couple blocks away, and the men all volunteered to go get him. This started a predictable chain of events. One or two of the men went and then had a beer or two with Pa and his friends, figuring that dinner would be awhile yet. Meanwhile, the women, ready to put food on the table, started fuming about the men taking so long. Children then volunteered to go bring the herd home, out of more than a desire to be helpful. When we entered the bar, the men knew their time there was limited, but they stretched it out. First, they said they’d be along when they finished their beer. Since we knew from past experience that if we left, they would continue to linger, we’d tell them they had to come NOW. They offered us peanuts, candy or pop and told us to relax and play a game of shuffleboard. We usually accepted the bribes, but didn’t let up on entreating them to come before the aunts got really mad. Either because of our pestering, or fear one of the women would come storming in and they’d hear about it all the way home later, they finally came with us.
November can be a pretty grim month. The colors of fall are gone, swept away in puddles and gutters. The bare tree limbs point to the sky like bony fingers. November is to be endured - until the very last of the month when we are lifted out of the doldrums by Thanksgiving. Not only the day, but the very act of Thanksgiving. My birthday is on the 29th. My mother's was on November 24th. That was also my due date. When I didn't arrive on schedule, it didn't matter. We chose to celebrate both of our birthdays on Thanksgiving. So all my life, Thanksgiving has had this double value. It is a nice memory and a very fine way to prepare for Advent.
ReplyDeleteClarene Aitken
Interestingly enough, as I try to recall Thanksgivings from my childhood, I don't remember a lot of it. I know we alternated each year, visiting "the inlaws" (Dad's side of the family) with "the outlaws" (my mom's side) and once we had it at our own home, but I don't remember who attended. I only remember that it was at our house because I used the aluminum turkey roasting pan to make a worm bin to raise worms to start a worm-selling business (for bait). However, some lady, collecting aluminum to turn in for money, turned my worms free and took the pan and I was pretty disappointed about that. I remember another Thanksgiving when I was about 19 years old. Both of my dad's parents' health were failing and my parents' marriage wasn't doing well either. There was a lot of family stress at the time. My parents decided to have us spend Thanksgiving as a family of 4 at Disneyland (we lived nearby) and avoid all of the negativity by spending the holiday at the happiest place on earth. Does that sound selfish? Well, it was one of the best Thanksgivings we ever had. Disneyland was mostly empty, so we had the rides all to ourselves (suspend your understandable sympathy for the workers at Disneyland on this holiday - bear with me). I think it was probably the last family Thanksgiving we celebrated together, or at least the last nice one. I should have felt sad or weird about it, but I really didn't. We were all having a fun time and taking silly pictures and suspending all our baggage in the magic kingdom, and I think that my parents were really looking out for their kids in making this decision, which was the right one at the time.
ReplyDeleteWe did that one year with our kids also the week of Thanksgiving and enjoyed it a lot.
DeleteMarlene
I remember - the holidays at the Knudson family were so confusing! All of us kids would sit in the kitchen around the big table. There were about 10 of us. The adults would all sit in the dining room. When we were young we thought it would be kind of cool to sit with the adults. As we grew, one of us would be invited to sit with the adults. I think they thought it was a privilege. It only took one holiday meal with the adults for each of us kids to figure out that the adult table was boring - so we gladly gave it up at the next holiday to the next dreamer, in line!
ReplyDeleteMy overwhelming memories are from my mother's house. Every single time we had the same thing. I loved it- bird, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy and pie. There must have been other stuff I was pressed into eating, but I can't remember, or don't care. What really made it special was that the table was set with a cloth tablecloth, flowers, candles and silver service. The house was decked out as she liked it. Dinner was always served. The kids sat at a kid's table and were duly moved up when they could be trusted to "be civil" as my mother said. She collected furniture like I do old radios. She gradually had a simple and elegant living room with wonderful and interesting furniture. . She had two things that didn't fit. She had a horrible TV and an electric range that she hated. She had had a White gas range that was a deluxe model that she had for years. She also sharpened her knives frequently but apparently had no idea how to tell whether they were sharp. She apparently sharpened on them until they should be sharp. One of her dictums was that more "elbow grease" always yielded better results. The knives were straight on the dull side and S shaped underneath. Oh, and dull. Thanksgivings were always peaceful happy times in a house that had seen more than enough abuse and anger. Somehow all the food and company kept away the ghosts. I try to do the best I can to memorialize those times in these latter years. It is the tablecloth and candles that bring back the most memories
ReplyDeleteDoug Millar.
Come, Ye Thankful People, Come
ReplyDeleteTHE CHURCH SERVICE (why always the night before?)
Festal decorations
red and gold
cornucopia on display
Many hymns
well known
well loved
well sung
Thankofferings
brought forward
solemnly
single
file
Choral anthems
sung firmly
often with brass accompaniment
Extra prayers of Thanks
for Past, Present, and
Things to Come
THE JOURNEY
After riding all night to Grandma and Grandpa’s house,
which sits just below the Great San Bernardino Mountains,
we know we are getting close
as we drive through dense and ethereal, grey fog
see ghostly heated smudgepots set among vast orange groves
smell the sweet, unmistakable aroma of orange blossoms
wafting through window cracks and holes in the floorboard
of our dark green, ’54 Savoy Plymouth, named ‘Betsy
Then,
Warm, enveloping hugs
from loved ones seldom seen
thankful for the safe journey
THE MEAL
Watching dark, shiny mysterious turkey gizzards
floating in a special gravy ‘boat’
waiting to begin the bargaining
over who gets the first pick
(as the eldest grandchild, it’s usually me)
Orange, tangy, whipped-up ‘beggies’
full of gravy, butter, salt and pepper
lusting for the first, savory bite
Fresh cranberries
ground up with
sugar, mini-marshmallows, crushed pineapple
and whipped cream:
transform into a sweet, crunchy salad
Dark, sweet, tender turkey meat
with real mashed potatoes and butter
slathered with gravy, salt and pepper
That’s the Taste of Thanksgiving for me
The rest is optional
Oh ..... don’t forget the milk and pumpkin pie!
THE ENTERTAINMENT
We warm up by singing “Over the River and Through the Woods” and “There’s a Great Big Turkey Up on Grandpa’s Farm” on the way to the meal
Followed by Family Grace, sung in three-part harmony
(sometimes in Norwegian)
After dinner, the Family Chorus sings:
Renaissance rounds and favorite cantatas
Father’s sweet compositions
as well as tunes learned from Broadway musicals and folk songs
often accompanied by the family piano, other instruments,
or accappella --- makes no difference
The Finale is when all the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren
present fantastic programs, of their own design, for their elders
complete with dancing, singing, recitations, instrumentals, and costumes
Proof of Harvest Home
END NOTE
In all the years
with all the busyness of
our large family gatherings
we never forgot
how lucky we were
to be born into this
one, big, wonderful Family
the Family of God
and to share it
with each other
and with others
fHs
Sara
11-22-2013
Our Family Feast Saga - By Marlene Obie
ReplyDeleteHoliday celebrations of my childhood were most often in Tracy, Montana (one of several small towns grown out of railroad coal mining camps along Sand Coulee Creek, 12 miles South and East of Great Fall, Montana. An uncle and aunt lived next to my grandparents, separated by the large chicken yard. Ma and Pa’s (my grandparents) house had one bedroom, a living room, kitchen and attached shed. Outhouses sat across the front yard from the house, near the fence.
Those of us living in the city arrived in the early afternoon to the house, overly warmed by the kitchen wood stove in which part of the meal was being roasted and kept warm. Each subgroup of the family carried in their contributions to the feast and looked for a clear spot to unload. The aunts, after gauging how soon we would eat, put cold dishes in the shed and hot dishes on the top shelf on the back of the stove or in the oven itself. Voices filled the kitchen in a medley of Croation and English. The men set up the extra card tables and chairs they had brought where they were directed and immediately opened the living room door to bring the temperature down before sitting down to have a beer and talk while for the meal.
If Pa was not there to greet us, he’d be hanging out with his cronies at the Tracy Bar a couple blocks away, and the men all volunteered to go get him. This started a predictable chain of events. One or two of the men went and then had a beer or two with Pa and his friends, figuring that dinner would be awhile yet. Meanwhile, the women, ready to put food on the table, started fuming about the men taking so long. Children then volunteered to go bring the herd home, out of more than a desire to be helpful. When we entered the bar, the men knew their time there was limited, but they stretched it out. First, they said they’d be along when they finished their beer. Since we knew from past experience that if we left, they would continue to linger, we’d tell them they had to come NOW. They offered us peanuts, candy or pop and told us to relax and play a game of shuffleboard. We usually accepted the bribes, but didn’t let up on entreating them to come before the aunts got really mad. Either because of our pestering, or fear one of the women would come storming in and they’d hear about it all the way home later, they finally came with us.
Then the feast began.