Blow-out

Being a covering is hard work.

Evidently, I scratch the top of my head in perplexity a lot...or at any rate, that's where coverings wear out first. Both my currently active coverings have grown so threadbare at the top that they've developed small holes. Don't know when I'll have time to sew new ones.

I don't mind wearing them with holes in them. There's actually something satisfying about it. First the humility of knowing that I'm not too vain about them. If I were wearing them for show, I'd worry more about how they look. I think it also says something that I scratch my head in perplexity that much...I know I DON'T have all the answers, and the holes prove that I take the time to think things over! Then, too, their tattered, faded condition proves that I've been wearing them long enough to wear them out. It's not a passing fad for me, it's a commitment for the long haul.

After church at Willow Springs the other day, A brother I'd not talked with before shook my hand and introduced himself. He observed in a friendly and straightforward manner, "I've heard of the coat of many colors, but this is the first I've seen a covering of many colors!" I smiled broadly. I hadn't thought of my covering as a reflection of Joseph's famous garment. It "covered" (protected) him, too.

[Is it a sin of omission that I failed to point out the "queer" significance of the rainbow colors? Can I plead my case based on "Women should not speak in church?" Perhaps not...we had stepped outside onto the broad steps of the building, so technically we were no longer IN church. I think not. To discuss such matters would seem as inappropriate as expounding on my favorite website or rock star to him...it's a part of a world that is not their world. When in Rome, do as the Romans....]

The brother continued. "I presume you wear it for the same reason we do." I said that I'd started wearing it nearly 5 years ago. He nodded in approval, clearly satisfied with my answer. "Then it is a real conviction." "Yes, and that was after several years of discernment. My River Brethren friend gave me the pattern she uses...."

I do not know where this adventure is leading me, or the good brothers and sisters of Willow Springs. But it is clearly God who leads me wherever we are going.

I need only be present in each moment, listening to that still, small voice that seems so much louder when I step away from the turmoil of the "English" world.

Mini-ministries

One Sunday morning recently I set forth on the long drive to one of the churches where I often attend Sunday morning meeting with the Old German Baptists--actually almost on time, for a change! It had been a couple weeks since I'd been able to get away from the farm on a Sunday morning, and I was really looking forward to the spiritual gifts that invariably come from the nealry two hours of clear, practical bible study that is what passes for a church service with the OGB.

The 45 minute drive to the "8 Mile" meetinghouse is, in itself, a good meditation. The path lies clear across Lawrence and out the other side, then through miles of hilly farmland. It's good to get out of the river valley now and then, for a change of perspective. Seeing other farms always teaches me something about farming...and sometimes there's a special gift, like seeing a calf born just as I'm driving by. Besides, just driving on the open road has been a "therapy" thing for me for decades.

But imagine my surprise when the parking lot was empty at 8 Mile! Perhaps I'd read the calendar wrong? Since the denomination had a "division" last summer, the small remnants of two churches had joined for worship each week--odd Sundays at one meetinghouse, even Sundays at another.

I drove back to the Willow Springs meetinghouse. Again, an empty lot. Perplexing.

Some dim memory tickled at the back of my brain. Had my OGB friend M. said something a few weeks earlier about a special event some Sunday in April? I couldn't remember. Life has been very, very busy this past month.

But now what? Not exactly "all dressed up and no place to go," because I don't "dress up" for church. But certainly out and about with no clear destination.

I decided to try the Lone Star Church of the Brethren. It's another small, white, wood frame meetinghouse, not quite so plain on the inside (there's a piano, and printed bulletins). The Church of the Brethren, like the OGB and Mennonite churches, is descended from the Anabaptist movement at the time of the Reformation in Europe. Each denomination has preserved some practices at the expense of others, but they share many core values: simplicity (whatever that means...), pacifism, adult baptism. The COB order of the service is very like the Mennonite church I'm exiled from, and uses the same favorite "blue hymnal" as many Mennonite churches, including "mine". They had just finished the Children's Time when I arrived, and were singing the children off to Sunday School so the parents could focus their attention on the sermon. I felt sad for the division of ages. More fun for the children, perhaps, but with families so busy during the week, it seems more important than ever that the children and adults should share the whole church experience, as in the Old German Baptist church.

God, you are showing me who I am in you, and where my path lies. It's not at all clear, but times like this at least show me where it isn't. Please give me the strength and patience to "let the little ones come to me" as you did, "for such is the kingdom of heaven."

I have attended here before, and had not found the service to lift me to heavenly heights of praise and awe, nor lead me to profound depths of reflection. But sometimes it is most important to focus on "Whenever two or more are gathered in my name."

When my mind wandered during the "Meditation Time", I perused the rather commercial-looking pre-printed bulletin cover. There was an interesting meditation printed on the back. I was surprised to recognize the author's name at the bottom...someone who frequently contributes to the lively exchange on a COB listserve I participate on.

The minister directed me to the stairs after the service, making a polite escape tactless. Making small talk as we went down to whatever awaited, I mentioned my pleasure at seeing Brother Eberly's name on the back of the bulletin. "Oh," said the minister. "I guess I'll have to read it...."

Hm, I guess God needed me to help get Brother Eberly's message to the minister....

The fellowship time after the service was far different from either Mennonite or OGB, however. Here this little community showed its full glory. "Something to eat downstairs" turned out to be more than enought finger foods for a full, balanced, healthy meal: fruit, cheese, crackers, raw vegetables, summer sausage, chips, salsa, and cookies. The older lady next to me in line invited me to sit with her and her husband. Another lady about my age sat next to me as I settled in across from the older couple.

"Where do you live?" The older lady asked. I generally begin the answer to this question with "North Lawrence", and go from there as seems appropriate. "Oh, I grew up in North Lawrence," she replied. We compared addresses and found she'd lived just a few blocks from my place in the early 50's, at the time of the '51 flood. She related how her mother and sisters had spent two years living on the back porch of their home while the flood-ravaged house was rebuilt. A useful bit of history...the following day was the public hearing for my Conditional Use Permit to allow camping at the farm, including for myself to have somewhere to live while renovating one of the little houses.

Thanks for the encouragement, God! I'm not so nuts after all...just learning from the past. Camping out for a summer is nothing compared to living with two kids on a porch for two years!

Someone commented on my covering. "You must be German Baptist". I tried not to choke on my astonished laughter, nor embarrass the questioner. "Well, I do attend there usually, but they were having a special function today. Actually the German Baptists wear white gauze coverings; this one is cut from the River Brethren pattern." I went on to explain that each Plain church had its own covering style and color, and I wasn't any of them.

God, I guess you wanted me to remind these people of their Anabaptist cousins in other faith communities. The last names here are all the same ones from the Old German Baptist church, but I guess generations of "disfellowshipping" have spintered the once-close families. Maybe my presence here will begin a path towards rejoicing in their similarities rather than shunning their differences. So many families have been torn apart through our churches' history. As faithful Christian presence in our nation dwindles, it seems like we should band together to strengthen our numbers across divisions, not perpetuate our disagreements about the logs in each others' eyes.

The woman next to me heard me mention I was a Mennonite. "I tried to find Peace [Mennonite] Church when I first moved to town," she said. "I went to the address in the directory, but it was Ecumenical Christian Ministry building, and no one there had ever heard of Mennonites. It was really strange."

I sadly shook my head, commiserating with her confusion. "When was that?" I asked. It was just after the congregation had bought a building of its own and left ECM behind, apparently leaving no forwarding address. My heart aches for my church, hiding from new members and casting out old ones that don't fit the mold.

Forgive them, Lord, for they know not what they do.

She does not, perhaps, realize that we are ministering to one another. Seeing her disappointment in the implied rejection of not leaving a trail she could follow, I'm reminded that their behavior towards me is not so much about who I am as about who they are, and how they are wounded. My heart softens a little, and I can pray for them more gracefully than usual.

We exchange email addresses. We haven't used them yet, but we each know there is another lost sheep, looking for their rightful fold.

Meanwhile, any flock will suffice for company. The rainbow covering helps me remember that every human interaction I have, every day, truly is ministry work if I remember that it's so. Not just my ministry to others, but others' ministry to me.

What is "Plain Dress"?

To most "English" (Amishspeak for "non-Plain" folk), "Plain dress" conjures up images of men in beards without mustaches; hair combed back and cut straight across the back of the neck; broadfall pants; collarless shirt, vest and coat; dark colors and blue or white shirts; suspenders; no zippers or buttons; women in prayer (head) coverings and outer bonnets; long dresses with long sleeves, shoulder capes and built-in aprons; etc. This is a form of dress that has evolved slowly and thoughtfully from the "fashion" of the early days of the denomination. They just stopped keeping up with the latest styles, and started making thoughtful, practical decisions about their clothing from a spiritual point of view.

To me, my evolution of an "urban stealth Plain" dress has been a personal journey with one little snippet of the Gospel story...told in slightly different words by different authors (Matt 18:25 etc.; Luke 16:22 etc.), later turned one way and another by different translators, but essentially summarized thus:

"Don't worry about what to wear; God knows you need clothes. Instead, seek the Kingdom of God, and He will take care of you."

Embedded in these texts by way of example is the lovely verse about "Consider the lilies of the field..." And the bean plants, and the lettuces, and the willow trees....

Before I had even really committed myself to be baptized as a Christian, I spent a lot of time "considering the lilies"...and the beans, etc. Transitioning from careers in corporate America to farming meant a lot of changes. One day I was out weeding beans, and found myself--I kid you not--worrying about the fact that I was wearing silver earrings that didn't "go with" my gold watch! And this scripture came to mind. And I realized how ridiculous I was, out there by myself in the bean patch, up to my elbows in weeds and dirt, worrying about what to wear!

The beans certainly didn't care. Nor did the birds of the field, nor the willows. Nor, almost certainly, did God care whether my earrings matched my watch.

My "mantra" became "The beans don't care!" as I started weaning myself away from the old, vain, frivolous concerns of the corporate work-world, and teaching myself to worry more about things that mattered--how I treated other people, that I prayed, that I was honest, how I nurtured my fledgling relationship with God.

"Don't worry about what to wear!" began to guide my clothing choices, rather than fashion or convention--not that I'd ever been very good at playing that game, anyhow! It really was a relief to stop playing it.

I started examining what I "worried" about in clothing. "Skirt or pants?" was one thing. Skirts meant that I was goofing off from the farmwork, and became reserved for summer nightwear. One less decision to make each time I dressed...the burden of worrying about what to wear began to ease.

The realities of my farm work--scratches, bug bites, sunburn, etc.--quickly showed the wisdom of long pants and long sleeves no matter what the weather. Soon my closet and drawers were noticably emptier, as the shorts and t-shirts followed the skirts to the thrift store. Shirt sleeves could be rolled up or down as needed, as could loose pants (hint: fold a pleat in the ankle, then roll up--they will stay secure just below the knee).

When the automatic washing machine quit, and I resorted to doing laundry in the wringer washer I use for washing wool, I discovered that buttons and zippers and fancy pockets on jeans made them hard to get through the wringer. Pants with simple side-seam pockets, elastic waists, and no zippers, buttons, or other trims not only washed easier, but were more comfortable for bending and squatting in the garden, and used less resources in their manufacture...also much easier and quicker to sew at home if I ever get the time.

Natural fibers were a natural step, too. Cotton is cool in the summer compared to synthetics; linen is even cooler. Ironing? Not so necessary if you hang the laundry on the clothesline and pull it into shape as you hang it. Shirts go from the washing machine to a hanger, where they are ready to go in the closet after an afternoon in the sun or near the woodstove or on the clothesline in the basement. Wool, of course, has long been my choice for outer wear--warm even when wet. Finely woven silk, I was told by someone on my Canadian adventure, prevents mosquitos from biting, so silk shirts made their way into my repertoire for summer wear.

I bought my clothes at thrift stores, mostly charities. So my clothing budget shrank, and became one with my support for those in need. That was a nice feeling. And shopping there put me in touch with the lives of those who were struggling to survive economically, as I heard their conversations with the cashiers and each other. I began to be less isolated from real people, started moving away from the "ivory tower" environment I'd been raised in.

I still found myself spending a lot of time with style...selecting blouses with pretty fabrics and fancy trims when I found them. After awhile, I started thinking about the waste of resources represented by printing multicolor patterns onto fabrics. How unnecessary! I started only buying yarn-dyed fabrics, and left off the lace edging and other ornaments. Mostly this meant button-front shirts with woven-in stripes or solid colors.

Color was my next focus. I still got up in the morning and tried to decide what color I was in the mood for...or what color the person I was visiting that day would like. Worry, worry, worry! I switched to black pants and black turtlenecks for winter, solid color shirts for summer.

With lighter weight and colored shirts and no bra (quit those DECADES ago for comfort reasons), modesty became more of an issue. I started selecting shirts with two chest pockets, which serve some of the same purpose as the shoulder cape in Plain dress. Similarly, I wear the shirt tail "out" so that I'm not showing off my trim waist to just anyone...also more comfortable, and cooler in summer.

So that's about where my "Urban Stealth Plain" dress is at today. Someone seeing me only occasionally probably would not notice anything odd about my dress, except maybe the long sleeves in summer. I might be momentarily mistaken for an artist or a gang member, but the covering takes care of that at second glance. And I no longer "worry about what to wear."

It's sure to evolve more. I'd like to buy fabric and evolve my own custom patterns (a hobby in high school) to sew for pants and work shirts. But that will take time I don't have right now.

When I took the job driving the city transit bus, I'd been wearing this "Plain dress" for a number of years. The company conceded that I could purchase my own elastic-waist pants (they will now partially reimburse me) as long as they were the regulation navy blue color. And they already allowed women to wear their uniform shirts "untucked". They clearly weren't enthusiastic about letting me wear the covering, but realized that was a silly fight to get themselves into.

On the job, it's been interesting to see people (read: drunken middle-aged men) react to seeing a woman in bus-driver uniform wearing a prayer covering. "Aren't you supposed to be wearing a skirt with that thing [the covering]? You should wear a skirt. I bet you look good in a skirt. Yeah, I'd REALLY like to see you in a skirt...."

Yeah, THAT'S why I don't wear skirts.

In such situations, I realize just how well God has guided me in my journey towards an "urban stealth plain dress" that lets me keep my focus on God, so He can take care of me. It's a way of dressing that witnesses to my faith while supporting me in faithful work, and places deeply-held values above vanity. It's a way of being "in the world but not of the world."

Random Reasons...part 3

Because it keeps my hair clean...or at least no one can tell whether it's clean or not.

*****
This is a small but important part of living simply and conserving resources. I don't have to wash my hair as often--saves time and hot water and shampoo. I don't have to dry it as often--saves energy and time.

In my way of life--farming, or sometimes just the fact of having short-term visitors stay with me--there is also the avoidance of "ick factor" to consider. As demonstrated today:

Since I'm transitioning to a much smaller home this year, I'm swapping big furniture for small with my daughter. They brought the bed over to switch out today. Well! Obviously I hadn't vacuumed under the heavy bed for a long time--GROSS! Off I trotted to get the shop vac out of the garage to eradicate the dust dragons (they were WAY beyond bunnies) before installing the new bed.

It sounded really strange. I mean, not like I've ever heard a shop vac sound before. Dust started spouting from the exhaust port--wait, no, that's not right; I have one of those wonderful ultra-fine filters on this!

I stopped and unplugged it and peeked in. EWW! It was fully of pennies and cigarette butts (a visitor had casually mentioned cleaning out a friend's car a few days ago...), and the filter had fallen off so it had been venting that foul blend at me...plus the garage floor residue that I'd vacuumed last week. ICK!

I took the filter out to the barn, where there is an air compressor and a lot of fresh air, and blew out the filter. That worked really well to revive the filter, but then I looking like a close relative of the dragons under the bed. YUCK!

By the time the bed exchange had been completed, it was less than half an hour before I was supposed to be at a meeting in town. There certainly wasn't time to wash and dry my hair--there was barely time to jump in the shower. But quickly tying on a clean covering let me feel like I wouldn't offend the people next to me at the meeting.

At least not with the cobwebs, dog hair, and cigarette butt dust in my hair.

On Parade

Yesterday was the annual St. Patrick's Day parade in our small city. Quite a big deal this year--I heard there were something on the order of 100 entries.

Someone on the bus commented that they like the St. Patrick's Day parade here because it really shows the town who it is ...the fire department, the electric company (their float had linemen up on utility poles on it...I can imagine their engineers having a blast figuring out how to make that safe!), the day care centers, local businesses, schools, bars, Miss Kansas, you name it. The whole motley assortment. Our other annual parades are perhaps more unique to our community (the horsedrawn Christmas parade, or the art vehicle parade, or the Earth Day parade), but this one is all-inclusive. The parade anyone can be in, the parade for just being seen in a parade.

For me, it was an ordinary work day driving the bus. Well, sort of ordinary. At shift change, when I went on duty, we had to hike across the parade course...making it through just 1/2 block in front of the head of the parade. Traffic! Oh, my! And pedestrians, enough that anarchy took over for the crosswalk lights.

Waiting and waiting in heavy traffic, seeming to go nowhere while theoretically having a schedule, would make others tense, but the job has taught me to just relax and be in the moment. A time to meditate around the edges of full attention to the traffic light before me.

Is this parade really who we are, as a community?

So many people! So focused on one passion--St. Patrick's Day! St. Patrick's Day? Probably few of them know any more about him than I do, so what are they "celebrating" by wearing green--green anything, green everything? Do they even know?

A certain amount is spring fever, a rebound disease from cabin fever. An excuse to be out and about with the kids, to meet up with other families and friends, etc. But a lot of it seems to be simply reiterative. They are excited because the people around them are excited, who are excited because other people are excited...but about what?

Perhaps it is simply that wearing a particular color is one of the safest things they can do together with so many other people--strangers, even. It's something they can agree on, without discussing the details. There is no right or wrong way to do it, you just do it. It's easy. It's cheap. It's one size fits all, good for all ages. It contains no calories (except that green cotton candy) and doesn’t cause cancer (although the green beer was obviously causing some of my customers problems).

But what difference does it make, in the long run? It is so easy to do easy things, but what is the point? This parade may be who we are, but is it who we want to be?

I had a vision of a different parade. A parade for what REALLY matters. A parade about loving our families, whether they are broken or whole, gay or straight, nuclear or extended. A parade about loving our neighbors as our selves, whether they are homeless or housed, renting or owning, like us or different. A parade about loving God, whoever we conceive God to be.

In April, the town will have a parade about loving the earth...an Earth Day parade. Will there be 100 floats? Will there be thousands of children watching us say THIS IS IMPORTANT?
Or will they get the message that wearing green and getting drunk and acting silly is the most important thing our community celebrates?

Who are we? Who do we want to be? When do we start being it?

The rainbow covering reminds me that I am in this world, not of this world. I march in my own parade, I AM a parade every time I walk down the street. A parade of one.

A parade for living out my integrity, for keeping my focus on the things that matter.

You can be in my parade if you want to.

Why not now?

Random Reasons...part 2 in a series

...Because I don't have to "worry about what to wear" to be wearing green on St. Patrick's Day. It's just part of the rainbow, and I'm always wearing it.

Random Reasons...part 1 in a series

I wear the Rainbow Covering because...

...1 Corinthians 11 sez so. I'm so rebellious in general...always have been, always will be unless a miracle occurs...that when I realized there was a rule in the Bible about women that I COULD obey, I grabbed it quick!

...it makes "bad hair days" a moot point. Though not impossible, since my flyaway hair sometimes frizzes out from under it in a most untidy manner.

...it helps people understand that I really DON'T watch TV and have NO idea what they are talking about.

...it also helps people realize right away that I "march to a different drum" in many ways. Before, they would assume I was "normal", and then we would spend a lot of time and energy getting acquainted before they realized they really didn't want to hang out with me after all. Apparently my presence tends to remind people of all the stuff they don't want to do, or don't think they "should" do, but do anyway and then feel guilty about (cussing, drinking, all that "immoral" stuff the Bible lists). So they'd rather go away from me and not be reminded of what they think their "sins" are, instead of accepting that I accept them as they are (at least as long as my personal boundaries are respected).

So, with the covering many folks don't even try to have a conversation or be friends. The ones who want to learn to know me despite the covering are more likely to actually "get" who I am and what I'm doing, and respect me as I am. Of course, there are always some who approach because they think I can somehow intercede for them with God..."Pray for me, will ya?"

Ah, humanity! Too often we find it easier to believe in an angry God than in a loving one! Too often we doubt the power of our own clumsy prayers, and believe that some other human's prayers have more value to God! Whole churches have been founded on these ideas...but as for me, that is not what I understand from the gospels.