Bloggerlife.blog

09/22/2025

Today’s blog

Lynn Murphy Mark

How to, is the question

During a particularly hard time of the Civil Rights movement people were beaten, jailed, sprayed with fire hoses, attacked by dogs, spit upon, surrounded by a barrage of hate filled speech. One day, a crowd of civil rights workers were outside of Ebenezer Baptist Church. Across the street were mounted and armed police waiting for an opportunity to ride into the crowd. 

The crowd began singing about the power of love. Reverend James Bevel took the microphone and said, “We cannot win by hating our oppressors. We have to love them into changing.” This is the line that got me when I read it in Richard Rohr’s meditation this morning. 

I had just read Heather Cox Wilson’s column. She is very blunt about the actions of 47’s administration being in direct opposition to what the Constitution says about our rights. I read her letter faithfully every day because she reports after researching her sources. I believe what she says. Most of the time I just shake my head at the violations and hypocrisy coming from our government. Sometimes I can feel the anger rising in me as Truth with a capital T is twisted into whatever 47 wants us to believe. 

Apparently the jobs report will not be issued this week and is postponed indefinitely. That has to mean the news is not good. The Agriculture Department will no longer produce reports about food insecurity around the country. 47 issues edicts about the danger of criticizing him and his minions. As witnessed with Jimmy Kimmel’s sudden removal from the airwaves, we are being warned not to voice negative opinions about 47. 

This is what I got from my readings this morning. I have to say that I get angry, feel helpless, and think very dark thoughts about all the people involved in the campaign to turn the United States into a white male supremacist’s dream. I know that “hate” is a strong word, but I feel it rising as I read.

Then I remember the words that Reverend James Bevel spoke outside of the church that morning. “We cannot win by hating our oppressors. We have to love them into changing.”

These words sound like Truth to me, but I am damned if I know how to put them into practice. 

Then I remember Martin Luther King, Mahatma Gandhi, Nelson Mandela, Bishop Desmond Tutu, the Dalai Lama, Jesus, and the hordes of others who speak of settling things peacefully and non-violently. But I don’t believe they would interpret doing this lovingly as meaning to compromise principles and settle for less in order to keep the peace. I believe I am to practice a kind of “stalwart love” where I have the courage to speak up, the energy to join like-minded people and organizations working for justice, the willingness to look into my shadow side. This shadow side is the one that permits me to feel intense dislike, and even angry hatred. As soon as this takes over me, all hope for seeking solutions dissolves into a negative and unproductive train of thought. My opportunity to look for the ways to work against what offends me is lost in the haze of resentment and intense dislike. 

The word, “Agape”, comes to me. This kind of love is a conscious choice to act for the good of others. It does not have anything to do with animosity toward anyone. Instead I am encouraged to look for the ways to work towards what is best for everyone without expectation of return. So, instead of dwelling in contempt, I am to put forward energy toward making something better. Living in this state does not have room for thoughts of harm to those I don’t agree with. 

No matter how hard this is, I have to discipline myself to look for the good. When I find it, I need to support it and practice its principles. I am asked to think with compassion for the people who I am in opposition to. Otherwise, I am on their level, contributing to the negative environment that they are creating. 

When I’m at my worst, this all seems like happy talk that doesn’t seem to be working. I know I have to lift myself out of this frame of mind and use my energy for what I know to be “good trouble”.

09/21/2025

Today’s blog

Lynn Murphy Mark

What a wonderful day!

It is not light out yet. In the not too far land over the fence the coyotes are carrying on, howling with great abandon. It must be a pack, (the official word for a group of coyotes), because I can hear at least 6 different voices speaking into the dark. Their voices are high pitched so I would call them Soprano-like. No Altos in this pack.

A friend sent me a meme that is attached to this blog. I hope you can read it. According to the woman featured in the meme, I am now at Level 76. From now on, a birthday shall be referred to as a “level up”! Sheila, who is the same age as me only a month older, said she is struggling a little with being 76, and being ever closer to 80. I told her that last year, when Jan turned 80, she kept referring to the unreal feeling of having reached this venerable age.

Both of us agree that we don’t know what we are supposed to feel like – no longer young? But not yet elderly?

Yesterday started with a breakfast reunion with my friend, School Social Worker Extraordinaire, Denise. We spent two hours talking over a meal of omelets and English muffins at a small café in Eldorado – a very fancy suburb of Santa Fe. We caught up about our children, our spouses, our work, people we know in common, some minor health challenges. She is still brave enough to work with middle school kids, especially the ones with special needs. She’s been doing this work for over 23 years – Bravo!, I say. Both of her girls have left home, so we talked about what it’s like to be an empty-nester and miss the kids like the dickens.

Jackie and the boys facetimed after I got back to Sheila and Barrett’s house. The boys wanted to see my friends, so both women got into the circle with us. Then Cameron carried the phone out back to show us the magnificent chicken coop that Momoh built for their brood of hens. I noticed right away that both boys have grown and their faces are lengthening and loosing the roundness of early childhood. It gives my heart such joy to see them and their mom taking time to talk to Yaya. 

Ted called later in the day, on his way to an event partly arranged by Sarah, for an artist she has been working with at the Getty. I think that’s right. After the birthday greeting was spoken I wanted to know about the dog that adopted Ted last week. Ted visits Dog every day at the pound and brings him treats. It sounds very much like Dog will be joining their household next week, if no one comes to claim him. Ted will be at the pound at 8:30am on Tuesday when Dog is available for adoption. Then Dog will be neutered and can go home with Ted and Sarah a day or so later. I call him Dog because the matter of a name is up in the air. In my mind I have named him Archimedes, “Archie” for short. Apparently that name is on the list of possibles. 

I took a great afternoon nap, then joined Sheila on the portal that overlooks the distant mountains. I made myself a cup of coffee and enjoyed every sip as we talked about a lot of stuff. Barrett had gone to Walmart to get some dog food, and on the way home made a slight detour into an estate sale. Sheila said Barrett usually comes home with a treasure or two. This time she came home with a beautiful leather jewelry box that became my birthday gift. It will take the place of the two plates that hold my meager supply of jewels.

Since the two of them recently got back from a trip up the Nile river I asked to see their pictures. After supper we settled into our places and spent an hour or so going over the shots they took of the beauty and grandeur of Egypt – the pyramids, the statues, the tombs, the frescoes with colors that have lasted thousands of years, the walls of hieroglyphics. It was a fascinating display. To end the evening, we watched the 1978 version of the film, “Death on the Nile”. It was a star-studded film. Sadly, most of the actors have since made their transitions. I loved watching Bette Davis and Angela Lansbury act their ways through the movie. And, the movie featured many of the places that Sheila and Barrett had visited.

We and the dogs each retired to our rooms, where I read several chapters of my birthday book from Jackie – Dan Brown’s latest book, “The Secret of Secrets”. It was a nice end to a wonderful day. Actually, on my phone I now have four versions of the Happy Birthday song, performed by precious people. I am blessed.

09/17/2025

Today’s blog

Lynn Murphy Mark

Silver and Gold

You need to have been a Brownie back in the day to remember this simple song – “Make new friends but keep the old, one is silver and the other gold.” Last night what I would call a group of relatively new friends threw a little before-birthday party for me. There were 10 of us gathered in our clubhouse for a dinner cooked by our resident-condo-chef, Scot. He had been up since 6 AM starting a very slow roasted brisket. He made twice baked potatoes, homemade rolls, and baked beans. Jan provided a broccoli slaw dish and birthday cupcakes. I wore a Happy Birthday rainbow colored tiara for the occasion.

Scot is one of the most generous, kind men I know. I’ve seen the little kitchen in his condo and it is equipped with everything that a chef would want, including a fabulous row of copper pots hanging for all to see. He loves to cook. He is very modest about his talents with food, but when he lays out a spread it could be featured in a gourmet cooking magazine. 

This is the second birthday bash we have had. When Jan’s birthday arrived in August, Scot and Jane, another wonderful friend, arranged a surprise party for her. That epicurean episode featured Scot’s lasagna. Jan was genuinely surprised and pleased. No one has ever thrown her a surprise party. As she entered the clubhouse, our very big and manly board president, Chris, jumped out of a closet at her wearing the rainbow colored birthday tiara. That alone was worth the price of admission.

This crew of people, our neighbors, sat at the table laughing and eating the best brisket I have ever had. I looked around at the others, realizing that in one way we are all united in great part because of the bad behavior of some of the residents in the association. It’s an odd way to form a friendship, but each person has a horror story involving the neighbors from hell. 

Some of the stories spilled out. One involves the fire that happened right above our condo and ruined our concrete patio. Mr. and Mrs. Upstairs-from-us are refusing any responsibility for a fire that took out their non-code-material wooden deck and stained our concrete patio so much that a new one has to be poured. Both of them are sloppy smokers, so there’s little doubt about the origin of the fire. If Mr. Upstairs had gotten a permit when he replaced the deck last year, he would have had to install fire retardant wood that would not have burned the way this wood did. It’s been over a month since the fire and all he does is claim innocence.

Another rather Peyton Place type story involves a prostitute who lived with one of the male residents. As the story unfolded, it involved an inordinate amount of glitter that the hooker would spread around the clubhouse while she performed various carnal acts with her customers in the wee hours of the morning. Eventually she was discovered, the police came and she fled the condo and the state, leaving all her belongings behind. We have also had our fair share of inebriated people behaving loudly by yelling at both buildings from the breezeway, or quietly passed out at the edge of the pool. 

Our friend, Jane, who is the instigator of party time, had to miss the celebration because she came down with the flu. She was taken a plate of food and a cupcake. We facetimed her and each person at the table greeted her image on the phone. Again, I watched each person and marveled at such a diverse group forming a friendship chain. 

This celebration came at just the right time for me. I am about to take off on a two week pilgrimage, at a time when my workplace is beyond busy and a bit problematic. Monday and yesterday were days when I was doing battle with the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services, as well as the Customs and Border Protection agency. I got absolutely nowhere with either one, not uncommon, but very frustrating. A couple of my clients’ futures are literally hanging in the balance, waiting for answers from these agencies. 

So to have a funny and entertaining get together was just what the doctor would have ordered, had I asked him. 

09/15/2025

Today’s blog

Lynn Murphy Mark

A day in church

Today, September 15, 2025 ,marks the 62d anniversary of the bombing of the Baptist church in Birmingham, Alabama. Four young girls lost their lives, and a fifth girl was severely injured. The bomb was set by white racist supremacy men who intended to give Black people a lesson that segregation was a lost cause. It was not the first time that a church was used as a violent racist platform. It’s happened over and over in my lifetime.

Yesterday Reverend Kevin began his sermon by referring to a young man who had died. He didn’t say when, so my immediate assumption was he was going to talk about Charlie Kirk. Then he started quoting words that this young man has used: “The Eucharist is my road to heaven”, “Sadness is looking at ourselves, happiness is looking toward God.”, “Not I, but God!”, “Everyone is born original, but most end up dying as photocopies.”, and “We are all likely to fall short because as soon as someone says something we don’t like, we instantly grow angry.”

When I heard the first words about a young man dying I almost leaned over to Vicki and said, “He’s going to talk about Charlie Kirk!” I didn’t, and I’m glad. A few words later, with the quotations from this mysterious young man, I knew that these were not words that had ever been uttered by Charlie Kirk. My mind was confused. Fortunately it was not too much longer before Kevin clarified that he was talking about a young man recently granted Sainthood by the new Pope, Leo. 

Carlo Acutis, canonized a Saint on September 7 of this year, was a young millennial man now known as “God’s influencer”. Carlo died in 2006 after a very short illness with a rapidly progressing case of leukemia. His body is on display in the city of Assisi at Santa Maria Maggiore Catholic church. 

There are two miracles documented in his name. One was the cure of a young man with a badly deformed pancreas. He was taken to the church where Carlo is laid out, he kissed a cloth from a piece of Carlo’s clothing, and immediately declared to his mother that he felt better. Subsequent scans revealed a normal pancreas. The other miracle occurred in 2022 when a woman got a severe head injury from a bicycle accident. She was given little chance to survive. Her mother prayed to Carlo, asking for his intercession. That same day the woman began to breathe on her own and was able to walk the next day. All signs of the hemorrhage were gone.

Given that it took 500+ years for Joan of Arc to be canonized, this quick process has been studied and questioned. Nevertheless, Saint Carlo has begun to attract the attention of young people, many of whom have fallen away from the Catholic Church. Perhaps this is Saint Carlo’s role, to influence young people.

After service several of us commented that we had all thought the name Charlie Kirk when Kevin started speaking. His sermon was a clever way to set up a cognitive dissonance in our minds, reminding me where my mind often strays and how I should be aware of my state of mind and reflect on the holiness of life instead of absorbing the negative news that surrounds me. 

After church there was a town hall meeting where a light meal was served. The church council folks each sat at a table and asked us seated there some pointed questions about the direction our church is going in. It was a lively discussion and our council member, Cindy, took copious notes. People at the other tables were also very involved in the process. Presumably the notes will be synthesized and used to form goals for the coming year.

We spent a lot of time talking about ways to grow our church. Given that only about 25% -30% of Americans attend a religious service at least once a month, it is a timely topic. I have to say I appreciated participating in a little slice of the democratic process.

Before leaving for church I mailed three thank you cards to Supreme Court Justices Jackson, Kagan, and Sotomayor. I doubt they will ever see them, but I wanted to express my gratitude for their courage and integrity under very difficult circumstances. It was a good way to start my day.

09/13/2025

Today’s blog

Lynn Murphy Mark

Road trip approaching

It’s getting to be that time of year. Autumn approaches, although the Summer heat is lingering. After all, it is Missouri. The sunlight’s quality is changing from bright hot to a slightly subdued yellow. Leaves are starting to fall. 

My 76^th birthday is coming up next weekend and, thanks to Jan’s generous agreement, I will celebrate it in Santa Fe. I will start my day by having breakfast with my friend, Denise. She is the Social Worker at the middle school where I spent the last 5 years of my long nursing career. We worked really hard together to address the many problems that our kids experienced. It is a school on the “poor” side of Santa Fe, 98% Hispanic, with unknown numbers of undocumented children/parents. We dealt with social challenges that students brought with them on a daily basis. 

I love Denise because she is so devoted to her craft, using her skills and resources to make a difference in kids’ lives. It is not easy work. Middle School kids are their own special challenge with all the changes their bodies and souls are going through. Add troubled environments and circumstances that no kid should have to endure and the job is even more complex. But through all of the hard work we found plenty of time to laugh at the every day ironies that came our way. Denise made it clear from my beginning that she knew she was always welcome in the nurse’s office – unless there were bodily fluids present. She drew the line at that.

My visit will include meetings with so many dear friends. I’ll spend part of a day in Albuquerque with Tylka and Cynthia. Their contribution to God’s world is to serve as a hummingbird rescue site in their living room. At one point this Summer, they had 100 tiny creatures in their care. Imagine feeding that many little beaks every 15 – 20 minutes, and caring for the severely injured ones until they are able to hover for at least 5 seconds. This is a sign that the birds are close to being ready for release. Fortunately, someone with a clever imagination rigged up little feeding stations around the big cages. Still, many had to be hand fed. Fortunately, hummingbirds lapse into a kind of coma at night, so the caregivers could get some sleep themselves.

Sheila and I will go on a 3 night retreat in El Rito, north of Santa Fe. This is a traditional part of the trip where we each bring a project to work on, uninterrupted for 3 days. Well, except when we interrupt each other by offering some deep thought or something funny that we can bounce off each other. Sheila is working on a book. I will be putting together some training sessions to use at my church. We are starting a prayer ministry at Parkway UCC and I have introduced a method of praying called, “Affirmative Prayer”. Pastor and I will recruit people who are willing to pray out loud with congregants both before and after church service. 

Back to El Rito. It was one of the first Spanish settlements in New Mexico -which is neither New nor Mexico – established around 1807. That’s as much history as I know about it. But I can elaborate on a restaurant that gets a great review from my friend Katie, who used to live and work around there. In fact, she is jealous that we’ll be eating at this family-run establishment that serves good New Mexican cooking. (Throughout my travels I am likely to remember restaurants rather than other touristy attractions.)

The Sunday before I leave on Monday, a Santa Fe tribe will gather for a rollicking game of Mexican train dominos. These women are such close friends that whenever one of them is down and out for whatever reason, there is an immediate chain of support set up. I am blessed to have been included in their midst when I lived there and to be welcomed “home” when I visit. 

This coming Thursday, I’ll get in 2WUNDA and start the onerous drive through Missouri, Oklahoma, and Texas to make Amarillo by early evening. The next day is a 6 hour drive to Sheila and Barrett’s beautiful home. If history repeats itself, there will be a pot of green chile stew bubbling away. Life is good.

09/11/2025

Today’s blog

Lynn Murphy Mark

Who can forget?

It’s been 24 years. It feels like yesterday. We hospice people were organizing our days when Steve, the chaplain, came in looking pale and sick. “An airplane just hit one of the towers in New York.”, he said quietly, almost reverently. We collectively looked up at him, perplexed about what in the world he had just said. He repeated that the World Trade Center had been hit by a full-sized jetliner. It was hard to put together what he was saying and then turn back to our usual routine of patient assignments and gathering the supplies we would need at each home. 

Then when the news of the second tower being hit was broadcast, every last one of us was in tears. The only safe and logical thing to do was to go about our days, care for our people, and pay attention to the media for more information. We watched in horror as both of the behemoth buildings crumbled.

It was a beautiful, sunny day when we each got in our vehicles to set forth to take care of business. My thoughts were locked on to my kids – Jackie outside of Los Angeles in college, and Ted in Chicago in college. I would have given anything to go get them and somehow keep them safe. The fact that they were each in cities on par with New York City terrified me. I didn’t know if we were at war or if there would be similar incidents in other big cities.

I went through my day, in my assigned area of DePaul Health Center, not all that far from the airport. As I peered out of windows while making my rounds I noticed that the blue skies were empty of any airplanes. News came about the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania, and the one that hit the Pentagon. The level of tension in that hospital building was palpable. No one could speak of anything else. I left to go see some patients in their homes, wondering how much this horror would impact each person, knowing that each person was dealing with their own, very personal, challenge. Again, the quiet, empty skies were somehow terrifying. 

George W. Bush was visiting an elementary school, talking to a group of little kids. I caught the news clip of someone whispering into his ear, and his subsequent look of complete confusion. That was probably the look we were all sporting. Everyone’s television was on and people were glued to the screens. My sickest, weakest patients all wanted to talk about what was happening. Their caregivers let me in to their homes quietly. There were no words to describe the inner turmoil sweeping across the United States, but we were all caught up in our own private terrors. 

When we gathered in the hospice office at the end of that endless day, all of us wanted to go straight home and hug whoever was around. In my case it was our Shit-tzu, Missie, who would be waiting for me to show up. I had managed to talk to Jackie and Ted and assure myself that they were safe and sound. But I still had frightening thoughts that their cities would be hit as well. 

I talked to one of my friends who lived with her mom. Her mom was well on her way to a diagnosis of full blown Alzheimers. My friend said she had to turn off the television because each time she saw the pictures of the buildings collapsing,  her mom acted as if she was seeing it for the first time. I said that was exactly how I was feeling but I couldn’t turn away from the television. 

I have been to the 9/11 memorial in the heart of Manhattan. I have run my fingers along the thousands of names carved into the stone edges. I have listened to the waters falling into the structure. I’ve considered the level of hatred and commitment that the perpetrators felt as they prepared to end their lives and leave a legacy of destruction behind. I’ve honored the courage and selflessness that occupied each helper on that day and the days beyond. I’ve cried for the families of the victims, knowing that their lives were woven together by this tragedy. 

And on this 9/11 anniversary I think of the mayhem and destruction that is going on in Gaza. Thousands of people are dead there as well, and thousands are being systematically starved and relocated to yet another rubble-strewn place. My heart breaks for them.

09/09/2025

Today’s blog

Lynn Murphy Mark

Reflections on the past

This morning I searched my playlists as I do every morning when I start my day at this computer. It is still dark out, but the few stars that can be seen are shining brightly. In a few days I will be in New Mexico, Star-Gazing-Central. Even in the small city of Santa Fe with its bright lights, the night’s canopy is studded with stars. I loved being out in the soft night air contemplating the visible Universe. 

Back to the playlist. I stopped at “Flute favorites” and clicked on Play. Immediately I was taken back to the days when Jackie was a young girl who played the flute consistently and seriously. Many of the songs recorded are ones that she would practice and play. There were recitals to attend and performances to experience. Now it is 30 years later and she rarely gets a chance to play. When she does, I know it is a joyful time for her. I will always remember when she graduated from Pomona College, she arranged a recital for us parents to attend. This was her graduation gift to us and it was a wonderful occasion. She also played for Jan and me at our commitment ceremony. She played “Morning has broken” and “Be thou my vision” – two absolute favorites.

Last Sunday was a remembrance fest of its own. I gave a presentation after church called, “Transition Stories”. It was a talk about some of my hospice memories – not so much about the benefits of the hospice program, although that is a long list. I chose instead to tell the stories of five of my patients. Each one of them occupies a prominent part in my memory. Each one of them walked a path to their transition that was highly individual, just as their lives had been. Each one taught me life lessons that I remember to this day. After each story I read a psalm that I believe represented who they were on that final journey. 

I’m a sucker for the psalms. So much so that I have written a book about how the psalms influenced my life. In 2017 I got an idea about translating each one from a metaphysical point of view, using language that I had learned as a member of a Unity church. Unity is a metaphysical Christian denomination, started by two American mystics, the Fillmores. They looked at their Christian faith through a lens of metaphysical philosophy. The word metaphysics comes from the Greek words for “after” and “physics”, referring to the study of things that are unchanging and abstract. Unity people study the nature of God, the soul, space, time and causality. When the psalms are read through this lens their language changes. From what readers have told me, my translations are better suited for today’s circumstances. 

Friday, September 5, was a banner day for one of my young clients. He was adopted as a small child from the African country of Lesotho. His adoptive parents  gave him up to the foster care system when he was very young. He is currently with a foster family that is very close and supportive to him. He’s been with them for years now. I first met him through his CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate) volunteer who was seeking a way to renew his Green  Card. We did that successfully. Then he declared that he wanted to apply for citizenship. Last October when he turned 18 I started that process for him. Much like his life, the process was not smooth. He got in some minor trouble with the law, something that the United States Citizenship and Immigration Service does not tolerate. He was denied his oath ceremony as a result. Anyway, there were court proceedings during which his attorney pled his case so effectively that the charges were dropped. That allowed me to write a letter to USCIS asking for reconsideration. We waited a long time for an answer, but last Friday he got his wish. There is now a picture in his file of he and the judge standing together, and another picture of his citizenship certificate.

In my office, I have a wall of stars, each representing a country from where each new citizen originated. Yesterday I put up a star for Lesotho. In my world, that is a huge victory!

09/06/2025

Today’s blog

Lynn Murphy Mark

Coruscation

From my “Word Daily” app, this word means a flash, or sparkle, of light. Not sure why it caught my attention. Maybe because I got a very early sparkly message from Ted and Sarah, who, as I write, are winging their way back to Los Angeles from a week in Vienna. The occasion was a few lovely days in that great city before Ted presented a paper at a philosophy conference. 

The sparkle came from Sarah’s message that they were at the airport waiting to board, but especially that Ted’s presentation went very very well and he received many compliments on his work. I know that he was feeling anxious about the whole thing, but he needn’t have been. Ted’s teaching and public speaking have been rewarded by his students’ reviews of his excellence as a teacher. He loves to teach, he loves his field, and it shows.

It occurs to me that life offers many flashy moments if we are present to them. And those moments are not necessarily monumental. For example, every time I look in my mailbox at work and see a postal envelope with a red border I know that someone in my caseload is about to get very happy. These are the envelopes that contain Green Cards and Work Authorization cards. Both of those things are life changing for their recipients, so I guess that is monumental in its own way!

Anytime I get home and open the front door a flash of dachshund joy present itself. Mollie practically turns herself inside out to greet me, regardless of what kind of day either one of us has had. She never fails to get happy to see me. That kind of love is pretty awesome, and mostly unlike any other. In exchange for her service as a love-dog and an early warning signaler we gift her with an occasional toy or a special bone. I know that is a coruscation moment for her, as she proudly carries her trophy round and round the house.

Shortly after I learned this new word, I read something in Facebook that astonished me. This event will be a grand coruscartion of light in our skies when it happens:

The star Betelgeuse, a massive red supergiant located around 640 light-years away, is reaching the final stages of its life.

This star is no ordinary space object. It’s 10 to 20 times more massive than the Sun, and it’s been burning through its nuclear fuel at an intense rate. In recent years, especially during the 2019–2020 dimming events, Betelgeuse has shown strange and unpredictable behaviour. These flickers and dips in brightness have scientists on edge, wondering if the long-expected supernova is finally near.

If Betelgeuse explodes, it will release an unimaginable amount of energy, briefly shining brighter than entire galaxies. And here’s the exciting part. The supernova explosion will be visible from Earth, even during the daylight hours, and could last for weeks or even months as a blazing point of light in the sky.

I don’t know if this will happen in my lifetime, but it will undoubtedly be a source of awe and amazement to us. 

These days, these politically confounding and disturbing days, finding flashes and glimmers of light saves my mind from being drawn too far into a morass of gloomy thoughts. Each morning, I read Richard Rohr’s meditations and almost always get a little jolt of spiritual solace. I save the ones that mean the most to me. (I suspect I have saved enough over the years to make a big book out of them.) Another flash of lightness of being happens when Jackie sends the latest pictures of the boys. They are growing so fast, and losing that round baby quality in their faces. Their antics are a source of joy.

Tomorrow morning after church I will speak to whoever shows up in the presentation room about what I call “transition stories”. I love being a storyteller, and tomorrow I will talk about a few of the people that were my hospice patients. Their stories deserve telling because each one was remarkable to me for the lessons they taught me as they made their final voyage off this planet. Each person lived to their end in much the same way they traveled through their lives. There are so many things to learn from these brave souls about how they navigated their last days. Each person shines as a bright light in my memory.

I hope you have a day full of coruscations!

08/31/2025

Today’s blog

Lynn Murphy Mark

Is nothing sacred?

Recently I have been reading articles about our country’s rapid descent into fascism. The articles are from respected writers and they do not contain the stuff of conspiracy theories. I can come up with those all by myself…just about every day I ask what 47 and his goons will come up with today. And seldom a day passes without an answer.

Every day I read Heather Cox Richardson’s “Letters from an American”. Her pieces are immaculately researched and quickly bring me up to date on what she observes coming out of this administration. Today’s was about how the government has cancelled funding for the building of wind towers that will produce clean energy. In fact, there is a move afoot to cancel as many clean energy resources as possible. Instead, fossil fuel companies and coal companies will get the funding. Keep in mind that 47 thinks we dig up coal and then use the “beautiful, clean” stuff to power electricity production. 

The Environmental Protection Agency is being gutted. Regulations are being changed to allow mining and destruction on public lands, our lands. Requirements for greenhouse gas standards for vehicles are under consideration to be cancelled. Fossil fuel companies are delighted. And, as a result of the recent useless meeting of Putin and 47 in Alaska, deals to cooperate with Russia in Arctic drilling for oil are in the works.

Under the brutal leadership of RFK, jr., the CDC is also being gutted. Last week several prominent managers resigned in protest. Director Susan Monarez was fired after she refused to “rubber-stamp unscientific reckless directives”. For refusing to stop protecting the public – all of us – she was told to resign. When she refused, she was summarily fired.

I don’t have to list all the egregious actions of this administration. We are all too familiar with them because it is impossible to completely duck the news media. At least it is for me. We have definitely cut back on watching news sources for this very reason. But a part of me needs to know what is going on and how our lives will be affected.

Honestly, my personal life so far remains unchanged. I wish that was enough to keep me from being seriously worried about the future of our democracy. I have dear friends who have decided to limit or forego any awareness of political goings on. More power to them but I am not in that camp.

Things that make up my values and beliefs are at risk. The systemic destruction of Constitutional protections is frightening to me. The efforts to stop working against the causes of global warming makes me worried for my grandsons, really for all the young people who will inherit a dirty, hot planet. Now there is a not so subtle campaign in place to remove rights for LGBTQ+ people. Due Process under our Constitution is becoming a thing of the past. Immigrants, so important to the multi-cultural part of our society, are being threatened, arrested and disappeared by masked people violently violating their civil rights. People of color are at risk for any number of illegal actions by this administration. That includes efforts to gerrymander our voting districts so as to give more congressional representatives to the republicans, most of whom are in lockstep with 47.

Everyone knows this already, so why write about it? What can I, one person, do? There is a certain sense of helplessness that plagues and angers me. Tuesday evening I am joining a webinar called “Rising Fascism Rising Resistance” put on by an organization called “Showing Up For Racial Justice”. I don’t know what I’ll learn from this event but any efforts I can participate in will give me a sense of purpose and hopefully a perspective on what I can do. 

Yesterday my little group of women met to discuss our reading from Eckhart Tolle’s book, “A New Earth – Awakening to Your Life’s Purpose”. It is very powerful stuff. In this particular chapter there is a great deal of emphasis on living in the only moment we really have – the present. Rose brought up the “Sacrament of the Present Moment”, a book she read while in her Novitiate. She didn’t quite get it back then, but she certainly does now. She tries to live in “right here right now” terms. That means she believes in practicing the recognition and honoring of each moment as an encounter with the Divine. 

I must learn more about this practice.

08/23/2025

Today’s blog

Lynn Murphy Mark

Moving toward number 8

A week from today marks a wonderful anniversary. My firstborn grandson, Cameron, will be eight years old. I will never forget August 30, 2017, as one of the happiest days of my life. It was an extra special occasion because I had been invited to be in the “room where it happened”. So I made my way to New Jersey around the 20^th of the month. I went that early because his due date was to be around the 20^th  well before the 30^th. By that time Jackie was carrying what appeared to be a fairly big load onboard. I don’t remember exactly what his original due date was, but it certainly didn’t stretch out to the end of the month!

So we spent a number of days after his due date trying to figure out what might start labor. I remember we were told that figs would do it, and assured that rhubarb was definitely a winning substance. Nope. We went for walks, trying to shake him loose. We even took a chance and visited a pretty lake in upstate New York. We thought maybe a long car ride would jostle the little guy. Thankfully that plan did not work either – somehow I can’t imagine delivering a baby on the side of a pretty lake, so I don’t know what we were thinking.

While we were waiting at home in New Jersey there was an eclipse on August 21, 2017. I have a picture of pregnant Jackie and expectant dad, Momoh, on their deck with cardboard boxes with pinholes in them on their heads. That works because it projects an image of the sun on to a nearby surface when one stands with the sun at one’s back. In my imagination, baby boy, whose name was not yet for publication, would be born during this auspicious occurrence. Nope.

We spent time admiring the baby’s room. Naturally, Jackie used her imagination to decorate the walls a light shade of green with a forest theme. The crib was assembled and included a huge stuffed bear from Jackie’s childhood. Mama Bear joined our household after I won some kind of contest years before. I want to say it was something Schnucks promoted, but I’m not sure of that. Anyway, she is a formidable stuffy who provides a sense of safety by her bulk. I don’t remember how Jackie wound up with Mama Bear in her possession, but she is still in the boys’ room.

We lived through a few episodes of Braxton-Hicks contractions at home. By that time we were wise to baby boy’s trickery. There is a big difference between those contractions and the real deal that signifies actual labor. On August 29 we made our way to the community hospital when it seemed like the right time. Because Jackie was beyond the due date, they started a Pitocin drip to help baby boy make that journey through a tight space into a bright room. Pitocin contractions are more painful, if that is possible. Jackie spent a long night mostly awake. My job was to provide occasional back rubs. Momoh and I took turns trying to make her comfortable.

Finally the culmination of labor arrived and Jackie was advised to push to move baby boy along. A head of curly black hair appeared. One last yeoman’s push and out came Himself. We were all crying tears of joy as the nurses presented him then whisked him to the warmer to weigh and measure this new treasure. Ten pounds, four ounces, and 22 inches (I think). The nurse with a great sense of humor handed him to Jackie, saying, “Congratulations! You’ve just given birth to a toddler!”

Momoh, who is usually quite the talker, was very quiet. He could not stop looking at his boy. “What’s his name?” was the next question. With all the suspense they could muster, the proud parents declared, “His name is Cameron!”. 

Cameron’s full name is Cameron Babaginda Momoh. Babaginda is a name that means “master of the house”. In Nigeria, which is half of Cameron’s heritage, names are deeply spiritual and are given to bring blessings or connect the child with a spiritual realm. They may reflect the circumstances around the baby’s birth. Having spent 10 days with his parents as we tried any means to induce labor, it is clear that baby boy was definitely in charge!