Sadness

Our newspaper, The Kansas City Star, published this sad obit today:

Melrose Church closes doors after 123 years

I thought I would be okay about the closing since I knew it was coming but when I read about the dismantling of the symbols of the church, my heart just broke.

We did not attend the final service because I knew that my attitude was not in the right place. I wanted to be spiteful to those people who had finished this grand old lady off and certainly not in a Christian way. I didn't want to act like they had, at least in public.

I hope to keep the happy days Hubby and I spend there in my heart and thoughts but right now I just feel lost and very, very sad.

Goodbye

1883 - 2011

Word came this week that the only church I've ever given my heart to will be closing its doors on June 19.

Hubby and I haven't attended the church for the past year and half -- a new minister, a new church direction, a congregation that no longer spoke to our spiritual needs caused us . . . and clearly many others . . . to leave.

Since 1883 this church has dutifully and prayerfully served that northeast section of Kansas City. The last two years of its life, the United Methodist ministry stole the heart from it -- but that can only happen if the congregants allow it to happen.

Two years ago my heart would have been breaking. Today I'm just sad that one more piece of Kansas City history has fallen away.

Dr. Bruce Rahtjen

Bruce's body was found today in the lake where he had been fishing. The news reports have made a ridiculous amount of noise over the fact he was fishing in the lake that belonged to a nudist camp. Bruce and his wife, liberal to the core, were NOT nudists but did not find fault with alternative life styles and the lake was a wonderful place to catch bass, I'm told. Bruce's body was found with his fishing pole still in his hands and two fish on the line. Even in death, he was still a fisherman of souls and refused to let the good ones get away.

One of the smartest men I'll even know, Bruce was a decent, caring, gentleman. He came to a dying church as the part-time pastor and gave his all to the project for seven years. He kept the church alive and he brought in new members. With his wonderful wife, JoAnn, he was the HEART and SOUL of the beautiful, historic church he agreed to help in the northeast corner of our city.

I heard some wonderful advice from Bruce during the time he served as my pastor. I found peace in his presence. Dr. Bruce added a great deal to my life. I'm grateful I got to know him. His presence in our city will be greatly missed. It's hard to say farewell to the very best people in your life.

Added on Wednesday, a clip from the local news:

WDAF Video

Dear Dr. Bruce --

Our prayers and hopes are with you.

May faith sustain your family.

All our love --as we keep the faith --

Milly & Hubby

AUTHORITIES SEARCH FOR MISSING MAN

Saying Goodbye

Hubby and I got up, got dressed, and drove to our church this morning. We sat in the back, the folks farthest from the pulpit. Under 20 adults graced the pews. The "new" minister, probably on vacation, wasn't there. None of the "old folks" were there either, except for Hubby and me. We were the oldest ones in attendance.

With the advent of the new minister last year, the older members of the congregation have been relegated to the role of observer. The hymns are now often praise songs, sung at break neck pace, often without any music to follow. The lovely traditional Methodist hymns are mostly gone. The music ministry is often a solo sung to a taped recording. The organ is closed and shuttered. The choir loft is vacant.

The traditional altar decorations have been replaced with two odd wind sockets. I'm not sure what they represent, but they've been in place since Easter. Once a lovely wooden cross, Christ-size, would hang over the altar from Easter to Pentecost. Obviously, that tradition has been replaced.

The sanctuary is still beautiful, but with a sad decay emanating from it. The furnace has not been repaired from when it broke two years ago, so there is no air conditioning and even worse, no heat. During the winter we sit in a moldy, dank basement -- the Parish Hall. The hall is fine for pot-luck suppers but it is a basement -- and Christmas services there are sad-looking and feeling events. The temperature in the sanctuary on a warm winter day never gets above 50 degrees. Even on Easter Sunday this year, when we finally moved upstairs, the church was bone-chilling.

When we joined the church it was dying. Only ten to twelve adults attended on Sunday morning. Then we had a small resurgence (see the picture above -- around 2005), got a new minister who got us another new minister -- both retired gentlemen. We limped along for ten years and more, but when the last retired minister finally officially retired, we knew the time had come to either give up, or bite the bullet.

We bit, hired a full-time minister, and moved into this new world, where the traditional Methodists are phased out of the church and the old folks are sent to the back pews. The Methodist regulatory body did not let us interview pastors -- they assigned us one. Whether she was actually a good fit for our diminishing congregation in an urban core neighborhood is still up for debate. Some members think she's the answer to their prayers; others, especially the older members, shake their heads in despair.

At Easter I took my final communion in a church I have grown to love, but now found lacking in grace and fellowship. It was my goodbye. I told Hubby, who has refused to take communion in the church for the past year, it was my last gesture of love towards the church. Hubby had promised that he would attend the church through August, and so once or twice a month we have traveled the highway to our church, sat through services in the basement, listened to the strange new music and gritted out teeth, and tried to find something redeeming in the situation.
The other Sundays we attended neighborhood churches or visited services when our friends invited us. After ten plus years of attending church EVERY Sunday, we also enjoyed a lazy Sunday morning here and there. Sunday brunches are very nice. Sunday errand running means we have more time to ourselves on the weekends.

Today we sat in the back pews for 15 minutes. Then Hubby turned to me and said, "You want to go get breakfast?" and we quietly got up during the silent prayer and left. I don't think we'll go back. There's just nothing there for us any longer.

It's sad to say goodbye to something that was such a meaningful and wonderful part of our lives. But when your heart no longer finds joy and peace in the church, it's definitely time to look elsewhere.

This and That

Little Luie had another eye doctor appointment this week. These specialists are very, VERY expensive and this is his fifth appointment so far. It's $100 just to walk in the door and from there, every second the doctor spends peering in Luie's eyes costs more big bucks. We've never gotten away for less than $150. Anyhow, Luie's eyes are showing improvement -- and they are deteriorating at the same time. The corneal abrasions look much better and the redness has abated -- not disappeared but his eyes have a more normal appearance. His cataracts, though, are getting worse every month and the pressure in his eyes is going up. Removing the cataracts is not an option right now because the doctor is afraid that glaucoma will set in. We may have several months or several years where Luie is still able to detect light and some shapes but eventual prognosis is complete blindness. And if we continue to have the growing cataract problem we will have to do surgery at some point.

Otherwise, Luie is healthy and happy and going through the wonders of puppyhood. He still chews everything he can find, especially his housemates beard. I laugh with wonder every time I find Luie pulling Gus through the house by his beard. Gus gets his own back on Luie though -- eventually he will upend Luie and straddle him and nip his nose. Luie laughs with delight!

This weekend is the church's 120th anniversary. Instead of a Homecoming we are having a "Turning Over a New Leaf" celebration. Says to me that everything old must be thrown out and we need to celebrate starting over. Except (and I got a huge laugh out of this) the literature for this new leaf campaign all shows beautiful autumn leaves falling from their branches. Pretty much is symbolic of my whole reaction to this new church we are becoming -- the new leaf is dying on the vine as we speak. Hubby was asked to head up a concert to be given from 2 to 3 p.m. outside on "new leaf" Sunday. We have no portable piano (the lovely one we had has disappeared), no sound system, no stage. Field events are supposed to be going in the same yard where we are singing -- as well as the final stages of a barbecue. Hubby asked to move the concert inside as a consideration to the singers and the accompanist but was soundly and roundly rejected. Just one more thorn in my side concerning this new leaf we're turning over. I'm really frustrated that everything, even if it makes no sense, must be done the new pastor's way. I think I've decided to drive myself to church this Sunday, sing with hubby during the service, stay for the barbecue and pot-luck (I love tuna casserole) and then go home. Hubby has decided just to have a hymn sing outside and not have our ensemble sing, so I really don't need to be in attendance.

Our weather is still warm. We have the air on at school and I usually turn it on at home during the late afternoons when we're in the low 80's. I still haven't gotten out the winter clothing but I'm slowly collecting the really summery shirts for storing in the basement.

We made Thanksgiving reservations for Branson. I'm thrilled and Hubby is accepting. It's only a three hour plus hour drive from our house on 4-lane highways. There is shopping and shows to see and scenic drives to the lake. Eating is cheap and we have a hotel that likes little dogs and will give us a king size bed on the ground floor. I'm looking forward to an easy holiday.

Tomorrow evening we are spending time at the local nature center for their annual presentation of the "Magic Woods." In 2006 Mother Nature sprinkled us with her magic dust in the woods so we could hear the animals speak. In the car, patiently waiting for us were Wolfie and Fritzie. The next day Wolfie, my heart dog, suffered a massive bleed into his gut and I had to put him down. I never really recovered from his loss. By the time my father died in the early 1980's we were so estranged that I had already suffered his loss and accepted it. Wolfie, however, tore my heart into pieces. But this year little Luie will be going to Magic Woods. Maybe some of that magic dust can save just a little of his eyesight. But even if that is too much to ask for, the magic of Luie's determined cheer and good nature continues to bring healing to my heart. Wolfie must be doing a little jig in heaven.

We're not getting better . . .

It's the flu -- the same one that nearly killed me late last winter.

We have the frickin' flu! in July / August!

We are both running temperatures of 101.8. We have aches, pains, chills, sweats, and worst of all -- our faces are full of snot in every single cavity (ears, eyes, noses, sinus, glands). We can neither lay down -- nor sit up! We are simply balls of complete and utter misery.

We are soooo sick

And we've had this damn flu already! How did we get it in mid-summer AGAIN?

However, a huge shout-out to my friend Fran. Last Sunday Hubby avoided church because he was too sick to go (this has happened three times? in our 10 years there -- and one of those was because of the aneurysm) but we knew that no one was going to show up today to sing -- or play for the service. So . . . Hubby dragged out of bed and I managed to go with him. Let me tell you, we were not exactly appreciated by anybody. One look at me and everyone said things like, "Oh my god you need to go home . . . you are so pale . . . you look terrible . . . nobody wants to see you like this . . ."

But I played through the hymns for practice and was sitting in my choir chair when I looked up and say my friend, and our old accompanist, Fran, settling into her pew. By the time I got to her, she didn't say anything to me -- just looked at me -- and stood up to hug me -- the only person to touch me all day. I cried. Well, the bad right eye wept more than it had before (another symptom of the facial misery) and the left eye had real tears.

So Fran played the service. Will didn't need to sing -- he couldn't actually -- and Fran, without complaining or telling us how "stupid" we were, simply supported and showed love and gave of herself. And played like an angel.

It's so good to have a friend who will come through for you -- and hug you at the same time. Thank you, Fran.

Things Have Gotten Done

Grad school is finished for the spring semester. I'm not going for the summer - summer's need to be mine, and mine alone. The grades haven't been submitted yet, but the prof told us that we all had A's. I hope that's right because that would keep my 4.0 in tact.

My hair was cut, permed, and dyed on Wednesday night. I feel much better now that the hair is manageable once again. My regular stylist wasn't in but I sized up the staff and chose perfectly. She gave a a great cut and an even better perm. I've been going to Fantastic Sam's because I like the walk-in aspect and the fact it's cheap. However, this cut, perm, and dye ran me $115 (with tip).

The seniors graduated Thursday night. Hubby got me there and home without stress on my part. The audience was very rowdy but the ceremony only last eighty-five minutes.

This morning at 9 a.m. the Bishop of the Methodist Church met with at our church for a congregational meeting to select a modified Administrative Council. For the first time since I've joined the church I do not hold a key position. Yes, I was offered a spot as representative of the Trustees and I suggested that this go-round Hubby fill the spot. He was pleased to accept. I've told him that I will support him in any way that I can but at this point in time, he's the main force behind our church attendance. And I stuck to my guns, accepted no position, and actually walked out of the church happy for the firs time in many months.

The Bishop also introduced us to our new pastor, a lovely, young woman with a four-legged dog child. She is African-American, has been serving as youth minister in the largest Black Methodist church in the city, is married to a musician who is Hispanic, and is bi-lingual in the bargain. I was immediately impressed.

If our church is to survive, if we can overcome our personal difficulties, if -- and that's one HELL of a big IF -- then this woman has all the qualities to help us grow and diversify. She is exactly what we asked the Methodist church for. I honestly didn't expect them to come through -- but they did, in a big way. There is hope. There is also going to be a whole lot of turmoil before things turn around.

Tomorrow is our current pastor's farewell Sunday. Last Sunday his wife announced that I was in charge of this service. But I'm not. Nothing had been said to me about it or the reception / dinner to follow. However, I did swallow my anger over current church action, and e-mail the nicest man I know who actually is REALLY heading up the farewell, and told him I would create the paper program for the service. Sometimes these publishing things go easily. This one did not but by Wednesday I had the program ready for delivery and printing.

I have already begun to hit summer sleep mode. During the school year I get up at 5 a.m. which means that I have to go to bed very early to get even six hours of sleep each night. Given my natural sleep rhythms, I like going to bed at 2 a.m. and getting up at 10 a.m. Yes, that's a lovely eight hours of sleep and it's during the time I actually can sleep. Otherwise, I'm usually a fitful sleeper, two hours here, two hours there.

Next week we have three days of school. Monday is the last day of finals. Tuesday is make-up day for anyone missing finals. Wednesday the students attend from 7:30 until 10:20 and then are bussed home. We have room check at 1 p.m. After that we are delivered for the summer.

The SPED head has asked me to serve on a curriculum development committee for the new course the district has allotted for English. I agreed on a tentative basis that I would go to a couple of meetings -- but if they argued, threw jargon around instead of real ideas, or just pontificated at length, I was outta there in a jiffy. So June 6th I'm back at work, at least on a limited basis.

It feels really good to be looking at 11 weeks of rebuilding, resting, nesting, cooking, cleaning (on a limited basis), and lovin' the Hubby and doggies to distraction. I need the time to regroup.

At the Hop