Good, Full and Abundant Life

When I am in a space where I feel that life is so good, so full, and so abundant, I feel as if paradise itself has knocked on the door of my soul, and I’ve welcomed it in.  And, usually around that same time I experience that one thing (or multiple things) that reminds me of the broken world I live in.  Now, I’m facing down a difficult situation that challenges this good, full and abundant life.  Then, because I am not perfect, I sometimes even ask “am I really having that ‘good, full and abundant’ life? 

Since the first day of my sabbatical began on April 1st, I suppose it’s only fair to expect tricks & trials to be played on me for the duration of this year long endeavor. April fools, right? But, maybe it’s that challenge that makes this life so good, full and abundant.  Experiencing tricks and trials and then working through them gives me the the option of responding to them in grace, or in stress (usually for me it is some combination of them both, but heavier on the stress).  In a strange way, these tricks and trials seem to add color to my life, whether it is wanted or not. I have to wonder that without experiencing these various tricks & trials on some interval, how would I find improvement or growth in my life? When I think back on a meaningful event, there was usually a cost associated with it. For example: this sabbatical required diligent savings, and then a risk taking jump, which is not a passive or gentle thing to do, when I consider how it will impact my family.  It is really hard!

This sabbatical-summer has been a real treat for me: It is the first season I’ve ever had where I could fully enjoy my beautiful wife, Jenn, and our three amazing kids without the constraint of time.  So far, we visited some of our favorite places, arriving when we wanted, and leaving when we wanted. While it sounds so hippy-and-free, I’m really quite the organizer (just ask my sister or cousin about the manual I create full of activities, menus, and schedules).  However, combining freedom with organization skills is a way of experiencing something in a much richer and engaging way for me.  Time really is so valuable, and I’m grateful for this commodity in my possession, if only for a season.

However, in the midst all this freedom, I’ve walked into some challenging trials and tricks.   In earlier posts, I shared about losing a wallet, but came to find it a week later - but after I went through the ordeal of trying to locate it and then ordering a new license, credit card and everything else.  I also shared how our bank card was taken and used by a total stranger to purchase nearly $2,000 worth of “stuff”.  This passed week a dear friend of ours was in a collision, while borrowing our car. Thankfully, everyone walked away.  Each of these things happened beyond my control and they each entangle me in a situation that I did not want to be in.  Try as I might, I simply can’t walk away from any of these things.  Though, against my wishes, I must engage them all because my name is associated with each one in a very expensive way.  

Sabbatical Journey: Driving over the Chesapeake

Going through these real life situations, I’d like to say that I am totally prepared and able to respond to the tricks and trials as they are presented.  The truth is, however, I’m not.  I’m not really that prepared.  I’m not that great at handling these things.  I get cranky. I get frustrated.  I’m not that graceful, patient, or kind.  In fact, I get concerned that my plans for a year long sabbatical will be cut short - too short.  I fear failing my wife, and my kids by not being able to fully execute the plan of spending this whole year with them. However, I’ve also found that through these experiences, this is the moment where faith is able to step in.  Faith (in the case here) of having the confidence that there is grace available to manage this trick or trial, even when I do not see or understand its presence to be available.  

For the last 12 or so years, I’ve worked hard and I believe I’ve done well to save my money, live humbly, be generous with those around me, and learn how to live life meaningfully (I’m still working on that one).  The scary thing for me now is that I’ve got some real people in my life that look to me as the guy with the answers. Then, when tricks and trials show up, I have to look them in the eye and say “there really is no telling what the outcome will be”. But then I have to smile - a meaningful and genuine smile - because I have that faith or confidence that grace is really there on the other side of this trial (even though I can’t see or understand it) and I know that all will be more than okay. Unexplainable as it seems, this is a place where life is lived in a full, good, and abundant way. 

The richness of life, now impacted with some interval of tricks and trials, is when I look back at the memory of each experience and run my fingers over the impression it left on me... I am rewarded with a story different from anyone else, unique to me and real to me. I have the opportunity to look back when it’s all over and gain a richer and newer perspective for this sacred gift of life I manage right now.

The Gelletly Story...Rinsed and Repeated...

Ever since I was a kid, my family made infrequent summer pilgrimages to the "Gelletly-Holy-Land" of Denton, MD (located in the Eastern Shore of Maryland). Aside from being a historically rich place in the mid-Atlantic, this is where many of the Gelletly people made their start in the western hemisphere.  My great-great grandfather immigrated from Scotland to London and finally to Baltimore near the end of the 19th century, and then his son (my great grandfather) moved to the eastern shore to begin a career in farming. 

As the years progressed the Gelletly family scattered through the mid-atlantic region and even to Detroit where my grandfather started our branch of the Gelletly family (around the 1930's).  When my grandfather started his own family, he often took his wife (my grandmother) and his two boys on a trek out of Detroit and headed to the family farm belonging to his father on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.  Traveling through Ohio, into Pennsylvania, avoiding the Amish buggies and dropping down from Breezewood into Maryland then either going around the Chesapeake bay or over it (this first span over the bay wasn't opened until 1952) to visit this "Holy-Land" was a highlight of their summer: to play with cousins, hear old stories, swim at Rehoboth and boat on the Choptank was how they did things. There was a story to be learned here, and these were some of the ways it was told.

Gelletly cousins Tim ( right) & Christine (center) with their families

When my dad began his own family, he took the six of us (my mom, and us four kids) on the same journey through the Appalachians and over the Chesapeake in all of 8-10 hours one way, with little stopping. We were often accompanied with my uncle, my dads only sibling, and his family.  Our wood-sided family station wagon was packed very full, similar to Chevy Chase's "Summer Vacation".  When we arrived, I remember him saying that we were doing the things that he did as a boy: crabbing, swimming, playing with my cousins...and learning the Gelletly story.

Now that I have my own family, that story was told all over again this week as I continued the same

journey through Ohio, Pennsylvania, and into Maryland. My grandparents have all passed on and my dad has been gone for almost 15 years now. However, the story continues on without em physically here.  I, along with my beautiful wife, Jenn, and our 3 amazing kids, packed up our family van and made way through the same routes that my dad and his dad took countless times, making our way back to the eastern shore.  In fact, we were accompanied by my cousin, her family and her mom and dad - my uncle.  We changed the 8-10 hour drive to include a hotel stay and made serval stops, but all in all it was the same thing.

The "Jenny" Globe, seen as a kid and now as an adult

As we traveled, the memories from previous journeys as a young boy flooded my mind with each mile and city that passed. I saw structures and places that triggered fond memories - like the sign of one company that uses a globe with "Jenny" written on it. As a young boy, I remember calling this my sisters sign, because it had her name on it. How interesting it is that the sign makes me smile 25 years later, because it now has my wife's name on it.  Other places and events came to mind like Assateague Island, shucking corn, huge chicken houses, backyard mechanics, tractors, fried fish, Grandma's bright polyester....everything (that she always made herself), the Choptank river, Rehoboth beach - each brought back memory after memory. 

Now, it's my turn to share this story with my kids. It was my turn to be dad; to plan the route, set up camp, drive to the beach, pass out sparklers and make summer meaningful.  And, this time it was them who ran around with their cousins and met extended family, while the grown-ups (supposedly me) talked and shared stories. It was them who got lots of sun at Rehoboth Beach.  It was them who asked all the questions about why Maryland and what a "first-cousin-twice-removed" is.

Beach time with (left to right): Curin, Aurora & Edan

Wile this story doesn't have an exact chapter and page count, it does have depth and meaning.  This story has color, flavor, texture and aroma. Our family story isn't limited to the characteristics of a mere book - that would be silly.  Instead, this story carries life and offers answers of tradition and context to the wonderer.  Whether my kids know it or not, they experienced this story and saw the pride of our diverse family who raises chickens for a living, has a unique position in the education world, does sales & marketing, politics, or works as a mechanic to pay the bills.  For the kids to hear all that was said, and enjoy the amazing food that everyone prepared, play with their cousins, and connect with the older generations was living the very story I was taught growing up. This is what caught my attention and reminded me to realize that all actions are being "monitored" by these young people, whether I know it or not.

Through all this, I found myself still learning new stories of my family, but mainly (surprisingly) stories about my dad.  In fact, I was even called by his name, "Gary", by a very lovely cousin - it was such a wonderful compliment. I learned that even during his suffering in his final years, he was still learning about himself, his family and his faith. I found out that he was learning what was important and what could have a lesser priority.  In order to do this, it was good for him to have his brother, cousins, aunts and uncles available to talk with. A take away for me was that being near the people you hail from, can offer many good things - including viewpoints different than your own. Obvious it may seem, I have to ask myself how often do I really listen and work through differing ideas from my own - including those from my own kin?

About 52 Gelletly's gathered for the annual family reunion.

I'm grateful for the chance to start sharing this story with my kids alongside my beautiful wife, Jennifer, which makes it our story and enables it to include another flavor in the chapter.  I realize that "family" can conjure up memories both favorable and unfavorable for many people.....well, for most people.  So, for me, knowing about my family and where we come from - the cool things Gelletly people have done - the lessons they have learned helps me to see at I am part of this group. I am important, because I am continuing to write this story with another generation under the brand of "Gelletly". By the grace of God, may my mistakes be few, and my blessings be generous.  Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord, have mercy on me.

Chicken Community

Earlier this past week I attempted to do something absolutely crazy. Something that, if it was successful, would have been wildly enjoyed by my community: Placing a harness around one of our hens, and taking her for a walk. I actually mentioned this to a baritone voiced neighbor of mine as well as a few others and the general reaction was intense joyful laughter, but at the same time full acceptance & approval of this novel idea.  I seem to remember the discussion being very entertaining and lasting several minutes because it dove into  fairly developed “what-if” scenarios, and inspiring others to maybe do the same.  Maybe. Sadly the idea failed, because the test subject (hen #1) kept walking backwards  ducking her head down low - thinking it was underneath something. Hilarious as it was however, the failure was not without some very cool observations that hinted at “community”. 

While these useful creatures have been heavily domesticated for thousands of years, they haven’t made the leap to a harness and leash for a Sunday stroll through the neighborhood. Perhaps with some training at the “chick” stage of life, it may be more successful - alas, you can’t teach an old hen new tricks.

These hens that are in our care have a pretty good life: they lay in the cool shade, have food, and water provided to them regularly, they bathe in dust, scratch at the earth and look for tasty-creepy-crawlers.  They have ample outdoor space to explore and run and return the favor of all this provision through the very natural process of laying eggs. Chickens of the grocery store variety would be immensely jealous...if they had a brain bigger than a chicken.

So, this concept of community that I mentioned was demonstrated by some unseen sisterhood amongst these birds. While the harness was in place, the other birds rallied around the “test subject” and pecked at the harness from several angles. It honestly looked like they wanted to remove their friend from this seemingly oppressive device. Interesting.  A community of birds not biologically related, gathering together, to remove another’s burden - without any knowledge of religion, science, faith, or organized labor. They simply saw something that wasn’t normal (affecting their companion) and made a concerted effort to remove it. 

And this is why I’m on sabbatical - - - to make anthropological observations on chickens living in urban settings under apparently oppressive devices...

Maybe community can be learned from these birds: each different, each clucking along in a simple way. Maybe if I continue to simplify my life, continue to remove the excess I like to hold on to, and learn to operate in a more practical way that efficiently uses the “things” and “gifts” I already have...perhaps community living would become more natural. Maybe I’d even live a life that demonstrates compassion toward my community: helping them carry their uncomfortable and sometimes painful burdens...maybe this is the community Christ talks about.

This passed week our nation experienced a situation that drove many people toward various communities to discuss the trial of George Zimmerman and the death of Trayvon Martin.  Within these communities, I haven’t found any shortage of ideas, opinions, feelings or even blame on either side of the camp.  Even in my own community circles I read polarizing comments that were tossed around on various social feeds and news sites, which had me dig into my own core and consider what I think and feel about all this. 

Overall, it seems to me that this hotly debated issue is a complicated one for our diverse American society, because (to me) it seems that empathizing with another person from another class, generation, or skin color is something Americans are still learning how to do.  Looking back on my own life growing up in a white middle-class structured family, at a predominately white middle-class structured church and private school, and working through white middle-class problems, I think I viewed those with home/work/family/school/other problems as simply needing to buck up, stay in school, and work hard. After performing this formula things will be okay - because that is what I/we did, and eventually everything was quite okay.

On the other hand, living in my present community, I am the racial, class, and social minority. As a result, I’ve had to work at seeing life through a different lens, otherwise I’d be stuck making complaints about things that are different from my way of operating.  After sharing 11 1/2 years on this block with this community, I’ve learned that the ability to empathize means to reconcile the misunderstandings I’ve grown up with regarding any culture that isn’t my own. It seems to be working, because I can honestly say that I enjoy my community, and I believe my community enjoys having me (perhaps the reader should investigate this theory by asking my neighbors).  

Going back to this awful tragedy with Trayvon Martin and George Zimmerman, the Christian reality (as I understand it) is that an image of God has been killed. And, another image of God has to walk the rest of his life living with that fateful night as the one who killed some one else.  The ripple effects go even further to a mother and father, who lost their child and now are recoiling in desperate ways to find comfort.  In a Christian Catholic community, it really is our responsibility to buck up and help carry the burdens of those afflicted.  That is what Christ has done for us, and we are his body called to do the same for those around us - even if they are strangers in another class, race, religion political affiliation, pro/anti gun control, or whatever philosophy they hold too. Remove those “oppressive harnesses” is something that we can do through empathy, care, and compassion.

There are many Trayvon’s and George’s in my life. Each battling through a situation that is unique to them.  The next step is, do I want to be the community member wanting to help carry that burden, when it would be easier to criticize them for the way they carry it?

Familiar Wounds

Dig up the last 32 square feet of my concrete driveway? Move four yards of topsoil with a small wheel barrow? Set the finishing touches on the backyard garden retaining walls?  Carefully spread grass seed on 400  square feet of newly leveled topsoil (which used to be a driveway)? Sure what the heck. After all, that is what Thursdays are for!

Converting a Driveway into a Greenway

One of the real joys of my sabbatical is getting to some projects around the house that have needed to be addressed for some time. Sure, this kind of thing could be hired out - but why, when it is so much fun to sweat in 80 (F) degree heat and about 75% humidity.  Getting the exercise, sun on my face, sweat from my pores....this is what Michigan summer is about!  Hopefully in another two weeks I’ll have some green results, and a gathering of a few neighbors to share it with.  

For me, working, sweating, and seeing results of the labor poured into a task is a real treat.  To know that my hands took various things and fashioned them into something beautiful (and/or useful) brings me pride, dignity and a sense of contribution to those around me - like my family.  Usually exhausted, sweating, smelly, and stumbling over by the end of my work, my beautiful wife, Jenn, comes out with a cold beer and hears something like: “Oooo-hunnee-I-dooo-gooot-werk-uuu-like?”....and it gets much clearer as the cold wet beer refreshes the thirsty muscles. Well, perhaps not, but it makes the story sound fun.

Driveway remnants repurposed into garden walls.

So this work-pride and sweat-dignity thing got me thinking about a beautiful community called the Brightmoor neighborhood of Detroit. This community has been ravaged by blight, drugs, fire-bombed homes and urban decay for the last couple decades. So with about 12,000 folks remaining and a 54% at/below poverty rate, there is a shortage of needs being met and tremendous “wounds” that need attention.

Within this community, there is a nonprofit group called “St. Christine Christian Services” (SCCS) that shares practical good with those in the area.  I’ve been volunteering here for a little while now and have had the opportunity to meet some really interesting characters as I go about assisting the Outreach Coordinator with developing spreadsheets, financial records, and other matters of non-profit record keeping.

Every weekday from about 10am to around 1pm or so, the SCCS hospitality suite is open to anyone and everyone for coffee, tea, water and donuts.  The regulars come in from the heat, rain, cold or whatever, and simply relax.  They talk about the best ribs they had yesterday, how so-and-so hasn’t been seen in a while, a new side-job someone earned, or the need for ideas on how to get somewhere across town - without taking the expressway. What I found is that whatever conversation is being had, there is usually a very sincere listener waiting to see how it all unfolds. Such community.  And, such a significant amount of healthy pride, self worth, and dignity that seems to bubble up when some talks about the lawn they mowed, the bulbs they replaced, or the minor repair they worked on. In fact, their story can sometimes go on for a few days after it actually happened.   

So taking another step further in thinking about the dignity of work, and the wounds of a community, last week Wednesday was the feast of St. Thomas.  My priest shared some beautiful insight about how Thomas usually gets a bad rap for “doubting”.  While there may be a case for calling him “doubting Thomas” it should be balanced with his heroic nature where he says to his fellow disciples “Let us also go to die with him” (John 11:16) and his inquisitive nature on knowing “the way” (John 14:5). 

Later on, after Christ’s resurrection, Thomas was amongst his fellow disciples when Christ appeared to them.  Christ had Thomas’ finger placed in His wounded hand and then placed Thomas’ hand into His wounded side. At this moment, Thomas believed the resurrection.  The insightful comment that my priest shared was “Thomas was in touch with the wounds of Christ”. Now, expounding on that, we theologically know that Christians are the body of Christ on earth.  Christians are His hands and feet to do the work of caring, loving, forgiving and healing. But, like Christ’s body hand wounds that Thomas was in touch with, this body Christians are part of also has wounds. The challenge for Christians is to be in touch with these wounds, and familiarize themselves to the point of putting their hands into the wound itself. These wounds may look like poverty, homelessness, various forms of abuse, human rights infractions, and so on. 

For me, working in the communities of NW Detroit is one way to be in touch with these wounds of Christ. Sharing a sense of dignity with my neighbors - like sharing a brown bag lunch with our homeless friend, “Lady-Telegraph”, is one way to ease the pain that these brothers and sisters have. So working hard offers a sense of dignity, and familiarizing oneself with the wounds of Christ is a compassionate way of nourishing the hurting.  Perhaps working hard for the sake of the hurting is an ultimate demonstration of Christ’s life...after all, there is no greater love than giving up your [way of] life to save/serve another. 

***If you would like to learn more about St Christine Christian Services, or would like to make a food or financial donation, please call 313.535.7272. You may also visit them at 15317 Dacosta St. in Detroit.***

The Family Vacation: Round 1

It’s not much of a secret that vacation means something different for each person. For example, I like to visit places of historic significance that also has ties to my faith, so mixing in some “pilgrimaging” with my vacation is a natural desire.  My 6, 10, and 12 year old kids like things much more simple for their vacation: making s’mores, swimming and searching for a free wifi hotspot. To find something that a family of 5 people (like mine) can enjoy is a tough task for any leader to look for.

Silly Family at Mackinaw Bridge

Fort Michilimackinac

So, this past week I made several attempts to make “vacation” a thing of enjoyment for everyone in my family.  My beautiful wife, Jenn, and I along with our 3 kids trekked further into the north country of magnificent Michigan. Taking our sturdy Ford living room (that is, our conversion van) over the Straits of Mackinaw, my family had a majestic view of two of the largest freshwater bodies in the world. From 200 feet up, in the center of Mackinaw bridge, they saw the tumultuous waters of Lake Michigan and Lake Huron mixing together. With a total span of nearly 5 miles, experiencing the Mackinaw Bridge and view is really quite awesome. We made sure to get out, splash in the shallow waters, see the reconstructed 18th centuryFrench fort Michilimackinac and even do some geocaching. 

Camp at Muskallonge Lk State Park

After a few more hours of driving through the upper peninsula, we set up camp near the chilly shores of the expansive Lake Superior.  Being unpacked, showered, and making s’mores, seemed to be the ticket for everyone to be happy. 

The next day we set out for the “big-city” of Marquette.  In last week’s post, I mentioned that a goal of mine for this sabbatical is to visit the 7 dioceses/churches in Michigan.  Having previously visited the cathedral in Gaylord, the church of Marquette was next on my list. Now, having kids in the audience for this personal pilgrimage of mine, it is important to find that balance of kid-fun and the tedious exploration that I enjoy.  Thus the need to demonstrate finesse is an understatement. So, we celebrated the conclusion of a long van ride to Marquette by clearing our heads with a relaxed walk, filling our tummies with a really nice lunch and the ever important grapefruit & basil martini’s for the grown ups. 

St Peter's Cathedral

Rear of the Sanctuary

Once refreshed, we took a walk through the 164 year old city and made our way to St. Peter’s Cathedral. Arriving at this magnificent structure, I was greeted by its imposing towers of massive red and brown stone. The size and strength of its appearance has an air of confidence in its foundation; how true of the ancient, and holy church.   Entering this sacred space, I immediately saw how this place of worship never stops worshipping, even when no one is present.  The stained glass windows tell stories of Christ’s life, the altar, tabernacle, and even the floors are adorned with ornate and tangible theology that was gilded by skilled tradespeople. It seemed obvious to me that the sole desire of this craftsmanship was to sincerely praise the Living God.  How beautiful it is that when people aren’t present in this building, the very stones do cry out in worship (Luke 19:40). Thanks be to God!

Front of the Sanctuary

To my surprise, I learned that there was a crypt kept beneath this cathedral.  Of course I had to walk into this room, where it holds the remains of the first Bishop of Marquette (Bishop Barga - 1853) as well as bishops after him. This crypt in the church reminded me of the early cathedrals built by the first Christians about 1,700 years ago.  For the followers of Jesus, the first few hundred years after Christ was oppressive to them.  This new religion of theirs was illegal, and as a result, it had various forms of punishment ranging from fines and imprisonment, to torture and horrific death.  This was because Christianity was viewed as destabilizing to the Roman empire and it contradicts the god-like authority that the Roman emperor thought he had.  

Around 300 AD Christianity was made legal by Constantine, and places of worship started to be constructed.  The earliest of church communities believed the words of Christ (who said that anyone who believes in him, even if he dies, will live - John 11:28), and began to construct their places of worship on top of the remains of Christians who had previously died, but now lives with God. These churches would continue to have community with all the Christian saints, on earth and in heaven.  Today, we can look back and see churches built this way throughout the Holy Land, Europe, and the eastern churches and many other places.  I personally have not seen it here in the United States, so it was quite beautiful to see that this form of early Christian faith practiced, confidently, at St Peter’s Cathedral nearly 1700 years later - in my home state.

This visit to St. Peter’s was such a “human” thing for me.  It emotionally & spiritually encompassed something I really wanted to do, but at the same time I had the interruptions that any father of young kids would have. A striking memory I will carry with me was when I knelt to pray and my kids were tired and fidgety.  I was trying to center myself on this moment, but not having much luck. It was then that I felt a compassionate voice say “go, take your kids, and smile at them”. So I did. And then I wondered how many times God would have looked upon my own fidgety hands when I wasn’t interested in something of importance to Him and in a compassionate way, He lovingly smiled at me anyway. Grace indeed. 

Cross in the Woods, Indian Lake MI

Even though this pilgrimage to St. Peter’s was my own, and there was a contingent of my family more interested in swimming and making s’mores, I’m grateful to have this exact experience.  I’ll do it again some day, but it won’t be this way ever again. I’m also grateful for my beautiful wife who pulled together creative work-arounds that encouraged my desires while practically responding to the needs of our kids.  In fact it was her idea that we make a stop on the way back home to visit the “Cross in the Woods” for our own “family pilgrimage” of sorts.  Here we made our way through the outdoor stations of the cross, and kneeling at the largest crucifix in the world. Beautiful indeed.

The big take away here is to remember that community living (like a family) requires patience. My big agenda of things to do, had to be trimmed......well, hacked....down substantially.  However, I’m glad it was, because the pilgrimage of peace I was trying to find on my vacation, can’t forcefully be won.