Mystical Murmurs: My Interfaith Life

Here, in the third week of Advent, I want to tell you a resurrection story. OK, I know it's the wrong season. Bear with me. This won't wait until Easter. Besides, we're in a time of expectation, a time of hope. Our Hebrew scripture reading for the third Sunday in Advent was Isaiah 35:1-10, one of my favorites. But this part stood out. Pardon my ellipses: 1 The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice  and blossom, like the crocus;  2 it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing ...   6 then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert;  7 the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes ...    9 No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it; they shall not be found there, but the rede

I did a little Christmas-shopping over the weekend. This year, due to spousal unemployment, we're giving very practical gifts: clothing, sheets, and other boring necessities (yawn). Actually, J. grew up getting necessities -- he recalls getting snow tires for Christmas one year. His family was very practical, a point of pride for them. So I ended up in a long line in Bed, Bath & Beyond, the emporium of all earthly delights (honestly, I could browse there for days !). Ahead of me was a woman who seemed to be bringing home all those earthly delights -- every single one! She had two shopping carts filled with merchandise. Not only does this create a steering problem when you're the mistress of two carts, but it vastly increases checkout time for the humble souls behind you in line.  It also doesn't help when you feel the need to dispute the price of nearly every sale item. But I digress. I'm not criticizing this woman's shopping strategy -- maybe she has 25 g

To the left is a bag of candy toys. This is a blast from my childhood. I haven't seen any since I've been an adult. I found them on my first visit today to an Amish farmers' market in Mullica Hill, NJ. Candy toys were a Christmas season staple in our home. Mine came from Woolworth's (long gone too, I think), where they appeared after Thanksgiving in a large bin, behind glass, and were sold by the pound. Once they reached our house, they disappeared into a Secure Location. I was offered one from time to time as dessert. One, and only one! To this day, I have no idea where my mother hid them. Those I bought today are in the china closet (to keep them away from the dogs, or at least that's my excuse), in an anonymous white paper bag. Not that they're a secret, or anything.

I think it was a gray, misty day in Delaware: November 22, 1963. We lived near the Delaware River in the area known as Edgemoor, north of the city of Wilmington, and fog on the river was a typical autumn occurrence. Maybe I'm lost in the fog of memory, but I seem to remember a mistiness in the air, a dank chill. Or perhaps that's the "pathetic fallacy," a literary device which depicts nature as a mirror for our moods (see the storm on the heath in King Lear ). In any event, in my recollection of that day, fog overlay the familiar landscape. On the day President Kennedy was killed, I was in the 5th grade at Edgemoor School -- but I wasn't in school that day. I have forgotten why not. I was not ill, since I was able to run errands with my mother. We were at the Merchandise Mart, a nearby shopping center, and Mom had taken me into the Bank of Delaware, where she wanted to check on an item in her safe-deposit box (we always called it the "safety-deposit box&q

“Adsum,” which means “I am present,” is nearly the only Latin I remember from college and grad school. But it’s a phrase that’s often popped into my mind of late. Being there, being truly present to a situation, problem, or a moment of distress, is sometimes all we can do. At our house, we have had our share of Family Drama lately. No need to elaborate -- anyone with children, either small or grown, knows about Family Drama.  With adult children come situations beyond a parent's control. We sympathize (most of the time), we offer emotional support, we try to wait patiently until the crisis passes. We bite our tongues and sit on our hands. We live with uncertainty, and with the knowledge that there are no guarantees in life. Problems may not be resolved as we would have them resolve.  And now and then, they are not resolvable.  It is a hard fear to live with. At times, all we can do is be present and wait. Adsum. As a hospice volunteer with the frail elderly, I have learne