SusanPeabody.com

It’s time to move forward. Last week one morning I woke up thinking about Alexei Nevalny, locked in a Russian prison in Siberia because he dared to speak out against the corruption and injustice of the Russian government. He ran for President of Russia. The last guy that did that died of poisoning. Nevalny survived poisoning, but barely lives in a Siberia prison.

I should be thanking God we can speak out in America. I wish we would speak, not in ugliness, carping and criticising, but pointing out the problems and helping to come up with solutions. This morning I woke up reciting a poem about peace. I’ve forgotten the words already, they are lost in the dream, but the feeling is still with me. Lately I’ve been waking feeling the rocks of the streets of Northern Gaza under my feet. I heard yesterday that the streets are so bad with shooting and bombing that the people who are supposed to be evacuating are cowering in their houses. It’s too dangerous and awful to go outside so the people are not evacuating. Gaza is a story of sadness all in itself isn’t it? Let’s see. If I hide a terrorist under my house or under our hospital in the basement, should I expect to be bombed? Well, maybe. Our world is filled with crying children and dying babies. And so I change my view and I look… up. And I look for Advent.

In November, the Catholic Christian prays for the dead. For people who have lost loved ones, November is a special time. We put the names of our loved ones on the altar, and we offer Mass and prayer for the “holy souls.” We pray for the mercy and the loving kindness of Jesus to save the souls of our loved ones as he promises “in the words written in red.” We pray for peace in bereaved hearts. My sister died last month, and my Mother died in November a few years ago, so I pray they are at peace with my sister who died when I was two, and with my grandmothers. Peace. I pray with my friends in church. We pray and we put our hands on our hearts and we believe Jesus is taking care of our loved ones. Jesus is in our hearts. Well! Today I ask if it is OK to skip forward to Advent. I’m tired of death and dying. I’m so done with war and exploding rocks and gunfire. I bow my head and I pray for peace, but quite honestly, I can’t see the solution. In the past, and now again, we put the whole sad situation into the laps of the UN. Well that isn’t working is it? It hasn’t worked in the past and it isn’t working now. Countries are fighting like my sister and I fought 70 years ago about who gets the little rocking chair for our dolls. My mother took a photo of us both holding onto that rocking chair, and the look on our faces is pure “MINE… you get away!!!” If looks could kill, Donna and I would be in Gaza, fighting over belief and land. So I ask, “Lord God, could we fast forward to the end of November; to the feast day of Christ the King; to the celebration of Advent when we look forward with candles to light the way of the Lord? Come Lord Jesus. We need you because we just can’t solve these problems ourselves. Come Lord Jesus.” … “OK. I’ll wait.”

I woke up this morning thinking about Alexei Navalny who is imprisoned in Siberia because he ran against the Russian government on a freedom ticket. While Navalny is imprisoned, and in danger of death, the people of Russia are silent. Do the Russian people believe anyone who runs against the Putin government is a criminal? Do they know what a dark fearful world they live in? Do they know how evil it is to hate the one who speaks what they don’t know, and to hate what they are told is evil? Do they know that their silence kills the good? Are we Americans bound to go the same way: hating what we don’t like or understand? Is our dark, carping, critical rhetoric as damaging as the rhetoric that keeps Navalny in prison?

What if I hate what a person does, or what he says and seems to support? I must fall on my face before God and ask “where are you in this? Is any of this Holy Spirit inspired?” I must be sure that what I hate, God would hate also. Maybe it’s best to pray for God’s will and pray that I’m not taking a human side in this battle we are in.

While repotting plants for the March Garden Club sale, I fall back on my heels and I think of what I have to do this week: find a substitute lector because we are going on a trip for Thanksgiving and on another trip to a cousin’s wedding, confirm a dinner date, make an appointment with a doctor, refill a prescription. This is a normal list of things to do. If you are like me, and you make lists, they might resemble mine. So: what’s on your list?

I’ll bet what’s not on your list is: forage for food and milk for the baby, find water for the family, wash and bandage filthy, infected wounds, find missing and possibly tortured family, find a way out of the hell of your country in a vicious war, avoid falling bombs and swinging machetes. These are tough times. Our government-issued danger list is colored bright orange moving toward red. Terrorism is a word close to people’s tongues. We worry what will happen in our neighborhoods and on our college campuses. I crouch now; my face is bent to the ground under the weight of the dead and mutilated in Israel, Palestine, and Africa … Dead children and men, mutilated mothers, missing family… and I wail once again: “Lord! God! Creator-Father, … Enough!” God answers, and yes, God answers, even though we hardly hear him; “I am here. Look up. See? Wait.” I look up. I shake my head. “Are you sure, God? What about the people stumbling around in bloody rubble? Mothers. Babies. What about the mutilations? This isn’t barbaric times, Lord. This is 2023!” “It isn’t your time,” He answers, “It is my Father’s time. It is the Creator’s time.” I thank God I have been taught about faith. I thank God our priest prays so faithfully for us, every day. Otherwise what would this Creator-Father look like but some mean one-eyed monster. Many believe that he doesn’t see or care. Many don’t believe in our Father-God. They wave bundles of sage to clear the air and chant mystic mumbled words in strange languages. Jesus reminds me, “Pray for the unbelievers. Bring them home. Go out and get them; you do the work. Pray. Wait. Don’t you know that the souls of the just are in the hands of God? Don’t you know that I will raise you up on the last day?” “Yes.” I say. “Yes.”

In 1729, Jonathan Swift wrote a proposal for solving a big problem of poverty and starvation of poor people in Ireland. His friends were aghast that he would suggest roasting young babies and small children to provide food for the starving and money for the parents who bear the delicious meat. Yes. He wrote that! I studied this essay as an example of satire. Today, I am thinking of a modest proposal for Gaza and I’m wondering why since the original partition took place, no one has come up with a solution. I hope we would recognize the need for a solution, but not eating small children.

In 1947, the United Nations drew lines to create a state for Israel and a state for the Palestinians who lived on the land that we call Israel. Today 2 million people are crammed onto an area the size of Washington DC… crammed into what one writer has called, “an open air prison.” When I pilgrimaged to the Holy Land in 1990 and 1991 I could not travel freely, and our Arab guide could not travel from Bethlehem into Jerusalem. I thought it was odd, but I was “an innocent” as many of us are. In the Gaza, 2 million people are on a piece of land totally separated from the West Bank which used to be called Trans Jordan. They are angry that they can’t get out of tall walls and gates. They can’t get to medical care in Jerusalem. They have nothing in the tiny enclave called “The Gaza Strip.”

So why don’t they move? Because no one wants them. Egypt and Jordan have denied passage. So we must rub our foreheads and woof a giant “Wow!” Their own Arab people won’t take them in. There must be a place over there in the West Bank bordering Jordan, Egypt or Lebanon for these people to settle. It will take a lot of money to rebuild a city for 2 million. Let these people live!!!!

My friend who helps me write and edit my work, Mike, asks “With so much violence and hatred, why do American citizens move to live in Israel ‘on purpose'”?   I answer with my own family story. My father wore out a record with songs by Irish lyric Tenor John McCormack who crooned a tune, “Sure, a little bit of heaven fell from out the sky one day, And it nestled in the ocean in a spot so far away And when the angels found it, sure it looked so sweet and fair They said suppose we leave it, for it looks so peaceful there…” My father, a first generation American, cherished the dream of “returning to Ireland.” He planted that idea in me and I did go and I loved it… “this is my homeland, I whispered in Shannon airport.” For my father, Ireland was heaven. To go there was the dream of his life. For the Jews who have survived for centuries reading the Old Testament stories of God’s promising them the land, Israel is “their country.”  They died for Israel with the word “Israel” on their lips. … Palestinians always lived there… farmers, many in tents, wandering to find grass for their herds.  For Jews, Israel is “the Biblical Holy Land.” The Old Testament tells the story of how God promised the land to Abraham and his descendants. While the Jews were in exile in Babylon and then later dispersed by the Romans who colonized the land (the dispersion called the Jewish diaspora) Jewish prayer was, “Next year in Jerusalem.” Jews wait in Jerusalem for their savior. “According to the Midrash, the earthly Jerusalem is the place where God will arrive even before reaching the heavenly Jerusalem. As the Midrash imagines God saying, ‘I will not come into the city of Jerusalem that is above until I first come into the city of Jerusalem that is below.’” (Dasee Berkowitz 2013) “By the rivers of Babylon, there we wept as we remembered Zion.” (Psalm 137)   The dream to return to Israel survived the Babylonian exile, the Russian Pograms, and the German Killing camps. For centuries, with Jews dispersed over Russia, Europe, and the regions of old mesopotamia, the Ottoman Turks controlled a great part of the middle East until the end of WWI when the Turks (some of modern day Turkey, Egypt, and much of what is southern Russia), who supported Germany, lost to mostly British fighters.  Some “countries” (Palestine has never been considered a country) gained independence in 1922 after WWI. Governing of the remnants (Palestine) passed to the League of Nations, and the League turned the governing of the Jews and Arabs remaining in Palestine over to Britain because Britain previously had control of or defeated the Turks in Egypt, Persia, India, Afganistan, Trans Jordan, the Sinai and more. There was no provision for the future of Palestine. Arabs were shepherds, they roamed the land, and many never set up “governments,” rather they were ruled for centuries by Sultans and kings who didn’t develop governments like the west did. With the British “Mandate,” attempts to set up a government with an Arab majority were soundly rejected and finally on May 14, 1948, as Britian pulled out, David Ben Gurian led the declaration of Israel’s independence. Jews declared Israel their homeland and the fighting began.

The Jews from concentration camps and from various hiding places in Europe traveled “home” towards Zion / Israel…Meanwhile the Temple mount has gone back and forth between Jews and Arabs: The Temple originally built by Solomon in 957BC and rebuilt under patronage of King Cyrus in 515BC was destroyed in 70 AD.  The Rock was taken by Arabs (Mohammed went to heaven from the rock in 691AD) and retaken by Jews in 1967. When I went to Jerusalem we were allowed to tour the holy site which was guarded by Jewish soldiers. Jews will not go any further than the western wall of the temple which is sacred to Jews. Meanwhile…. Jesus celebrated Jewish feasts in the Jewish Temple, and he was crucified, buried, and Resurrected in Jerusalem (actually outside the wall as crucifixions took place outside the Jerusalem walls). Queen Helena of Greece, Mother of Constantine, found the sites of the crucifixion and burial and built churches over them.  Those churches are shared by the Christian church as beloved sites in the life and death of Jesus. We also travel on pilgrimage to Nazareth and other sites written about in the Gospels.

So now, my dear Mike, why live in Jerusalem? Why Live in Israel? Each faith will answer according to their belief:  for me, I cherish the weeks I spent in the Holy Land… Because Jesus lived there. His blood was shed there.  Walking the streets of Jerusalem is the same for me as walking down the aisle of a church. Jesus walks here. This fervor is over 5000 years deep for Jews who will tell you Abraham walked up Mount Moriah with his son Issac. It is 2000 years deep for Christians.  Fight for Jerusalem? Yes. And Pray for Jerusalem. House of Peace. Peace in your heart Mike. 

Our church, Saint James, had a day of prayer yesterday for 24 hours. I went at 4pm to 5pm, and I went again at 7am until 9am this morning. I sat down and looked at God and I started to tell him everything that is wrong in this world that I worry and weep about… Then I zeroed in on who is fighting… mess of Kings, Shieks, Ayatollahs, old military men turned government leaders. Old men and women who hate each other. .. I was shouting at God because a mess of old mean, woman-hating men are fighting. Emphasis on mean and old. Then I realized. He knows. He knows. “They” have been killing for thousands of years in their meanness. I went back in my Bible to Cain and Abel, Babel, the Caanites and the Jebusites, David and Goliath, the Assyrians who dispersed Israel, and the ones who killed Jesus… they hated, and they killed him. Why would they be in power? I slid to a halt, and practically scrubbed the pages of John’s Prologue for my answer. Oh. He knows. He knows. Well then… and I proceeded to beg for my family. My sister who died away from the church.  My sister’s children who have rejected me. And I realized… He knows. He knows. Then, “me”. “Wait,” he said. But Lord, Bring me peace. Peace so I can love. Bring me peace so I can just Love.   So I put down my pen and I waited. Like he said. I just wait on the Lord.   

You God are Creator, Lover, Inspirer, Breath of Life (Ruah). If I could just touch the tassel on his cloak, the hem of his garment… if I could just touch his feet. I reach out my heart to him.

“The Jews” were an angry bunch. (John 1:19). As religious leaders, the Pharisees and Saducees did not do their jobs of taking care of the people. They hated and they encouraged hatred (of Samaritans for example) and of heritics. To the leaders, Jesus was a heritic, and he was to be hated. They killed Jesus and his followers to wipe them out, and still a small remnant of the children of God persisted. The situation didn’t and hasn’t changed.

So, I looked up at God and I said, “So how must I act? Wait, huh?” He said “Yes.” Wait on the Lord. Be the remnant; the small remnant of the children of God. Persist. Love, and make straight the way of the Lord.

I returned to church in the morning. I looked at the Lord. You, Lord know, and you love. I believe that. Now who are the people who today live in that narrow strip of land where the Philistines of Goliath lived? Starving, shivering, thirsty, sick, frightened. Their babies crying or dead too. … Do they know what the governments are doing? Could I escape if I were with them, or would I just shiver in fear next to them in what’s left of my home or in a blood-spattered street. Waiting… for the next barrage of missiles. I look to God, our Creator, and he answers me. “Wait.” Do the little bit that I can do. Ruth picked up bits of wheat left after the harvesters finished. A little bit for Naomi. A small insignificant action. Pick up the scraps and make a king. (For Ruth is the Grandmother of David). Pick up the scraps. Give the scraps to God, and make them work. No pushing! But… “It’s not your business,” says the Lord. “Just teach what is.” God is. In the beginning was the Word. Darkness was there and he did not eradicate it. Wait. I thank you Lord that you brought me to the church. To the Cross. To wait. There is nothing that I can do except to love. If the thing is within my venue then I may speak, but speak and let it go. God takes in the children that we destroy, but this is not my pain to bear. I am to love and to have hope. And to wait. God bless us.

Mount Rushmore! WOW!. As we walked up a lot of stairs in Mount Rushmore National Park, I looked up to see, George Washington! Then his 3 companions appear next to him. Carved out of granite, the 4 presidents govern over the Black Hills. The carving of Washington is amazing and very clear. The others are more rugged. I don’t think Washington wanted to govern… He was a general like Eisenhower. “Let me move people to win,” he might have said… And so today, let us all look up to George Washington and let us be inspired to win, and to prosper. We aren’t going to shut down… but we aren’t winning either. Let us love with wisdom! Let us love one another.

After we saw Mount Rushmore we drove to Crazy Horse. It isn’t finished as only one man carved for many years, and now the foundation he set up at the behest of the Native people, will not let the Federal Government help. Crazy Horse is all carved by the people of America. It’s taking a while… but it’s American people working on it. If only we spent so much fervor on our cities. Clean up the streets. Rebuild the burned buildings. Fill the churches. Take care of the babies and young women who think they can’t take care of babies. God touch us with wisdom to help others.

We have finished the bucket list items! Next on the schedule was to visit two friends whom we have known (all her life Rebecca Skipp) and Kyla Gehm (a dear friend whom we exchanged houses with in Clear Lake Iowa and Big Pine Key.) Kyla helped Chuck get over his confusion about his head injury by describing her own head injury and listening to him describe his fears and confusion. In their weakness, they helped each other. This year, Kyla is alone having lost her husband a few years ago. She cares for her daughter and her mother, and I hoped to see her and bask in her beautiful courage! BUT… we are going home.I started coughing a little on this trip. I remember I coughed some in Tucson in air conditioned rooms… Lately, in the wind of the monuments where the temperature was down in the low 40s, I coughed a lot. It finally hit with a vengence this last Friday… I coughed all day until Chuck looked at me with a little tilt to his head and said, “do I have to take you to the emergency room?” “NO!” I said, “I’ll be OK.” Well I do sound a little like I did when I went into the hospital with pneumonia in Kingman, Arizona. That night, as I lay uncomfortably coughing, I said, “I want to go home. OH NO!!!!” Many people said I wouldn’t last 4 months! I’m tired out, but we have seen so much. So I turned to Chuck, and I said, “You won’t like this, but I want to go home.” “OK!” said Chuck. Just that. It’s frightening to get sick. We don’t want it, but, as much as we try to be healthy, our bodies have some irregularities, some weaknesses, that are going to get us. So we are going home. I can see the Finget Lakes of New York another time… We will drive gently and look out at America. We will be inspired by the Great Missouri River and the Great Mississippi River as we cross over from West to East. I’ll be back home early! I’ll be able to help the Garden Club and the church ladies as soon as the coughing stops! All is well. Let us now turn and work on our government. Let us be kind to one another. Be sure you are registered to vote. Get out there and say what you want. Let your politicians know if you want Ukraine supported. Pray. Ask God to help us. Love this our country and love our neighbor. God bless us.

Every time Chuck and I do new amazing things, he says, “check that off your bucket list!” And I repeat to him… “I don’t have a bucket list.”

What do I yearn for? *To be an influencer. *To encourage and teach reading and thinking. *To laugh out loud.

Chuck’s wish: That I would get dressed so I could go for a walk to Craft Local … a bar (across the street from our hotel) with music and craft beers. This wish was said from under the covers we both plowed under after a late lunch and 5 hours on Montana roads. Chuck’s needs are simple. He never had a bucket list. He did what was in front of him, and he did things to make me happy.

Four years ago Chuck tried to show me the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone National Park after a Panama Canal Cruise, but I got pneumonia, landed in the hospital in Kingman Arizona, and scared the willies out of the doctors by presenting with an ascending aortic aneyrysm. “Go home!” the emergency room doctor said! “Get to a BIG hospital where you can be treated by a thoracic surgeon.” “What’s that?” I asked, coughing, hard. Here we are four years later, fulfilling Chuck’s list of getting me to the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone, but adding so much more!!!! We have added seeing Las Cruces, New Mexico (a wonderful small town near the border, artsy, mural strewn walls, festivals, a small Spanish village with a beautiful church.) The Tucson desert and the Biosphere where astronauts trained for a space station stay of 2 years. Tombstone (home of Val Kilmer and Kurt Russell)! Bisbee, a tiny copper mining town with great red pits of abandoned copper mines. Bisbee is home to the old “Copper Queen Hotel” which features in “Desert Heat” by J.A. Jance. I picked up the book in a quaint artsy book store in Bisbee…. It is a series about a murdered sheriff’s wife (the sheriff is murdered, the wife will solve it)… anyhow… we were there, and the story meanders between Bisbee and Tombstone. Never thought that I’d go there! “Been there, done that!” and it was wonderful. But I never thought about the four lovely towns before planning this trip. What am I? boring???? not a dreamer?

On this trip we remembered my Assumption student whom we haven’t seen in over 45 years… So I facebooked her and she answered with an address in a tiny town near Missoula, Montana. The little meander to Cathy’s house led us up to the Glacier National Park!!!! We did not do the edges of the 10,000 foot high mountains as edges scare me!!!! We drove around the park and it was wonderful. We are now headed for Mount Rushmore and the Bad Lands!!! more later.

I guess what I want is to know what you want to do? Have you thought about it? Done it? I am sad that I haven’t been an influencer. I was not able to give my nieces and nephews the kind of education and dreams I had… We were all too spread out, and I didn’t get along too well with my Sister, their mother, who is gone now. She passed away while we were on this trip. Without being too pushy, I help where I can with love. That’s all we can do, isn’t it. Pray and Love. God bless us; God help us to see his grandeur!

Everyone knows that water is scarce in America and everywhere now. Countries are failing due to desert incursion and Florida is experiencing salt water incursion. With more people moving in, who knows when Florida will get giant holes from soil erosion from underneath and salt water incursion? I realize this is rather grim to start with while I sit on the banks of a mighty river that has been dammed 5 times to provide electric power for a great deal of Montana. The Great River, the Missouri, flows out of the mountains of Glacier National Park. From the west she flows, dammed 5 times here in Great Falls alone, she flows into the Mississippi. The town we are currently visiting, Great Falls, marks in her history the words of the Missouri’s greetings to Lewis and Clark… Lewis said, “the river is too big, we have to find a way around it!” It is big and the land around it is glorious and huge. Today we drove out to the 5th dam and the land stretched out all around us – wheat fields for miles! As we drove, I wrote: “Wheat fields. How big! Plowed fields, stubble fields. Light brown for as far as I can see, and blue sky! Wind blowing cool in 83 degree mild heat. Open the windows and let the wind in!” “I wonder what this land was like 150 years ago before people dammed this river. It looks to me like another case of glacier water gouging out giant crevasses that now are filled with the Missouri river and those brilliant wheat fields. Were the roads horse tracks?”

I have to share my glee at driving through the beauties of America. For my friends who have never left home, or who weren’t blessed to be able to drive through Glacier National Park for example, I would like to describe America. On Sunday we left Stevensville, near Missoula Montana where I visited my student from Assumption Academy. We hugged goodbye and promised to keep reading and to keep singing! Then we entered Glacier National Park where … well, I can’t keep from singing! “O! my goodness! The rugged landscape is raggedy/aggedy. (There isn’t a word for it!!!! ) Awesome, beautiful, rugged, high mountains. All this used to belong to the Native Americans. They lived on the land, thanking their God… Then, the tiny United States bought the land from Louisiana. Yes, the Louisiana Purchase. And the Americans moved in. Now, the Continental Divide is just is a line between America and … America. We took it. Every Native American monument I see hurts my heart. O what we did. There isn’t any reparation and I’m not suggesting it. All I suggest is that we look at at our great land, and we try to keep her beautiful. She belongs to no one except to her God, our God who created. Be loving to our land, and Thank God.

I never knew cold until I traveled to Europe after Chuck and I travelled to Europe with friends from Barry University in Miami. I might have known cold before I was 2, but after that it was sandy beaches and palm trees in Miami! I remember sitting in my underpants in the sand, my little toes curled up and the water of the beach curling up and getting me wet! Hot, hurricanes, green grass. But wait! This trip has taken us through the sandy deserts of I-10 Texas to the deepest reaches of the Grand Canyon in her rosy splendor. The Grand Canyon is a massive, big crevasse that was carved (a long time ago… 14 million years ago?) by receeding water. The area is now water starved. Visitors are begged not to use too much water and not to touch the water in the toilets! Recycle is the name of the game. Our Grand Canyon 5 day visit rewarded us with many amazing rosy and golden views, art work painted on the rims, music played in the Shrine of the Arts… It was wonderful! Then we drove north to Kenab and the amazing Peek a boo canyon! Narrow pink sandstone is still carved by waters that rush through the canyon after a heavy rain. Tree trunks stick in the canyon walls, bourne into the canyon and stuck in the roof. “They’ll be gone after the next rain,” confidently said our guide. I’m looking up at a dark tree trunk stuck in the rust colored colored ceiling. “Wow!” I repeat, taking a clue from my Grand Canyon vocabulary. Mountains, 5500 feet deep canyons, pink rocks, rosy and golden rocks abound in the Grand Canyon area. Head north!

As we travel north, I imagine the woman out on the prairie. She gets out of that covered wagon and stretches out in the deep grass surrounded by nothing but grass, wind, and sun. Maybe a herd of Bison wanders by, their grand furry coats rustling with the wind. The woman is alone with her thoughts. Will Cather imagined the woman’s words and wrote them down in her novels. At the Grand Canyon, the flautist at the concert read from a Willa Cather novel… Imagine what the woman speaks!

As we drive north to Yellowstone, a green river accompanies us and fishermen in small open boats cast their lines into the muddy, cold rainy afternoon. Houses dot the hillsides and cows hang out on the sides of the hills. Old Faithful hisses and roars and gets us wet! The tetons touch the clouds. We sleep in a tiny cabin in the woods near giant Yellowstone Lake. We wrinkle our noses at the stink of sulfer at the mud volcanos and geysers, and we drive on, accompanied by Bison walking along the road with us! Leaving Yellow stone, we enter Montana, land of snow-topped mountains, and we drive along tiny country roads to visit my Assumption student Cathy Sholtens in a sweet farm area in western Montana. We start at the beginning when I taught the Assumption girls in 1974, and we come forward to the beautiful home Cathy and wife Becky have built. Two very happy black dogs stretch at our feet and welcome ear scratches. The girls help us plan the drive north to Glacier National Park. The journey continues.