I Swim

I have swam ever since I was a little kid. My dad loved the water, my mom loved the water, and my sister and brother did too. But I never swam on a team, and until about three and a half years ago, I didn't consider it an exercise option.
But I knew I needed to be more pro-active about my health, so I stopped by the YWCA to check out their pool. After that first morning, I was hooked. I found my home, I found my sport, and I found hope for a healthier future. And I am healthier; my one and a half lungs are functioning better than they have, and my body feels a little more fit. I actually look forward to my morning swims; coming from a nocturnal creature, that's saying a lot. I love it. I love to swim! EVERY SINGLE TIME I swim, I thank the woman the natatorium is named for. I thank her for her generosity, and I thank her for her foresight; for knowing there would be women who would need a facility just like this, to stay healthy. I thank her for caring.

Now the pool I use is closing. I am sad, and I am frankly frightened that my health will regress. I am sad for the others who use the pool; most of us are over 50, and the majority are women. I have to ask myself (and I want to ask the Board too)--is this pool being closed because the majority of the patrons are women over 50? You know, the segment of the population that is invisible; overlooked because we are pretty docile, used to giving in and pleasing others.

I swim.
I swim, and my aches and pains seem to float away with each stroke.
I swim, and I watch the solitary man, water-walking to rehab a knee, or a leg, or a hip (or two).
I swim, and I cough, but at the end of the swim, my lungs are working better.
I swim, and I watch the folks with various handicaps as they enter the pool. Some are not verbal, so squeals and utterances of delight fill the air.
I swim, and I meditate. I feel calm in the water.
I swim, and I watch the kid with Down Syndrome. He hated the water the first time he was in it, and now he hates to get out of the water.
I swim, and I "flesh out" sermons and blog posts in my head.
I swim, and I watch the Aquacise class--20 or so women, and not one younger than 40. They are exercising AND visiting with one another. For some, I know this must be the most they socialize with other humans.
I swim, and I remember. I think about my family, my friends, and people who have recently died. Sometimes I silently converse with them.
I swim, and I watch the moms and babies, listen to them sing nursery rhymes, and watch the babies bob up and down in the water. Nobody cries.
I swim, and sometimes I cry. When my mom was sick, I swam and cried. When she died, I went to be with my family, and then I came back to the pool and swam and cried.
I swim, and I watch the others swimming laps. Again, except for the occasional 30 year old, we are mostly "of an age". We don't go fast, but we do "get it done".
I swim, and at the end of a mile, I am tired, but feel so relaxed and I feel so good!
I swim, and I watch the day camp kids as they invade the pool for an hour or so every day.
I swim, and I think about the kids in the shelter, who are going to come to the pool for lessons. We bought swimsuits for them, and that thought makes me so happy!
I swim, and these days, I worry. I worry about what will happen to all of us if this pool is no longer here.
I swim.
And I will swim until I no longer can.

Words

I gave a sermon this morning, and this is what I said:

Words

Before I begin, I would like to thank Sharon, for going above and beyond this morning. And thank you to my six friends, who shared with us their thoughts about the Covenant.  

And, I would like to thank the teachers among us, who work so hard to teach us to read, and write, and to use our words. Keep up the good work. And a special thank-you to someone who is no longer with us--Kathy Mayer. Her legacy lives in all the writers she inspired--without her words of encouragement, I know I would not be standing HERE today.

This morning, I feel like I am continuing a discussion that was started by Rev. Charlie last Sunday, for I too love words. I love to use words to "persuade"--I started a blog (actually 3) because sometimes the words just build up, and I have to have a place to put them. That's kind of how this sermon started too--I had an idea, and just needed to share it with you. Thanks for coming to listen!

From the beginning of our lives, humans know they have to use words to communicate with others. From the first few months of our lives, we watch the mouths of others, watching the words form and listening for the meaning and intonation of the sounds (alas, I do not know what people who are deaf do--theirs must be a far challenging process). If we were born into a loving, nurturing home, our first words were met with delight and excitement, which encouraged us to learn more words, to communicate more efficiently with those around us. Some parents today, recognizing that their baby or toddler is frustrated by being unable to communicate, will teach their kids sign language--sometimes signs fill in until the words come.

Eventually, the spoken word is not enough; to be fully part of society, to be able to embrace and understand the world beyond our family, we know we must learn to read and write words. Who else remembers the excitement of reading AND understanding that first word? Now, having learned to read words, we all were ready to read what others, all around the world, from centuries past, present, were saying to us.

By learning to write, we could communicate with others; our words could be written down, shared with others, and saved forever. Right? All of your written words have been saved forever?

I have an admission to make. I not only love words, but I love to SAVE words. Our house is full of words:  yes, we have books, but I also have diaries, scrapbooks, and letters. One of my prized possessions is a scrapbook/diary that my grandma kept at my request--it spanned just a couple of years, and ended a week before she died. What a treasure-trove of thoughts and memories!

“July 1980:  Gale wants me to write the history of my life how can anyone at 82 remember all this.”

She goes on to write about her early life:

“My folks moved to North Dakota to file for a homestead it never proved out so well. I can rember once my grandma and I walked and had an umbrella I said folks will think we’re rich. I can just rember the coyotes howling at night.”

I have kept a diary off and on for years too, capturing moments like:

“May 2, 1972:  I talked to Mark today and he smiled! I think Kevin knows that I like Mark. I hope not! In Reading, I started another book. I got some gum from Laura S.”

and

“June 21, 1972:  “Dad and I are going on the bus to Chicago. The guy in front of us was neat! He was from a foreign country….When we got to Chicago, I felt scared. What if we missed my plane? I wanted to go right to the airport, so we did. I didn’t want to miss my plane, even though it didn’t leave for 4 hours. We saw a small portion of Chicago and I decided that I wouldn’t like to live there! We got stuck in a large scale traffic jam! It took us an hour to get to the airport, which was only about 15 miles away….” Nice to know I was that neurotic at such an early age, AND that Chicago traffic hasn’t changed much.

I have written diary entries about the birth of my children, their childhood, and now, more mundane stuff.  I hope you all keep diaries. If you haven't in the past, please, please do it from now on. Future generations need to know what you thought and felt in 2018. You don't have to write pages and pages every entry--a couple of sentences will do. And, if you don't want to write about the present, write down stories and observations from your past—the words of my grandma are more precious than just about anything I own. If you don't want to write them down, record them. You can even keep a vlog (just make sure your loved ones know you're keeping it).

As Janice Dixon writes, “The entire story of mankind has come to us from individual voices from the past.”

I also save obituaries, for some of the same “save history” reasons. As I was preparing for today, I came across an obituary for my great-great-grandfather, John D, and was reminded that he was a Unitarian! I found my brother’s obituary, and remembered that the newspaper would report cause of death. At the time, I remember thinking my brother’s suicide made him just a statistic to be logged into a database, but now I realize that it allowed people to reach out to our family in a different way. Now, it seems like obituaries, especially those written by family, are ways to introduce a person to the rest of the community. How many of you have read an obituary, and thought, “I wish I’d known that person—they sounded really interesting?”

Some of the other words that fill our house come from cards I've saved. You may be like my sister, and can't believe I save GREETING CARDS! But let me tell you--the Christmas card my dad bought for me just before he died, just before that Christmas? I cherish it. He truly was speaking to me from the grave that year. The cards I received from my mom, in which she underlined every word that was important to her? And EVERY ONE signed, “Love and Pride”? How could I get rid of those? Cards my kids have made for me? Oh wow. And the cards from K? They remind me how much I'm loved and fill me with happiness. Worth it.

I also save letters. I have a box full of letters from me to my dad, and letters to me from my grandma, my mom, my dad, my sister, my nieces, my nephew, my kids, and my ex-husband. I have a letter from my niece that tells me she loves me, but “When you cry I am very sad. …And sometimes you are very funny.” That letter encompasses our lives together even today. There’s a letter dated November 22, 1981, from my dad, and in addition to wishing E and me a happy 1^st Thanksgiving as a married couple, he writes down a little family history for me, reminding me that my grandfather was adopted, and my dad did not know his dad’s adopted father’s or mother’s first name. It’s hard to believe that a whole side of my families’ history is erased, just like that.

I have a letter that I wrote to my dad when we first arrived in England, and it was full of observations about England, but this part jumped out:  “Interesting note:  we had to register with the local police: We got little green folders with our pictures in them, and our address. This cost us 25 pounds each (about $37 at the time)!! We have to report each address change within a week. Wow—what a way to raise money, and keep track of those Americans at the same time! Oh well, we’re set for 3 years now!” I also have the letter from my step-mother that chronicles my dad’s last days. This one is particularly important to me, as I was living in England at the time, and gave birth to E just 10 days before he died.

I also, because I am a packrat, have saved copies of the infamous Christmas letters I used to send out. [As an aside, I just want to say I LOVE Christmas letters from other people!] I tried to make our letters as accurate as possible. For instance, in the letter from 1992, I wrote that E (at 6) “says her teacher is pretty (an important teaching qualification), and recess is the best part of the day.” P, age 2:  “In his spare time he fights with his sister and chases the cat.”

Each of the letters in this box reminds me of events in my life, and the lives of my family. The big events, but also the small ones, ones that have slipped from my memory, but can be retrieved because I saved the pages they were written on.

 Other words in our house are from e-mails. Yes, in years past I printed and saved e-mails. Go ahead and laugh, it’s okay. But, I have a folder that chronicles E’s first trip back to England, by herself, when she was 14. I also have a copy of an e-mail from my mom, dated 12:19 p.m. on September 11, 2001.  She says, “I can’t remember how I felt when we heard of Pearl Harbor but it must have been the same empty feeling. I wish M (my niece in Chicago) would go home. Love you.”  And this, from a friend in England, dated 4:22 a.m. on September 13, 2001:  “We have been deeply saddened and shocked by the events of Tuesday. There are not words to express my feelings. Our thoughts are with you all. So many people have been lost, I have no idea if any will have been close to you…Love, S.” 

This, from my mom on January 31, 2002:  it starts with a recipe, and ends like this:  “You really are a special person Gale. Always remember this and in case you don’t remember, I love you lots and am so proud of you. Mom.”  Historical diaries, and reminders that we are loved. Saving e-mails has become the way to preserve history.

As Patricia Law Hatcher states, “The traditional descendants-of genealogy usually begins with the immigrant and follows descendants for some number of generations. Often they have a paternalistic bent and follow only male descendants who bore the surname….In the future we hope to see less short-changing of maternal lines and collateral lines in published material.” I am proud to say I have preserved a lot of the day-to-day history of my maternal line, but I have to say I fear that our written histories are rapidly disappearing. It’s hard to save e-mails unless you’re a nerd like me, and most families today communicate via text. I have to say that I want future generations of MY family to know that I loved my children so much, and told them that regularly, but there will be no written record of those exchanges, so how are they to know?

I know what I am going to do. Write more paper letters, and mail them with stamps. How about you?

If we lose generational stories, what will educate or inspire…or even warn…future generations?

As a society, we moved, EXTREMELY rapidly, from finding inspiration in the words of our leaders to…Tweets. Thankfully, we have the words of the Gettysburg address, the original Declaration of Independence and the Constitution carefully preserved for us, and for future generations. We can only hope that future generations will still be inspired by these words from President John F. Kennedy:  “And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you — ask what you can do for your country. My fellow citizens of the world: ask not what America will do for you, but what together we can do for the freedom of man.” I also pray these words will endure and inspire, from President Barack Obama, speaking at Selma, Alabama:  “And it is you, the young and fearless at heart, the most diverse and educated generation in our history, who the nation is waiting to follow.Because Selma shows us that America is not the project of any one person. Because the single most powerful word in our democracy is the word “We.” We The People. We Shall Overcome. Yes We Can. It is owned by no one. It belongs to everyone. Oh, what a glorious task we are given, to continually try to improve this great nation of ours.”
I find it…surprising…offensive…dumbfounding….that our newest “Leader of the Free World” communicates his ideas, wishes, hopes? to the rest of the world via Twitter. You cannot be inspiring or informative in 160 characters or less, and I fervently pray that this does NOT become the norm of the future. We all deserve much better.
If you look at the Order of Service, you will notice that our Opening Words, the Reading, and our Closing Words are all from former ministers of this congregation. It’s important to preserve the words of our ministers, but it’s, I daresay, more important to preserve the words of members of our congregation. It is WE who will preserve the work here, and keep this congregation together. As KH said on October 14, 2000, “This church is more than just a wonderful social community. This is the place where I come to find inspiration, to affirm life, to help me align with the positive life force. Some people do this well on their own. I am not one of them…Thank you to each of you who have chosen this as our church home.” And it is WE, members of this congregation, who will inspire one another. As HL said at this same event, “…people of modest means hold the majority in this church family. For you of the younger generation, particularly those with children, you are the recipients of an inheritance that will facilitate and enhance all the wonderful things this church can bring to you and to your children. Now is the time for you to make your appreciation manifest by carefully considering your obligation to this church, to your children and to those church fathers and mothers who have already demonstrated their faith in the future of this church and you.”
Words can unite, and words can divide. Letters from the past unite us with our ancestors. Words from members of this Congregation, delivered directly to one another (instead of through gossip), can inspire and will unite. We will, in the end, only have one another to hold this place, sacred to us, together.
The final caution I have is to remember to be inclusive in your words—be like HL, who spoke of church fathers and church mothers. Be the ancestor who inspires everyone in future generations. Don’t be the one who excludes in your “lyrics”, like “Jacob’s Ladder”—be inclusive like “Sarah’s Circle”. Perhaps then, our “words will be heard by everyone.”
Thank you.