HIDE AND SEEK...

I realize that I'm an old geezer, when hide and seek was a fun game -nowadays, teenagers and 20 somethings would laugh.
I remember playing 'hide and seek' in the late afternoon, and it took me a long time to realize as darkness came, that the game was over and NO ONE had come looking for me. I remember that because I have struggled during my life with the same question that my father struggled - what difference do we make? or do we. One might think that God was playing a game of hide and seek with the troubled people of that day. the King for which they had been searching, the Liberator who would rescue them from their common ordinary pathetic lives, didn't come where or how they thought//but rather in an obscure village of Bethlehem, and then in a Stable.

Young parents might identify the need when a new child arrives, at wanting to shut the doors, keeping relatives, friends, well wishing people at bay and have some time alone. Mary and Joseph might have identified with such feelings, although there was no doors in that manger, and the animals, and riff raff stopped by, and there was no privacy. It was a different world back then, just as it was when I was young. As a minister, I was 'expected' to always be on call, to smile even when I didn't feel like it, to comfort the afflicted, and as some would say afflict the comfortable. The day after Labor Day on the Vineyard, I finally took a day off to go fishing on Chappy, and the police were sent down to seek me out ...there was no privacy.

My father and I used to play this adult game of hide and seek...and when Phyllis died, and I moved down to Melbourne two years later, everyone wanted and needed to know where I was ' are you okay?" Forget about the fact that I was in my 50's, and I didn't know where anyone else was. I realized that having lost everything else in life, including control, i only controlled if I answered the phone or not. Like the Prodigal father that he was, Dad kept calling, and I kept not answering. He would ride his bike 10 miles from where he lived "just passing through the neighborhood." I knew where he was, and that he was there, but I also knew I was protecting THEM from my emotions.and feelings. which ran deep. and the ONLY person who understood those feelings was my father...

Each New Year's Eve when we were young, we wrote a letter to ourselves, putting it on my father's Office Desk and he would lock them away until the next new year's day. We might talk about resolutions, or dreams, or what we thought might or might not happen...I still do that...the last day of 1992, having written my letter while doing my Chaplain's job at the Island' Hospital, I said 'NOTHING NEXT YEAR CAN BE WORSE THAN THIS YEAR." I even mentioned it to Phyllis when I got home, what I had written...we had lost so many Churchmembers and friends that year... Little did I realize that as 1993 dawned, that my life, and that of Heather and Jennifer, would change forever... I already have remembered that in last year's letter, which I shall open on Tuesday I had written that my father would die this year...

As I get older, striving to spare those around me whom I love and cherish, the deep emotions, tears, and feelings which are part of ME, I have isolated myself...and while I hope that they understand, if they don't, then I still have to do it...I wonder if that wasn't part of what God was doing, when they first heard the whimering of a Child????

MY CHRISTMAS LETTER TO FLORIDA TODAY

I AM FAMOUS/INFAMOUS FOR MY LETTERS TO THE EDITOR...They have been written less of lately, but this Christmas I have felt compelled to say what was on my heart...the local paper censored part of what i had written - when I suggested that the politicians shut off the microphones and cameras, and go to New Orleans and help build a house, or visit a nursing home and its people and spend time with them, or go to a salvation army with cameras shut off and spend time reading a story to the children, and listening to them...

Only one person's opinion, but I share it with you, with a prayer on my lips that your Christmas was filled with peace and love...Blessed Christmas to you and yours...

Politicians not following star of Bethlehem

I am finding it more difficult in my journey to Bethlehem this year because unlike that journey thousands of years ago, there are political candidates of all parties and persuasions asking me whom I'm inclined to vote for.

They even have their press officers handing out flyers to remind me their candidate is more Christ-like than the other candidates.

As they journey, they are not following a star in the heavens that God placed before them, they are not compassionate to people of varied faiths and beliefs, and they are using the journey for their own agendas.

It certainly doesn't involve a child for them -- just look at the president's veto of the SCHIP health insurance bill for needy children.

Those who understand the meaning of the journey and the star wish the politicians would just shut up.

I walk towards Bethlehem following the star, having just lost my father, a daughter who has cancer and myself in uncertainty, because I still believe in God.

And in the belief that a little child shall lead us toward that time and place of new beginnings.

Rev. Peter Sanborn

Melbourne

And so we come again, to Christmas...

A special Gift on Christmas Eve...

I was up early on this Christmas Eve, and drove through the fog out to my sister's home in West Melbourne.
She and her husband had to be out - and I was to spend the time with my Mother. We chatted as she ate her breakfast, and I explained to her how this journey to Bethlehem was a bit difficult for me this year. She went in to get dressed for the day, and came out and I received this special gift..quality time with my mother, who had just lost her husband of over 68 years. She talked about this knot inside her chest, and she couldn't make it go away. She talked and I listened...and she told me about some feelings she had as a little girl, and talked of how other people thought she should be 'more sad by your Dad's death..." I explained to her that these feelings were normal and okay, that I didn't feel sadness with the fact that Dad had died, but selfishly I missed him dearly, and my sense of loss was only meager compared to hers!

We talked of the meaning of 'selfishness' that she felt badly when she felt such, and I explained from my own heart, that sometimes we HAD to be selfish about our emotions and feelings. Such feelings are new to her - and I listened to this woman who had given me birth 64 plus years ago, and felt as though God brought us, Madonna and child on this Christmas Eve to have this conversation... It was one of those conversations that happen rarely, if at all... I explained to her that what others felt about what was an 'appropriate' sadness was important, but that her emotions, as mine, overwhelm us particularly this Christmas season...

As I got up to leave after five hours, I told her that I love her, and I thanked her for this special gift which we shared with one another - it's not a gift that can be wrapped up, and placed under the tree...it is a gift which she and dad have shared so often with so many in their life together...and which I shall treasure for as long as I live... it's like the gift that the girls, Matt, Kyra and Lucas gave me - front row center seat for an Amy Grant/Vince Gill Christmas concert...two or three years ago this was their gift to me, and I think about that evening so often, and on this Christmas Eve as I gaze out my window when a gift touched my life with a bit of Heaven that I shall cherish always, as I will the gift today...

pictures from Peter's home grown pageant...

And the Angel said...

Good News from Peter's traveling Pageant

ALMOST...

When I was young we would ask our parents, are we ALMOST there? And as we drew nigh to Christmas, we would ask the same question to which the response was ALMOST... I couldn't sleep most all night because of coughing, so I sat by my 12th floor window gazing at the lights below. And at some point, I made the emotional decision that this year, ALMOST would have to suffice as we neared Bethlehem. After having run some errands for my mother in the pre-dawn hour, dropping my deliveries outside my sister's door in West Melbourne, I wandered around through the waking hours, until I arrived at the Chapel where I worship...There I sat in my car tears welling up in my eyes, this Church which had been so much of my parents' and especially my Dad's life.

As I entered people rushed up to me asking if I was feeling good, are you over your Dad's death? etc. etc. and as I sat in the front pew tears welling up in my eyes and I uttered'ALMOST." As we stood to sing Silent Night,
grabbing hold on my walker, I sat back down as tears came streaming on my eyes, as all the burdens of recent times came crushing down upon me, as I remembered my wife Phyllis who died in 93, and my father, who shared my passion for preaching, for faith and Christmas...and silently I told God, that I knew He would understand that this year I will ALMOST get there to Bethlehem's Manger.

And it's okay...as long as I keep my eye on the Star, and trudge along...

Now directing...

One of the difficulties associated with Christmas is WHO is directing? Many there are who would like to direct the coming of Jesus. Every Church seems to have several who attempt to direct the show. Yet, life is like that in so many areas. People who like to direct, have an ego that they are trying to satisfy, and their lives depend on others following those directions. What good is a director without having someone to direct? Politicians are trying to outdo each other to let us know that THEY are the ones who can direct. Their difficulty is that the star which they want to direct us towards is the White House, and I resist that, just as I resist others telling me that THIS is how it is going to be done.

GOD directs the story of Christmas, and it is humbling to me, that there have been far too many times when I personally have tried to direct others...and as I journey towards Bethlehem this year, I am ever more mindful that God is directing this drama...All that is required of me is that I be willing to choose to start off on this journey to Bethlehem, following that Star to places I might not think I should be going, but trusting in the Director to guide me on the journey. I saw this in the eyes of the woman who began to tell me about the drowning death of her Granddaughter earlier this Fall...seeing the emptiness in her eyes, and gratitude that I made the time to listen to her heart's deepest pain... I listened as two elderly women shared with me their memories of Christmases past, some which made us all laugh, others brought tears to our eyes..listening as they spoke of spending this Christmas alone...

We must resist the urge to rush towards Bethlehem, uncaring of the people scattered along the way.
I feel emotionally overwhelmed this Advent as we near Bethlehem's Manger...and am spending time listening to people along the way...crying with some, laughing with others. yet as I do so, I find myself wrapped up in the message of Christmas...that it IS Good News, and it is for ALL of the people...

Fear not...

Those who know about the Herdsman children remember a Church where the Herdsman's dominated the selection process.
They came to the Sunday School only because they got free food, and theirs was a dysfunctional family. Most of the others quit the production, lest they become part of the worst Christmas Pageant ever...The young girl who played the Angel who appears to the Shepherds...the night the production goes on jumps up on a stool and shouts at the nervous shepherds 'FEAR NOT' at the top of her lungs, so forcefully that the Shepherds dressed in their bathrobes were terrified...

In the end it became the best Christmas Pageant ever...because of the humanity of the Herdsman children...I got to thinking today of that pageant, and the effect of fear in our lives - as I heard a Dr. explain options to me concerning a tumor! I wondered and thought of how fear paralyzes us being the people whom God has created us to be. The Shepherds WERE fearful when the Angels brought their news of great joy! Imagine Mary's reaction when the Angel told her that she was with child...
How they reacted to their fears speaks to me, perhaps to all people, in this day and age. Rather than allow the fear in their hearts to paralyze them, they used their emotions in a positive direction, and began their journey, allowing their initial fear to mobilize not only their bodies for the long journey, even more important their following the Star believing that God had something in mind...that would end up in the most unlikeliest of places...a filthy Manger behind the Inn...

My fears are sometimes founded in the uncertainty which clouds my days, unlike my need to believe that God has a plan, and this supersedes all other diagnoses and opinions... I wished that my Dad was here to chat with - but he isn't, having died a month ago today...and yet the Star which we have reluctantly placed in the heavens, and the Star which appeared to the shepherds, Magi, and a few others always shows us the direction on which we walk, and the strength not to allow those fears to leave us hesitating...

"And ye, beneath life's crushing loads..."

There are those people who find it difficult to journey to Bethlehem this year! In our haste to make this journey, we tend to forget those, or pass by the people along the way...for whom a new beginning, is beyond their reach. I must be honest and let you know I am finding it more difficult this year...having lost my father about a month ago, I am filled with thanksgiving for the life and bond we shared, but also grieve his loss. The impending appointment with the Oncologist on Tuesday morning fills me with uncertainty. In the midst of these burdens, it was the "bug lady" as we refer to Christine here at the Towers who reminded me of the meaning of Christmas. She arrives once a month to debug our apartments.

Christine is a single mother with a 4 year old daughter! She talked about the the sense of wonder in Abbie's eyes on Christmas morning...and how she tries to make Christmas special, with small affordable gifts, but also how she and her young daughter bake things to take to other people. I was reminded as we chatted in passing, how easy it would be for Christine to be bitter, about Abbie's father running off, or that they had little compared to others...yet here was the 'bug lady' who smiles and reminds weary pilgrims along the road, that it doesn't matter how quickly we arrive in Bethlehem, but that we continue on the journey, at our own speed...Each journey is different, as it should be...
each person walks towards Bethlehem some forms bending low with sadness, or uncertainty...but there will be no POLL taken at the Manger...and amidst those people who journey, are not filled with the fact that they CALL themselves Christians...but that as they follow the Star, they remember that it was a baby, not a Democrat or Republican, but a small child which was born within each of us while we walked upon the journey...

the Birthday girl...

Happy Birthday Heather

It was a cold December Sunday morning, when after an hour's sleep, Phyllis said 'CALL THE DR.' Over a foot of snow had fallen...I put on my red sweat suit, and rushed out to shovel the driveway and sidewalk...and off we went. Not having been plowed, it was slow going...and as I approached a Stop sign in Sidney, NY where the Hospital was located, Phyllis said "There's a Stop sign" and my reply was that "I'm not stopping because I'm not delivering."

How different those days were - I was not allowed in Labor room OR Delivery Room...rushed home to change into my Preaching clothes, then back to the Hospital...Now fathers are allowed to stay with their wives, and be part of all...As I paced back and forth, HEATHER LYNNE arrived about 8:30AM...I called the parents COLLECT in pre cell days, and off I went, to announce the birth...Had no shepherds, or angels, so I blared the horn all the way back to Bainbridge, windows down shouting the GOOD NEWS...

That was 37 years ago today, and tears well up in my eyes as I remember that for the first time, Phyllis and I EXPERIENCED the miracle of life in the Christmas Story. Happy Birthday Heather, and it is fitting that you are having a storm in the Boston area. Surely a STAR is dancing in the Heavens on this day as it did that day you were born...

Waiting can be difficult

We spend much of our lives waiting...for a Dr. report, for a much wanted child..for the first day of school, for Christmas!
We are an impatient people, many of us. But there is meaning in the waiting. I remember waiting all day long until the cold evening hours to see Dwight Eisenhower and Mimi on their whistle stop tour through Woonsocket...now they know the winner before the election is held. Now we have microwaves so we can eat sooner...no waiting. We have Email so there is no waiting for the Postman to come...but it's important to wait. As we wait, we experience something of God's grace as it reveals itself in the waiting...and the anticipation grows like the ivy on the walls of time...

Phyllis and I waited those long months of 1970 until Advent reminded us how anxious and difficult it can be to wait for God...
On that cold blustery Saturday in Bainbridge, NY, the Dr. visit was over, she insisted we walk into the woods to cut the Sanborn Christmas tree..all the time as we went through the motions, waiting. I broke three Christmas tree stands in the process, but the tree went up, lights were strung...and on this journey we walked as did Mary and Joseph, she acknowledged that "I am going to bed because we're going to have a baby." Snowing harder outside my office window, I went to start the sermon for the 13th as we had no way of knowing what God had planned for us...

More on "Giving..."

Since my daughter Jennifer mentioned it, I had planned to comment later but will now. I had a phone call one evening telling me that Amy Grant and Vince Gill were to be in St. Cloud for a Christmas Celebration, would I like to go? It was one of those special events that one thinks of, but doesn't do for one's self. My birthday/Christmas gift from Heather, Jennifer, Matt and the grandchildren was a ticket 'FIRST ROW MIDDLE'for the concert. Each time that I drive past the hall on 192 I think of how special that night was...I have tears in my eyes even as I type this blog, because it touched my heart so deeply, and still does. It was electrifying, and the whole family was there to share in this concert, and they sung together. As much as the gift itself, the fact that they thought of me, and how much I would appreciate it. Amy started singing in that town or that area...it is the gift that keeps on giving, and though there were many people there, I felt as though they were singing just for me...

I don't need things any more. and the most precious gifts, aren't those that we wrap up in the fancy paper, but shared from the heart...and when I share a gift with someone, it's NOT with the question as to what I shall receive in return. When Heather and Jennifer were young, I would always buy one special gift for each of them, and for Phyllis... the Santa issue is dealt with in whatever ways people choose, but who of us doesn't yearn to believe in a person in a red suit who gives a gift just because they want to - and for no other reason...

How silently, how silently...

I was leaving on vacation, and it was a messy rainy evening as I drove along Route 23..and I needed some windshield washer..
remembered a young couple, who had come to one of the
Christmas Eve services. They had known me as "a
minister that cares." Unbeknownst to me, one of three
young children had been seriously ill...While they
weren't regular Church people, whatever such is, they
came...and I had a sermon about children, and babies,
and that sometimes it's too difficult to travel to
Bethlehem...
as we lit our candles that night, and I shared a
prayer for Christmas, I gazed as the candles were
being lit, and in the candlelight, saw this young
couple holding one child, their hands around the
others and tears in their eyes...

I lost track of Patty and John, but driving on route
23 on my way for vacation and the Victory Store was still open.
there she was coming out of the
store, she started to cry, rushed up to me, and said
'You probably don't remember us, but you healed our
baby." I DID remember them, and listened as she told
me that after that Christmas Eve service, there was a
miracle, and the child who had been so very sick
slowly began to feel better...while she credited ME, I
said, it was God who allowed me to welcome others as
we followed the Star to the baby and HE worked the
miracle. she went on to tell me, that they through
that miracle had become Christians and her husband was
now a deacon she told me, and she taught Sunday
School...

The gifts of Christmas are varied, and like this young couple, whom many people would have ignored, received a gift that they never anticipated, or felt they deserved. It isn't, despite what the advertisements tell us, the gift with the highest pricetag, or even something material which says "I love you." rather it is a gift, shared in silence, oftentimes, reminds me of why it is that so many people feel disappointed after the gifts have been opened...we feel loved, when we receive a special 'gift' that we didn't deserve, but rather we received it anyway...how important it is like this young couple what if they had said to me "you shouldn't have. we don't deserve this." rather than what she said excitedly that night in our chance meeting "Thank you Peter and thank God"

Lists

How time has changed. A half century ago, Sears catalogues were free! In October of each year, Dad's sisters and the grandparents would encourage us to send our 'lists' of what we would like for Christmas. Dog eared pages with initials were many and lengthy lists were sent to New Hampshire. It took we children a few years to realize that we received NOTHING on our lists, but did receive what they were able to buy on sale, and/or what they thought we wanted and needed. Yet we continued to make our lists in the hopes that they would change their routine of living. All families have their own traditions. There was a huge curtain or closed doors, leading into the gifts. Everyone had to eat breakfast, we children rushed the grownups. Prior to coming downstairs we would line up, with my sister first and then by age, while my Aunt Edythe took homemade movies.
The same lineup occurred as we prepared to enter the 'tree room', what a hoot that was, as each child was given an adult like person to keep a LIST of the gifts and who we would need to thank. One year I asked for socks, and I got 17 pair...and after all the gifts had been opened we would have the "showing of the gifts" as we went around the room showing the gifts we had received. One year I received a hand made Santa Claus suit, complete with rubber mask. Made of wool, I even (at that age) wore the needed pillow..and wore it all day. The year I got the Dr's kit, I spent the whole day checking peoples' blood pressures and giving them candied aspirin...Large gifts were important..better than small ones...but what did WE know? Gifts were and are important...some unwrapped, some hidden. What was the most impressionable gift you have ever given? and what was the most precious you received? and who is on your list this year?
'

the Christmas Play

I attended Liberty Street Elementary School in Nyack, NY after we had moved from Woonsocket.RI. In the 6th grade, Miss Filer asked me to be one of the stars in the Play...I was to be Caspar, the wiseman, Dick Faband was to be Balthazar, and Philip Fulmor was Melchior. It was a play about the Wise Men and the decision they made to travel to Bethlehem. There were Carols sung by cast and audience, and the three of us had the major speaking parts. In the emotional Procession to the Manger the 3 Wiseman processed down the aisle, and up the stairs...I went first, then Melchior followed by Balthazar. As I was walking across the stage suddenly Melchior tripped coming up the stairs on his long colorful robe falling flat on his face...his gift of Frankincense came sliding right by me to the foot of the manger. Someone sitting behind my parents in the balcony, when asked who the Wise Men were, and my name came up "Of course he's a good speaker, isn't his father the Baptist Minister?"
Have YOU ever been in a Christmas play or pageant? Peter

The importance of Stories

As a young child, i loved listening to stories, and in that way, I got to know my Great Grandmothers, Grandparents all, and everyone else in between. In today's busy world, we don't always have the patience to LISTEN to these stories, and I believe that we don't get to learn about these people. My father, who died recently at age 91, was a teller of stories, and taught me by example how important the stories are! I have a belief that if every person had but ONE PERSON who listened to their story, without giving advice or being judgmental, we would not need Psychiatrists because when someone LISTENS to these stories, the stories and the people become important.

While I had many shortcomings as a minister, and person, there was this ability to LISTEN, not only to what is being said, but also to what is unsaid. When Phyllis, Heather, Jennifer and I moved to Martha's Vineyard, I learned further the importance of stories from the Wampanoag people who lived in Gay Head and were part of my Church there.

One memory I have, was when my family traveled to Goffstown, NH to the family homestead to celebrate Christmas and on Christmas Eve my father, Bette and Paul Doonan, David and I went to a house down in the village which was the local Catholic Church. We arrived early and there was a Senior Citizen who was singing 'O HOLY NIGHT' and her rendition was awful. I couldn't believe that she would sing this during the service, but Dad said she was the local soloist. She sang as the Offering was taken, and David and I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Since that night I have heard it sung many times, none so beautiful as that by my daughter Jennifer, but that night I realized that this woman's solo was her 'gift' to the Christ Child, and we should celebrate her sharing this gift. Christmas memories abound within me, and I shall share more of these stories
and others in the days to come...

A gift for my father....

It wasn't always that I proudly proclaimed myself the daughter of a minister. I suspect most often in my childhood it was a burden--being present each Sunday in church, riding the storm of being in the public eye, and a community message that one must be "good" if one is the child of a pastor. Most any "PK" would tell the same story. I have grown, however, and times have changed. I hear myself now proudly telling work colleagues, passing acquaintances and friends that I am not only the daughter of a minister, I am granddaughter to two, and sister in law to an ordained woman in outdoor ministries. It is in my blood.

So, too, for my father. He grew up steeped in church culture, and I can remember his signature, "Peter, Minister and Friend" as vividly as I remember much of my childhood. It is who he is--and though now retired, he continues to minister with his presence in his housing complex, in the chapel he attends, to his family, and to anyone who has walked the path with him of life as a sometimes cruel teacher. I created this blog so he might continue to minister with his stories, and we might find a place to retain and treasure them. Dad, this is for you! Happy writing--we look forward to reading each day and seeing what you remember and long to share.