DANGEROUS TERRITORY. Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post, 9/21/25

Honestly, I despise some of the impossible choices this supposedly “good” Divinity imposed on the starving people of ancient Israel: choose money/wealth or me. It’s a merciless, manipulative, and dizzying choice. I would definitely, like Abraham, try to bargain. I’m very good at nagging, and less good at trusting God to provide as promised.

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The retirement community where I now live showed the movie “Barbie” recently. I wanted to go. I wanted to go enough that I debated trying to reschedule my appointment for physical therapy to strengthen my legs and spine. My husband said he’d buy the movie so we could view it at home together. Then I thought, What the hell are you thinking, girl? You’re back in junior high school! 

NEVERTHELESS……………..

In the Old Testament there is a story of old Abraham’s relentless bargaining trying to get God to say just exactly how far one could carry on with sin before encountering divine wrath.  The scene in Genesis is hilarious as Abraham pursues Yahweh relentlessly. Would the Great Divine Creator actually break the covenant and abandon Israel to their own devices?

I actually felt sorry for God with Abraham’s nagging. As a parent of course I identify. You’d do anything, even indulge in sin yourself,  just to shut this or that kid up. 

I had made a solemn vow never to allow the latest doll creation into our house. I remember that I’d banned this best selling “toy” from our house.  I don’t even recall being nagged about the latest specimen of doll. All I recall is that I despised this latest icon of how I should look. 

ENVY!  

ENVY is one of the seven deadly sins. Within ten years I’d birthed four children and my flesh sagged and bagged—no perky boobs or waspish waist—ever.  But did I really want to look like this doll? 

DAMN! Am I still plagued by the sin of ENVY, a green-eyed monster or a small slim icon from the 50’s?  I felt foolish, tears forming in my eyes. Still, I am sure of one thing, and that is that the man to whom I have plighted my troth in marriage would just give me a hug and, yes, call me silly without joshing me—much.

HOW DO YOU KNOW? Spiritual Lemons, blog post, Lyn G. Brakeman, 914/25

When I was a small child, toddler size, I was always far too curious and inquisitive, bordering on rude, according to my mother. I questioned everything, even how Jesus dying on a cross for no good reason at all could save anyone! But you never know! 

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There were two wing chairs in the living room of our NYC apartment. They couldn’t fly with their wings. But I bet they did secretly at night when no one was looking. 

Uncle Syd used to sit on one of these chairs when he and my aunt came to visit us at our New York apartment. When Uncle Syd sat there the wing hid his face, except for his nose, too big I thought. All I could see of him was his belly. I stared. He grinned, I stared which I knew from my mother was rude, but I didn’t care and neither did Uncle Syd.

One evening he nodded and beckoned me to come sit up there with him. I did. He held me securely, his large warm hands encircling me so I wouldn’t fall off. I chatted away with all my questions and he nodded and smiled a little—just a little. He refused to give me a sip, but I’d already taste-tested his drink with my pinky—yukky.

I looked into Uncle Syd’s eyes. They were smiley and weepy both at once. How could that be? I was about to ask him when suddenly my mother and my aunt noticed me and snatched me away. I pouted. It wasn’t even bedtime. 

*  *  *  *

Uncle Syd eventually hanged himself on the showerhead and fell to his death taking the entire shower apparatus down with him. My aunt became a Roman Catholic, and all the time she hung onto a string of little beads she called a rosary, but I didn’t see any roses. I saw her mumbling odd words—over and over. No one ever again mentioned Uncle Syd, but I missed him in my heart and told God to take care of him in heaven. 

I will never forget Uncle Syd’s chuckle and how his eyes could hold two kinds of tears —wells of sorrow and twinkles of humor—both at once.   

2025.09.07 PRAISE FOR ALL WHO LABOR? Lyn G. Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post,

I have always detested this holiday we call Labor Day, not because I do not appreciate people who work hard to make their own living worthy and helpful for all of us, but because of a hymn! 

 “Come Labor On” # 541 in the 1982 Hymnal, The tune name is Ora Labora, written no less by a woman, Jane Laurie Borthwick (1813-1897) in 1859. Another woman, Mary Jo Latham, wrote the laborious lyrics. “Come labor on. Who dares stand idle while all around waves the golden grain, and the Master (boss) nags: “Go work today. . .”

It is a painful text for women who lose their lives and/or their infants when birthing, or for those who for whatever reasons bear no children. It is a horrifying text in times of job shortages and rampant unemployment —not to mention the slavedriver portrait of Divinity. Are you inspired? 

Besides, who claims to know exactly what the divine will is?  There is only one biblically-recorded good outcome of all this forced laboring, and that is in the Book of Ruth, because she, a starving abandoned widow, crawls along the edges of the field and gets to gather up the leftover pickings at the side of the path and thus not starve! Okay YHWH (Yahweh) thanks!

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We live in a residential retirement community—aging as we go. It is not difficult to contact the village office and request some help even to hang a heavy-framed picture. You used to do all this stuff, which in this house meant get my husband to do stuff, but do NOT risk it. Ladders are no longer friendly; neither are hammers. The expression “all thumbs” is serious!! 

Aging in place is one thing, but to try to do it “independently” is quite another. Today I am grateful we have a very good maintenance team,  a very good spouse who is not too proud to admit he’s too old, and a balanced spirituality that steadies my heart.     

2025.08.31 AN ODD LITTLE CHRISTMAS MIRACLE IN AUGUST, Lyn Brakeman, Spiritual Lemons, blog post

I do not refer to my oldest son Rob’s birthday 58 years ago, although that was a miracle all by itself, taking hours and much pushing and pain, with the assistance of me and the doctor, he emerged and began to howl after being held upside down and smacked. Isn’t birth a trauma all round?! It is also a blessing! Rob Brakeman was and remains one of the best miracles in my life!!

I will share another less spectacular but equally strange miracle that just happened. Five years ago we bought online a tabletop tree to honor Christmas. Our apartment was too small for a great big tree, but our wee one had strings of wee lights on it and sat atop a bookcase in its balled-up burlap holding its fake roots. At Christmas we adorned it with balls and the correct trimmings. BUT once we took off all the ornaments, our little tree still had majesty and beauty, so it remained. It lightens/brightens up our evenings all year long. In and upon it we have lodged a beautiful butterfly and several owls (totems of wisdom). To say that we’d fallen in love is an understatement. Every night we plug our tree into the wall and she brightens right up. Christmas miracle all year long!! 

Then — what to our wondering eyes should appear last evening but the sudden brightening of the upper lights on our little tree. Had we really seen? Yes. We watched and wondered as their brightness grew brighter. Then suddenly they all went out at once, leaving the lower lights on.

We sat startled, and then Dick commented: “Well that was the upper two strings only. How odd.”  I of course thought it a holy sign. Perhaps it is the way we all die—a swift brightness and then gone!

We stared for a bit, then, following the wisdom of the owls, decided that we would get another wee tree the same as this one. Dick remembered he had ordered it some years back from “Amazon the almighty”—of course!  

Whatever we get, the truth will remain in our hearts. The first little tree and all its blessings over five years, will never be forgotten, even if we find another just like her, well, it will never be the same.  

2025.08.24 What Do We Say About Us? Spiritual Lemons blog post, Lyn G. Brakeman

 According to Heather Cox Richardson, my chief and most reliable source of news, there are in the developing process of our national self-image two chief storylines we tell ourselves and others about this country and its history. Richardson is clear that these observations below are her own.  

        1)  We’re ALL EQUAL with equal rights and freedoms, including equal access to public attention, according to our constitutional guidelines and the law. 

        2) Although we ALL ARE equal by law, there lingers a fear of losing out, or being left out. Such lingering fear impels/compels/invites just ONE to stand out, no matter what the costs. This is the storyline followed by MAGA, and it is faltering, thus leaving more room for the other storyline to reassert itself.

YES! Even after nearly 200 years WE are still the people, and WE can do it AGAIN!

I agree with this assessment of our present situation. The MAGA group’s attempts at attention-grabbing are waning, losing momentum and grasp, yes grasp! 

I am praying that ALL our elected representatives in Congress will stand up and act on their rights, collective and individual, to be heard, to lobby, and to vote in accordance with, and justified by, storyline #1.  Thanks.

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ALSO... Happy114th Birthday to you, dear Dad!  Say “hi” to the heavenly host! 

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

2025.08.17 GRIN AND GROWL, blog post, Spiritual Lemons

 

This amazing picture was a gift to me from a dear friend who has just died. She knew how to growl and grin with amazing clarity and dexterity—and at the right time. Today I am grieving her grins and her growls. Today is a grOWLing day, both for personal grief and for world politics just now.   

I know grins will return soon.  

2025.08.10 IT'S A BIRD! IT'S A PLANE! IT'S MCLEAN, aka SOULS-IN-FLIGHT/FIGHT MODE?

These days life in a costly, supposedly luxurious residential retirement community defined as “Independent Living/Aging-in-Place” everyone is actually dying-in-place—uniquely and dependently. People are truly quite creative— in their fashion, darling!  

The only essential qualification for this kind of daily drama/trauma is a sense of humor, such as: Q “Hey what was for dinner to night?   A: You know, it’s really hard to tell you except it was unrecognizably stew-ISH. Quite pleasurable to the well-trained eye. Looked like a Renoir in the dadaism style of Paul Klee. Q: Rembrandt, eh?  A: Possibly one of the daughters."  

Since everything is impressionistic here, I am free to elaborate at will. Whatever it was it looked like death-on-the move, or movement. Balletic in fact. 

To be quite serious, most of us do not care much about food and other pettinesses, yet we do care seriously about every neighbor inside and out. Thus the flow of life goes onward and inward and outward all at once.  BRILLIANT BALLET, NO? 

clapclapclap……….………….trap