They call it "Yooper Initiation"

What you need to know first - is that I am OK. Fine. A little sore and battered, but FINE. I promise.

It snowed for the fifth time this October on Saturday night. I was in the Central part of the UP for meetings, and staying at my friend Ginny's house in Palmer. On Sunday, there was about an inch on the ground at Ginny's and I headed off to a breakfast meeting. I was quite aware of the somewhat icy road, and felt like I was taking it pretty slowly and carefully.

I came to a curve [really one of an endless series of curves in this road which curves in 3-D like a roller coaster for about six miles]. As I entered the curve, I thought, "You are going to fast for this curve," but there was nothing to do, at that point, as the road was a solid sheet of ice. Sure enough, I swerved left, then right, then left again. I felt the car leave the road; was pretty sure it rolled. It came to rest, tilted. My first words, "Thank God, I'm OK." I felt no pain, at all.

I could not open the driver's door, so I got my feet on the window, moved to the e-brake, pushed hard on the passenger door, and got it open. I was quite high in the air. There was a stump there ["Wow," I thought, "Good thing I didn't hit THAT"]. I stepped on the stump, and got to the ground. The car was clearly not going anywhere, and I was in a ditch with a five foot drop on a pretty lonely road.

I climbed out of the ditch and walked nearly a half mile until I came to a mailbox. The Kotijarvi's let me use their phone to call for help, and then Melba drove me back to my car. When we got to the place, she paled visibly and asked if I were sure I was OK; she promptly took me back to her house for coffee to await the police. Darryl (or Darren, I'm fuzzy here) took me back to the scene when the trooper called to say he was almost there. He told me in the car, "I just got back from Iraq last week. We lost three guys. Actually two guys and a girl. It's bad there." I welcomed him home. He stayed until the trooper arrived.

I was on my way to meet Manuel (my supervisor), Jim (my bishop), Kevin (the diocesan Ministry Development Coordinator) and a number of folks from the standing committee and commission on ministry. We were doing some canonical assessments on a congregation working on commissioning a Ministry Support Team. I was quite sure they would be very worried when I didn't show. I learned later that Jim realized he had a voicemail (as all were wondering where I was) and that he looked shaken when he heard my message, playing it on speaker phone for the whole group to hear.

After the tow truck came, the trooper took me to church. All the folks there fussed and carried on in sweet and caring ways. After church, the tow truck guy took me to the body shop. The body shop loaned me a car. At no point did I show any identification, produce a credit card, or my driver's license! The insurance people have been great.

Tomorrow am, I'll drive back to Ishpiming, return the loaner car and get a rental car until Maggie is fixed. It's still being negotiated, but she's looking repairable - about 10K worth of damage.

I was feeling funky this afternoon, so I called the doc, who told me to go the ER. I walked in and the nurse said, "Are you Fran? The clinic called and said you were coming." vitals, CAT scan, doc consult (minor concussion and bruises, nothing serious), and I was out the door in an hour.

Apparently many folks who drive up here roll a car in the ice at some point. What strikes me most is the kindness of strangers. From the Kotajarvis to Trooper Stanton to the folks at Tim's towing and the owner of Bartanen's auto body, not to mention the folks in the ER at Ontonagon Memorial Hospital, everyone was kind, caring, and lovely.

By the way, here's what the tow truck guys and I have reconstructed about what actually happened: I went into the ditch, missing a utility pole by no more than a foot. The tow truck guys think I rolled twice. The stump is from the tree I broke with the side of my car. What was holding me the tilted position was the trunk of the tree, leaning up against other trees. It was all quite gentle. No crashing, and no jarring. The airbag did not deploy.

My first Tattoo

I've wanted this tattoo since I was nineteen; as Jeff -the-tattoo-dude pointed out today, that's more than half my life. I think it's safe to say that this was not a phase.

So today, in honor of my ordination to the priesthood three weeks ago, I got this tattoo. In case you are wondering (it's hard to photograph one's own ankle), what you are looking at is a photo of my left ankle.

The most amazing thing about the experience was not the tattoo itself, but the long conversation that Jeff and I had, while he was doing the tattoo. "So," he said to me, "what do you do?"

"I'm an Episcopal priest," I replied.

"Really? That's so cool!" And then, this dude with tattoos covering nearly every inch of exposed skin, multiple piercings, earlobe stretchers, and a T-Shirt reading Strippers really like my pole, proceeded to talk with me about faith, spirituality, and theology for the hour it took him to do the tattoo.

He wanted to know what I thought about various parts of scripture and more about the Episcopal Church. He shared some of his own spiritual thoughts and explorations. To say that it was not what I expected would be understatement beyond measure.

I nearly invited him to attend the 7pm Explore! service at my friend Ginny's church, Trinity Episcopal Church in Houghton, but I was afraid of falling into the crazy-evangelistic-Christian stereotype. So, I've decided that when I get my next tattoo, because, oh yes, there will be another one, that I'll invite him to come.

The great public tattoo unveiling took place at Canterbury House, the campus ministry at Michigan Tech. Rick celebrated by making me a fab latte and teaching my how to run their high-tech espresson maker. The house was packed with more than a dozen students, and they thought it was great. It was the perfect setting to take the wrapping off in.

I've spent the rest of the day grinning like a fool, trying to be nonchalant about looking at my ankle.  

Rodney and Graham

On Monday, I played host to Rodney and Graham, two blokes visiting the UP from the Diocese of Aberdeen and Orkney in the Episcopal Church of Scotland. These wonderful and funny men traveled to the UP to learn about how we do mutual ministry and to learn more about the Visitors' Weekend that we host here each year to introduce others to mutual ministry. Both are involved in Local Collaborative ministry (one of the funny things about this work is that it gets called something different in every diocese that uses it!).

There were many funny moments; we laughed a lot as we navigated (another) snowstorm to visit the church in Ironwood. My favourite moment, however came after we stopped for petrol and coffee. They encountered, apparently for the first time, beef jerky. They found it puzzling and declared it both strange and gross. My instant reply: For men who come from a culture that things that haggis is appealing, you have NOTHING to say about beef jerky. We all laughed so hard we cried. They agreed that I might be right.

Second Eucharist

In the Episcopal Church, one must be ordained as a priest in order to preside at the Eucharist (aka The Lord's Supper or Communion). Generally, after ordination, a great deal of attention is paid to one's first Eucharist. Friends and family who traveled for the ordination often stick around to participate in the service. It's wonderful, amazing, powerful, terrifying, and all a bit unreal.

I was ordained priest on October 7, 2006, and presided at my first service the next day in Ontonagon. I was blessed to have more than a dozen friends and family members who could be there. Some things went wrong, mostly it was fine, and I felt thankful that there are other priests in my life who were willing to take the time to work with me beforehand, so that I felt pretty comfortable with what I was supposed to do.

Yesterday, I presided at my second Eucharist. Driving to Ironwood (65 miles each way) I experienced what I have experienced every Sunday since coming to the UP: profound gratitude at being here, in this place, and with these people, doing this work. Part way to Ironwood, what started as a bit of frozen rain turned into serious snow. By the time I arrived, later than I'd hoped, it was snowing in earnest.

I had just enough time to check in with the others who would be part of the service, Mel as deacon, Jake as acolyte, Maj-Britt as reader. I spread my chausible out on the altar rail. I set the ribbons where I needed them in the altar book. I took a look at the church from behind the altar in the presider's position.

Then, I went back to the office to vest. Alb. Cincture. That felt normal. I've been putting those things on for years. Then came the stole. Only those ordained wear stoles, in the Episcopal church. Deacons wear them over the left shoulder, crossed in front, fastened under the right arm. Priests wear them around the neck, hanging down in front. My green stole (for we are still in that long green season after Pentecost) was a gift from Anne and Lucia, when I was ordained deacon. I put it on, along with my VTS pectoral cross. And I realized that I am, in fact, a priest. That fact has hit me, occasionally, over the last two weeks. Say, when someone asked me what I do. But somehow, in the office in Ironwood, it became real for me.

We prayed, Mel made some announcements, and the service began. At the Eucharist, Mel prepared the table and I took my place, standing behind the altar. Given the floor plan in Ironwood, the folks in the back row might as well be in Hurley, WI (several miles down the road!). Somehow, I hadn't really noticed how far away they were, when the church was empty.

"Better project," I thought. I took a deep breath, and began: "The Lord be with you." And I was there. Praying with those who had gathered. Again, it flashed through my head that I am, in fact, a priest. That I was praying the ancient prayer of the church. That I was presiding at the liturgy (liturgy=the work of the people, btw) of the table. With our prayers, bread and wine became body and blood. And like all of creation, it was very good.