tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-175021662024-03-12T22:49:36.393-04:00the unlikely orangea collection of words about God and life and art and baseball and football and hope and my family and my ministry and music and the immense joy in each moment of all of it. it's a record of being human. welcome.greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.comBlogger2069125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-32753688361095862532023-11-18T18:41:00.004-05:002023-11-20T12:11:18.246-05:00the crucifixion of Robert Lewis<p> <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdHy3sgTKeOGD6ARvQ-a2WOZI4QBPfmZLJ4zzOUKsXv61HLoqXUFKtkRUDasaG0y8qDy7M3S8_yKq_QfBsJl5rK-bRQI9YZPMD57WteV6vY9S_bAtHkzGsWNk1v9Ze4phxbh4K9uzBQ5y3CqlLJc2RDtHCRHEyDugfkNCT4V3zLdCbYp_IIaOPaQ/s4032/the_crucifixion_of_robert_lewis%20(1).JPEG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdHy3sgTKeOGD6ARvQ-a2WOZI4QBPfmZLJ4zzOUKsXv61HLoqXUFKtkRUDasaG0y8qDy7M3S8_yKq_QfBsJl5rK-bRQI9YZPMD57WteV6vY9S_bAtHkzGsWNk1v9Ze4phxbh4K9uzBQ5y3CqlLJc2RDtHCRHEyDugfkNCT4V3zLdCbYp_IIaOPaQ/w342-h456/the_crucifixion_of_robert_lewis%20(1).JPEG" width="342" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"the crucifixion of Robert Lewis"</div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">mixed media collage with leaves, acrylic paint, and found objects</p><p style="text-align: center;">by gregory a milinovich</p><p style="text-align: center;">october 2023</p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">this october i was invited to participate in a three day trip which was called a "pilgrimage of pain and hope." while that may not sound super exciting to many of you, it actually really intrigued me. i am the kind of person that wants to feel big feelings, and i am drawn to the deep places, so i was interested in traveling to the scranton area, where the trip was planned, to see what it might look like to be a pilgrim that was wide-eyed and listening to the pain and the hope in the stories of others. </p><p style="text-align: left;">this trip included hearing the stories of immigrants to the northeastern pennsylvania area, and the work in the coal mines that many of them did. it included hearing from folks who are working for housing justice and equity in downtown scranton. it included hearing from those indigenous people who first inhabited that land. we also learned about the underground railroad in the scranton area. but, by far, the most compelling experience of the pilgrimage was a road trip to port jervis, new york. </p><p style="text-align: left;">it was there, in port jervis, where a black man was lynched on june 2, 1892. while some of us have been led to believe that lynchings only took place in the south, we learned the story of Robert Lewis, who was beaten and killed by an angry mob here in the northeast. </p><p style="text-align: left;">when we arrived in port jervis we met a retired port jervis policeman named Michael Worden, who has been obsessed with this story over the past couple years, and has researched it thoroughly, though it had largely been swept into the dustbin of history where it could cause us as little shame as possible, and perhaps even be forgotten entirely. but Worden has pulled it from the margins, and written a book about this story. he met us in port jervis, and gave us a walking tour, from the downtown area where things started on that june evening, where Lewis was first accused of an act that he may or may not have been guilty of (we will never really know, since he wasn't given any due process), up the hill out of town, where Lewis was beaten and dragged and beaten some more, past several churches, where many in the angry mob could be found on sunday mornings. those with sticks and clubs might be the same ones with bibles and prayer books on some other day. they beat Robert Lewis to an inch of his death, and tried to hang him a couple times, before finally arriving at the tree that would ultimately be the place of his death. there they finally hung him, and he died. it is a story of horrible evil and hate, enacted by regular townsfolk. i recommend reading more about the story, or perhaps even buying Worden's book, which <a href="https://www.tinybooksonline.com/book/9780984228379" target="_blank">you can find here</a>. </p><p style="text-align: left;">as i walked up the same hill that Robert Lewis walked up, and as i stood on that same patch of land where his blood dripped from his beaten body, and hung from a tree, i realized that i was walking a <i>via dolorosa</i> of sorts. i realized that i was bearing witness to a crucifixion. when we finally gathered together at the spot of his death, we joined together in a circle, and shared in the sacrament of communion, the bread and the cup, the tangible taste and feel of something embodied. as i reflected on that experience i realized that this was a much more powerful experience of the crucifixion than anything i had experienced in the holy land. and i recognize that some might say, "but Jesus was <i>actually there</i> in the holy land," but i would suggest that Jesus was just as much there in port jervis, in ways that speak to me in deeper tones and more vibrant colors that haven't faded through the years quite as much yet. i believe that every murder is a crucifixion; every time life is taken and not given, Jesus is there, suffering with us. </p><p style="text-align: left;">as i walked that <i>via dolorosa</i>, i felt compelled to gather some detritus from the ground. i picked up some leaves and some pieces of cardboard. when i got home i wanted to memorialize this experience in some way, so i put them together in a collage, along with a sketch of Robert Lewis, and some text from the crucifixion of Jesus. this piece helps me to remember him, and to force myself to face the evil of what happened to him. and perhaps it reminds me that i, too, could be capable of such evil at the crucible of personal and systemic fear. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Jesus, let me see you in Robert Lewis, in his tragic murder, and in the thousand ways that he is (you are) still moving among us. by your grace, keep me from joining mobs of hate and fear, and give me courage to stand on the side of love and justice. please forgive me for all the ways i fail at this. amen.</p>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-31688996860706869552022-05-25T10:53:00.000-04:002022-05-25T10:53:12.213-04:00thoughts and prayers (updated)<p><i>note: i wrote these words back in 2017, after a series of tragedies. you can see the original post <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2017/10/thoughtsandprayers.html" target="_blank">here</a>. i have adapted these words to deal with the unthinkable gun violence perpetrated against people of color and children in our country in the last couple of weeks. i share them here as a way to <b>move</b> us, as people of faith, to something more than just words, cynicism, or empty religious platitudes. </i> </p><p><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">It has been a season of terrible tragedy. And once again I have noticed in the news a trending phrase: thoughts and prayers. It even has its own hashtag on twitter and other social media, but net necessarily in a good way. People are understandably tired of hearing about others’ thoughts and prayers, when that is often only a thinly-veiled way of saying that our only obligation to those who suffer is a brief moment of silence, or nothing more than a tweet or public statement. The truth is that, for those of us who follow Jesus, <i>much is required </i>when our neighbors suffer. We are called to do justice where we can, to love kindness and mercy, and to walk with God through it all (Micah 6:8). But let us be careful not to throw out the proverbial baby with the bathwater. We are, as people of faith, those who know that prayer is not simply an empty ritual. Prayer connects us with God and, when we pray for others in ways that are honest and intentional, it gives us the space to move beyond the quick statement, and into a place where we can truly feel another’s pain, and imagine new ways of meeting people in the midst of that pain. It gives us a way to begin to experience, and then offer, hope. Prayer is neither a magic wand we wave to try and fix something, nor a kind of spiritual medication we take to make ourselves feel better. It is a connection with the living God, who calls us to acknowledge our pain, our questions, our anxieties, and our helplessness, while also recognizing God’s love, power, and invitation to us to be the hands and feet of Jesus in a broken world. And so we do more than simply offer #thoughtsandprayers, as some might do: we actually pause to pray; to suffer with; to lift another up; to ask how we might be a part of the healing. So let us pray:</span></p><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">God of life and death and resurrection and hope and victory,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">We come to you now, even as the bitter fruit of our country's love affair with violence is heavy on our hearts. Even as the echoes of gunfire ring in our ears. Even as the cries of our neighbors in Buffalo and Uvalde, and many other places sound in our hearts. Even now, O Lord, we come before you confessing that at times we feel overwhelmed and overcome. Even though the tragedy hasn’t been attached to the name of our town, we still carry this pain, and we don’t know what to do. Help us, first of all, to move beyond the calloused numbness of our tired hearts, and to feel something. May we empathize with those parents who are bent over an empty twin bed today, desperately wanting to breathe in the aroma of a child who is no longer here. May we feel the pain of a child who doesn't understand why their Grandma never came home after going to pick up a few things at the grocery store. May we resist the temptation to numb our pain without actually experiencing it. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;"><br /></div><span style="line-height: 18.4px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">And then, God of all love, show us again that you are indeed God. Remind us again that you are our creator, and our redeemer, the healer of all brokenness and the very hope of the world. Rekindle that fire within us, that we might be able to nurture its small light and cause it to shine right where we are. In all that we say and do, in our work and in our play and in our homes and schools and in the marketplace, and wherever we are, help us to be a people who are constantly shining your light, trusting that you can cause that light to spread from State College to San Antonio, from Boalsburg to Buffalo, from here to wherever it is that is shrouded in grief. And then, Lord, open us to your possibilities. As we meet new people with real pain and real struggles, help us to see how you might be calling us to something more; something active. If we need to listen, help us to listen. If we need to work together, help us to build bridges that enable us to do so. If we need to get busy, show us the ways in which we can begin to make a difference. We long to live with an urgent focus on your great love, which has saved us and changed us, and which we believe will redeem every broken nook and cranny of this amazing and beautiful and broken world. So move our hearts to more than just momentary consideration. Move our hands to write letters. Move our legs to support rallies and vigils that will speak truth to power. Move our minds out of apathetic cynicism, and towards new and creative solutions. Move us to love. And hear our prayer, O Lord, for our own pain, for the pain of our neighbors here in our own places; and for the pain of our neighbors around the world. Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy. Amen.</span></span>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-47793865945596224732022-05-12T10:26:00.000-04:002022-05-12T10:26:03.852-04:00why i remain a united methodist<p>i was recently asked to offer my compelling reasons for why i would want to remain in the united methodist church, even as there is division within, a new denomination forming, and an inevitable divorce coming at some point in the future. here was my response:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWsn1SM5nFQB9XM1_UCrMhDycJsuTGSupuUUh1ZSF7T0PwokySjE2GZzHIK9peFgd02KjdGIsq71vlGvKD0Px5DnxxprGz6zz0ybXQqkoYnk5MldmFo_ln0rodobctnDxok0onxMdFBbXXRmRzaGOyzixkNDd56xwg876-gUX7jsxt4kwIDQ/s1920/we%20are%20united%20methodist%20main.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWsn1SM5nFQB9XM1_UCrMhDycJsuTGSupuUUh1ZSF7T0PwokySjE2GZzHIK9peFgd02KjdGIsq71vlGvKD0Px5DnxxprGz6zz0ybXQqkoYnk5MldmFo_ln0rodobctnDxok0onxMdFBbXXRmRzaGOyzixkNDd56xwg876-gUX7jsxt4kwIDQ/w410-h231/we%20are%20united%20methodist%20main.png" width="410" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Why stay United Methodist? My compelling reasons.</p><p>It’s home. </p><p> For many of us, this is our home. It is the legacy that was handed to us by our great-grandparents, our grandparents, or our parents. It was the community who welcomed us into the world with casseroles on our kitchen tables, and baptism blankets. It was the United Methodists who taught us flannel-board truths and showed us that Jesus loves all the little children: red, yellow, black and white. It was the United Methodists who gave us our first Bibles, who journeyed with us as we learned what it means to confirm the promises of our baptism. It was the United Methodists who affirmed our gifts, who let us ask questions, and who loved us even when we were annoying, antagonistic, and apathetic. For others of us, it might not have been a legacy that was handed to us, but it was a home that we came to; a place that felt like home after a journey of searching. In any case, this is home. Shall we abandon it so easily?</p><p>It’s a via media. <span style="white-space: pre;"> </span></p><p> Via media means “middle way,” and this has always been a part of the Methodist DNA, from it’s earliest moments. Between the high liturgy of the Church of England and the practical earthiness of Pietism, Methodism was a via media. Between the roots of tradition and the openness to personal experience, Methodism has always been a via media. Between a holiness of heart (works of piety) and a holiness of hands (acts of mercy), Methodism has always been a via media. Between conservatism and progressivism, United Methodist still has the opportunity to remain true to its character: to be a via media who is not defined by its polar extremes, but most alive in the tensions in between. Might we stay true to our DNA, or shall we give way to our cultural tendency to fracture along the poles?</p><p>It’s a big tent. </p><p> We have never agreed on everything. United Methodism has never been about an orthodoxy in which all adherents must agree to, swear on, or relentlessly defend. No, our approach has long been: “In essentials, unity; in non-essentials, liberty; and in all things, charity.” A tenet of what it means to be United Methodist is that we agree to disagree, while still living in relationship to one another in the community of faith. In fact, the phrase ‘agree to disagree,’ is believed to have come from John Wesley’s disagreement with George Whitfield, and their ability to love alike even if they did not think alike. Can we not, also, love alike?</p><p>It’s an open table. </p><p> In the end, it’s always been about grace. When Wesley’s heart was strangely warmed, it was because he came to terms, in a new way, with the unthinkable grace of God even for him. Grace has always been our trademark. Even our emphasis on holiness has always been rooted in a grace which allows us to long for closer and deeper relationship with God. This emphasis on grace is seen so clearly in our emphasis on an open table, where we do not distinguish between races, genders, sexualities, backgrounds, languages, experiences, or sins. There is a place for everyone at the table. Would you choose to leave this place for a community which might place restrictions on who is actually welcome at the table? Will we try and limit the limitless grace of God? Or will we draw the circle even wider?</p><div><br /></div>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-73387203894489852642021-04-03T08:58:00.000-04:002021-04-03T08:58:01.538-04:00The Broken Path: the stations of the cross - Station 8<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih3TglFSwRVC6Xxjn1kZPhB0J7dIkTTqXUoMinNBXSEliu-iU1uqvYOB7mb_dXjMQL3iPyQYFZRPmI1yog1ziDoFN78-cbtgGxxcICbI6HEulPX1bs5L915YMS1HkHOB1QydGjFA/s2048/IMG_6771.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih3TglFSwRVC6Xxjn1kZPhB0J7dIkTTqXUoMinNBXSEliu-iU1uqvYOB7mb_dXjMQL3iPyQYFZRPmI1yog1ziDoFN78-cbtgGxxcICbI6HEulPX1bs5L915YMS1HkHOB1QydGjFA/w400-h400/IMG_6771.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">"the broken path: station 8 - Jesus is placed in the tomb"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">gregory a. milinovich</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">spray paint, broken glass, pottery, tiles, mirror on old farm window</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">march, 2021</span></div><p></p><p>this year during lent, i was inspired to design a set of eight pieces of art for a "stations of the cross" installation, which is currently on display outside on the front lawn at St. Paul's UMC and Wesley Foundation at 230 E. College Ave. in State College, PA. it will be there on display until april 3rd, 2021. if you aren't able to see it in person, you can see the whole collection here. i've also decided to write a bit about each one, so that you can find out a little "behind the scenes" information for each one, and hear a little about my inspiration. here are the posts for station 1, station 2, station 3, station 4, station 5, station 6, and station 7.</p><p>this brings us to the final station, in which we remember that the lifeless body was taken down from the cross, and then brought to a small garden tomb, previously unused. Joseph of Arimathea, took the body of Jesus, wrapped it in a linen cloth, and laid it in this tomb, which had been hewn from broken rock. somehow he rolled a large stone (this is hard work!) to cover the door of the tomb, and he left. but a couple women, including Mary Magdalene, stayed there, sitting by his tomb. maybe she couldn't let go; couldn't process the finality of this moment. or maybe, just maybe, she was the only one keeping it together. maybe she, more than anyone else, could hear the echo of his words when he had told them, over and again, that he would rise again. maybe she was steady in her faith, even in the midst of her shock and grief, that this would no - could not - be the end. i can imagine her prayers as she leaned on that heavy stone: "oh God. oh God, no. this is not the end. don't let this be the end. please, Lord. everything has fallen apart."</p><p>but even from the darkness of the broken earth, buried in rock, there is a sense that in Jesus, all things hold together. there is a steadiness to his love, that goes deeper than the places where death can penetrate to rob. this steadiness is referred to in the prayer for this station by Padraig O'Tuama in his prayer book "Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community" (copyright 2017, canterbury press, norwich, london). </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>Jesus of the unexpected,</p><p>for at least some of your life</p><p>this was not how you imagined its end.</p><p>Yet even at the end,</p><p>you kept steady in your conviction.</p><p>Jesus, keep us steady.</p><p>Jesus, keep us steady.</p><p>Because, Jesus, keep us steady.</p><p>Amen.</p></blockquote><p>i want to say a word about the art, but first, about this little poem/prayer . i am so captured by those last few lines. the repeated refrain of keep us steady, and the insertion of that because, as if the one praying has not even the energy to come up with a reason beyond just: hold me together. we are broken. we need you. we need you. because, we need you. i feel this plea deep in my gut, like a prayer buried in a dark tomb in me. </p><p>for this window, i wanted to stick with my themes, yet do something pretty different. i still wanted to include those vertical and horizontal elements from all the other pieces, but in a different way, since the literal cross is not present in this story. i wanted to create a sense of Jesus being buried and cut off. so, instead of letting light through, as i have in the other windows, i spray painted the glass black, except for a few small cracks that i left unpainted in the upper left corner. i wanted to leave a small crevice of hope: a fissure of faith that maybe, just maybe, this is not the end? i included several broken elements, including a bunch of broken yellow glass, meant to create the impression that maybe, just maybe, the light can break through the darkness. like mary, weeping at the cold, dark tomb, maybe we, too, can feel the faintest flicker of light. maybe we can't even see it yet, but we can cling to our hope for it, even in our shattered, broken messes. we can cry out, or whimper, or whisper: </p><p>Jesus, we need you to come from that tomb. </p><p>Jesus, we need you to rise up from the dead. </p><p>because, Jesus, we need you...</p><p> </p>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-90536981829229867442021-04-02T13:31:00.001-04:002021-04-02T13:31:56.107-04:00The Broken Path: the stations of the cross - Station 7<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEkPOLdsd4xeJqNe_g2fTsKTWCTdDvNeRdP7KmTTWPay_rsXrQXupBEGYiXh6uhFlONalz7aPkVv1GxA6NRqkMI0qpk13TVKTRtL0mTHYpXGwK1olsBCad0E0TiqQ2wbg3US38fg/s2048/IMG_6758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEkPOLdsd4xeJqNe_g2fTsKTWCTdDvNeRdP7KmTTWPay_rsXrQXupBEGYiXh6uhFlONalz7aPkVv1GxA6NRqkMI0qpk13TVKTRtL0mTHYpXGwK1olsBCad0E0TiqQ2wbg3US38fg/w400-h400/IMG_6758.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">"the broken path: station 7 - Jesus dies on the cross"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">gregory a. milinovich</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">broken glass, ceramics, tiles on old farm window</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">march, 2021</span></div><p></p><p>this year during lent, i was inspired to design a set of eight pieces of art for a "stations of the cross" installation, which is currently on display outside on the front lawn at St. Paul's UMC and Wesley Foundation at 230 E. College Ave. in State College, PA. it will be there on display until april 3rd, 2021. if you aren't able to see it in person, you can see the whole collection here. i've also decided to write a bit about each one, so that you can find out a little "behind the scenes" information for each one, and hear a little about my inspiration. here are the posts for <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross.html" target="_blank">station 1</a>, <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross_29.html" target="_blank">station 2</a>, <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross_30.html" target="_blank">station 3</a>, <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross_73.html" target="_blank">station 4</a>, <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross_31.html" target="_blank">station 5</a>, and <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/04/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross.html" target="_blank">station 6</a>. </p><p>this seventh station of the cross is meant to urge us to consider the very last breaths of Jesus' life. no more do we linger on the agony and torture, but we come right to the edge of life. the world grows dark. Jesus cries out, shouting loudly: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" after a moment, according to matthew's account, Jesus shouted again, though we don't know what he said this time. </p><p>then he died. </p><p>the life left his brown body, only a few decades old, strong from working and living on the move. it's the striking youngness of this figure on the cross, lifeless, that seems to catch in the throat of Padraig O'Tuama in his prayer for this station from "Daily Prayers with the Corrymeela Community" (copyright 2017, canterbury press, norwich, london): </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>Jesus of the imagination,</p><p>You never grew old, always a young man,</p><p>and most of us grow older</p><p>than you did.</p><p>When lives are cut short</p><p>the living question the meaning of living.</p><p>May we live with meaning,</p><p>even when meaning fades,</p><p>making meaning</p><p>so that we</p><p>have something to live for.</p><p>Amen.</p></blockquote><p>we often start dealing in questions of meaning when facing death, particularly when death visits someone who is far too young. this prayer makes me think of what meaning we find in this violent execution, but also it encourages me to think about the meaning of living, as much as dying. how do i make meaning with this one wild and precious life (<a href="https://www.loc.gov/programs/poetry-and-literature/poet-laureate/poet-laureate-projects/poetry-180/all-poems/item/poetry-180-133/the-summer-day/" target="_blank">Mary Oliver</a>)? </p><p>as for the art in this station, i wanted something that felt unabashedly broken. broken beyond repair. the large black pieces you see are a large black ceramic plate. what was once used as a host for sustenance, as a vessel for breaking bread, has become a broken explosion of shards, it's life cut too short, it would seem. the black shrapnel of death flies in every direction from that broken red heart in the center. our one wild and precious hope has been stilled and silenced. </p><p>all is broken. </p><p><br /></p><p><u>Ode to Broken Things</u></p><p>Things get broken</p><p>at home</p><p>like they were pushed</p><p>by an invisible, deliberate smasher.</p><p>It’s not my hands</p><p>or yours</p><p>It wasn’t the girls</p><p>with their hard fingernails</p><p>or the motion of the planet.</p><p>It wasn’t anything or anybody</p><p>It wasn’t the wind</p><p>It wasn’t the orange-colored noontime</p><p>Or night over the earth</p><p>It wasn’t even the nose or the elbow</p><p>Or the hips getting bigger</p><p>or the ankle</p><p>or the air.</p><p>The plate broke, the lamp fell</p><p>All the flower pots tumbled over</p><p>one by one. That pot</p><p>which overflowed with scarlet</p><p>in the middle of October,</p><p>it got tired from all the violets</p><p>and another empty one</p><p>rolled round and round and round</p><p>all through winter</p><p>until it was only the powder</p><p>of a flowerpot,</p><p>a broken memory, shining dust.</p><p><br /></p><p>And that clock</p><p>whose sound</p><p>was</p><p>the voice of our lives,</p><p>the secret</p><p>thread of our weeks,</p><p>which released</p><p>one by one, so many hours</p><p>for honey and silence</p><p>for so many births and jobs,</p><p>that clock also</p><p>fell</p><p>and its delicate blue guts</p><p>vibrated</p><p>among the broken glass</p><p>its wide heart</p><p>unsprung.</p><p><br /></p><p>Life goes on grinding up </p><p>glass, wearing out clothes </p><p>making fragments </p><p>breaking down </p><p>forms </p><p>and what lasts through time </p><p>is like an island on a ship in the sea, </p><p>perishable </p><p>surrounded by dangerous fragility </p><p>by merciless waters and threats. </p><p><br /></p><p>Let’s put all our treasures together</p><p>— the clocks, plates, cups cracked by the cold —</p><p>into a sack and carry them</p><p>to the sea</p><p>and let our possessions sink</p><p>into one alarming breaker</p><p>that sounds like a river.</p><p>May whatever breaks </p><p>be reconstructed by the sea </p><p>with the long labor of its tides. </p><p>So many useless things </p><p>which nobody broke </p><p>but which got broken anyway.</p><p>—Pablo Neruda</p>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-52809033436761243072021-04-01T21:54:00.000-04:002021-04-01T21:54:33.277-04:00The Broken Path: stations of the cross- Station 6<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCgXV989w_WJXHmh47wS2fgpMunP1HRUe5J2sTTiwV9Ne1PVtTgVZHFgzh-Kc73GYabTbBfFSNG_uji1W1JrD1VpNNSJHUvMq7Se_U1XNn_ZVmOwa_agIXzSAb0oglrpZT46yDFQ/s2048/IMG_6757.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCgXV989w_WJXHmh47wS2fgpMunP1HRUe5J2sTTiwV9Ne1PVtTgVZHFgzh-Kc73GYabTbBfFSNG_uji1W1JrD1VpNNSJHUvMq7Se_U1XNn_ZVmOwa_agIXzSAb0oglrpZT46yDFQ/w400-h400/IMG_6757.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">"the broken path: station 6 - Jesus is nailed to the cross"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">rev. gregory a. milinovich</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">broken glass, tiles, stones, sea glass on old farm window</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">march, 2021</span></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>this year during lent, i was inspired to design a set of eight pieces of art for a "stations of the cross" installation, which is currently on display outside on the front lawn at St. Paul's UMC and Wesley Foundation at 230 E. College Ave. in State College, PA. it will be there on display until april 3rd, 2021. if you aren't able to see it in person, you can see the whole collection here. i've also decided to write a bit about each one, so that you can find out a little "behind the scenes" information for each one, and hear a little about my inspiration. here are the posts for <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross.html" target="_blank">station 1</a>, <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross_29.html" target="_blank">station 2</a>, <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross_30.html" target="_blank">station 3</a>, <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross_73.html" target="_blank">station 4</a>, and <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross_31.html" target="_blank">station 5</a>. </p><p>in this post, we turn our attention to station 6, in which Jesus is nailed to the cross. the whole idea of a body being nailed to a piece of wood is so violent and gruesome, that it isn't an image i want to spend much time thinking about, to be honest. as one who gets a little light-headed at the sight of blood, for me to imagine the sound of hammer on nail, as the nail pierces the flesh, the splatter of blood on the wood, and the gasp of pain is a heavy emotional act. that heaviness is why i was so moved by the prayer for this station written by Padraig O'Tuama from "Daily Prayers with the Corrymeela Community" (copyright 2017 canterbury press, norwich, london). here it is: </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>Jesus of Nazareth,</p><p>This cross was a torture.</p><p>It only gives life</p><p>because you made it hollow.</p><p>Bring life to us, Jesus,</p><p>especially when we</p><p>are in the places</p><p>of the dead.</p><p>Because you brought life</p><p>even to the instruments of death.</p><p>Amen.</p></blockquote><p>the first time i read through this prayer i had a conversation with a colleague about one word in particular that really stood out. in fact, it stood out so much that we weren't sure if it was actually the intended word, or if a mistake had been made in transcription. can you guess what word we were caught by? <i>hollow.</i> it's such a powerful word in this prayer, partly because it is so unexpected. the cross seems so heavy (remember, the romans had to have a stranger help Jesus carry it). the emotional gravitas is substantial, as the women weep from a distance, and the soldiers steel themselves against any humanity in this moment. everything just feels so weighty, but O'Tuama says Jesus made it hollow. i thought maybe he meant hallowed or holy, but, no, it's definitely hollow. </p><p>i spent a fair amount of time reflecting on that word. this "hollowing" is a radical reversal of expectations. Jesus took the executioner's device, received it without complaint, and somehow turned into a sign of hope. by his humble love, he hollowed out the cross' wicked cruelty, and turned into an intersection of beautiful love and relentless mercy. </p><p>in order to try and reflect this hollowing, i thought i would fill in every bit of the window of this station with glass, except for the shape of the cross, leaving it as negative, or blank space; leaving it hollow. so i glued. and i glued. and i glued some more. i used so much glue on this window that i was nearly covered in glue (it's a bit messy to glue this tiny pieces of glass to a window, at least for me. i ended up wearing as much glue as i was applying!). i repeated the same physical action so many times on this window, that i was literally sore for a few days after. additionally, this window weighs so much, with all of the glass and pottery and stone glued to it, that i was afraid the frame wouldn't hold all the weight. fortunately, it survived. </p><p>the burst of broken glass in this station had to be red. it had to be the blood. it had to represent the burst of veins, the red marks on the rough wood. Jesus wasn't tied to the cross. he was nailed. by this violence, and his own unthinkable mercy in the face of it, he emptied the hate of its power, and he denied death its victory. </p>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-36982006794830296832021-03-31T17:30:00.001-04:002021-03-31T17:30:59.547-04:00The Broken Path: stations of the cross - Station 5<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHOHSt7WTiwPvUypXY7t-W9Sdo4Zptp2_qh2IwcR71jkvZASIPPEYkWqU9S_t5oQM2BRomfce9xzmDsOjZ2uKwuGxR_LGtVej3_eSo5cYIYQQijngUxGR28bAjyrrnJZRXdK-8gw/s2048/IMG_6760.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHOHSt7WTiwPvUypXY7t-W9Sdo4Zptp2_qh2IwcR71jkvZASIPPEYkWqU9S_t5oQM2BRomfce9xzmDsOjZ2uKwuGxR_LGtVej3_eSo5cYIYQQijngUxGR28bAjyrrnJZRXdK-8gw/w400-h400/IMG_6760.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">"The Broken Path: Station 5 - Jesus is Stripped"</p><p style="text-align: center;">gregory a. milinovich</p><p style="text-align: center;">broken glass, tiles on old farm window</p><p style="text-align: center;">march, 2021</p><p>this year during lent, i was inspired to design a set of eight pieces of art for a "stations of the cross" installation, which is currently on display outside on the front lawn at St. Paul's UMC and Wesley Foundation at 230 E. College Ave. in State College, PA. it will be there on display until april 3rd, 2021. if you aren't able to see it in person, you can see the whole collection <a href="http://stpaulsc.org/broken-path" target="_blank">here</a>. i've also decided to write a bit about each one, so that you can find out a little "behind the scenes" information for each one, and hear a little about my inspiration. here are the posts for <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross.html" target="_blank">station 1</a>, <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross_29.html" target="_blank">station 2</a>, <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross_30.html" target="_blank">station 3</a>, and <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross_73.html" target="_blank">station 4</a>. </p><p>in this post we are turning to station 5, in which we remember that Jesus was stripped of his clothes, and of his dignity. in this piece, i wanted to create a sense of nakedness without being too literal, so i chose alot of browns and blacks, signifying the darker tones that were likely to be the palette of Jesus' skin. i wanted to go with a kind of roundness, a kind of clean beauty that is the human form, not the shame-filled image of body many of us live with, or the objectified views of body that often contributes to this. instead, i wanted the body to be rather unbroken here. the brokenness in this image is at the bottom, where we might imagine the clothes of Jesus were lying in a pile. thinking about Jesus' own dignity and shame, the prayer for this station really brings this home for me. here is the prayer for this station written by Padraig O'Tuama from "<a href="https://www.cokesbury.com/9781848258686-Daily-Prayer-with-the-Corrymeela-Community?gclid=CjwKCAjwu5CDBhB9EiwA0w6sLTOaI4xc1m2NsigBIMj5VWXmW1U9esmmsTzK07rW6CPpBOj7fWHdVhoCJjQQAvD_BwE" target="_blank">Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community</a>" (copyright 2017, canterbury press, norwich, london): </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>Jesus of the flesh,</p><p>Naked you came from the womb</p><p>and naked you were made for the cross.</p><p>What was designed</p><p>For indignity and exposure</p><p>you held</p><p>with dignity and defiance.</p><p>May we do the same</p><p>Because you needed it</p><p>Because we need it.</p><p>Amen.</p></blockquote><p>what a beautiful prayer. i love how the subversive character of Jesus is brought to light here. that while those mocking and executing him mean for him to know humiliation, shame, and indignity, he "held with dignity and defiance." they tried to rob him of his humanity, and, instead, he became the most human of all humans. i love that idea of defiance. it makes me see the solidarity of Jesus with the oppressed, with the many others across the centuries (and in our world today) who would be robbed of their dignity, their rights, and even their humanity. i tried to show that sense of holy defiance by the small yellow arc, reminiscent of a halo on the vertical part of the cross. even when stripping him, they could not rob him of his light. he held to all that was good with dignity and defiance because he needed it. because we need it. </p>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-79363835113534487662021-03-30T20:54:00.001-04:002021-03-31T16:20:36.998-04:00The Broken Path: stations of the cross - Station 4<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq6e5RCPADELnNQ5lCX7xG5BYmvLZCawGGJ_N2WnhllYeDFu9KOSB9DtZb1mwgZre51WzHdW8SIoVFpvT8zEwvppMX3wi_yr8gw8PWoyIckzr1ITJhlGaXo1-1Xfm_IQJC4P-w5w/s2048/IMG_6756.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq6e5RCPADELnNQ5lCX7xG5BYmvLZCawGGJ_N2WnhllYeDFu9KOSB9DtZb1mwgZre51WzHdW8SIoVFpvT8zEwvppMX3wi_yr8gw8PWoyIckzr1ITJhlGaXo1-1Xfm_IQJC4P-w5w/w400-h400/IMG_6756.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">"The Broken Path: Station 4 - Jesus Meets the Women of Jerusalem"</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">gregory a. milinovich</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">broken glass, tile, sea glass on old farm window</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">march, 2021</span></p><p>this year during lent, i was inspired to design a set of eight pieces of art for a "stations of the cross" installation, which is currently on display outside on the front lawn at St. Paul's UMC and Wesley Foundation at 230 E. College Ave. in State College, PA. it will be there on display until april 3rd, 2021. if you aren't able to see it in person, you can see the whole collection <a href="http://stpaulsc.org/broken-path" target="_blank">here</a>. </p><p>i've also decided to write a bit about each one, so that you can find out a little "behind the scenes" information for each one, and hear a little about my inspiration. here are the posts for <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross.html" target="_blank">station 1</a>, <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross_29.html" target="_blank">station 2</a>, and <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross_30.html" target="_blank">station 3</a>. today we turn our attention to station 4: Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem. </p><p>we meet these women in luke 23:27-31, where we are told they are following him, along with a huge crowd, and they are mourning and wailing for him. this is a part of the scene of Jesus' final hours that i haven't thought too much about before. what did it sound like? how "huge" is this huge crowd? are there alot of other sounds, too, or is there an eerie kind of silence, given the severity of what is happening? can you hear the sobbing of the women? is that why Jesus speaks to these women, saying, "don't cry for me, there will be plenty for you to weep about in this broken world." okay, maybe not exactly, but that's part of what he's saying, at least as i read it. i wanted to capture some of that idea of weeping in my art. </p><p>if you've been following along, you know that each station was inspired not only by the scripture, but by a prayer written by Padraig O Tuama from "Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community" (copyright 2017, canterbury press, norwich, london). here is the prayer for this station: </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>Women of Jerusalem,</p><p>while you mourned,</p><p>Jesus saw you</p><p>and spoke to you —</p><p>he in his sorrow seeing you in yours.</p><p>May we see each other,</p><p>even when we feel unseen.</p><p>Because when we see each other,</p><p>we are seen ourselves.</p><p>Amen.</p></blockquote><p>what i was most inspired about here was this idea that "Jesus saw you," and "he in his sorrow seeing you in yours." this idea of seeing these women in this huge crowd really spoke to me, so i wanted to convey that sense of seeing. i was struggling with how to do this without being too literal, and my wife suggested using a mirror for the pupil in the center of the eye, so that the viewer would see themselves in the eye. i loved this idea because it could cause the viewer to feel like they, too, are being seen by Jesus, like the women in the story. or it might be that the eye is the eye of the grieving women, beholding the brokenness in the viewer, in us. i love that ambiguity, and wonder what those who look into the eye think about it. </p><p>one of the challenges i gave myself was for each station to include a kind of "explosion" of broken glass, and a sort of vertical/horizontal interplay to create the idea of a cross. in this case, as with all the windows, the center wooden part of the window frame is the vertical piece, and i tried to make the eye seem like the horizontal beam of the cross. as for the brokenness, it is the tear in this piece. the sorrow, maybe in Jesus' eyes (Jesus wept), or in the eyes of the women, or in our own. </p><p>as for brokenness, it is really the theme of this whole thing. as i was driving all 8 of these windows to the church on monday morning, praying that i didn't hit some huge pothole and make them all shatter, i found myself praying a prayer that went something like this, which i decided to write down later. so i will end with this poem today. </p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">A Prayer While Transporting an Extremely Fragile Holy Week Art Installation Made of Broken Glass in my Minivan on a Monday Morning (on the Day After a Rainbow, and the Day Before a Funeral)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">thank you, God, for the breaking</span></p><span style="font-family: courier;"> of morning. for mondays, even</span><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> for mourning.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">thank you for smooth rides and </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> straight stretches; for shocks. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> for awe.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">thank you for the bright ideas of coworkers,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> the royal we, the spark</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> of inspiration, the joy in creation.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">thank you for glass, for the almost</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> cellular shine, the shimmer of hope,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> the crystalline edge of reflection. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">thank you for windows, for seeing through boundaries</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> being broken, darkly, glass.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">thank you for last night's rainbow,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> the breaking of the weather,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> the strangely-lit sky pierced</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> by double arc of spectrum-stained glass, </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> for the dreamy eyed hope</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> of so much scandalous color.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">thank you, God, for the cross. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> for that broken crucible,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> that unlikely intersection of you</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> and us; of life and death.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> for the torn clothes, discarded</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> funeral garments lying on the floor</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> of some stone tomb </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"> like so much shattered glass. </span></p><p><br /></p>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-57919529709467559732021-03-30T14:06:00.001-04:002021-03-31T08:51:50.944-04:00The Broken Path: the stations of the cross - Station 3<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyQnpWmg64QnYsqE_Dn_WLo5hLUsS0G_K585qZzgBiFYSSI6bT85qOT6Wue6deqykhKPCsE7GQ50dwdN7qIevV4uktsBxpwI6HVCT1AiawRgIp3p5NAgH3P-emJ0UyW-A2BoN2PQ/s2048/IMG_6755.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyQnpWmg64QnYsqE_Dn_WLo5hLUsS0G_K585qZzgBiFYSSI6bT85qOT6Wue6deqykhKPCsE7GQ50dwdN7qIevV4uktsBxpwI6HVCT1AiawRgIp3p5NAgH3P-emJ0UyW-A2BoN2PQ/w400-h400/IMG_6755.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">"The Broken Path: Station 3 - Simon of Cyrene Helps Jesus Carry the Cross"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">by gregory a. milinovich</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">broken glass and sea glass on an old farm window</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">march, 2021</span></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>in case you are just tuning in, i sharing a series of posts about eight different stations of the cross which i created on old windows with bits of broken glass. you can see the first station <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross.html" target="_blank">here</a>, and the second one <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross_29.html" target="_blank">here</a>. (you can also view the whole series, with the prayers, questions for meditation, and a video version <a href="http://stpaulsc.org/broken-path" target="_blank">here</a>). </p><p>this station is about Simon of Cyrene, whom we read about in Mark 15:21-23, with only the barest details. he was charged with helping Jesus to carry the cross, but in the end, it was a helpless kind of helping, really. the man Simon was helping - Jesus - was still about to die, no matter what. there was nothing Simon could do to really change anything. </p><p>this is the same idea lifted up in the prayer for this station by Padraig O'Tuama from "Daily Prayers with the Corrymeela Community" (copyright 2017 canterbury press norwich, london). here is the prayer for this station: </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>Simon of Cyrene,</p><p>stranger than afar,</p><p>You were a help</p><p>to an unknown man.</p><p>We pray for all who help:</p><p>that their help may be helpful;</p><p>that their kindness may be kind.</p><p>Because yours was,</p><p>even though you knew</p><p>you couldn’t do</p><p>enough.</p><p>Amen.</p></blockquote><p>i love this idea about "enough." did Simon do enough? could he ever have? is there ever really enough? i once took an entire semester-long course in grad school called "enough" which wrestled with these very questions. here, back to the story of Jesus and the cross, there was no help to be given to take away the pain, the brokenness, the red, raised marks of the whip in the flesh of Jesus. in an effort create that sense of not being able to do enough, i created a circle around the cross (the cross, by the way, is really two different color schemes, left and right, as a way of showing Jesus and Simon), using white/clear sea glass. this isn't glass i purchased in a store, but glass that's been collected from various beaches, mostly in Maine and California. it is glass that has been broken, but so worn by the wear and tear of the waves, that the edges of grown smooth. i wanted to create a kind of "halo" of this soft glass around the cross, as if an effort to soften the effect of this tool of execution. but the circle is not complete. it is not enough it is broken, in the lower right quadrant, into a cascade of broken glass, all sharp and cutting. additionally, this window has a break in the left pane, which you might be able to see if you zoom in, a fracture that reveals a weakness, yet the thing is held together. i loved working on this window because it felt familiar to me: broken, yet held together. that could be the title of my memoirs! </p><p>perhaps our own brokenness is often a reminder that we can never quite be enough or do enough to save ourselves. or maybe the brokenness of furnaces and hot water heaters and transmissions reminds us that there is never enough stuff in the world to make us truly happy. or maybe the brokenness of the world around us reminds us that we can never do enough to "fix" the system or the people in them, most especially ourselves. but what we can do, is be a helper, like Simon. </p>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-84242721749169380672021-03-29T20:00:00.001-04:002021-03-29T20:00:05.346-04:00The Broken Path: the stations of the cross - Station 2<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRaVEEjJ-H7UZZHhgCgdrWFPF9UjLMMZuAQQ-RCCi3zZwSMwniaiTZZkU_Hh6bUsyLmctQ7p1MZ_cU09RRTWwAdiUChk3XK-bA3JGQe5bmEHmZ7gEPGTpLNhSgida42kSDSe9FQ/s2048/IMG_6754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDRaVEEjJ-H7UZZHhgCgdrWFPF9UjLMMZuAQQ-RCCi3zZwSMwniaiTZZkU_Hh6bUsyLmctQ7p1MZ_cU09RRTWwAdiUChk3XK-bA3JGQe5bmEHmZ7gEPGTpLNhSgida42kSDSe9FQ/w400-h400/IMG_6754.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">"The Broken Path: Station 2 - Jesus Takes Up the Cross"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">gregory a. milinovich</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">broken glass and tile on old farm window</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">march, 2021</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>in these art installation i have really worked on creating a sense of brokenness. my hope was to invite the viewer to consider both the brokenness of Jesus and the brokenness of self. i want to conjure up images of the broken flesh of Jesus, and the broken spirits of those who bear the weight of too many burdens put on them. in this station, in particular, i wanted to really convey that sense of broken flesh and spirits and sinews stretched thin. as i mentioned in my post on the <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2021/03/the-broken-path-stations-of-cross.html" target="_blank">first station</a>, each station is partially inspired by prayers by Padraig O'Tuama in "Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community" (copyright 2017, canterbury press, norwich, london). here is the prayer i used as inspiration for this station: </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>Burdened God,</p><p>who bore the weight of wood</p><p>on torn shoulders,</p><p>We pray for the torn and the burdened,</p><p>that they may be held together by</p><p>guts and goodness.</p><p>Because you were held together</p><p>by guts and goodness.</p><p>Amen.</p></blockquote><p>i loved this idea of being held together by <i>guts and goodness</i>. i wanted to create the feeling of sinew and stretch, of weight being born, of skin being torn. so you've got this long diagonal/horizontal stretch of colored tile, moving from flesh on the edges to "guts and goodness" in the middle, where you've got this bloody sort of tear, a broken bit, a breaking point, a thorn in the side, even. </p><p>like in the first station (and all of them, really), i've used tiny bits of broken glass to really emphasize the broken spot, the hemorrhaging of wholeness when we carry burdens we are never meant to bear. </p><p>amazingly, Jesus chose to bear the burden of the cross. and, in fact, he bears this burden for us. in some way that we can't fully explain or understand, his broken body and burdened shoulders take the burden for us. we are free to put our burdens down. i wonder what burdens you're carrying, and how you are being invited to put them down?</p>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-88411991151819976362021-03-29T16:02:00.000-04:002021-03-29T16:02:11.345-04:00The Broken Path: the stations of the cross - Station 1<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWWLBLSxrdsGLln-7B9UZmnoSt7psYkOgQ9eUGBOBW0go42VtQhDw7Bok6d_Y3G7aS9zZXr9Lj7_rz3qe5evr5W9Nn_mqiECZiacYNXyBsBAL6tmmgv-c0rQfKxHLjchDiBKxjIA/s1140/IMG_6797.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="855" data-original-width="1140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWWLBLSxrdsGLln-7B9UZmnoSt7psYkOgQ9eUGBOBW0go42VtQhDw7Bok6d_Y3G7aS9zZXr9Lj7_rz3qe5evr5W9Nn_mqiECZiacYNXyBsBAL6tmmgv-c0rQfKxHLjchDiBKxjIA/s320/IMG_6797.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>during this season of lent, at the church i serve, we've been talking about brokenness. we've been looking at the ways that our journey is often a broken journey, full of missteps, sidetracks, and dead ends. and yet, we have been seeing, as clearly as ever, that those broken places are exactly the same places where grace grows. the cracks are where the light shines through. </p><p>so, as a way to continue to reflect on this brokenness, the worship team thought we might do an art installation outside, on the church property, of the stations of the cross, but in a way that expressed not only the brokenness of Jesus' body and journey to the tomb, but also the brokenness of our world and our hearts. using <a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2015/11/broken-aquarium.html" target="_blank">something i made</a> several years ago, i thought we might be able to use old windows and broken glass to help tell the story. </p><p>so, in the end, i made eight separate stations of the cross, each one on an old window that came from an old farmhouse in bellefonte. i used broken glass, pottery, mirrors, ceramics, and found sea glass to make them, and to convey the idea of brokenness. i thought i would take a moment here to share a bit more about each one, the inspiration behind them, and the process of making them. i will share a separate post for each one through this holy week (although you can see all of them <a href="http://stpaulsc.org/broken-path">here</a>, if you'd like) beginning here, with the first station. </p><p>Station 1 - Jesus is Condemned to Death</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBpq_75B1VybUzXPkH9sDSsrq0gF9AFZEldZ6qsljYOpP8T76XLxeaHfmDlFZqMu3oF3bV8e0N7pCleKGuxDCcAnHFLvfydOF5v6k0GJy4uLBzhwITaq2RSypcQuci0h-wth78Lg/s2048/IMG_6753.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBpq_75B1VybUzXPkH9sDSsrq0gF9AFZEldZ6qsljYOpP8T76XLxeaHfmDlFZqMu3oF3bV8e0N7pCleKGuxDCcAnHFLvfydOF5v6k0GJy4uLBzhwITaq2RSypcQuci0h-wth78Lg/w400-h400/IMG_6753.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">"The Broken Path: Station 1 - Jesus is Condemned to Death"</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">by Gregory A. Milinovich</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">broken glass and tiles on old farm window</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">march, 2021</span></div><p><br /></p><p>in this first station, i really wanted to focus on the injustice of Jesus' trial and condemnation. in the text from Mark 14:53-65, you've got a secret trial under the cover of darkness, charges that are being manufactured as the "trial" progresses, and an accused man who simply lets these desperate men play their silly game, condemning themselves, really, all the while. </p><p>when i first designed this one, i had a gavel made out of brown tiles that was meant to be doing the breaking, but thanks to some wise advice, i was able to get a little less literal and just let the brokenness speak for itself. i wanted to create a real sense of line and stability in this station, so that the brokenness would really stand out. as you will see, each station will carry this same theme of brokenness, with bits of broken glass. </p><p>another theme that is woven throughout each station is the cross. since each window has a vertical piece of wood right in the middle of the window, i decided to use that as part of a cross. and to try and create horizontal line also, to create a kind of cross or crucible in each one. more on the significance of the cross in a later post. </p><p>just a note here on the broken glass: it really is broken glass. every day for several weeks i would take a hammer to bits of colored glass, and shatter it as carefully as possible (but not quite carefully enough, as the dozens of cuts in my hands will testify to). i then sprayed that section of the window with a waterproof spray adhesive, and then sprinkled the broken glass on that spot, letting pieces splatter wherever they would, trying to create a bit of an explosive appearance. </p><p>for each station, one of my inspirations were prayers written by Padraig O'Tuama in "Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community" (Copyright 2017 Canterbury Press, Norwich, London). here is the prayer for the first station: </p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><p>God of the accused</p><p>And the accusing,</p><p>Who made the mouths, the ears, and the hearts</p><p>Of all in conflict.</p><p>May we turn ourselves towards that</p><p>which must be heard,</p><p>because there we will hear your voice.</p><p>Amen.</p></blockquote><p>as i think about the accused and the accusing, as i think about the incredible brokenness of justice in our world today, in which the privileged cling to their privilege and the rich get richer and the poor are crushed under feet and knees until they cannot breath, i, too, feel broken. i feel overwhelmed. i feel like all the straight lines of goodness and rightness are exploded into furious chaos. i feel like the earth is quaking in seismic kind of conflicted hope, in which change moves at a glacial pace, eroding injustice and making straight the broken paths. i hold to this hope: the hope of justice, the hope of empty tombs, the hope of swords being turned to equipment for growing and making. </p><p>but for now, i am sitting in the brokenness. with the God of the accused, the God who IS accused, and who is broken by our condemnation. </p>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-39880678494375844262020-09-30T18:31:00.001-04:002020-09-30T18:31:20.010-04:00State College to Birmingham<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpbDKJpg4af1rS4AmgQNktEVcK1BSVCzsRJkuGt5tK3e3PyHIyeOX1j36uP3ocQaWkcUScddSOuuDKZhWqEmOQr_8dBEzqMWdep5izrhHfzp659FUGaZqVhtCOI-awW9gzoXa3RQ/s2048/2020-05-08_14-12-20_173.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpbDKJpg4af1rS4AmgQNktEVcK1BSVCzsRJkuGt5tK3e3PyHIyeOX1j36uP3ocQaWkcUScddSOuuDKZhWqEmOQr_8dBEzqMWdep5izrhHfzp659FUGaZqVhtCOI-awW9gzoXa3RQ/s320/2020-05-08_14-12-20_173.heic" /></a></div><br /> as some of you know, i have been working towards a goal i set at the beginning of 2020 of running 1000 miles in one calendar year. today is the last day of september (what?!?), and so that means the year is 3/4 of the way complete, which means i should be right around the 750 mile marker. however, i am doing better than that, as my 5 mile run today put me at 847 miles for the year, almost 100 miles ahead of schedule! i am feeling great, enjoying the journey, and experiencing a real sense of accomplishment as i work towards this goal. <p></p><p>i have also enjoyed these little milestones along the way, just to see how far i've come. as it turns out, 847 miles from State College (along the roads, not as the crow flies) would have me arriving in Birmingham, AL, right about now! not too shabby! only about 150 to go!</p>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-56353504983872765552020-09-08T13:12:00.001-04:002020-09-08T13:12:45.477-04:00summer 2020<p> oh my goodness, it's been awhile. </p><p>2020 has been happening, with a strange cast of characters including masks, ubiquitous hand sanitizer, elbow bumps, mute buttons, take out containers, and amazon boxes. </p><p>and while the months have been moving past, life has also been happening. right under our noses. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQxEvQMr5WRLdQ_TqdRr5kfnGNn8icFdrZBDzxR62CREQWNjcSvNA5FHONo0NseQoAbrLSF0Ea1cowGZggDsMN0ZVnA7CpRPQruIu3LgKBHfpN3giE0V_ifRmJLyF1UVRBlfpZw/s2048/IMG_4521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1113" data-original-width="2048" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJQxEvQMr5WRLdQ_TqdRr5kfnGNn8icFdrZBDzxR62CREQWNjcSvNA5FHONo0NseQoAbrLSF0Ea1cowGZggDsMN0ZVnA7CpRPQruIu3LgKBHfpN3giE0V_ifRmJLyF1UVRBlfpZw/w500-h273/IMG_4521.JPG" width="500" /></a></div><p>as you may know, our family has a long tradition of making a "summer bucket list" each year, complete with items we'd like to accomplish in a summer. some of the things are annual traditions and special events, while others are foods we want to try, or new experiences we'd like to explore. in the past we've done our best, but we've never quite crossed all the things off our list. this year, however, what with a distinct lack of camps and events, provided a bit more time to tick things off the list. and we completed every item, including making our own potato chips and ice cream, and trying poutine and pavlova. we picked blueberries, hiked many trails, and made (and destroyed) a Covid-19 pinata. we celebrated birthdays and anniversaries, went on trips, replicated paintings, did chalk art, camped in the back yard, had a yard sale, and much more! it was a busy summer, but it served to highlight one of the silver linings of this dark cloud that has been 2020: a renewed commitment to, and benefit from, extended family time. we've had moments when we've wanted to wring one another's necks, to be sure, but we've had many more moments of laughter, of serious discussion, of playing, and of just being a family in the middle of a crazy season. maybe we can't quite check off "surviving a pandemic" from our bucket list, but making the most of the season, and blooming where we are planted? check. </p>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-79962200929035407122020-05-09T08:53:00.002-04:002020-05-09T08:53:18.775-04:00happy mother's day 2020twelve years ago i started making a video of our children as a mother's day tribute to their mother, and somehow it became a tradition. back then, our oldest son was 3 years old, and cute. now he's 15 and, well, not so <i>cute</i>. however, we have really come to love this tradition, and the time capsule of sorts that it has become. we love looking back at each year's video, to see how we've grown and changed, and how our love for Shannon has remained constant.<br />
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below is this year's video, and if you want to walk with us down memory lane, the other eleven are down there as well. happy mother's day to all the mom's out there...you make us feel like a million bucks.<br />
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<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/jTr48QVA_3o" width="560"></iframe>
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2020<br />
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<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/wV43CI4sApQ" width="560"></iframe><br />
2019<br />
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2018<br />
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2017<br />
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2016<br />
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2015<br />
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2014<br />
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2013<br />
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2012<br />
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2011<br />
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2010<br />
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2009<br />
<br />greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-90674638750913421162020-03-04T12:21:00.001-05:002020-03-04T12:21:52.986-05:00arizona cd<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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i love to travel, and i love music. and i also love where the two intersect. so, whenever i travel, i love to make sure my music matches my context. recently, as we've taken family vacations over the last few years to california and florida, i have made mix cd's as the soundtrack to our trip. well, this year is no different. we are headed to arizona (to see the grand canyon, sedona, and several other places), and so i have put together a mix cd (yes, i still like cd's: OLD SCHOOL) of songs related to our journey and some of the places we'll be. you can see the songs and the artwork, and you'll be able to see some pictures over the next week or so of our adventures. here's to the journey!<br />
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<br />greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-14645446541186282012020-02-27T11:39:00.000-05:002020-02-27T11:39:45.387-05:00ash wednesday 2020<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"ash wednesday 2020: where is God?"</div>
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mixed media collage (acryclic paint, found papers, masking tape, glue on hardcover bookboard)</div>
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gregory a. milinovich</div>
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february 2020</div>
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where is God in all of this? it's a question we've been asking for millenia. just as we may look at intense beauty and see God as clear as the light of day, we may also look at tragedy and despair and see the absence of God like a dark fog. in fact, it is this darkness like a fog that the prophet Joel writes about in Joel 2. he writes of a darkness during the day. like a blanket covering the land. like an approaching army of death. <br />
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it's a stark image, but don't act like you can't relate. from the atrocities of our human history to the sense of impending doom in our world today (mass shootings, natural disasters, violence, racial hatred, pandemic virus worries, and more), we have all felt like the darkness is an approaching army, a falling fog of hazy hopelessness. <br />
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and yet. "yet, even now," says the voice of God in Joel 2. "yet even now, return to me." Joel seems to hold this incredible tension between the darkness of the day, and the mercy of God. it's a tension we all walk and live in. a tension between the hope we have, and the despair that haunts us. a tension between the faith we cling to and the doubt that fills our anxious minds. a tension between the unthinkable beauty of this world, and the terrible ugliness that can flow from it. a tension between the incredible good of which humans are capable, and the heinous atrocities of which they are also capable, and not just <i>them</i>, but also us. these are the tensions in which we live. God is good, we would dare to believe at our best moments, and yet, in our dark nights (or days) of the soul we wonder, "where is God in all of this?" <br />
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i don't know the answer to that question, in the end. like martha in john 11, when Jesus shows up 4 days after her brother Lazarus has died, i want to join with her in grabbing ahold of Jesus' collar and say, "where were you? if only you had been here! why didn't you stop this?!?" i suspect that you are not unlike me in that you, also, have these kinds of questions. maybe they stay under the surface in the day-to-day of your normal life, but they often arise from the depths in our darkest moments, when the bad news has descended like a fog, and despair approaches like an army of ash. it is then, when we dare to ask our questions, with clenched fists, perhaps, or tear-streaked cheeks; it is then that we begin to find the answer to the questions, i think. for it is in the asking that we find the answer. it is in the humility of admitting that we don't know everything about God that we discover a bit of Truth. "seek, and you will find," is the way Jesus put it. that's not a promise about math-book-style easy answers, or encyclopedic knowledge or information. it's a promise, as far as i can tell, about the fact that when we start asking the real questions, we discover that our questions are, after all, addressed <i>to someone.</i> and that involves some kind of relationship, outside of our own knowledge, ideas, and presuppositions. and is suspect that it's there, in relationship, where God's truth is revealed to us. that even when we thought we were seeking clear answers, we discover that we were really longing for was a relationship (i-thou) that meets us in the valleys and the fogs and the dark nights of the soul with an unmistakable voice that says that says "you are my beloved...all will be well." it may not be the answer we thought we wanted, but it it just may turn out to be the answer we so desperately need. we may just discover that the darkness isn't in our unanswered questions, but in the questions we never dare to ask. <br />
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so where is God in all of this? maybe God is right there in your questions, waiting for you to ask them, longing to walk with you into the unknown places, where the power of love can (and will) lift the fog. peace to you on your lenten journey this year. may you ask big questions without easy answers. and may you find life emerging from the brokenness. <br />
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<br />greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-22098286737130157082020-01-31T13:27:00.001-05:002020-01-31T13:30:16.856-05:00live your stream<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"isn't that wonderful?" he always asks/asserts with a childlike smile, every time i talk to him. it's as if he's barely even aware that he's asking it, the positivity just oozing out of him, uncontainable, a product of his relentlessly consistent approach to life.<br />
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i'm talking about Joe Humphreys, the subject of an excellent 2019 documentary film, and the frequent holder of a seat about 7 or 8 pews back to the right, aisle seat, at St. Paul's United Methodist Church and Wesley Foundation, where i am blessed to serve as the pastor. when i get a chance to greet him, he'll often ask about my family, or how things are going with me, and when i answer, he'll respond with that characteristic smile, "isn't that wonderful?" it's impossible not to feel a sense of wonder when you talk to Joe. for one thing, he's 90 years old/young, but surprisingly spry in body, mind, and heart. for another thing, he is a bit of a celebrity, but you wouldn't know it from talking to him.<br />
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Joe is a fly fisherman. and not just as a hobby. he has made a career out of it, yes, but more importantly, he has made a life out of it. he has taught it, hosted tv shows about it, made videos about it, competed internationally in it, and basically lived and breathed it for the last 84 years. and in doing so, he has become a legend in the fly fishing world. in the documentary, there's a scene in which he's fishing alone on a river in arkansas, and a couple fisherman are going by on a boat. they shout greetings to one another, and then one of them looks at the other, and you can just hear him ask, "is that Joe?" as if you do not even need to use his last name. recognizable by fly fisherman around the world, just Joe is a celebrity in the fly fishing world, but if you see him in church, he is truly "just Joe." isn't that wonderful?<br />
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what's wonderful is the documentary called "Live the Stream" which tells the story of his life. in full disclosure, this is not a film i would have probably have watched if it wasn't for Joe himself. while i love the outdoors, i've never been much of an outdoorsman, and certainly not someone who is interested in hooking fish. but if i had used that as an excuse not to watch this film, i would have missed out on something spectacular. for one thing, the photography of the mountains streams of central pennsylvania is exquisite, the story telling is excellent, and the man himself - just Joe - is absolutely inspiring. he "pumps steel" every day. he wrestles the Penn State University wrestling coach. he competes in fly fishing competitions around the globe. he sets records. he goes fishing in the wee hours of the night, in the dark and the cold. he teaches city kids and fly-fishing teams. he opens his dining room table to a wide circle of friends. he catches a trout and holds it in his hand, gently, like a little boy, full of wonder at the wet colors shining in the sunlight. his smile shines, too, as he asks out loud, to no one in particular, "isn't that wonderful?"<br />
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what's wonderful is the way this film, and the life it portrays, made me better. as i watched him relentlessly pursue the "20 pound brown" and tie little flies with careful precision, and speak with wonder at the wild beauty of an insect larvae covered in mud, i saw a reflection of who i want to be. Joe is a man with a vocation, not a career. his is a calling to fish, to point to the wonder of this beautiful creation, to do what he can to help preserve it for others, and to ooze positivity through it all. this calling is everything to him, and it not only defines him and gives him purpose, it inspires everyone around him. not to be a fly fisherman, although for some, that might be the calling. but, in a broader sense, just to live your own calling with as much charisma and wonder as Joe. the film is called "live the stream," and that certainly is what Joe does. but i want to live my own calling with the same passion and joy and commitment as he. i want to smile like a schoolboy on a snow day, and, looking at the people around me, say, "isn't that wonderful?"<br />
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thank you for the inspiration, Joe. keep living the stream to the fullest.<br />
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<i>note: i strongly encourage you to see the film. you can get more info at the website</i><a href="http://www.livethestreamfilm.com/" target="_blank"> here.</a>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-63368069828656731042019-12-25T04:02:00.000-05:002019-12-25T04:02:04.763-05:00Merry Christmas from the Milinovich family<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-13694106841445222632019-12-23T18:31:00.001-05:002019-12-23T18:31:22.422-05:00Milinovich Family Christmas, 2019<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XnLjPcyIkXM" width="560"></iframe><br />
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merry Christmas, yinz guys. we've been marking our advent journeys with an annual video now for the last twelve years! for this latest installment, we used the Tractors' version of "Run, Run Rudolph," as a metaphor for all of our running around, and i hope it shows that we've had a real blast this year, preparing for Christmas. you'll see scenes from getting our tree, making cookies, concerts, impromptu dance sessions, making snowflakes, and much more. enjoy. greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-54832340361570376702019-11-28T10:06:00.001-05:002019-11-28T10:06:31.919-05:00happy thanksgiving, 2019happy thanksgiving, everyone. i have so much to be thankful for. so, much, in fact, that it's almost overwhelming and embarrassing. but one of the things i am most thankful for this year is my health. at the beginning of 2019, my weight had reached an all-time high, and i was about as physically unhealthy as i had ever been. i decided that i needed to do something about it, but it took me several months to get started. i started in earnest around the beginning of June, and since then i've been running regularly and eating better. and since the beginning of the year i have lost over 50 pounds. this picture of me shows me in the same t-shirt back in march, and yesterday. you can see the difference. <br />
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today, as part of my ongoing journey, i ran a half marathon. 13.1 miles. #thanksgivingthirteenpointone. it feels so good to have gotten that active and to feel better in my joints and in my energy level. <br />
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now, i want to eat some of this (made by Shannon), and lots more. <br />
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and this is my truth today:<br />
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so, i am grateful. grateful for renewed vigor and health. thankful for hope in the midst of challenges. thankful for the immeasurable gifts of this beautiful, broken life. greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-55348969030387474682019-10-24T08:33:00.000-04:002019-10-24T08:33:02.148-04:00thoughts after jumping off a building<br />
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"What if it doesn't hold me?"<br />
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I didn't ask it out loud, but this was the question bouncing around my brain as I stood on top of the Fraser building a week ago, with the wind whipping furiously, my toes on the ledge, and my heels hanging off the edge. I stood there thirteen stories up, with a tangle of ropes and equipment attached both to me and, by an intricate web, to a network of pulleys and structures all intended to keep me completely safe. I listened carefully, with the wind whistling through the holes in my helmet, as my instructor said, "now just lean back, and it will hold you."<br />
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Yeah, but what if it doesn't?!?<br />
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This "what if" question has a great deal to do with trust. I recognize this question from my life. I find myself asking it, sometimes unconsciously, about all sorts of things. What if my kids get hurt? What if my loved one gets really sick? What if our safety net isn't substantial enough? What if we can't afford this thing we need?<br />
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And, to be honest, I find myself asking this "what if" question quite a bit in relationship to the United Methodist denomination, and to my own church, too. What if the denomination splits and fractures? What if people leave our faith community? What if we forget our call to be the Body of Christ, with all of our uniqueness and diversity? What if we cannot continue to be what we have been?<br />
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With the cold wind pressing in close, and the gathered spectators below looking very distant and small, I did what my instructor invited me to do last week: I leaned into it. I just trusted. I gave up my own sense of security, and fell backward into the unknown. Of course, the ropes held me, and did their job beautifully. Not only was I safe and sound, but I was sparkling with joy and excitement, as I rappelled down the side of the building. What a feeling! What a wonderful experience, and one I wouldn't have enjoyed if I couldn't have leaned into it with trust.<br />
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I wonder what this means for us, in our own lives, in my denomination, and in my own church, during this moment in our history. I wonder if we will be paralyzed by our what-if's and our anxiety about scarcity, or if we will find some brave ways to lean into a new season with trust. I wonder what it might look like for us to choose to trust the God who provides and supplies and makes our cups overflow. I wonder, what if we were to lean into something new with courage? What if we can soar like we never imagined? And what if we don't try at all?<br />
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Prayer: God of the great adventure, help us to see how you are calling us to new things, and to opportunities that we can only realize when we choose to trust you. Help us, as your people, to lean into your provision, your call, and your invitation. Help us to soar, free from the burdens of scarcity and fear. Help us to trust you more, we pray, in Jesus' name, Amen.<br />
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greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-38833883700915544512019-10-22T12:31:00.000-04:002019-10-22T15:09:45.687-04:00the God of leftovers<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="color: white;">“Leftovers again?” <br /><br />It’s a refrain that is sometimes heard in our house, especially after Shannon has prepared several great meals in a row. In those times, we often have a collage of containers in the refrigerator, filled with various elements from the dinners of the last few days: broccoli in the glass container with the red lid, brown rice in the green tupperware, and some pork chops wrapped in foil, just to name a few. Sometimes there is enough of this mishmosh of food to last us for several meals, which is when the complaining usually begins, “Leftovers, again?”<br /><br />I was thinking about this on Sunday as we thought about God’s abundance. We remembered story after story in the Bible in which we discover a God of abundance and overflowing goodness. One of the stories was the feeding of the 5,000, in which a huge crowd (some estimate it was as many as 15,000, since women and children wouldn’t have made the count) was fed by a meager 2 fish and 5 loaves of bread. Perhaps the miracle is a supernatural generation of food, a multiplication of cells and nutrients, to make something out of almost nothing. Certainly God is able. Or perhaps the miracle is that the boy who gave his meal so selflessly, inspired generosity in others, so that when it seemed like no one would have enough, through the act of selfless generosity, everyone had enough. <br /><br />Actually, everyone had more than enough. As the story is told, we are meant to know that the miracle didn’t end with everyone being full, but with their being 12 baskets of leftovers. More than enough. <br /><br />I Googled “God and leftovers” and all I could find were articles about how we shouldn’t give God our leftovers. What wasn’t immediately available was any information about this amazing truth, that i think we so often miss: God gives us leftovers! That is, God gives us more than enough, so that there is some leftover. So often we live in a frantic frenzy of anxiety, worrying if there will be enough: enough time, enough energy, enough white blood cells, enough money, enough retirement, enough everything. And in this frenzy we grow fatigued, and forget that we claim to follow a God who gives more than enough. We follow a God who gave life, gave manna, gave water, gave a sacrificial lamb, gave redemption, gave hope. We follow a God who gave his only Son, Jesus, who said, “I have come that you might have life, and have it abundantly.” <br /><br />In our church we are in a season of stewardship, during which we are asking ourselves some "what if?" questions. I am urging the folks at St. Pauls UMC and Wesley Foundation to dare themselves to put their hope in the God of abundance, who not only gives us enough, but loads of leftovers, as well. As you reflect on this truth, I invite you to consider where you have seen God’s abundance in your life recently, and to let that inspire you to even greater hope in the God of leftovers. <br /><br />Prayer: God of abundance, help us to see the ways you not only provide enough for us, but lavish us with leftovers. Give us eyes to see the embarrassment of riches that we enjoy through your creation, the joy of music, the contentment of food, the blessing of family, and so much more. Forgive us for focusing on that which we lack, or which we fear we will lose, and help us to choose to embrace your abundance instead. In Jesus’ name, Amen. </span>greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-39638313852451080402019-10-11T16:56:00.000-04:002019-10-11T16:56:37.887-04:00running uphill in the wilderness (one step at a time)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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back in early june, as part of an overall effort to get more healthy, i started jogging. i was just kind of walking and running a couple of miles to start off, but over the last 4 months i've been staying consistent, which has helped me to run faster and further, lose some weight, and just generally be healthier. on fridays, which are my day off, i try to run a longer distance, and i've been adding a mile every other week or so, which meant that today i ran 9 miles in about 99 minutes, which isn't great, but it isn't terrible, either. mostly, it just feels good to be doing it, and to feel healthier in a general sense, physically, spiritually, emotionally, and so on. <br />
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but there is one area that i haven't felt great about. professionally, these last 8 months have been, without doubt, some of the most difficult in my 21+ years of full-time ministry. now don't get me wrong: i <i>love</i> my job. i really do. it is so much more than just a job for me, but a vocation - a <i>calling</i> - which has always felt like a sweet spot for me. if you were to talk to me at age 20, i would have told you with an overly serious but absolutely convinced tone that God was calling me to ministry in a church. now, 23 years later, i say the same thing, with the same lack of reservations or doubts. sure, there are moments and aspects of parish ministry that can be pretty tough, but all in all, it seems like what i was designed for. i love it. <br />
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yet these last 8 months have brought new challenges and questions to my vocational journey like i've never had to deal with before. denominational decisions have fractured the united methodist denomination around the world, and these external forces have had a strong impact on life in my church, and on the way i teach, preach, connect with people, and function as a leader. i will spare you the details, as much of that is better saved for another post, but suffice to say that the church has become as polarized as the culture around us, and it has become a new and formidable challenge to figure out how to be pastor to <i>all </i>the people, when they don't agree with me or the denomination or one another, and when differences, which used to just be something we acknowledged, now serve as deal-breakers, insurmountable wedges between people, or reasons to leave the family altogether.<br />
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in many ways, this season has felt like a kind of wilderness. like the Israelites of old, it sometimes feels like we are wandering, a bit lost, and a bit unsure where we are headed. and just like them, there are moments when some of us really long for the past ("the way it was back in Egypt,"), there are many of us, however, who are dreaming about a promised land; about a promise of a time when our differences aren't reasons to leave, but opportunities for growth, for conversation, for mutual respect, and for God to fill the mysterious gaps and spaces in our unknowns. it is my (perhaps unrealistic) hope that i can be the kind of leader who can lead a church in these terribly uncertain times into such a promise. but for these last 8 months it feels like i have failed at that, and like we have just gone in circles (like the Israelites of old - see exodus 13:17-18). <br />
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but today, as i was running, i was reminded of something important. sweaty, and somewhere between mile six and seven, i felt the Spirit's soft nudge. well, mostly i felt my thighs burning and my lungs aching and my will depleting, because i just wanted to stop running. i was at a particularly difficult section of the run, a sharp incline that lasts for several hundred yards. as the ground at the bottom of the hill began to slope upwards, i looked up and could see no end in sight of the rising path before me. feeling a slump in my own determination, i decided to pull the brim of my hat down, and just focus on the few steps right in front of me. keeping my head down and focused on my next steps helped me to stop fretting about how long the hill was, and silenced some of those internal voices that were saying things like, "you'll never make it." all i had to do was take the next step. it was working! <br />
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until i looked up again. somewhere inside me, a voice said, "how long will this continue? surely you must be near the end by now!" so i looked, and i saw that i still had quite a climb in front of me. and my heart sank. it was then that i felt the not-so-subtle movement of the Spirit, showing me that this is much like this season in ministry for me. maybe this moment of the journey feels like a wilderness, or like a really long hill. the soundtrack to this journey may seem to be a chorus of voices saying things like, "you'll never make it," "we want to go back," "we are leaving," and "you are a failure at this." but i don't need to listen to those voices. i don't need to see the end. i don't need to worry about the crest of the hill, or some so-called promised land. i simply need to take the steps right in front of me. we, as a church, need to focus on what we can do, which is to take the next steps, and trust that God is leading us somewhere with a promise, a place of hope, a place of life, even if it means new birth. <br />
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the israelites wandered for months, and then, for <i>years</i>, before they lived into that promise. who knows how long this season will last for us. but i want to continue to trust in the One who provides the path and the provision along the way. i want to lean into this wilderness, looking only at the next few steps, and surrendering my need to know how it all ends. i want to embrace the mystery of it all, and to receive the gifts along the way, rather than missing those gifts because i'm so focused either on where we used to be, or where we might be going. <br />
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i am so blessed to be one of the pastors of St. Paul's United Methodist Church and Wesley Foundation, for such a time as this. i am so honored to get to serve these amazing people, even in these uncertain and challenging times. and i am so full of joy to keep taking these steps, as the Spirit steps with us, nudging us on with hope. greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-88772302608458344612019-09-06T17:39:00.002-04:002019-09-06T17:39:36.258-04:00show cancelled: the real prima donnas of pittsburgh<br />
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so, i haven't written about football for a long time. i used to write about the best team in the national football league (the pittsburgh steelers, duh) all the time, but in recent years, it's been somewhat harder for me to be an 'all-in' football fan (at least publically). there are a number of reasons for this, paramount among them, i think, is my own maturing, and recognizing the terrible weight of things beyond this silly game. on a somewhat related note, there was all the news about the terrible brain damage inflicted on players who play this game. additionally, i have been as busy in these last few years as i have ever been in my life, and while i still have plenty of time to follow this team, it has been in a more limited, somewhat less intense way. and then there is one more thing:<br />
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the team i love, the steelers, have had more drama than an episode of the real housewives of wherever. i've actually never seen those shows, but i can only imagine. in the real football players of pittsburgh, however, i didn't have to imagine. i saw it unfold on the screen and in my newsfeed all the time. there was one guy not playing all year because he wanted more money. there was another guy throwing furniture off a hotel balcony, driving over 100 mph on local pittsburgh roads, and then walking out on his team when they needed him most. it felt like the organization that i respected so much had lost the plot. <br />
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but then a new season started. both of the aforementioned prima donnas are gone (bye, felicia), and it feels like order has been restored to the (football) universe. it feels so much easier to be a fan again. while one of the offenders, who may never even play a game for his new team, keeps trying to push the buttons of the current steelers players (i'm looking at you, ben and juju), they haven't taken the bait. "when they go low, we go high," say the classy ones. <br />
<br />
so the series finale of the real prima donnas of pittsburgh has aired, along with all the dirty laundry, and now a new season is about to begin. and this fan, who has suffered from football fatigue over the last few years, couldn't be any happier. <br />
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the first episode should be a real doozy. the supposedly star-torn steelers against the world champs on their own turf. this is exactly the kind of drama i've been waiting for. yes, i am a busy, older and wiser football fan. yes, i am still very concerned about the long term health of these players, and the commentary being written about our culture as we continue to watch and cheer. but i am also, in spite of myself, a football fan. fully and finally. and yes, i am cautious in my hopefulness that this team has learned from their mistakes. so i am ready for a new season (the nfl's 100th!) to begin. with the kind of drama that makes me proud to cheer on the black and gold. here we go, steelers, here we go!<br />
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<br />greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17502166.post-40529136929098304712019-09-02T18:06:00.000-04:002019-09-02T18:06:51.959-04:00end of summer, 2019<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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what a summer!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://agentorangerecords.blogspot.com/2019/06/summer-bucket-list-2019.html" target="_blank">i wrote in june</a> about our annual tradition of making a summer bucket list of things we'd like to accomplish in the fleeting months of summer each year, and i must say that we did pretty good this year! <br />
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we had ice cream for dinner. <br />
we played frisbee golf.<br />
we went to vbs and music camp.<br />
we celebrated quin's birthday with an epic harry potter party.<br />
we went to ocean city (twice!).<br />
we went to wesley forest for summer camp (well, three of us did).<br />
we made a sand sculpture (several, actually).<br />
we made orange julius-es. <br />
we did cousin week (again, some of us did...the rest of us were preparing for the aforementioned epic party)<br />
we picked fruit (blueberries).<br />
we ate at hofbrau pizza.<br />
we made a movie.<br />
we made donuts.<br />
we built a fort.<br />
we made a summer cd.<br />
we went to seven springs (champion, pa, actually)<br />
we hiked the alan seeger trail (along with many other trails!)<br />
we watched avengers: infinity war.<br />
we went to the flight 93 memorial national park.<br />
we went to the fred rogers center.<br />
we skipped rocks.<br />
we went to a driving range (some of us).<br />
we celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary (some of us). <br />
we went to steelers training camp.<br />
we bought and ate all the weird fruit we could find.<br />
we went minigolfing. <br />
we played in the rain.<br />
we did fiddle lessons (okay, one of us did).<br />
we went to steelers training camp.<br />
and we didn't stop there. i can't even remember all the things we crammed into the summer.<br />
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whew. <br />
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it's been a crazy few months, but in the best way. not in some sort of perfect, instagrammable way, as if all of these adventures were flawless. no, part of the recipe of all of this seems to include arguments, meltdowns, and temper tantrums. there are pictures of smiling kids who just got yelled at. there were complaints and whines at nearly every juncture. so, no, it wasn't perfect, at least not in the flawless sense.<br />
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yet, as i look back on it, and all the things we crossed off the list, and all the memories we made, it feels absolutely perfect in the best sort of way. in the "we wouldn't change anything if we could" sort of way. <br />
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and as i sit here on my deck on labor day, and the early september air feels like it might just turn into october sooner than later, i can do no other thing than be incredibly grateful. for all these summers we've had. for buckets that are overflowing. for 20 incredible years. for 3 beautifully complex human boys. and for countless memories. <br />
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<br />greg milinovichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04494018362755379449noreply@blogger.com1