Here's a quote from Sue Monk Kidd's book entitled, When the Heart Waits. It is on page 142 -
"In the desert, the Israelites became beggars in the best sense of the word, opening their hands and trusting. And what happened? God sent manna. Not a forty-year supply to stockpile, but enough for one day. They had to hope and trust for tomorrow's, but it always came.
It made me think how true that principle of daily trust is in the experience of waiting. God sends us the strength and nourishment to heal, create, and become, not all at once but as we need it. Hope is the act of opening our palms day after day, trusting that we'll receive what we need."
That's the kind of trust and hope I'm after these days. The kind that has my hands and heart and eyes and soul wide open to receive all that I am meant to have for this day, for this hour. Not enough to stockpile for the next 40 years, not for 40 days, not even for tomorrow. For this moment, right here, right now. Light for this step of my path.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
I keep returning to the same place...
I keep returning to my bookshelf, to the words of Henri Nouwen. His passion, his depth of emotion, his honesty draw me in every time I open the pages of his books. Right now, I am working my way through Home Tonight, one of his two works based on the parable of the prodigal son, found in Luke chapter 15.
He points out that it is our suffering, our lack of faith in how deeply loved we are and our unwillingness to change our faulty way of thinking and living, that sends us out into the world, like the younger brother in the parable, plunging ourselves into even deeper suffering.
You and I know spiritually about belonging, leaving, and returning. We, like the young prodigal, can learn to act ahead of our feelings, trust that love is there, and make our shaky return. And we will do it more readily if we come to know the God figure in the story. Before now I was never able to see how the love of the father embraced not just the return of his younger child but also his running away from home. That is an enlightening consideration prompting me now to question, 'Do you mean you were actually there in my leaving?' and 'Does this mean that I can come home and you'll still be there for me?' (page 25)
Or perhaps we are more like the older son, the one who stays home, does the right thing, is never "the wild one," but we are equally far from home, distant from the love that is ours to enjoy, because we think we have to "do the right thing" in order to be loved.
Resentment, the curse of the faithful, the virtuous, the obedient, and the hardworking, settles itself in the human heart and causes havoc. That is why it's important to think and reflect upon it. All of us who give our lives for loved ones, work hard, and objectively have many virtues to be praised, are sometimes not really free from the burden of resentment in our hearts. (page 59)
I have come to realize that I am both older and younger prodigal daughter. I want to run away from home all the time - well, whenever I'm not trying to be the perpetually perky and loving and never-angry, never-resentful superwoman.
Henri Nouwen suggests that the goal of the spiritual journey is to get to the place where we believe, truly believe that we are loved unconditionally whether we stay at home or hit the road for a while and live a prodigal life. Along the way, we learn to see the pain and suffering in others and embrace them, walking together through the shadows and valleys of this life journey. We see ourselves in those around us. We see others in ourselves. We welcome the wanderers home. We encourage the ones at home to celebrate themselves and their lives. We, the wanderers, return home - again and again. We, the homebodies, learn new ways to live joyfully and exuberantly right here at home - in between the meals and loads of laundry and dusting and mopping.
I keep returning to the same place. The place of itchy feet and wandering eyes - heart, soul, and spirit yearning to hit the road and squander something. To let my imagination, Expedia.com, and my passport transport me to worlds heretofore unknown.
But before I can pack my bags, I have to do the laundry.
So I return to the laundry room, the ironing board, and the overflowing sink...
Once again, I return to the same place.
Once again, I am home.
He points out that it is our suffering, our lack of faith in how deeply loved we are and our unwillingness to change our faulty way of thinking and living, that sends us out into the world, like the younger brother in the parable, plunging ourselves into even deeper suffering.
You and I know spiritually about belonging, leaving, and returning. We, like the young prodigal, can learn to act ahead of our feelings, trust that love is there, and make our shaky return. And we will do it more readily if we come to know the God figure in the story. Before now I was never able to see how the love of the father embraced not just the return of his younger child but also his running away from home. That is an enlightening consideration prompting me now to question, 'Do you mean you were actually there in my leaving?' and 'Does this mean that I can come home and you'll still be there for me?' (page 25)
Or perhaps we are more like the older son, the one who stays home, does the right thing, is never "the wild one," but we are equally far from home, distant from the love that is ours to enjoy, because we think we have to "do the right thing" in order to be loved.
Resentment, the curse of the faithful, the virtuous, the obedient, and the hardworking, settles itself in the human heart and causes havoc. That is why it's important to think and reflect upon it. All of us who give our lives for loved ones, work hard, and objectively have many virtues to be praised, are sometimes not really free from the burden of resentment in our hearts. (page 59)
I have come to realize that I am both older and younger prodigal daughter. I want to run away from home all the time - well, whenever I'm not trying to be the perpetually perky and loving and never-angry, never-resentful superwoman.
Henri Nouwen suggests that the goal of the spiritual journey is to get to the place where we believe, truly believe that we are loved unconditionally whether we stay at home or hit the road for a while and live a prodigal life. Along the way, we learn to see the pain and suffering in others and embrace them, walking together through the shadows and valleys of this life journey. We see ourselves in those around us. We see others in ourselves. We welcome the wanderers home. We encourage the ones at home to celebrate themselves and their lives. We, the wanderers, return home - again and again. We, the homebodies, learn new ways to live joyfully and exuberantly right here at home - in between the meals and loads of laundry and dusting and mopping.
I keep returning to the same place. The place of itchy feet and wandering eyes - heart, soul, and spirit yearning to hit the road and squander something. To let my imagination, Expedia.com, and my passport transport me to worlds heretofore unknown.
But before I can pack my bags, I have to do the laundry.
So I return to the laundry room, the ironing board, and the overflowing sink...
Once again, I return to the same place.
Once again, I am home.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Hearing Voices
Am I the only person who hears voices from the moment I wake up until the moment I go to sleep? I will spare you all the voices and questions I hear, but here are a few highlights. And these are just the ones I have heard in the past 24 hours or so.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* Upon rising:
"Why are you getting up so late? _________ has probably been up for hours studying the Bible/meditating/praying/reading/writing/creating art/drying fruits and vegetables to put in her root cellar/digging a root cellar/planting all the food she will need for the rest of this year in her backyard garden/planning her family's homeschooling lessons/cooking breakfast for her family already."
"How long has it been since you changed the sheets?"
"When will you start to wear sexy pajamas to bed? Doesn't your husband deserve a sexier wife?"
"What about your 20 minutes of sitting with legs folded and mind emptying?"
"What about memorizing another chapter of the Bible before breakfast and planning a weekend retreat based on your reading?"
"Why do you sleep so much?
"Why do you sleep so little?"
* Upon entering the bathroom:
"Are you going to use that toothpaste? It isn't organic or even all-natural."
"That cream? How many red list chemicals are in that stuff? It doesn't matter how much better and healthier your skin looks; appearances aren't everything."
"When will you get your eyebrows threaded again? Sure, it hurt, but beauty comes with a cost."
"I cannot believe you got your eyebrows threaded. What exactly was the point of that?"
"Do you really burn incense in your bathroom? Isn't that just adding smoke and pollution to the environment?"
"And that cleanser? The fragrance, the chemicals, the artificial color - your entire family will have cancer because you use that stuff. You know that, right?"
"Ant baits? Seriously, Gail? All God's creatures deserve to live. You should gently guide them back outside with thoughts of peace and freedom."
* Upon getting dressed:
"Are you going to wear that? Not one piece of this outfit matches any other piece."
"Didn't you get that at Good Will? What would _______ say if she knew that?"
"Didn't you buy that at the mall? How can you support multinational corporations that have a stranglehold on the worldwide economy that way?"
"__________ has way better taste/shoes/clothes/accessories."
"What's up with that bra and the old lady panties? Could they ride any higher above your belly button? Oprah's crew would call for an under garment intervention, for sure."
"Are you gonna use that bag? Patterned bags are for teenagers, aren't they?"
"That's too matchy-matchy. It doesn't have to match; it has to 'Go.'"
"What does that even mean? And who cares what you wear anyway?"
* Upon entering the kitchen for breakfast:
"Once again, you forgot to clean the kitchen thoroughly before you went to bed. You are already behind."
"You are going to take those vitamins? Are they organic and vegetarian? Are you taking the right dosage for your age and weight? You aren't taking enough ________. What about additives in those vitamins? Are they water-soluble or fat-soluble? Chewable vitamins? Aren't you a child or an adult?"
"Coffee again? Caffeine will surely give you more cysts in your breasts. And the sugar? You are killing yourself and the environment with every single spoonful."
"There is not a single cold cereal on the market that is healthy. But you still insist on eating it?"
"Oatmeal is better in some ways, but yours isn't organic or Irish or steel cut. When are you gonna get your act together and eat some decent food? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know."
"Go out again for breakfast? Will you order butter on your bagel and an egg and BACON? Are you out of your mind? What about the chickens and cows cooped up in their pens for their entire lives? What about the pig that gave its life for your bacon? How selfish are you, Gail?"
*Upon beginning our homeschooling day:
"Are you even qualified to teach these kids here at home? What if you completely screw them up for life?"
"What do you know anyway? What can you possibly pass on to them?"
"No Latin or word origin studies? No memorizing the timeline of American history? They can't name all the countries in Africa with their capitals and currencies? No biology or chemistry labs? No music lessons? What kind of half-assed school are you running here?"
"What do you mean - you are forcing them to study specific subjects? You should be allowing them to be completely and radically unschooled. Let them lead the way themselves, choose what they want to study and when."
"And how can you possibly do Bible studies with them? Why not let them discover their faith walk for themselves? Plus you curse/get angry/lie/covet/skip church altogether sometimes; you are a terrible example and a hypocrite."
"If you are going to do Bible studies with them, then why aren't you making them memorize more verses?"
"Chores for the kids? What are you, a taskmaster who had children and decided to homeschool them so that they could be your housebound servants?
"You mean your kids don't do all the chores in the house? They are supposed to serve willingly - at home first and then out in the world."
* Upon doing chores around the house:
"How can you say you care about the environment when you use the dryer/bleach/that laundry detergent/that floor shine product/that mop/that broom?"
"You should get rid of the carpets and put down hardwood flooring. The allergies/filth/bacteria/germs living in the carpet will kill you all."
"You spend way too much time ironing. You're so vain. No one cares what you look like."
"You don't iron enough. Why aren't you ironing all the kids' clothes and your sheets and towels the way they do in Spain? You are so lazy."
"You should unplug every appliance that you aren't using. You waste money and the electrical energy emanating from all these electrical appliances is adding to your chances of getting cancer."
"You aren't cooking a vegan/vegetarian meal? Think of all the animals suffering for your meal."
"You are making a vegetarian/vegan mean? Think of all the farmers suffering because you don't eat more meat."
"You should be eating only raw food. Cooking kills all the nutritional value of your food. The pots leech chemicals when they get hot. Plus the electricity wasted..."
*Upon going to the gym for exercise:
"You work out four or five times a week? Is that all? You are one lazy woman."
"You work out four or five times a week? Are you obsessed with your body? Insanely vain?"
"You should be lifting more weights. You are not getting any younger. Work that body as hard as you can while you still can."
"You shouldn't be lifting weights at all. It's bad for your muscles and bone structure."
"You are a terrible dancer/weight lifter/treadmill walker. You can't do anything right."
"Are you gonna wear that outfit to the gym? Shouldn't you iron those pants? That tee shirt is more than five years old. Don't you have anything newer than that?"
"You call yourself serious about working out and that's all you can do? That's as fast as you can go on the treadmill? You've never been in a cycling class? You still weigh that much?"
*Upon ending my day:
"Are you gonna watch television again? Aren't there Bible verses you need to read? A Bible study you need to attend? Carpets you need to vacuum? Dishes you need to wash? Games you need to play with the kids? Books you need to write?"
"Aren't you going to get on facebook and check up on people, respond to their clever comments with clever comments of your own, check other people's status, and come up with something even more clever to put on your own page? How else will your friends know everything you are up to and be impressed by everything that you do?"
"What? Another week has gone by without you writing a blog? What will your readers think? What if they don't come and check your blog again ever?"
"What? You think you have something to say that anybody cares to read? No one checks your blog anymore anyway. Why do you keep up this stupid blog?"
"What? You wrote a blog and didn't write about ____________ or defend ______________ or bash _________ or try to convince people to _____________ and stop _____________? Why bother to write if you won't touch on the real truth about topics that really matter?"
Plus there are a few voices and questions that resound above and below and all around all of the aforementioned:
* You call yourself a Christian/feminist/good wife/good mother/environmentalist/well-read person/well-traveled person/open-minded person/evangelical/Baptist/tolerant/trustworthy/black/thinking person/Democrat (What? You're a Christian and a Democrat???)/loving daughter/caring sister/attentive cousin-sister-in-law-daughter-in-law/member of the church/writer/blogger/friend/_________________ (fill in the blank) and you talk that way/watch those movies/read those books/don't ______________ every day/attend _______________/shop there/ don't shop there/travel to those places/have never been to those places/have friends like that/believe that/don't believe this/_____________________ (fill in the blank)?
*You seriously call yourself all those things, Gail? You call yourself any of those things? Why do you label yourself so often? What good are labels? Shouldn't you be striving to live a label-free life?
*What would Jesus do?
*What would __________________ do?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yes, friends, it gets mighty noisy in my head sometimes. Gratefully, I am learning how to shut out most of those voices or at least ignore more of the questions and commentary that is constantly streaming through my mind. I must say that writing them down today (and there are tons more in my journal that didn't get included here) has made me laugh at myself and at how ridiculous it is that I have spent so much of my life trying to live up to all those expectations - and many more than these. In writing them down, I have already felt a sense of freedom from them. Naming them and releasing myself from their power.
Am I the only one who hears this many voices in my head? (Are you seriously publicly admitting that you hear voices? Really, Gail???)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* Upon rising:
"Why are you getting up so late? _________ has probably been up for hours studying the Bible/meditating/praying/reading/writing/creating art/drying fruits and vegetables to put in her root cellar/digging a root cellar/planting all the food she will need for the rest of this year in her backyard garden/planning her family's homeschooling lessons/cooking breakfast for her family already."
"How long has it been since you changed the sheets?"
"When will you start to wear sexy pajamas to bed? Doesn't your husband deserve a sexier wife?"
"What about your 20 minutes of sitting with legs folded and mind emptying?"
"What about memorizing another chapter of the Bible before breakfast and planning a weekend retreat based on your reading?"
"Why do you sleep so much?
"Why do you sleep so little?"
* Upon entering the bathroom:
"Are you going to use that toothpaste? It isn't organic or even all-natural."
"That cream? How many red list chemicals are in that stuff? It doesn't matter how much better and healthier your skin looks; appearances aren't everything."
"When will you get your eyebrows threaded again? Sure, it hurt, but beauty comes with a cost."
"I cannot believe you got your eyebrows threaded. What exactly was the point of that?"
"Do you really burn incense in your bathroom? Isn't that just adding smoke and pollution to the environment?"
"And that cleanser? The fragrance, the chemicals, the artificial color - your entire family will have cancer because you use that stuff. You know that, right?"
"Ant baits? Seriously, Gail? All God's creatures deserve to live. You should gently guide them back outside with thoughts of peace and freedom."
* Upon getting dressed:
"Are you going to wear that? Not one piece of this outfit matches any other piece."
"Didn't you get that at Good Will? What would _______ say if she knew that?"
"Didn't you buy that at the mall? How can you support multinational corporations that have a stranglehold on the worldwide economy that way?"
"__________ has way better taste/shoes/clothes/accessories."
"What's up with that bra and the old lady panties? Could they ride any higher above your belly button? Oprah's crew would call for an under garment intervention, for sure."
"Are you gonna use that bag? Patterned bags are for teenagers, aren't they?"
"That's too matchy-matchy. It doesn't have to match; it has to 'Go.'"
"What does that even mean? And who cares what you wear anyway?"
* Upon entering the kitchen for breakfast:
"Once again, you forgot to clean the kitchen thoroughly before you went to bed. You are already behind."
"You are going to take those vitamins? Are they organic and vegetarian? Are you taking the right dosage for your age and weight? You aren't taking enough ________. What about additives in those vitamins? Are they water-soluble or fat-soluble? Chewable vitamins? Aren't you a child or an adult?"
"Coffee again? Caffeine will surely give you more cysts in your breasts. And the sugar? You are killing yourself and the environment with every single spoonful."
"There is not a single cold cereal on the market that is healthy. But you still insist on eating it?"
"Oatmeal is better in some ways, but yours isn't organic or Irish or steel cut. When are you gonna get your act together and eat some decent food? Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know."
"Go out again for breakfast? Will you order butter on your bagel and an egg and BACON? Are you out of your mind? What about the chickens and cows cooped up in their pens for their entire lives? What about the pig that gave its life for your bacon? How selfish are you, Gail?"
*Upon beginning our homeschooling day:
"Are you even qualified to teach these kids here at home? What if you completely screw them up for life?"
"What do you know anyway? What can you possibly pass on to them?"
"No Latin or word origin studies? No memorizing the timeline of American history? They can't name all the countries in Africa with their capitals and currencies? No biology or chemistry labs? No music lessons? What kind of half-assed school are you running here?"
"What do you mean - you are forcing them to study specific subjects? You should be allowing them to be completely and radically unschooled. Let them lead the way themselves, choose what they want to study and when."
"And how can you possibly do Bible studies with them? Why not let them discover their faith walk for themselves? Plus you curse/get angry/lie/covet/skip church altogether sometimes; you are a terrible example and a hypocrite."
"If you are going to do Bible studies with them, then why aren't you making them memorize more verses?"
"Chores for the kids? What are you, a taskmaster who had children and decided to homeschool them so that they could be your housebound servants?
"You mean your kids don't do all the chores in the house? They are supposed to serve willingly - at home first and then out in the world."
* Upon doing chores around the house:
"How can you say you care about the environment when you use the dryer/bleach/that laundry detergent/that floor shine product/that mop/that broom?"
"You should get rid of the carpets and put down hardwood flooring. The allergies/filth/bacteria/germs living in the carpet will kill you all."
"You spend way too much time ironing. You're so vain. No one cares what you look like."
"You don't iron enough. Why aren't you ironing all the kids' clothes and your sheets and towels the way they do in Spain? You are so lazy."
"You should unplug every appliance that you aren't using. You waste money and the electrical energy emanating from all these electrical appliances is adding to your chances of getting cancer."
"You aren't cooking a vegan/vegetarian meal? Think of all the animals suffering for your meal."
"You are making a vegetarian/vegan mean? Think of all the farmers suffering because you don't eat more meat."
"You should be eating only raw food. Cooking kills all the nutritional value of your food. The pots leech chemicals when they get hot. Plus the electricity wasted..."
*Upon going to the gym for exercise:
"You work out four or five times a week? Is that all? You are one lazy woman."
"You work out four or five times a week? Are you obsessed with your body? Insanely vain?"
"You should be lifting more weights. You are not getting any younger. Work that body as hard as you can while you still can."
"You shouldn't be lifting weights at all. It's bad for your muscles and bone structure."
"You are a terrible dancer/weight lifter/treadmill walker. You can't do anything right."
"Are you gonna wear that outfit to the gym? Shouldn't you iron those pants? That tee shirt is more than five years old. Don't you have anything newer than that?"
"You call yourself serious about working out and that's all you can do? That's as fast as you can go on the treadmill? You've never been in a cycling class? You still weigh that much?"
*Upon ending my day:
"Are you gonna watch television again? Aren't there Bible verses you need to read? A Bible study you need to attend? Carpets you need to vacuum? Dishes you need to wash? Games you need to play with the kids? Books you need to write?"
"Aren't you going to get on facebook and check up on people, respond to their clever comments with clever comments of your own, check other people's status, and come up with something even more clever to put on your own page? How else will your friends know everything you are up to and be impressed by everything that you do?"
"What? Another week has gone by without you writing a blog? What will your readers think? What if they don't come and check your blog again ever?"
"What? You think you have something to say that anybody cares to read? No one checks your blog anymore anyway. Why do you keep up this stupid blog?"
"What? You wrote a blog and didn't write about ____________ or defend ______________ or bash _________ or try to convince people to _____________ and stop _____________? Why bother to write if you won't touch on the real truth about topics that really matter?"
Plus there are a few voices and questions that resound above and below and all around all of the aforementioned:
* You call yourself a Christian/feminist/good wife/good mother/environmentalist/well-read person/well-traveled person/open-minded person/evangelical/Baptist/tolerant/trustworthy/black/thinking person/Democrat (What? You're a Christian and a Democrat???)/loving daughter/caring sister/attentive cousin-sister-in-law-daughter-in-law/member of the church/writer/blogger/friend/_________________ (fill in the blank) and you talk that way/watch those movies/read those books/don't ______________ every day/attend _______________/shop there/ don't shop there/travel to those places/have never been to those places/have friends like that/believe that/don't believe this/_____________________ (fill in the blank)?
*You seriously call yourself all those things, Gail? You call yourself any of those things? Why do you label yourself so often? What good are labels? Shouldn't you be striving to live a label-free life?
*What would Jesus do?
*What would __________________ do?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yes, friends, it gets mighty noisy in my head sometimes. Gratefully, I am learning how to shut out most of those voices or at least ignore more of the questions and commentary that is constantly streaming through my mind. I must say that writing them down today (and there are tons more in my journal that didn't get included here) has made me laugh at myself and at how ridiculous it is that I have spent so much of my life trying to live up to all those expectations - and many more than these. In writing them down, I have already felt a sense of freedom from them. Naming them and releasing myself from their power.
Am I the only one who hears this many voices in my head? (Are you seriously publicly admitting that you hear voices? Really, Gail???)
Monday, March 08, 2010
Lonelier than ever...
I am still sweaty from one of the most energetic exercise classes in Charlotte. One hundred women of all shapes, sizes, colors, backgrounds, language groups all dancing and singing and laughing and having a great time. Lots of laughter and hugging and basking in the deep and beautiful energy of women together.
But I come home and feel lonelier than ever.
My husband is one of the funniest people I know. He can make a stroll through the supermarket a reason to wet my pants with hearty giggles. When we watch television together, his commentary makes me laugh so hard that my stomach hurts.
But when we turn off the television and drift off to sleep, I feel lonelier than ever.
At this point in my life, I have more friends, true friends, soul sisters who love me dearly, who would drop everything to take my call or come rescue me or vouch for me or take care of me without question, in my life right now than at any other point. They come to my house to hang out with me. They meet me for coffee. They invite me to lunch. They invite me to visit them all over the world. I have no doubt that these women are on my side, no matter what.
But when I hang up the phone, turn off the computer, or head back home after spending time with them, I feel lonelier than ever.
I have had boy-friends and man-friends. I have cousins, aunts and uncles, brothers, brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law, nieces and nephews, pastors and priests and other spiritual mentors that I have loved and that have loved me deeply and passionately in my 44 years of life.
But relationships change. Relationships end. Many have endured for decades. Even within the relationships that are likely to last for the rest of my life, I feel lonelier than ever.
I have several shelves of journals and photo albums that chronicle the many adventures and blessings I have had in my life. I often pull them out and reminisce around the anniversary of particularly meaningful trips. And on days when I feel the call of the road, I will choose a travel journal at random and joyfully relive the journey.
But when I put the journals and albums back on the shelves, tuck my memories back into their carefully labeled cubby holes in my soul, and return to my ordinary, daily life, I feel lonelier than ever.
Don't feel sorry for me. Don't worry about me.
This is a loneliness that I am learning to embrace.
This is a loneliness that I must live.
Henri Nouwen explained it this way:
It is important to move from a "first loneliness" to a "second loneliness." The first loneliness is a kind of emotional loneliness: needing friends, family, and home. But when all those needs are more or less met, you learn there is a second loneliness. God is calling you to deep, personal intimacy, an intimacy that is wonderful and very demanding. God asks you to let go of many things that are emotionally, intellectually, and affectively very satisfying. You must grow into the trust that this deeper loneliness is not to be overcome, but lived. You must live it with trust, standing tall. You must try to say, "Yes, I am lonely, but this particular loneliness sets me on the road to intimacy with God. It does not pull me away from God or my deepest self, but brings me closer to the source of love in the depths of my being."
It's very important for us to dare to welcome the fullness of our second loneliness because it relates to the oldest mystical traditions about the spiritual journey. The "dark night of the soul" is another expression of the second loneliness.
This second loneliness is one that sets me interiorly on the road to communion with the Divine and at the same time brings me in touch with my deepest self in relationship with brothers, sisters, and good friends.
It is paradoxical but real. The more I find intimacy with the Creator of my life, the more loneliness I experience. And at the very same time this loneliness offers me a new sense of belonging to the family of Divine Love that is much greater and more intimate than any belonging that the world can offer. The world of communion with the Great Spirit that is truly experienced as a world of loneliness and the highest level of separation from my human yearning to be loved, is also revealed to me as the highest level of belonging to the Creator of the galaxies and being part of the human race.
(Quotes are taken from Home Tonight: Further Reflections on The Parable of the Prodigal Son and From Fear to Love: Lenten Reflections on the Parable of the Prodigal Son - both written by Henri Nouwen.)
Mine is a loneliness that is rich and deep and thick and heavy - all at the same time. This is a level and type of loneliness that I have felt for a while, but until I read Nouwen's words I thought I was misreading my feelings. And I have certainly been mistaken in my failed attempts to fill the lonely place in my heart and soul.
For most of my adult life, I have believed that the right words spoken or written by the right person at the right time with the right tone of voice would make me feel alright. When the right people liked me enough and told me often enough how they felt, I was okay. For a while, my attention-gaining scheme worked. The right words and emotions and feelings and attention flowed in my direction freely and often. It felt great.
But it was never enough. I always wanted more: more text messages, more emails, more phone calls, more attention, more meals together, more sex. More. More. More. Undoubtedly, I have driven some people out of my life because of my desperation for approval and affection. To them, I owe an apology for my addictive behavior.
More than that, I owe myself a thousand apologies for all the ways in which I have broken my own heart and given the pieces to people who are even lonelier than I am and whose hearts are more wounded than mine.
Finally I get it. I understand that the relationships I used to cling to for dear life are not and have never been the source of life. The affection I longed for will never touch or caress or heal the deepest wounds in me. Marriage and friendship and companionship ease the first loneliness, but have no effect on the second loneliness. None whatsoever.
This second loneliness is not going away. I cannot shop or eat or drink or dance or exercise or travel or even write it away. I have found that it is only in my times of silence and solitude, prayer and meditation, pondering not only the wonder of creation but also the Creator, reading The Word and hiding it in my heart, grasping for and basking in all the time I can be alone with The Alone, that I discover that the depth and breadth and unsurmountable nature of this second loneliness. For brief periods of time, the loneliness eases. But finally, I am finding peace with being alone with and being lonely for The One who came to give me new and abundant life. I am profoundly lonely for and with the Lover of my soul.
Today, I confess that, with all the love and friendship and laughter and joy and peace that pervades nearly every area of my life, I am lonelier than ever. And I couldn't be happier.
But I come home and feel lonelier than ever.
My husband is one of the funniest people I know. He can make a stroll through the supermarket a reason to wet my pants with hearty giggles. When we watch television together, his commentary makes me laugh so hard that my stomach hurts.
But when we turn off the television and drift off to sleep, I feel lonelier than ever.
At this point in my life, I have more friends, true friends, soul sisters who love me dearly, who would drop everything to take my call or come rescue me or vouch for me or take care of me without question, in my life right now than at any other point. They come to my house to hang out with me. They meet me for coffee. They invite me to lunch. They invite me to visit them all over the world. I have no doubt that these women are on my side, no matter what.
But when I hang up the phone, turn off the computer, or head back home after spending time with them, I feel lonelier than ever.
I have had boy-friends and man-friends. I have cousins, aunts and uncles, brothers, brothers-in-law and sisters-in-law, nieces and nephews, pastors and priests and other spiritual mentors that I have loved and that have loved me deeply and passionately in my 44 years of life.
But relationships change. Relationships end. Many have endured for decades. Even within the relationships that are likely to last for the rest of my life, I feel lonelier than ever.
I have several shelves of journals and photo albums that chronicle the many adventures and blessings I have had in my life. I often pull them out and reminisce around the anniversary of particularly meaningful trips. And on days when I feel the call of the road, I will choose a travel journal at random and joyfully relive the journey.
But when I put the journals and albums back on the shelves, tuck my memories back into their carefully labeled cubby holes in my soul, and return to my ordinary, daily life, I feel lonelier than ever.
Don't feel sorry for me. Don't worry about me.
This is a loneliness that I am learning to embrace.
This is a loneliness that I must live.
Henri Nouwen explained it this way:
It is important to move from a "first loneliness" to a "second loneliness." The first loneliness is a kind of emotional loneliness: needing friends, family, and home. But when all those needs are more or less met, you learn there is a second loneliness. God is calling you to deep, personal intimacy, an intimacy that is wonderful and very demanding. God asks you to let go of many things that are emotionally, intellectually, and affectively very satisfying. You must grow into the trust that this deeper loneliness is not to be overcome, but lived. You must live it with trust, standing tall. You must try to say, "Yes, I am lonely, but this particular loneliness sets me on the road to intimacy with God. It does not pull me away from God or my deepest self, but brings me closer to the source of love in the depths of my being."
It's very important for us to dare to welcome the fullness of our second loneliness because it relates to the oldest mystical traditions about the spiritual journey. The "dark night of the soul" is another expression of the second loneliness.
This second loneliness is one that sets me interiorly on the road to communion with the Divine and at the same time brings me in touch with my deepest self in relationship with brothers, sisters, and good friends.
It is paradoxical but real. The more I find intimacy with the Creator of my life, the more loneliness I experience. And at the very same time this loneliness offers me a new sense of belonging to the family of Divine Love that is much greater and more intimate than any belonging that the world can offer. The world of communion with the Great Spirit that is truly experienced as a world of loneliness and the highest level of separation from my human yearning to be loved, is also revealed to me as the highest level of belonging to the Creator of the galaxies and being part of the human race.
(Quotes are taken from Home Tonight: Further Reflections on The Parable of the Prodigal Son and From Fear to Love: Lenten Reflections on the Parable of the Prodigal Son - both written by Henri Nouwen.)
Mine is a loneliness that is rich and deep and thick and heavy - all at the same time. This is a level and type of loneliness that I have felt for a while, but until I read Nouwen's words I thought I was misreading my feelings. And I have certainly been mistaken in my failed attempts to fill the lonely place in my heart and soul.
For most of my adult life, I have believed that the right words spoken or written by the right person at the right time with the right tone of voice would make me feel alright. When the right people liked me enough and told me often enough how they felt, I was okay. For a while, my attention-gaining scheme worked. The right words and emotions and feelings and attention flowed in my direction freely and often. It felt great.
But it was never enough. I always wanted more: more text messages, more emails, more phone calls, more attention, more meals together, more sex. More. More. More. Undoubtedly, I have driven some people out of my life because of my desperation for approval and affection. To them, I owe an apology for my addictive behavior.
More than that, I owe myself a thousand apologies for all the ways in which I have broken my own heart and given the pieces to people who are even lonelier than I am and whose hearts are more wounded than mine.
Finally I get it. I understand that the relationships I used to cling to for dear life are not and have never been the source of life. The affection I longed for will never touch or caress or heal the deepest wounds in me. Marriage and friendship and companionship ease the first loneliness, but have no effect on the second loneliness. None whatsoever.
This second loneliness is not going away. I cannot shop or eat or drink or dance or exercise or travel or even write it away. I have found that it is only in my times of silence and solitude, prayer and meditation, pondering not only the wonder of creation but also the Creator, reading The Word and hiding it in my heart, grasping for and basking in all the time I can be alone with The Alone, that I discover that the depth and breadth and unsurmountable nature of this second loneliness. For brief periods of time, the loneliness eases. But finally, I am finding peace with being alone with and being lonely for The One who came to give me new and abundant life. I am profoundly lonely for and with the Lover of my soul.
Today, I confess that, with all the love and friendship and laughter and joy and peace that pervades nearly every area of my life, I am lonelier than ever. And I couldn't be happier.
Sunday, March 07, 2010
On Keeping the Sabbath
A dear and distant friend, known around the world as Goddess Leonie, has established a fabulous habit called "Switch Off Sunday." She unplugs from the internet and other external stimuli in order to rest and be rejuvenated.
A couple of weeks ago, she asked me to share some of my Sabbath keeping practices with her and her readers. This morning, she has honored me and my words more than she will ever know by posting my musings on her blog. Here it is.
Thank you so much, Leonie, for including me in your circle of sister-friends.
A couple of weeks ago, she asked me to share some of my Sabbath keeping practices with her and her readers. This morning, she has honored me and my words more than she will ever know by posting my musings on her blog. Here it is.
Thank you so much, Leonie, for including me in your circle of sister-friends.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
Life's Simple Pleasures...
With earthquakes and tsunamis and rising waters and falling rocks and mudslides and drought and famine and war and ginormous executive bonuses and rampant job loss happening all over the world and right here in our own country, I am taking more time these days to focus inwardly a little. To take stock of the many blessings that I have known in my life. When I am feeling most effusively thankful, I pull up old photos and look back at the people and places that have brought joy and laughter, new perspectives and old world cities into my world. Today I am celebrating a few of my life's favorite simple pleasures. Care to join me?
Ours is a sports loving family. We have been known to attend athletic events where we don't know anyone participating- and I'm not even referring to professional sports. On this particular night, we were guests of a friend who has season tickets to the UNC Charlotte 49ers basketball games. Can you see the 49er mascot hoisted on the celebrating fans? He disappeared into the sea of revelers just seconds after this photo was taken. I hope he's okay now. Go Niners!
When it snows, I stay inside. Period. Well, unless I need a good workout - in which case I go outside and shovel the driveway. After which, I rush back indoors, sweaty and cold and sore. From the safety of my kitchen, however, I thoroughly enjoy taking photos of snowy formations on the back deck. On this particular day, I was entralled by the way in which the snow formed delicate piles and peaks on the frame underneath the seat. I admit to staring at that peak as well as the one on the birdfeeder in the backyard for inordinately long periods of time that day. Many wonders of this world I live in fascinate me.
One of the simplest and most profound pleasures in life, at least for me, is eating out. Going out to eat with new friends, especially. A couple of weeks ago, I went out with a new group of friends to celebrate the birthdays of two of them. We talked and laughed and ate and drank and talked and laughed so more. I don't remember much of what we said, but I do remember how welcomed and accepted and loved I felt. I am enormously glad I snapped this photo as a momento of that evening. I am even happier to know those amazing women and to have been included in their number.
I don't draw or paint much. But I do make collages. Here is one I made that brings a smile to my face every time I look at it. (Actually this one has far more writing and far fewer other elements than most of my creations.) In it, I pay homage to one of the most emotionally transformative and spiritually formative trips I have ever taken - the one I took to Italy less than a month after September 11, 2001. My heart and soul have not yet recovered from that journey - and for that, I am enormously grateful.
Of late, I have been feeling that old familiar feeling of "itchy feet" - a name my niece gave to our shared and perpetual yearning for the road. Because I cannot escape physically at the moment, I have given my mind and spirit leave to wander. I have flipped thru photo albums and travel journals. I have clipped words and images out of National Geographic Traveler and affixed them in and on the outside of my journals.
Apparently my subconscious is in the same restless state as my conscious mind. Lately I have had many dreams of getting lost. In the dreams, I am not afraid or anxious. In fact, I am quite happy to be displaced, forgotten, and alone. After the first few dreams, I asked myself - why that dream? It didn't take me long to figure it out.
Because one of my life's simplest and greatest pleasures is to get lost.
Lost in the pleasure of a meal I didn't have to prepare.
Lost in the joy of cheering on a team.
Lost on a bubbling river of conversation.
Lost in the back streets or alleys of a tiny Tuscan village.
Lost in wonder, joy, and love.
Hear my recently oft-repeated plea: "American Airlines,* take me away!"
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Remembering those who have helped me along the way...
My dear sister-friend, Mair, has done it again.
Read this when you get the chance.
In the meantime, enjoy this small piece of her powerful post.
Who are the people who spread their cloak around you and covered you when you were most vulnerable? Who were the souls on your personal underground railroad who made haste to steal you away to freedom in the night? Maybe some are long gone from your life, or even from this world. Pour their names out of your mouth like a libation. Give thanks for them, and after you've done that, take a moment to remember those who are still bound, even if that person is you. And pray once again.
When I think of the phone calls from Jen G when my daughter was in the hospital,
and the conversations with Lisa about shared marital and maternal concerns,
and the cups of coffee and gales of laughter and paint spills with Heather,
when I recall Karen's visit last November and how she forced me to eat and sleep when I didn't want to do either, and look at photos of Eduardo and Leticia and Marta and Manolo and Ester and Antonio and recall how they have welcomed me and fed me and taken me to so many beautiful, quiet, prayerful, lovely places in Spain,
whenever I use Itiel's sweet smelling goodies to nourish my skin and my spirit and look at the peace flags from Ohio on my study wall and burn incense from India, when I look at the jewelry and journals and candles and pens given to me by people who thought about me when they were someplace else and decided to bring me home a gift,
when I reread text messages from dear and distant friends, and print Jena's emails and blog posts so I can reread them in the thick, dark nights of parenting, read Karen Maezen's wise words on gentle, mindful parenting,
when I recall professors and doctors and nurses and midwives and dining hall workers and librarians and bus drivers and coaches and pilots and the countless souls whose names I never knew, but who have taught me and cared for me and fed me and been patient with my questions and transported me during this journey that is my life...
and tonight as I ponder the Greensboro Four - the four freshmen from North Carolina A&T State University, who 50 years ago right now were involved in the Woolworth's lunch counter sit-in in Greensboro, North Carolina (the sit-ins in Greensboro began on Feb 1, 1960 and ended late in July of the same year) - the four men whose history Kristiana and I learned about today at a newly inaugurated museum in that city - I remember the thousands of African-Americans and their allies who risked their lives and the dozens who lost their lives, so that I can live the amazing life I live here in Charlotte, North Carolina. Humbling. Sobering. Saddening. Challenging. Empowering.
Thank you, all of you. Thank you, each of you. Thank you, all of you whose names are not listed here, but who have loved me* and supported me* and cooked for me* and written to me* and called me* and thought of me* and prayed for me* and wept with me* and for me,* all of you who have invited me to share your lives with you. Your love for me* does not go unnoticed, nor is it taken for granted. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
(* and by "me," I mean me and my family...)
With so much floating through my heart and mind tonight, I am deeply and profoundly grateful. Grateful, grateful, grateful, grateful.
Thank you yet again, Mair, for reminding me to think about the goodness of the Lord and give Him thanks.
Read this when you get the chance.
In the meantime, enjoy this small piece of her powerful post.
Who are the people who spread their cloak around you and covered you when you were most vulnerable? Who were the souls on your personal underground railroad who made haste to steal you away to freedom in the night? Maybe some are long gone from your life, or even from this world. Pour their names out of your mouth like a libation. Give thanks for them, and after you've done that, take a moment to remember those who are still bound, even if that person is you. And pray once again.
When I think of the phone calls from Jen G when my daughter was in the hospital,
and the conversations with Lisa about shared marital and maternal concerns,
and the cups of coffee and gales of laughter and paint spills with Heather,
when I recall Karen's visit last November and how she forced me to eat and sleep when I didn't want to do either, and look at photos of Eduardo and Leticia and Marta and Manolo and Ester and Antonio and recall how they have welcomed me and fed me and taken me to so many beautiful, quiet, prayerful, lovely places in Spain,
whenever I use Itiel's sweet smelling goodies to nourish my skin and my spirit and look at the peace flags from Ohio on my study wall and burn incense from India, when I look at the jewelry and journals and candles and pens given to me by people who thought about me when they were someplace else and decided to bring me home a gift,
when I reread text messages from dear and distant friends, and print Jena's emails and blog posts so I can reread them in the thick, dark nights of parenting, read Karen Maezen's wise words on gentle, mindful parenting,
when I recall professors and doctors and nurses and midwives and dining hall workers and librarians and bus drivers and coaches and pilots and the countless souls whose names I never knew, but who have taught me and cared for me and fed me and been patient with my questions and transported me during this journey that is my life...
and tonight as I ponder the Greensboro Four - the four freshmen from North Carolina A&T State University, who 50 years ago right now were involved in the Woolworth's lunch counter sit-in in Greensboro, North Carolina (the sit-ins in Greensboro began on Feb 1, 1960 and ended late in July of the same year) - the four men whose history Kristiana and I learned about today at a newly inaugurated museum in that city - I remember the thousands of African-Americans and their allies who risked their lives and the dozens who lost their lives, so that I can live the amazing life I live here in Charlotte, North Carolina. Humbling. Sobering. Saddening. Challenging. Empowering.
Thank you, all of you. Thank you, each of you. Thank you, all of you whose names are not listed here, but who have loved me* and supported me* and cooked for me* and written to me* and called me* and thought of me* and prayed for me* and wept with me* and for me,* all of you who have invited me to share your lives with you. Your love for me* does not go unnoticed, nor is it taken for granted. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
(* and by "me," I mean me and my family...)
With so much floating through my heart and mind tonight, I am deeply and profoundly grateful. Grateful, grateful, grateful, grateful.
Thank you yet again, Mair, for reminding me to think about the goodness of the Lord and give Him thanks.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
I have been moved to tears yet again this morning...
Check out this link for an awesome version of "Lift Every Voice and Sing," the song that is often referred to as "The Negro National Anthem." I love this song so much, and I have since I learned it in elementary school dozens of years ago.
The words are powerful. The images in this video are stirring. The story is far from finished.
The history of African Americans in this nation is powerful and stirring - and whether you agree with his politics or not, President Barack Obama is a huge part of what that song is about, what our history as people of African descent has pointed to, and I must admit that I am enormously proud to be a black woman in this country. Enormously proud.
The great news is that the story, our story, our history is far from over.
The words are powerful. The images in this video are stirring. The story is far from finished.
The history of African Americans in this nation is powerful and stirring - and whether you agree with his politics or not, President Barack Obama is a huge part of what that song is about, what our history as people of African descent has pointed to, and I must admit that I am enormously proud to be a black woman in this country. Enormously proud.
The great news is that the story, our story, our history is far from over.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Forty Days Journey into ...
The Convent of Santa Clara, Tordesillas, Spain
Back in November was the beginning of Advent, the forty days of prayer and preparation for the celebration of the birth of Christ. The babe born in the manger. The wise men from the East. The shepherds. The quietness of His mother, Mary, who listened and watched and pondered all those things in her heart.
Today begins Lent, the forty days of prayer and preparation for the most important event of my faith. Some would argue that it was the most important event in all of human history: the resurrection of that same Christ from the dead after His crucifixion. New life. Life after death. The offering of new life to us.
*************
At least, that is what I'm supposed to say and write today. I'm supposed to be certain about everything and doubtless and fearless. I'm supposed to have many more answers than I actually have. I'm supposed to be flashing my fist and pointing to passages and demanding a verdict. But, truthfully, this faith thing is not always so easy and clear and certain for me. I continue to wonder and ponder and "what if?" and "why not?" most days.
One thing I do know for sure: I am not ever going to stop seeking more of Christ and His truth in my life. I am not ever going to stop praying through and reading about and journaling around and living out this faith I profess. I do not have all the answers. I don't even want all the answers. What I want is more time and more space and a deeper relationship with Christ.
Because it has been my experience that, even when the days and nights are unfathomably dark, when my countless questions go unanswered, when I am all alone with my anger and sorrow and fear and loathing, the peace of Christ does still rule in my heart. An inexplicable, unexpected, unsurpassable peace descends over my soul, and I remember yet again that all shall be well. I remember that the answers are not nearly as important as the peace that reigns in spite of the remaining queries.
Another thing I know for sure is this: I will mess up. I will fall down. I will walk angrily, resentfully, petulantly through many valleys and many shadows. At those times in the future, as I have in the past, I will cry out for mercy. I will plead for wisdom and discernment. I will beg for patience and grace. I will ask for more strength and more faith. And at those times in the future, as in the past, I will recognize that I already have everything I need for life and godliness. It's already here. I already have it. I already have Him.
As I sat for prayer on this Ash Wednesday morning, I mumbled out a few words of gratitude and more than a few words of supplication. I sat in silence for a while. I wondered what to say next, what to ask for, what to confess. Then I opened my favorite book of Lenten readings and was stunned yet again by Henri Nouwen's Ash Wednesday prayer in Show Me the Way - and I have read through this book every year since 2002. Here is an excerpt:
I am still so divided. I truly want to follow you, but I also want to follow my own desires and lend an ear to the voices that speak about prestige, success, human respect, pleasure, power, and influence. Help me to become deaf to these voices and more attentive to your voice, which calls me to choose the narrow road to life.
I know that Lent is going to be a very hard time for me. The choice for your way has to be made every moment of my life. I have to choose thoughts that are your thoughts, words that are your words, and actions that are your actions. There are no times or places without choices. And I know how deeply I resist choosing you.
Above my bed in Valladolid, Spain.
Yes, Henri. I too remain divided. So much of the time, I resist choosing anyone or anything other than myself. The amazing thing is that, if what the Bible says is true, then Christ chose to come to earth as a baby, to be born in an animal stall, and to live among the poor and diseased and dispossessed of his day. He chose to be condemned by those who feared and hated him, to die a cruel death, to be buried, and to rise again three days later. He chose to do all that even though He knew that most of the people who He would meet during His 33 years on earth, and most of the people who would hear about Him and read His Word in the 2000+ years after His life would choose to reject Him and to doubt that He even existed. He chose to do all that even though people like me, people who claim to believe His Word, continue to wonder and doubt. Apparently, although I am divided, He was not. That is, indeed, both amazing grace and amazing love.
A plaque in a friend's office: "All sinners welcome."
For the next forty days, I will spend a great deal of time pondering these questions as I walk yet another Lenten journey. I am certain that there will be many more questions at the end than at the beginning. But that is fine. The best news is that the work has already been done. The love has already been lavishly shared. All I have to do is keep on walking.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Good Pain
This morning at Breugger's Bagels, I ordered my favorite breakfast: a rosemary olive oil bagel. Toasted. With butter and an egg. And a small coffee. The best part was that I was blissfully alone!!! Yum, yum. A couple of minutes later, after discreetly pouring nearly half of the contents of the sugar jar into my coffee cup, I was ready to indulge. I perched myself over the chair, coffee in hand. Bent my knees. Began the familiar descent. About half way down, I nearly yelped. My left hip nearly gave out on me. Ouch! I felt a hitch in my giddyup - literally. What the heck was that? I wondered to myself - grateful that I hadn't fallen and spilled the coffee all over myself and the floor.
After regrouping and restoring my dignity, I thought about my dearly beloved father, may God cause his gorgeous soul to dance. My day had a funny limp for the last 15 years of his life. Every time he got up from a chair, sat down in a chair, shifted from one position to another, he hobbled. He stumbled. He winced. In a flash there at Breugger's, I had a vision of myself, hobbling and stumbling and wincing and groaning for the rest of my days. Not a surprise for a 65 year old with a history of arthritis - who ended up living happily and peacefully to the ripe age of 78. Not a pretty sight for a 44 year old with a history of nothing but a serious sweet tooth - which I inherited from my dear old dad. I hope arthritis does not soon follow.
I recalled having gone to a new exercise class at the Y last night - zumba! Taught by a former college buddy of mine. (Which makes me wonder - How do two, count 'em 2, New York City-born black alumnae of Williams College in miniscule Williamstown, Massachusetts, end up in the same area of south Charlotte, North Carolina? In any case, I am glad we reconnected. That girl, Jatrine, is one of the most energetic, encouraging fitness instructors I have ever met! I cannot wait to get back to another of her classes.)
Anyway, back to my story.
Oh, yeah - last night's gym class. But that wasn't the problem. I've done zumba before. And soreness that comes from exercise doesn't usually hit me for a couple of days. Besides, I had felt pain in my hips while I was in the class. This morning's discomfort predated last night's dancing/sweating/singing/shaking-my-groove-thing class.
Nope, there were no recent wild antics anyplace else in my life either of late... hear my deep sigh on that account.
So what could have caused this sharp ache in my hips? I wondered.
Then I remembered. It had happened yesterday morning.
I had engaged in some wild antics of a different kind.
Wild in the "sitting cross-legged and still, closed eyes, deep breathing for twenty minutes" sense of the word.
Wild in the "be still my soul, quiet my thoughts, choose a prayer word and repeat it over and over" sense of the word.
Wild in the "why have I taken so much time away from starting my day this way?" sense of the word.
It was wild indeed.
There I sat. Breathing. Thinking. Praying. Watching untoward, unsettled, unrelenting thoughts of fear and doubt and sadness and sorrow and self-pity flit across the warbly screen on the inside of my eyelids. Watching emotional, spiritual, maternal, marital, fraternal commentary flutter past like the subtitles of the Hindi films I have indulged in of late... the words go by too fast because I am focused on the beautiful, tormented faces of the actors on screen. I want to see it all and read it all and ponder it all. Slowly. But sometimes it is just moving too fast.
But there I sat. Still. Letting the words and images do whatever they did. I breathed deep breaths. I released my grip on the reins of whatever I thought I was in control of. I let them go. Once again, I was reminded that they have never been attached to anything anyway.
I sat. I breathed. I released. I dropped.
Sit. Breathe. Release. Drop.
And as I sat, my crossed legs also dropped. Lower and lower. Ouch.
I switched the position of my feet. Shifted my weight. Ouch.
I kept sitting. Breathing. Dropping. Releasing. Ouch.
That's when the pain in my hips started.
This morning at the bagel place, the pain flared as I sat down.
When I returned home after breakfast, I went back to the scene of the incident.
Slipped out of my slippers. Sat down again.
Same place. Same pillow. Same pose. Same pain.
Actually, it hurt a little bit less as I sat this morning.
In any case, it's a good pain.
As my hips open wider, so does my heart.
As my thighs slowly fall, so do many of my defenses.
As my joints loosen, so does my grasp on so many of my preconceived notions.
Ouch - yet again.
As the day has progressed today, I notice that as I sit down to eat or drink or read or write, as I climb in and out of the minivan, as I get into and out of my exercise clothes, I am being more careful to move slowly. To maneuver myself gingerly. I try to imagine ways to get from point A to point B without having to bend or reach or twist excessively. These hips are talking to me, loud and clear.
But it's not only my body that is talking to me. I am hearing my spirit and soul reminding me to seek peace and pursue it - starting here at home and extending outward to those with whom I vehemently disagree on so many topics. To love others as they want and need to be loved - with patience and words of encouragement, with quality time and easy conversation. I've got to stop insisting that "they" seek peace with me and that "they" love me and give more time and energy to me. (Whoever "they" are. ) I am newly committed to doing my part. To seeking peace. To being peace.
I am listening to the advice of two dearly beloved friends who, on Sunday, reminded me that "if Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" - so I'd better take better care to keep myself happy and rested. (Hence the trip to the bagel place this morning!) I've got to stop expecting that "they" will figure out what I need and give it to me. Either I have to ask for what I want or go get it for myself. Enough pity partying.
I am listening to my bookcases and file folders breathe sighs of relief as I continue the divine duty of decluttering this house of mine. Because, as the FlyLady reminded me earlier this week, who is going to want to deal with my old workbooks and greeting cards and wrinkled magazines and grad school handouts when I am dead and gone? I've got quite a few recently unemployed paper clips and an overflowing recycling bin to show for my efforts. My hips were not happy when I carried the last batch of stuff down to the garage and tossed it into the aforementioned bin a couple of hours ago. Once again, ouch!
I expect I will be back on my pillow tomorrow morning. On the floor in my study. Sitting. Breathing. Praying. Thinking. Watching the internal movie screen. Repeating my lines. Shifting my body weight. Shifting as my soul waits.
I expect that it will hurt, hopefully a lot less than yesterday morning and a little less than this morning, but it will hurt.This is a new kind of pain. But it's a good pain.
After regrouping and restoring my dignity, I thought about my dearly beloved father, may God cause his gorgeous soul to dance. My day had a funny limp for the last 15 years of his life. Every time he got up from a chair, sat down in a chair, shifted from one position to another, he hobbled. He stumbled. He winced. In a flash there at Breugger's, I had a vision of myself, hobbling and stumbling and wincing and groaning for the rest of my days. Not a surprise for a 65 year old with a history of arthritis - who ended up living happily and peacefully to the ripe age of 78. Not a pretty sight for a 44 year old with a history of nothing but a serious sweet tooth - which I inherited from my dear old dad. I hope arthritis does not soon follow.
I recalled having gone to a new exercise class at the Y last night - zumba! Taught by a former college buddy of mine. (Which makes me wonder - How do two, count 'em 2, New York City-born black alumnae of Williams College in miniscule Williamstown, Massachusetts, end up in the same area of south Charlotte, North Carolina? In any case, I am glad we reconnected. That girl, Jatrine, is one of the most energetic, encouraging fitness instructors I have ever met! I cannot wait to get back to another of her classes.)
Anyway, back to my story.
Oh, yeah - last night's gym class. But that wasn't the problem. I've done zumba before. And soreness that comes from exercise doesn't usually hit me for a couple of days. Besides, I had felt pain in my hips while I was in the class. This morning's discomfort predated last night's dancing/sweating/singing/shaking-my-groove-thing class.
Nope, there were no recent wild antics anyplace else in my life either of late... hear my deep sigh on that account.
So what could have caused this sharp ache in my hips? I wondered.
Then I remembered. It had happened yesterday morning.
I had engaged in some wild antics of a different kind.
Wild in the "sitting cross-legged and still, closed eyes, deep breathing for twenty minutes" sense of the word.
Wild in the "be still my soul, quiet my thoughts, choose a prayer word and repeat it over and over" sense of the word.
Wild in the "why have I taken so much time away from starting my day this way?" sense of the word.
It was wild indeed.
There I sat. Breathing. Thinking. Praying. Watching untoward, unsettled, unrelenting thoughts of fear and doubt and sadness and sorrow and self-pity flit across the warbly screen on the inside of my eyelids. Watching emotional, spiritual, maternal, marital, fraternal commentary flutter past like the subtitles of the Hindi films I have indulged in of late... the words go by too fast because I am focused on the beautiful, tormented faces of the actors on screen. I want to see it all and read it all and ponder it all. Slowly. But sometimes it is just moving too fast.
But there I sat. Still. Letting the words and images do whatever they did. I breathed deep breaths. I released my grip on the reins of whatever I thought I was in control of. I let them go. Once again, I was reminded that they have never been attached to anything anyway.
I sat. I breathed. I released. I dropped.
Sit. Breathe. Release. Drop.
And as I sat, my crossed legs also dropped. Lower and lower. Ouch.
I switched the position of my feet. Shifted my weight. Ouch.
I kept sitting. Breathing. Dropping. Releasing. Ouch.
That's when the pain in my hips started.
This morning at the bagel place, the pain flared as I sat down.
When I returned home after breakfast, I went back to the scene of the incident.
Slipped out of my slippers. Sat down again.
Same place. Same pillow. Same pose. Same pain.
Actually, it hurt a little bit less as I sat this morning.
In any case, it's a good pain.
As my hips open wider, so does my heart.
As my thighs slowly fall, so do many of my defenses.
As my joints loosen, so does my grasp on so many of my preconceived notions.
Ouch - yet again.
As the day has progressed today, I notice that as I sit down to eat or drink or read or write, as I climb in and out of the minivan, as I get into and out of my exercise clothes, I am being more careful to move slowly. To maneuver myself gingerly. I try to imagine ways to get from point A to point B without having to bend or reach or twist excessively. These hips are talking to me, loud and clear.
But it's not only my body that is talking to me. I am hearing my spirit and soul reminding me to seek peace and pursue it - starting here at home and extending outward to those with whom I vehemently disagree on so many topics. To love others as they want and need to be loved - with patience and words of encouragement, with quality time and easy conversation. I've got to stop insisting that "they" seek peace with me and that "they" love me and give more time and energy to me. (Whoever "they" are. ) I am newly committed to doing my part. To seeking peace. To being peace.
I am listening to the advice of two dearly beloved friends who, on Sunday, reminded me that "if Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy" - so I'd better take better care to keep myself happy and rested. (Hence the trip to the bagel place this morning!) I've got to stop expecting that "they" will figure out what I need and give it to me. Either I have to ask for what I want or go get it for myself. Enough pity partying.
I am listening to my bookcases and file folders breathe sighs of relief as I continue the divine duty of decluttering this house of mine. Because, as the FlyLady reminded me earlier this week, who is going to want to deal with my old workbooks and greeting cards and wrinkled magazines and grad school handouts when I am dead and gone? I've got quite a few recently unemployed paper clips and an overflowing recycling bin to show for my efforts. My hips were not happy when I carried the last batch of stuff down to the garage and tossed it into the aforementioned bin a couple of hours ago. Once again, ouch!
I expect I will be back on my pillow tomorrow morning. On the floor in my study. Sitting. Breathing. Praying. Thinking. Watching the internal movie screen. Repeating my lines. Shifting my body weight. Shifting as my soul waits.
I expect that it will hurt, hopefully a lot less than yesterday morning and a little less than this morning, but it will hurt.This is a new kind of pain. But it's a good pain.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Thankful Thursday...
What a week this has been!
* Ice and snow and slush last weekend. More is expected tomorrow and Saturday. What!!! Snow and ice in Charlotte two weekends in a row. Part of what I love about living in the South is NOT having to deal with winter weather. I am grateful that Laurie has faithfully encouraged me to stock up on food so that on snowy days, on icy days, we will have plenty of yummy things to eat.
* I have had coffee/tea/talking dates with friends three times this week. There is nothing as wonderful and relaxing and engaging and life-affirming as talking and laughing and crying with friends. Telling stories. Finding out how much I have in common with so many strong and amazing and smart and wise and divinely human women. Thank you, Mary Anna and Krystal and Benita.
* I was challenged by the aforementioned sister-friends (as well as Karen and Lisa and Judy and Heather and Gibbs and Katie) to ask myself some tough questions about how I value myself: as a woman, as a wife, as a mother, as a daughter, as a friend. Why do I not stand up for what I want and need and wish for in my home, in my marriage, in my church, in my other relationships? Why do I put up with mediocrity so often? Why do I not initiate the courageous conversations more often? When will I stop taking "no" and shrugged shoulders as answers to my very legitimate questions and requests? Why do I not treat myself as well as I have often advised others to treat themselves? Why do I not pay myself a salary for the work I do? After all, I don't get to drive to and from work every day. I don't get weekends off. This is a 24 hour job, seven days per week - and I deserve to get paid. When will I take myself more seriously more regularly??? I am grateful for the kick in the pants, ladies.
* Kristiana and I have been faithful in our working out at the Y. Zumba class. Cardio funk class. Treadmill time. Lifting weights. Being stopped by one of the gym regulars in the middle of doing something wrong and being told how to do it right. He said, "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but ..." And then he very gently explained what I was doing wrong. I assured him that he didn't hurt my feelings. I was and am glad to be set straight where setting straight is necessary. I am grateful that he noticed and was willing to take the time to offer his advice.
* We have begun a new way of homeschooling this week. My children are 13 and 16. If they attended "traditional school," they would be fiercely independent in their studies and homework and writing and research. So I have released the reins. I have given them the freedom to pursue interests and topics of their own design and choosing. It is interesting and scary and enlightening and liberating to watch them figure out what they want to know and figure out how and where to find the information they need. I am grateful that they are such curious and courageous kids. I am glad to have this opportunity to watch them find their way.
* I am grateful that in releasing the reins of their lives, I am able to take up the reins of my own life. I have been able to do some overdue reading and journaling and collage-making. I have spent hours decluttering and cleaning and redecorating some spaces in our home. We have taken several bags and boxes of things to Good Will. I have spent time in prayer and preparation for a series of Bible studies I will teach at a nearby senior living community in April. This is the third time they have invited me to teach a month-long series.
* I am thrilled that we have done all this great stuff in the first week of our new way of doing our weekly school/life thing. What on earth will we accomplish by the end of the month? By the end of the school year? What school year??? Why does the learning and growth have to stop at the end of June? Let the learning and growing and living continue!
* And once again, I am aware these days of the extraordinary blessing of ordinary days and ordinary moments. To be able to sleep all the way through the night. To wake up to oatmeal (I have been adding cinnamon and chopped apples lately) and hot tea and a great book at the kitchen table. Hot water and Dr Bronner's soap in the shower. The smell of sandalwood incense brought back from India by a dear friend. A vacuum cleaner that works well - especially after cutting my son's hair. The fact that my son, at 13 years of age, still prefers my haircuts over any salon or barber shop he has ever gone to. Ice cold water during and after a workout. Being able to have text exchanges with a dear friend who is spending this year in Spain - technology blows my mind every single day. Moleskine sketchbook notebooks and the lovely sound of my pens scratching my thoughts into its pages. And this moment, this quiet, solitary moment of looking back on my week with gratitude - I am enormously grateful for this moment. I am alive and well, at peace, joy-and wonder-filled.
All is well.
* Ice and snow and slush last weekend. More is expected tomorrow and Saturday. What!!! Snow and ice in Charlotte two weekends in a row. Part of what I love about living in the South is NOT having to deal with winter weather. I am grateful that Laurie has faithfully encouraged me to stock up on food so that on snowy days, on icy days, we will have plenty of yummy things to eat.
* I have had coffee/tea/talking dates with friends three times this week. There is nothing as wonderful and relaxing and engaging and life-affirming as talking and laughing and crying with friends. Telling stories. Finding out how much I have in common with so many strong and amazing and smart and wise and divinely human women. Thank you, Mary Anna and Krystal and Benita.
* I was challenged by the aforementioned sister-friends (as well as Karen and Lisa and Judy and Heather and Gibbs and Katie) to ask myself some tough questions about how I value myself: as a woman, as a wife, as a mother, as a daughter, as a friend. Why do I not stand up for what I want and need and wish for in my home, in my marriage, in my church, in my other relationships? Why do I put up with mediocrity so often? Why do I not initiate the courageous conversations more often? When will I stop taking "no" and shrugged shoulders as answers to my very legitimate questions and requests? Why do I not treat myself as well as I have often advised others to treat themselves? Why do I not pay myself a salary for the work I do? After all, I don't get to drive to and from work every day. I don't get weekends off. This is a 24 hour job, seven days per week - and I deserve to get paid. When will I take myself more seriously more regularly??? I am grateful for the kick in the pants, ladies.
* Kristiana and I have been faithful in our working out at the Y. Zumba class. Cardio funk class. Treadmill time. Lifting weights. Being stopped by one of the gym regulars in the middle of doing something wrong and being told how to do it right. He said, "I don't want to hurt your feelings, but ..." And then he very gently explained what I was doing wrong. I assured him that he didn't hurt my feelings. I was and am glad to be set straight where setting straight is necessary. I am grateful that he noticed and was willing to take the time to offer his advice.
* We have begun a new way of homeschooling this week. My children are 13 and 16. If they attended "traditional school," they would be fiercely independent in their studies and homework and writing and research. So I have released the reins. I have given them the freedom to pursue interests and topics of their own design and choosing. It is interesting and scary and enlightening and liberating to watch them figure out what they want to know and figure out how and where to find the information they need. I am grateful that they are such curious and courageous kids. I am glad to have this opportunity to watch them find their way.
* I am grateful that in releasing the reins of their lives, I am able to take up the reins of my own life. I have been able to do some overdue reading and journaling and collage-making. I have spent hours decluttering and cleaning and redecorating some spaces in our home. We have taken several bags and boxes of things to Good Will. I have spent time in prayer and preparation for a series of Bible studies I will teach at a nearby senior living community in April. This is the third time they have invited me to teach a month-long series.
* I am thrilled that we have done all this great stuff in the first week of our new way of doing our weekly school/life thing. What on earth will we accomplish by the end of the month? By the end of the school year? What school year??? Why does the learning and growth have to stop at the end of June? Let the learning and growing and living continue!
* And once again, I am aware these days of the extraordinary blessing of ordinary days and ordinary moments. To be able to sleep all the way through the night. To wake up to oatmeal (I have been adding cinnamon and chopped apples lately) and hot tea and a great book at the kitchen table. Hot water and Dr Bronner's soap in the shower. The smell of sandalwood incense brought back from India by a dear friend. A vacuum cleaner that works well - especially after cutting my son's hair. The fact that my son, at 13 years of age, still prefers my haircuts over any salon or barber shop he has ever gone to. Ice cold water during and after a workout. Being able to have text exchanges with a dear friend who is spending this year in Spain - technology blows my mind every single day. Moleskine sketchbook notebooks and the lovely sound of my pens scratching my thoughts into its pages. And this moment, this quiet, solitary moment of looking back on my week with gratitude - I am enormously grateful for this moment. I am alive and well, at peace, joy-and wonder-filled.
All is well.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
On the other hand, winter is wonderful...
Winter is wonderful for snuggling and being cozy together.
Winter is wonderful for sitting around in my robe and slippers all day.
Winter is wonderful for reading a few of the books piled around my desk.
Winter is wonderful for writing blogs, reading blogs, surfing the net, and clandestinely, virtually stalking loved ones and ones I wish I could love.
Winter is wonderful for discovering and imbibing in new coffee and tea flavors.
Winter is wonderful for watching movies while munching on hot popcorn.
Winter is especially wonderful for making big pots of soup.
Winter is a fine time to allow my imagination to wander and my dreams to bloom.
Winter is a fine time for spontaneous meetups with good buddies at Starbucks.
Winter is a fine time for playing cards and board games and computer games with the kids.
Winter is a fine time for decluttering the house, rearranging art work and wall hangings, for moving furniture around, and for finding new reasons to love this strong, warm house we have been blessed to live in.
Winter is the season when the best sales happen; it's the best time to fill the pantry and shelves and drawers.
Speaking of sales and shopping, winter is also when my birthday comes around: It's December 14th for those of you filling in your birthday calendars for the new year.
Winter is the season when we celebrate the birth of The One I believe in most.
Winter is the season when the music and lights remind us that the darkness and silence won't last forever.
Winter isn't easy, no, but nor does it last forever.
However, if I allow myself a few moments each day to bask in the blessings of winter, in the great blessings that my life has been graced with, to be grateful for each and all of them, then I can admit, I can rejoice in the fact that, on the other hand, winter is - or can be - indeed a wonder-filled time of year.
PS. I plan to indulge in many of the aforementioned blessings of winter today. It snowed here in Charlotte last night, so we are holed up here at home for the day... at the very least.
Winter is wonderful for sitting around in my robe and slippers all day.
Winter is wonderful for reading a few of the books piled around my desk.
Winter is wonderful for writing blogs, reading blogs, surfing the net, and clandestinely, virtually stalking loved ones and ones I wish I could love.
Winter is wonderful for discovering and imbibing in new coffee and tea flavors.
Winter is wonderful for watching movies while munching on hot popcorn.
Winter is especially wonderful for making big pots of soup.
Winter is a fine time to allow my imagination to wander and my dreams to bloom.
Winter is a fine time for spontaneous meetups with good buddies at Starbucks.
Winter is a fine time for playing cards and board games and computer games with the kids.
Winter is a fine time for decluttering the house, rearranging art work and wall hangings, for moving furniture around, and for finding new reasons to love this strong, warm house we have been blessed to live in.
Winter is the season when the best sales happen; it's the best time to fill the pantry and shelves and drawers.
Speaking of sales and shopping, winter is also when my birthday comes around: It's December 14th for those of you filling in your birthday calendars for the new year.
Winter is the season when we celebrate the birth of The One I believe in most.
Winter is the season when the music and lights remind us that the darkness and silence won't last forever.
Winter isn't easy, no, but nor does it last forever.
However, if I allow myself a few moments each day to bask in the blessings of winter, in the great blessings that my life has been graced with, to be grateful for each and all of them, then I can admit, I can rejoice in the fact that, on the other hand, winter is - or can be - indeed a wonder-filled time of year.
PS. I plan to indulge in many of the aforementioned blessings of winter today. It snowed here in Charlotte last night, so we are holed up here at home for the day... at the very least.
Friday, January 29, 2010
It's the dead of winter - the best time to think of summer vacation
I have received emails and read blog posts and spoken to friends on the phone.
The results are in: winter is tough. The darkness. The cold.
The separation from family and friends.
The routine becomes just that - routine.
Tea and homemade cookies help.
Journaling helps even more.
Good books, movies, magazine articles distract.
The Australian Open Tennis Championship transports us overseas to some one else's summer.
As I watch my beloved Roger Federer advance to the final, I find myself dreaming of travel.
I dream of warm places, sandy places, breezy mornings and balmy nights.
I dream of walking the beach with friends and loved ones.
I dream of walking city streets and wandering through museums for hours at a time.
I dream of falling asleep to the sound of adults sipping sweet drinks by the pool or cars gliding past in the Spanish night.
I dream of late night book and movie discussions, sharing ideas on writing, or sitting next to someone else who is also tapping away on her computer keyboard, writing stories of her own. Or his own. Sipping cold, sweet drinks of our own.
I dream of travel. Of getting away. Of flip flops and tank tops.
I dream of hanging up my heavy purple robe, folding up my long sleeve pajamas, and laying them all down for a long summer's nap.
So inspired by Magpie Girl, I am putting together a list of 8 things to take on vacation.
2. My passport and credit cards - and photocopies of all of them, just in case tragedy or a pickpocket strikes.
3. A small index card with my vacation goals (rest, reconnection with myself, discovery of a new place, for example) and my spiritual provisions (patience, a sense of humor, trust that all will go exactly as it should, for example) written on it. Found this idea in Joseph DiSpenza's The Way of the Traveler.
4. Half as many clothes as I think I might need.
5. Twice as much money as I think I might need.
7. A small daypack/backpack to carry the essentials everywhere I go.
8. A spirit of great adventure. And a wide open heart.
Winter is tough. But spring and summer are not far behind.
Here's to dreaming - and to dreams coming true.
In the meantime, hug someone you love and hang on for a while.
Hey, you gotta stay warm, right???!!!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
"no one expects you to save the world"
Maya Stein did it yet again.
She put into precious few words,
in ten poetic lines to be exact,
exactly what I needed to hear.
Thank you, my friend.
***************************************
The headlines are begging for your help. Thousands needing homes, food.
But here, your own children, like inexpert stilt-walkers, flirt too often
with obstacles in the street. It’s no wonder you keep eyes glued
to them. The demands of love, or a job, the hard winter reining you in -
it takes all your muscle to keep your own life upright. And though you know
what you have is fortune compared to the great rift that earthquake left,
and the aftershocks continuing to destroy so much, somehow
that same fortune paralyzes, obstructs you with a heavy, gloomy guilt.
But no one expects you to save the world, no matter what you plan.
Sometimes the best thing we can do is to love everything we can.
*********************************
Can anyone hear me exhale?
Has anyone else been able to let it go a little more in the past few days?
She put into precious few words,
in ten poetic lines to be exact,
exactly what I needed to hear.
Thank you, my friend.
***************************************
The headlines are begging for your help. Thousands needing homes, food.
But here, your own children, like inexpert stilt-walkers, flirt too often
with obstacles in the street. It’s no wonder you keep eyes glued
to them. The demands of love, or a job, the hard winter reining you in -
it takes all your muscle to keep your own life upright. And though you know
what you have is fortune compared to the great rift that earthquake left,
and the aftershocks continuing to destroy so much, somehow
that same fortune paralyzes, obstructs you with a heavy, gloomy guilt.
But no one expects you to save the world, no matter what you plan.
Sometimes the best thing we can do is to love everything we can.
*********************************
Can anyone hear me exhale?
Has anyone else been able to let it go a little more in the past few days?
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
It's not that I don't have anything to say...
I have a lot to say.
To describe.
To ponder.
To complain about.
To criticize.
To question.
To reconsider.
There are relationships in flux: some in ascent, some in descent.
Others are no longer viable, it seems.
There are letters and emails to be written.
A book or two as well.
There are phone calls that are long overdue.
And several that will most likely never be made.
Apologies to extend.
Forgiveness too.
There is a lot to say.
There is a lot to do as well.
Gym classes to attend.
Meals to be planned, cooked, cleaned up after.
Food to be purchased and stored.
Lessons to write and rewrite and then teach.
Books to be read. Notes to be taken.
Journal pages to be filled.
Floors to be swept and mopped.
Carpets to be vacuumed and cleaned.
Toilets to be swished and sinks to be swiped.
Bills to be paid.
Taxes to be filed.
But for the past week, none of it seems to matter much
because I keep thinking about mothers in Haiti.
About mothers in mourning over lost children.
Mothers in anguish over hungry children and sick children.
Mothers who have no idea of the status of their children.
Somehow I can't imagine that there are too many mothers in Haiti who are worried about whether their sons are winning tennis tournaments two states away. Or whether they have burned enough calories at the gym to eat a vegan peanut butter cookie after dinner. Or where the free vouchers are for the local car wash. Or how their children will do on standardized tests in three months.
For the past week, I have prayed for Haitian mothers and daughters and fathers and sons. I have sent some money. And I have prayed some more - and none of it feels like enough. I have called friends with ties to Haiti to find out what they have heard: the news, as we all know, is mostly dire. I translated a plea for help on Sunday morning - a remarkable Haitian man making an appeal in Spanish to Latino people. I translated his words into English for the Americans in the crowd. I was glad to be of assistance - and managed to hold back my tears...for the most part.
I can't get beyond how helpless and useless and so very selfish I feel for thinking about calories and cookies and shampoo and saving for college and homeschool assignments and holes in my socks and organic salad and biodegradable laundry detergent. So I am keeping my petty concerns to myself - for the moment anyway.
No, it's not that I don't have anything to say. It's just that most of what I was planning to say doesn't matter much these days. And the only stuff that matters right now is being muttered under my breath, through clenched teeth and fists, over and over and over.
"Lord, have mercy.
Please let the food and water and tents and medical supplies get distributed soon.
Christ have mercy.
Why Haiti? Didn't they have enough problems already?
Lord, have mercy."
To describe.
To ponder.
To complain about.
To criticize.
To question.
To reconsider.
There are relationships in flux: some in ascent, some in descent.
Others are no longer viable, it seems.
There are letters and emails to be written.
A book or two as well.
There are phone calls that are long overdue.
And several that will most likely never be made.
Apologies to extend.
Forgiveness too.
There is a lot to say.
There is a lot to do as well.
Gym classes to attend.
Meals to be planned, cooked, cleaned up after.
Food to be purchased and stored.
Lessons to write and rewrite and then teach.
Books to be read. Notes to be taken.
Journal pages to be filled.
Floors to be swept and mopped.
Carpets to be vacuumed and cleaned.
Toilets to be swished and sinks to be swiped.
Bills to be paid.
Taxes to be filed.
But for the past week, none of it seems to matter much
because I keep thinking about mothers in Haiti.
About mothers in mourning over lost children.
Mothers in anguish over hungry children and sick children.
Mothers who have no idea of the status of their children.
Somehow I can't imagine that there are too many mothers in Haiti who are worried about whether their sons are winning tennis tournaments two states away. Or whether they have burned enough calories at the gym to eat a vegan peanut butter cookie after dinner. Or where the free vouchers are for the local car wash. Or how their children will do on standardized tests in three months.
For the past week, I have prayed for Haitian mothers and daughters and fathers and sons. I have sent some money. And I have prayed some more - and none of it feels like enough. I have called friends with ties to Haiti to find out what they have heard: the news, as we all know, is mostly dire. I translated a plea for help on Sunday morning - a remarkable Haitian man making an appeal in Spanish to Latino people. I translated his words into English for the Americans in the crowd. I was glad to be of assistance - and managed to hold back my tears...for the most part.
I can't get beyond how helpless and useless and so very selfish I feel for thinking about calories and cookies and shampoo and saving for college and homeschool assignments and holes in my socks and organic salad and biodegradable laundry detergent. So I am keeping my petty concerns to myself - for the moment anyway.
No, it's not that I don't have anything to say. It's just that most of what I was planning to say doesn't matter much these days. And the only stuff that matters right now is being muttered under my breath, through clenched teeth and fists, over and over and over.
"Lord, have mercy.
Please let the food and water and tents and medical supplies get distributed soon.
Christ have mercy.
Why Haiti? Didn't they have enough problems already?
Lord, have mercy."
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