I'm going to the store later today to buy a helium balloon. I don't care if it's one that wishes someone a happy birthday or declares the giver's love for the receiver. What's on the balloon really isn't the point for me. I just want to take it out in the back yard, maybe down to the river, and let it go. Buying a balloon just to let it go is my plan.
I've been spending a lot of time lately imagining how I want my life to look and feel. I've written descriptions of four areas of my life that are evocative pictures of what I want when I'm moving effortlessly through life, experiencing it the way I think it should be lived, full of the joy and passion and satisfaction that I think I'm meant to have, not because I'm anyone special or particularly worthy of the privilege of such abundance. I'm just now, at 43, getting around to actually believing that what I've long thought was meant for everyone else in the world is also actually meant for me too. There's no need to pity me for this. It's not a bad thing to discover this at age 43. I think I have some wisdom and clarity and focus that makes it all the sweeter to enjoy these things now that likely would have been lacking from my experience much earlier in my life. I'm just happy to be awake to it now.
But back to balloons and why I plan to release one today. I am finding that the abundance I seek exists somewhere in the tension of working on those things over which I have control and practicing an awareness that control is merely an illusion. I have it, and taking responsibility for that which I can influence requires far less energy and provides much greater satisfaction than hanging my hopes on the actions and desires of others. But if that sense of control isn't held in tension with a good healthy practice of detachment, I'm going to be gravely disappointed somewhere along the way. That's why I'm releasing a balloon today.
I need to let go of my attachment to a particular hope for my life. It's the next step in a long journey of detachment. This hope has taken on a sense of ultimacy that's far too confining for me. Letting go of it, allowing for the possibility that it may not be my path, frees me to see the ways in which God is seeking to offer me that which I thought only this one hopeful outcome could offer.
I've held on to that hope because I thought I was as entitled to it as anyone else. I've clung to it because I was convinced its absence from my life meant I was living in deprivation. I know now that's not true. If it never comes to me, I will be just fine. I will not be in the least deprived, as long as I keep my focus on what's provided in the moment and not get too attached to it to provide what I need or long for.
So I'm going to buy a balloon and let go and watch it float up into the sky and out of my sight. I'm going to marvel in the sense of freedom that comes in seeing the balloon carry away my attachment. And I'm going to delight with gratitude in the abundance that exists in my life today.
Anyone want to join me? Wouldn't it be great to walk outside and see someone else's balloon in the sky and know that today her/his life is a little lighter too?
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
On forgiving
A sermon delivered in chapel, based on Matthew 18:21-35
___________________________
Peter says, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?”
It sounds like a pretty generous offer to me, particularly when I hear his question immediately after the preceding passage, the one in which Jesus teaches the disciples that if a brother sins against them they should go to him in private and if he refuses to repent, then take along a couple of other people to confront him and if he still refuses to repent, then take it to the whole church, if he still won’t listen and repent, then they should treat him like a tax collector, like someone who isn’t one of them. That’s harsh!
And so when I hear Peter say, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” I find myself ready to pat him on the back and commend him for his generosity.
I suspect he thought he was pretty generous too. He heard the encouragement to confront the one who wronged him in the context of his Jewish upbringing which taught him that if a brother sinned against him, he should forgive him three times. So, when he offers seven instead of three, he really is being generous.
Yet, Jesus, the one who had already told them to confront the one who sinned against them and hold them accountable, says, “Not seven times, but I tell, seventy-seven times.”
His response is a challenge to us, isn’t it? Oh, we struggle with the encouragement to confront the one who wrongs us, probably because the passage holds some difficult sayings about binding and loosing, and we don’t like to think about cutting people off or treating them like tax collectors. Or maybe we struggle because we don’t like conflict, and the idea of confronting someone when we’ve been wronged is hard for us to agree to.
The truth, though, is that if we’re honest with ourselves, well…the truth is, if I’m honest with myself, that part of me that’s very oriented toward justice, working on behalf of those who have been oppressed and hurt by injustices committed by those in power, I want to yell with Jesus, “Yeah! Confront them! Call them to repentance!” And in some way that feels more satisfying than asking someone to forgive the person who’s wronged them.
It’s all a little messy for us, isn’t it? It felt really messy to me when I sat with this passage in preparation for today’s message. I sat with the passage while thoughts of people I know who have been hurt badly by senseless acts of violence or prejudice or abuse ran through my mind. Can we really ask them to forgive? I sat with the passage mindful that in a couple of days we reach the seven-year anniversary of a terrible act of violence in our country, an act of terrorism that’s affected us all deeply and I wonder, what does it mean to ask those most deeply hurt by what happened on 9-11 to forgive? I wonder, how do we call a nation, a government to forgive?
I think it’s difficult for us because forgiveness has been thrown out to us in a rather casual fashion….maybe it conjures up images like this one that it did for me, images of my tired mother, weary from all that she had going on in her life, weary of the fighting and bickering between my brother and me who often said, “I don’t want to hear it! Just kiss and make up!” My friends, no kiss was ever so bitter as the one demanded without justice first! And while in the long run forgiving my brother for irritating or annoying me may really have been as easy as kissing and making up, to glibly suggest that someone hurting from a genuine, painful offense to just kiss and make up, to tell them to just forgive is to cause harm.
That’s why I think holding the two passages together is critical. The two acts of faith that these passages point to need to be held in tension. Our justice-seeking is an act of faith that leaves us empty if it doesn’t point us toward something different, if it isn’t meant to bring about the long-hoped-for reconciliation promised in the kin-dom of God. That’s what I see happening when I hear that our nation’s response to the cries to “Never Forget” what happened on 9-11 is to take the scrap metal from the twin towers and make a battleship! Doesn’t that just lead us down a never-ending road of revenge and hatred?
Without forgiveness, reconciliation, peace, transformation cannot happen. That’s a reality we’re faced with.
And our forgiveness is shallow and meaningless if it doesn’t also name the offense committed and demand change. That, too, is a reality we’re faced with.
As people of God, we stand with those who are hurt and work for change. And as people of God, we also seek to forgive, setting ourselves free to embrace the promised transformation.
The parable Jesus told shows us how we find our way through the messiness. A king demands that a servant pay the debts he owes. The servant begs for the king’s mercy, asking him to be patient until he can pay it off. The king has mercy on him, sets him free and forgives the debt. But the servant, we’re told, immediately encounters another man who owes him money, and demands that the debt be paid. When the fellow servant says he can’t pay and begs for mercy and patience, the first servant, the one fresh from his experience of forgiveness, has the man thrown in prison. When word of what the first servant did reaches the king, he calls him wicked for not having pity on his fellow servant, particularly after having been shown mercy himself. Then he hands him over to be tortured.
Jesus concludes the parable with a difficult saying, “So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.” That difficult saying tempts us to be distracted from the point. We want to debate whether or not a loving God would actually do that to us. But, as anyone who has actually struggled to forgive can tell you, it’s really a moot point. We need not be distracted, because the reality is that when we don’t forgive, we’re holding ourselves prisoner to the anger that for awhile protected us and pointed us to the need for justice. We torture ourselves, making ourselves prisoners to the past and to the pain. And we cut ourselves off from the very work God wishes to do in our lives. Forgiveness sets us free from those things…..when we’re ready. It declares that we no longer believe the past holds such significant sway on the present and future. It declares our faith that change can happen. It takes time, there’s no question, and it is wrong for us to demand that anyone forgive. But when we keep working at this -- and I really think that’s Jesus point in saying seventy-seven times, that we keep at the work as long as there are wrongs to forgive -- then we open the door to peace and reconciliation.
And what helps us do the work? Remembering that we have been forgiven. That’s what the servant failed to do. He failed to take in the power of his experience of having his debt forgiven. So if you need a place to start in the work of forgiveness, if you find that there’s someone or a group of people that you just can’t forgive yet, then find another way to do the work of forgiveness. Don’t start with the big stuff if you aren’t ready. Asking someone to forgive the major offenses without doing the work to get there is like asking someone to run a marathon before she’s made it around the block. We can start by practicing forgiveness in our everyday lives, seeking to offer it where it’s possible. We can start by seeking to forgive ourselves. While we do what we can, we reflect on the multitude of times we have experienced forgiveness and let that move us to show mercy when the time is right. And when we struggle to believe forgiveness is possible, we can turn to people who have done the hard work and let them inspire and challenge us.
During my preparation for this sermon, I watched a documentary entitled “The Power of Forgiveness.” Near the end of the film, a Sufi Muslim man who lives in California, Azim Khamisa, is introduced. Azim’s story is extraordinary. His 20-year-old son was killed delivering a pizza to a group of young men who refused to pay. When Azim’s son, Tariq, told them they could not have the pizza, he was shot in the head in response. Azim used his faith to help him deal with his loss. He observed the prescribed period of mourning, then turn to his religious leaders for help deciding what to do next. He was told to do an act of charity, so after considerable thought, Azim, an investment banker, started a foundation in the name of his son. But he didn’t stop there. He went to the grandfather of the young man who killed his son and asked him to help him build the foundation. The two men now work together in schools and other community organizations to teach others that forgiveness is doorway to transforming the violence and hatred in their neighborhoods to peace.
Forgiveness is possible! The message of the gospel is that change can happen. Hope lies in the present and future. It’s based on the very real possibility of transformation. We demonstrate our conviction that we believe it’s possible when we act in faith and seek justice and forgive.
Who do you need to forgive today? Are ready? It’s okay if you aren’t, but I encourage you, as one who’s struggling with you, find some piece of the work of forgiveness that you can work on today, and open the door to transformation.
___________________________
Peter says, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?”
It sounds like a pretty generous offer to me, particularly when I hear his question immediately after the preceding passage, the one in which Jesus teaches the disciples that if a brother sins against them they should go to him in private and if he refuses to repent, then take along a couple of other people to confront him and if he still refuses to repent, then take it to the whole church, if he still won’t listen and repent, then they should treat him like a tax collector, like someone who isn’t one of them. That’s harsh!
And so when I hear Peter say, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how often should I forgive? As many as seven times?” I find myself ready to pat him on the back and commend him for his generosity.
I suspect he thought he was pretty generous too. He heard the encouragement to confront the one who wronged him in the context of his Jewish upbringing which taught him that if a brother sinned against him, he should forgive him three times. So, when he offers seven instead of three, he really is being generous.
Yet, Jesus, the one who had already told them to confront the one who sinned against them and hold them accountable, says, “Not seven times, but I tell, seventy-seven times.”
His response is a challenge to us, isn’t it? Oh, we struggle with the encouragement to confront the one who wrongs us, probably because the passage holds some difficult sayings about binding and loosing, and we don’t like to think about cutting people off or treating them like tax collectors. Or maybe we struggle because we don’t like conflict, and the idea of confronting someone when we’ve been wronged is hard for us to agree to.
The truth, though, is that if we’re honest with ourselves, well…the truth is, if I’m honest with myself, that part of me that’s very oriented toward justice, working on behalf of those who have been oppressed and hurt by injustices committed by those in power, I want to yell with Jesus, “Yeah! Confront them! Call them to repentance!” And in some way that feels more satisfying than asking someone to forgive the person who’s wronged them.
It’s all a little messy for us, isn’t it? It felt really messy to me when I sat with this passage in preparation for today’s message. I sat with the passage while thoughts of people I know who have been hurt badly by senseless acts of violence or prejudice or abuse ran through my mind. Can we really ask them to forgive? I sat with the passage mindful that in a couple of days we reach the seven-year anniversary of a terrible act of violence in our country, an act of terrorism that’s affected us all deeply and I wonder, what does it mean to ask those most deeply hurt by what happened on 9-11 to forgive? I wonder, how do we call a nation, a government to forgive?
I think it’s difficult for us because forgiveness has been thrown out to us in a rather casual fashion….maybe it conjures up images like this one that it did for me, images of my tired mother, weary from all that she had going on in her life, weary of the fighting and bickering between my brother and me who often said, “I don’t want to hear it! Just kiss and make up!” My friends, no kiss was ever so bitter as the one demanded without justice first! And while in the long run forgiving my brother for irritating or annoying me may really have been as easy as kissing and making up, to glibly suggest that someone hurting from a genuine, painful offense to just kiss and make up, to tell them to just forgive is to cause harm.
That’s why I think holding the two passages together is critical. The two acts of faith that these passages point to need to be held in tension. Our justice-seeking is an act of faith that leaves us empty if it doesn’t point us toward something different, if it isn’t meant to bring about the long-hoped-for reconciliation promised in the kin-dom of God. That’s what I see happening when I hear that our nation’s response to the cries to “Never Forget” what happened on 9-11 is to take the scrap metal from the twin towers and make a battleship! Doesn’t that just lead us down a never-ending road of revenge and hatred?
Without forgiveness, reconciliation, peace, transformation cannot happen. That’s a reality we’re faced with.
And our forgiveness is shallow and meaningless if it doesn’t also name the offense committed and demand change. That, too, is a reality we’re faced with.
As people of God, we stand with those who are hurt and work for change. And as people of God, we also seek to forgive, setting ourselves free to embrace the promised transformation.
The parable Jesus told shows us how we find our way through the messiness. A king demands that a servant pay the debts he owes. The servant begs for the king’s mercy, asking him to be patient until he can pay it off. The king has mercy on him, sets him free and forgives the debt. But the servant, we’re told, immediately encounters another man who owes him money, and demands that the debt be paid. When the fellow servant says he can’t pay and begs for mercy and patience, the first servant, the one fresh from his experience of forgiveness, has the man thrown in prison. When word of what the first servant did reaches the king, he calls him wicked for not having pity on his fellow servant, particularly after having been shown mercy himself. Then he hands him over to be tortured.
Jesus concludes the parable with a difficult saying, “So my heavenly Father will also do to every one of you, if you do not forgive your brother or sister from your heart.” That difficult saying tempts us to be distracted from the point. We want to debate whether or not a loving God would actually do that to us. But, as anyone who has actually struggled to forgive can tell you, it’s really a moot point. We need not be distracted, because the reality is that when we don’t forgive, we’re holding ourselves prisoner to the anger that for awhile protected us and pointed us to the need for justice. We torture ourselves, making ourselves prisoners to the past and to the pain. And we cut ourselves off from the very work God wishes to do in our lives. Forgiveness sets us free from those things…..when we’re ready. It declares that we no longer believe the past holds such significant sway on the present and future. It declares our faith that change can happen. It takes time, there’s no question, and it is wrong for us to demand that anyone forgive. But when we keep working at this -- and I really think that’s Jesus point in saying seventy-seven times, that we keep at the work as long as there are wrongs to forgive -- then we open the door to peace and reconciliation.
And what helps us do the work? Remembering that we have been forgiven. That’s what the servant failed to do. He failed to take in the power of his experience of having his debt forgiven. So if you need a place to start in the work of forgiveness, if you find that there’s someone or a group of people that you just can’t forgive yet, then find another way to do the work of forgiveness. Don’t start with the big stuff if you aren’t ready. Asking someone to forgive the major offenses without doing the work to get there is like asking someone to run a marathon before she’s made it around the block. We can start by practicing forgiveness in our everyday lives, seeking to offer it where it’s possible. We can start by seeking to forgive ourselves. While we do what we can, we reflect on the multitude of times we have experienced forgiveness and let that move us to show mercy when the time is right. And when we struggle to believe forgiveness is possible, we can turn to people who have done the hard work and let them inspire and challenge us.
During my preparation for this sermon, I watched a documentary entitled “The Power of Forgiveness.” Near the end of the film, a Sufi Muslim man who lives in California, Azim Khamisa, is introduced. Azim’s story is extraordinary. His 20-year-old son was killed delivering a pizza to a group of young men who refused to pay. When Azim’s son, Tariq, told them they could not have the pizza, he was shot in the head in response. Azim used his faith to help him deal with his loss. He observed the prescribed period of mourning, then turn to his religious leaders for help deciding what to do next. He was told to do an act of charity, so after considerable thought, Azim, an investment banker, started a foundation in the name of his son. But he didn’t stop there. He went to the grandfather of the young man who killed his son and asked him to help him build the foundation. The two men now work together in schools and other community organizations to teach others that forgiveness is doorway to transforming the violence and hatred in their neighborhoods to peace.
Forgiveness is possible! The message of the gospel is that change can happen. Hope lies in the present and future. It’s based on the very real possibility of transformation. We demonstrate our conviction that we believe it’s possible when we act in faith and seek justice and forgive.
Who do you need to forgive today? Are ready? It’s okay if you aren’t, but I encourage you, as one who’s struggling with you, find some piece of the work of forgiveness that you can work on today, and open the door to transformation.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
The unicycle
The oak tree in Tommy Weaver's front yard stood well above the roof of his ranch style home. The branches stretched with broad shoulders and long arms to shelter the expanse of the front yard; its roots exploded through the concrete sidewalk in front of their house. It was impractical really. Summer time called for games of baseball and kickball, or hours of catch with a football or frisbee, but we could never play any of those things in his front yard. But the tree was good for climbing or for standing against to count with our eyes closed tight next to arms leaning on the tree while neighborhood kids ran in the dark through scores of lightening bugs looking for a good place to hide until someone stealthily reached the driveway to kick the can.
Summer days stretched lazily from the cooler morning hours of baseball and basketball and long bike rides around town through the hot afternoons of quieter activities in the shade of the giant oak and well into the night when our families sat in cheaply made lawn chairs with flimsy aluminum frames and fraying nylon strips that tenuously held us while we ate watermelon and drank slurpees in plastic cups with pictures of baseball players from the Kansas City Royals. Our brown bodies and dirty bare feet bore the marks of summer. Chigger bites swelled under cracked layers of clear nail polish from spots on our feet and legs. We relished in the freedom of summer. The neighborhood belonged to us and our days were our own to structure and plan as we pleased.
In the summer when Tommy was eight and I was nine, he got a unicycle for his birthday, May 25, two days after school was out. We had three months to learn to ride it. Our goal was to make it around the block once by the end of the summer, a trip that would take us up and down a hill and over crumbling sidewalks. We practiced for hours, falling off with each half turn of the pedals, the cycle dropping clumsily to the ground at our feet. We were stiff and clumsy. Each move came timidly, uncertain where it would take us. There was no one to teach, no one to say, "Lean forward" or "hold your arms out to keep your balance." We were left to experiment and see what position on the bike would keep us upright and what shifts were necessary to compensate for the terrain we traversed.
Our lessons eventually shifted to the thin patch of lawn under the oak tree. The bumpy roots mimicked the crumbling concrete on the sidewalk and the opportunity to keep the tree at arm's length while we rode in circles around its trunk gave us the balance we needed to stay on the unicycle long enough for our bodies to feel where it needed to position itself to stay on. Slowly we made progress, spurned on by the competition we offered each other, yet free to enjoy the pleasure of learning something new just for the sake of learning it.
The day came when we were ready to move away from the tree. After hours of practice, we were consistently circling the tree five or six times without ever having to touch it to keep our balance. We wanted to see how far we could go. I was timid at first and the unicycle quickly fell from under me, crashing down while my feet dropped to the ground to keep me upright. My legs and arms were tight, my jaw clenched. Over and over, I tried to keep my balance, but I kept falling off. I would make it two feet on one try and five the next, then fell with the first turn of the pedals. And just as I was ready to give up, in a flurry of frustration and anger, I pushed on the pedals with greater force and groaned through the stiffness in my stomach until with each turn of the pedals, I found myself moving another foot down the sidewalk. I went over the Collins' double driveway and past their house, crossed the Schmidts' driveway and before long my own house was no longer in sight. I breathed in deeply and laughed with delight while my body took over and kept the delicate balance needed to ride all the way to the end of the block, where I had to turn to go down the hill and around the block. I stayed on the cycle until sheer exhaustion kept me from making it back up the hill on the other side of the block.
That's the feeling of summer to me...beginner's mind with no attachment to an agenda, free to learn and explore, playfully finding a new balance that my body can learn and embrace.
And if I close my eyes, I can feel the warm summer breeze in my face and the sheer pleasure of effortlessly balancing on the unicycle down the crumbling sidewalk and around the block, the sheltering oak tree in Tommy Weaver's yard saluting my freedom as I ride past.
Summer days stretched lazily from the cooler morning hours of baseball and basketball and long bike rides around town through the hot afternoons of quieter activities in the shade of the giant oak and well into the night when our families sat in cheaply made lawn chairs with flimsy aluminum frames and fraying nylon strips that tenuously held us while we ate watermelon and drank slurpees in plastic cups with pictures of baseball players from the Kansas City Royals. Our brown bodies and dirty bare feet bore the marks of summer. Chigger bites swelled under cracked layers of clear nail polish from spots on our feet and legs. We relished in the freedom of summer. The neighborhood belonged to us and our days were our own to structure and plan as we pleased.
In the summer when Tommy was eight and I was nine, he got a unicycle for his birthday, May 25, two days after school was out. We had three months to learn to ride it. Our goal was to make it around the block once by the end of the summer, a trip that would take us up and down a hill and over crumbling sidewalks. We practiced for hours, falling off with each half turn of the pedals, the cycle dropping clumsily to the ground at our feet. We were stiff and clumsy. Each move came timidly, uncertain where it would take us. There was no one to teach, no one to say, "Lean forward" or "hold your arms out to keep your balance." We were left to experiment and see what position on the bike would keep us upright and what shifts were necessary to compensate for the terrain we traversed.
Our lessons eventually shifted to the thin patch of lawn under the oak tree. The bumpy roots mimicked the crumbling concrete on the sidewalk and the opportunity to keep the tree at arm's length while we rode in circles around its trunk gave us the balance we needed to stay on the unicycle long enough for our bodies to feel where it needed to position itself to stay on. Slowly we made progress, spurned on by the competition we offered each other, yet free to enjoy the pleasure of learning something new just for the sake of learning it.
The day came when we were ready to move away from the tree. After hours of practice, we were consistently circling the tree five or six times without ever having to touch it to keep our balance. We wanted to see how far we could go. I was timid at first and the unicycle quickly fell from under me, crashing down while my feet dropped to the ground to keep me upright. My legs and arms were tight, my jaw clenched. Over and over, I tried to keep my balance, but I kept falling off. I would make it two feet on one try and five the next, then fell with the first turn of the pedals. And just as I was ready to give up, in a flurry of frustration and anger, I pushed on the pedals with greater force and groaned through the stiffness in my stomach until with each turn of the pedals, I found myself moving another foot down the sidewalk. I went over the Collins' double driveway and past their house, crossed the Schmidts' driveway and before long my own house was no longer in sight. I breathed in deeply and laughed with delight while my body took over and kept the delicate balance needed to ride all the way to the end of the block, where I had to turn to go down the hill and around the block. I stayed on the cycle until sheer exhaustion kept me from making it back up the hill on the other side of the block.
That's the feeling of summer to me...beginner's mind with no attachment to an agenda, free to learn and explore, playfully finding a new balance that my body can learn and embrace.
And if I close my eyes, I can feel the warm summer breeze in my face and the sheer pleasure of effortlessly balancing on the unicycle down the crumbling sidewalk and around the block, the sheltering oak tree in Tommy Weaver's yard saluting my freedom as I ride past.
Tuesday, August 05, 2008
Sweat equity
Just as a matter of record, I would like to point out that over the course of this summer, while building the one-bedroom cottage that I will be renting and moving into soon, I have acquired the following skills (with varying degrees of mastery):
- Laying Pergo
- Hanging sheet rock
- Mudding and taping sheet rock
- Applying structolite (like stucco)
- Painting
- Blowing insulation (eco-friendly, green insulation made of recycled newspapers!)
- Roofing
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
TIHTFNTINZOBTC* #2
Riding my bike to and from work a couple of times a week...
It's 10.3 miles each way, so the to and from gives me a good workout, a nice alternative to running. And I LOVE it! I swear I'm like a kid at Christmas. I love seeing the city up close and at a slower pace. I find myself connecting with it in a different way.
*Things I Have Time for Now That I'm not Zoning Out Behind the Computer
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Things I have time for now that I'm not zoning out behind the computer #1
Building a rotating barrel composter with a friend....
We took two designs we found on the internet and combined them to come up with our plan, purchased the materials, including the used plastic food grade barrel from the "barrel guy" who sets up shop on the grassy median at the exit off the highway we take to get to my friend's house (where I will be moving in August).
We took two designs we found on the internet and combined them to come up with our plan, purchased the materials, including the used plastic food grade barrel from the "barrel guy" who sets up shop on the grassy median at the exit off the highway we take to get to my friend's house (where I will be moving in August).
Monday, June 23, 2008
Down for the summer
Perhaps you've noticed that there hasn't been much going on over here. I've been busy. First, there was a marathon of work-related travel. Mixed in with all of that have been days at the new home of some friends who moved out on the edge of town onto three acres of riverfront property. Personally, I think the place is a bit of heaven. Orioles and bluebirds and woodpeckers and pelicans and egrets and cranes....my, oh, my the birds! It's amazing! The place is so void of street noise and city sounds that the birdsong is amplified tenfold, and is interrupted only occasionally by the howl of a pack of huskies from the neighbor's yard next door and the longing wail of a train whistle on the other side of the river.
And....at the end of the summer I'll be moving into an apartment on their property!
My life is full of good things, and yet, I know there's still so much more waiting for me if I'll open myself up to it. I have some work to do to get there. I've known for a long time that one of the steps I'd need to take is to stop blogging, at least for awhile. I've felt guilty about "abandoning" what for awhile felt like community to me, particularly two and three years ago when my life was on the verge of some big changes and I had isolated myself from supportive people who could push me in the right direction. Many of you who still drop by here to read were a big part of giving me that boost to change. And my life is very different as a result. But, there are ways in which I still use blogging as a less than adequate substitute for the true intimacy I want, but honestly struggle to seek and receive, in the relationships I have. That's a habit I want to break. I want to quit hiding behind this brick wall here and start showing up more with the friends I have.
So, I'm dropping out of the blogosphere...for awhile anyway. I'm going to leave the blog up because I would like to return and use the space as an outlet for writing, but for the next two months, I won't be hanging around here or on Facebook.
I'm grateful to you all. I don't know where I'd be right now if I hadn't started writing here.
And....at the end of the summer I'll be moving into an apartment on their property!
My life is full of good things, and yet, I know there's still so much more waiting for me if I'll open myself up to it. I have some work to do to get there. I've known for a long time that one of the steps I'd need to take is to stop blogging, at least for awhile. I've felt guilty about "abandoning" what for awhile felt like community to me, particularly two and three years ago when my life was on the verge of some big changes and I had isolated myself from supportive people who could push me in the right direction. Many of you who still drop by here to read were a big part of giving me that boost to change. And my life is very different as a result. But, there are ways in which I still use blogging as a less than adequate substitute for the true intimacy I want, but honestly struggle to seek and receive, in the relationships I have. That's a habit I want to break. I want to quit hiding behind this brick wall here and start showing up more with the friends I have.
So, I'm dropping out of the blogosphere...for awhile anyway. I'm going to leave the blog up because I would like to return and use the space as an outlet for writing, but for the next two months, I won't be hanging around here or on Facebook.
I'm grateful to you all. I don't know where I'd be right now if I hadn't started writing here.
Friday, June 06, 2008
A marathon to end the silence
I had a chance to say something this week that I've wanted to say to someone in my family for a long time. Before the weekend is over, I will tell the rest of my family the same thing and a journey which I started a few years ago will be over. It's hard to imagine how it will feel when it's done. I feel that surge of energy a marathoner gets when the balloon arch at the finish line finally comes into sight with about a half mile to go. There's nothing to gain from that sudden kick, but now that I'm so close to the end, I just want to be done.
I've rehearsed the conversation I had this week a thousand times. Though I have known I couldn't predict how it would go, it didn't go the way I expected it would. I prepare myself for the worst most of the time when I think there's the potential for conflict, and in this case, I had good reason to believe the worst would happen. It didn't. In fact, it was far better than I dared to imagine. Not only did I get to say something I've longed to say, I heard something said in return that everyone should have the opportunity to hear said by her own flesh and blood.
I've had one lingering question ever since, "Why did it take so long?" There is an answer to that question. The answer is found in several lifetimes of learned decency and silence that was thought to keep peace, values handed down by parents who were themselves taught to keep silences to avoid offense and shame. But at what cost?
I am a person who far too often holds her words. The pain of the last few steps of this journey is the awareness of all that I've missed out on because I didn't say what I felt deeply in my heart. I've been afraid I might offend. I've feared that I would be rejected and somehow that seemed reason enough to hold back deep convictions and strongly felt words that had the power to change things, and while I rejoice that those words have been spoken and have closed some of the space that separated, I regret that it took so long. I really regret that I allowed my parents' commitment to decency to hold sway over my own values and convictions.
Silence is the torrential rain that washes out the road that separates me from others. It keeps me inside the walls built with the bricks and mortar of my fear. The longer the silence is kept, the harder it is to traverse the way to another. The obstacles are harder to overcome. It becomes easier to stay apart and not take the journey to end the separation. I convince myself it's safer that way.
I've found myself wondering what's wrong with being offensive from time to time. It's a question that has to be asked if I'm going to challenge the assumptions that keep the silence intact. Recently I was reminded of two heated conversations I've had in my life that ultimately became life changing.
In one conversation, as a 23-year-old arrogant American, I proudly proclaimed the goodness of the United States' paternalistic military policies in South Korea to a group of Korean college students. To their credit, they didn't demonstrate outside my apartment throwing bottle bombs at riot police who retaliated with pepper gas, nor did they refuse to associate with me after that. They didn't even yell, "Yankee, go home," though I'm sure I deserved to be told that. Instead, they gently challenged me, and in the course of the conversation, I became deeply, painfully aware of my arrogance, of the ridiculousness of considering an 8000+ year old culture adolescent, in need of the gentle instruction and safekeeping of the great parent democracy I thought we had in the U.S. On a rare occasion, I opened my mouth to say what I thought and I offended good people with my misguided ideas, however well-intentioned they may have been. But they didn't leave me in my ignorance. They challenged me, I listened to them, and my life was changed for the better.
A similar conversation with my step-brother and his partner years later opened the door for me to accept myself. The words had to be said out loud, my fear and ignorance revealed, in order for me to find a way to truly hear what they understood from their own experiences. The offense caused is long forgotten, replaced instead with gratitude for the life-altering new awareness and understanding gained from engaging each other in that way.
For someone so quiet and afraid to say what she thinks, I've experienced a lot of transformation in the school of awkwardness and offense. I can't get back the years lost, and some of the distance that separates because of the secrets kept may never be closed, but I find hope in these final steps of a long marathon to end the silence that has separated me from people I love that the latter half of my life will be lived out of the realization that words not said cause more regret for me than words said out of honest conviction, however misguided they may be.
I've rehearsed the conversation I had this week a thousand times. Though I have known I couldn't predict how it would go, it didn't go the way I expected it would. I prepare myself for the worst most of the time when I think there's the potential for conflict, and in this case, I had good reason to believe the worst would happen. It didn't. In fact, it was far better than I dared to imagine. Not only did I get to say something I've longed to say, I heard something said in return that everyone should have the opportunity to hear said by her own flesh and blood.
I've had one lingering question ever since, "Why did it take so long?" There is an answer to that question. The answer is found in several lifetimes of learned decency and silence that was thought to keep peace, values handed down by parents who were themselves taught to keep silences to avoid offense and shame. But at what cost?
I am a person who far too often holds her words. The pain of the last few steps of this journey is the awareness of all that I've missed out on because I didn't say what I felt deeply in my heart. I've been afraid I might offend. I've feared that I would be rejected and somehow that seemed reason enough to hold back deep convictions and strongly felt words that had the power to change things, and while I rejoice that those words have been spoken and have closed some of the space that separated, I regret that it took so long. I really regret that I allowed my parents' commitment to decency to hold sway over my own values and convictions.
Silence is the torrential rain that washes out the road that separates me from others. It keeps me inside the walls built with the bricks and mortar of my fear. The longer the silence is kept, the harder it is to traverse the way to another. The obstacles are harder to overcome. It becomes easier to stay apart and not take the journey to end the separation. I convince myself it's safer that way.
I've found myself wondering what's wrong with being offensive from time to time. It's a question that has to be asked if I'm going to challenge the assumptions that keep the silence intact. Recently I was reminded of two heated conversations I've had in my life that ultimately became life changing.
In one conversation, as a 23-year-old arrogant American, I proudly proclaimed the goodness of the United States' paternalistic military policies in South Korea to a group of Korean college students. To their credit, they didn't demonstrate outside my apartment throwing bottle bombs at riot police who retaliated with pepper gas, nor did they refuse to associate with me after that. They didn't even yell, "Yankee, go home," though I'm sure I deserved to be told that. Instead, they gently challenged me, and in the course of the conversation, I became deeply, painfully aware of my arrogance, of the ridiculousness of considering an 8000+ year old culture adolescent, in need of the gentle instruction and safekeeping of the great parent democracy I thought we had in the U.S. On a rare occasion, I opened my mouth to say what I thought and I offended good people with my misguided ideas, however well-intentioned they may have been. But they didn't leave me in my ignorance. They challenged me, I listened to them, and my life was changed for the better.
A similar conversation with my step-brother and his partner years later opened the door for me to accept myself. The words had to be said out loud, my fear and ignorance revealed, in order for me to find a way to truly hear what they understood from their own experiences. The offense caused is long forgotten, replaced instead with gratitude for the life-altering new awareness and understanding gained from engaging each other in that way.
For someone so quiet and afraid to say what she thinks, I've experienced a lot of transformation in the school of awkwardness and offense. I can't get back the years lost, and some of the distance that separates because of the secrets kept may never be closed, but I find hope in these final steps of a long marathon to end the silence that has separated me from people I love that the latter half of my life will be lived out of the realization that words not said cause more regret for me than words said out of honest conviction, however misguided they may be.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Coveting and learning from my annoyances
I've been traveling a lot lately, and I'm finding that in each new place there is something I covet, something that seems just a little better than what I have at home. In some places it's the beauty of mountains or the coastline. In others, it's a more progressive mindset among the people who live there.
In Minneapolis, where I've spent the past five days, it's the food. I established a new tradition of trying, wherever and whenever possible, at least one restaurant that uses local foods. It's not always easy to find such places, but I hit the information jackpot when I walked into my hotel here. A monthly publication for tourists prominently displayed at the registration desk showed reviews of "green" restaurants. When I turned to the article, I discovered a listing of three places within easy driving distance of the area of town where the Festival of Homiletics was held this year. I carefully planned my schedule to allow time to slip out to each of these places.
The first, Cafe Brenda, was about as close to perfection as I've ever found in food. I had a dinner salad with my meal that consisted of fresh lettuce, carrots, red onion so sweet it tasted like apple, spiced pumpkin seeds, and watermelon radish. It was very gently tossed with a vinaigrette dressing that added a hint of flavor while allowing the vegetables in the salad to take center stage. Each bite was perfect, and I after two, I became firmly convinced that local, fresh, and organic is definitely better. Accompanying the salad was a plate of grilled walleye, seasoned with a blackberry ginger teriyaki glaze, and crusted with sesame seeds and almonds. The fish had light flavor that was amazing. Green beans, braised greens, and wild rice complimented the fish. I left the restaurant certain that I'd had one of the best meals of my life. I really can't explain it.
Subsequent days included trips to Red Stag Supper Club and Wilde Roast Cafe. The food at Red Stag was good, but did not compare to Cafe Brenda. The service, however, was fabulous. I sat at the bar and enjoyed the company of the bartender for the duration of my lunch. It was a slow day. I got a lot of attention, and our conversation proved to be the only truly meaningful one I've had since Tuesday. It's odd how that happens to me. I blame myself. I don't mix well in large groups, so I kept to myself a lot at the FoH.
There was much about the Festival that I enjoyed and will take back with me. I found a panel discussion with several writers to be the most helpful and challenging time of the Festival for me. Singer/songwriter Beth Nielsen Chapman was first to speak (and sing!). She used a computer/internet metaphor to talk about the creative process. I was annoyed by it. She talked about songs being in the ether and that all she had to do was download them. This struck me as extremely reductionistic. If this is how the creative process works, then why don't I have access to those songs she downloads. I still think it's too simplistic, and I suspect is an attempt at trying to explain something that seems impossible to describe. But what struck me is how quickly the others followed suit in describing their own creative processes. I expected at least one to disagree with her, but instead, they all described something similar.
I still think the metaphor and the descriptions are too simplistic. But, what I realized upon further reflection about my annoyance is that my problem isn't that I don't have access to that creativity. My problem is the I fear the process. I fear it so much that I can't sit still long enough to be inspired, to tap in and wait for the words to come, to keep wrestling with them until I understand. It's a fear of my own power, I think. There's something easy and comforting in assuming that I'm just meant to live day to day, happy and content with what I have, never wanting more.
The coveting, I believe, is an indication that I'm not nearly as content as I think I am. It's a holy discontent, I believe, and the covetousness is an expression of my laziness. I want what's out there, but I often lack the will and drive to do the hard work necessary to get it. The trick is to learn to embrace the discontent without spending too much time entertaining the self-pity coveting encourages.
I have a good life. When I think back to what I had two years ago, I can't complain about where I am now. But, I'd be lying if I said I'm satisfied. I want to be happy with what I have, but I realize now that being happy with what I have means accepting that the discontent I feel deep in my bones is part of that too. It needs to be embraced and understood and welcomed as an ally, a guide ready to show me that there is more for me than what I have now. I get trapped feeling guilty for wanting more. I have good friends who love me and accept me for who I am, who share their good fortune with me with such generosity that I'm often overwhelmed, yet at the end of the day, I go home to my quiet apartment alone. I travel to places where I know no one and a ten minute phone call to this friend or that back home helps me feel the connections I know there and seem to lose when I'm not there to be a part of the day-to-day activities we share, but it's never the voice of someone who wants to know the details of my day, who cherishes the small things I see and experience. It's not the sound of a voice I hear every night before I fall asleep that makes me long for the feel of her warmth in the bed next to me. I love my friends, but I want more. And that desire scares me.
I have a job that provides for my needs. I have opportunities to do some amazing things, but it doesn't fulfill my desire to make a meaningful, lasting difference in the world. It's important work, but it's not what I want for my life long term. I feel guilty about that too. There are people who don't have jobs. My own parents did work that neither found all that meaningful, yet they were able to grasp a deeper meaning in the way they provided for their families and worked toward providing us with opportunities for something more in our lives.
That too is a holy discontent. I am not doing what I'm called to do. The job I have now may be a means to an end. It may help keep me financially stable while I do what I need to do to be ready for that which I'm called to do. I find meaning in that, but I'm also grateful for the restlessness I feel. I can't be content with this job. The restlessness causes me to listen to the constant woos of a quiet voice inside of me that says there's more for me to do.
So I leave this place today, returning home to a life I love, but also grateful that I'm not fully satisfied. As hard as it is for me to admit, I want more for my life than what I have now. That may sound like a lack of gratitude, but I think, for me, it's an important step. I don't think I'm meant to be satisfied. Grateful, yes, but not satisfied.
In Minneapolis, where I've spent the past five days, it's the food. I established a new tradition of trying, wherever and whenever possible, at least one restaurant that uses local foods. It's not always easy to find such places, but I hit the information jackpot when I walked into my hotel here. A monthly publication for tourists prominently displayed at the registration desk showed reviews of "green" restaurants. When I turned to the article, I discovered a listing of three places within easy driving distance of the area of town where the Festival of Homiletics was held this year. I carefully planned my schedule to allow time to slip out to each of these places.
The first, Cafe Brenda, was about as close to perfection as I've ever found in food. I had a dinner salad with my meal that consisted of fresh lettuce, carrots, red onion so sweet it tasted like apple, spiced pumpkin seeds, and watermelon radish. It was very gently tossed with a vinaigrette dressing that added a hint of flavor while allowing the vegetables in the salad to take center stage. Each bite was perfect, and I after two, I became firmly convinced that local, fresh, and organic is definitely better. Accompanying the salad was a plate of grilled walleye, seasoned with a blackberry ginger teriyaki glaze, and crusted with sesame seeds and almonds. The fish had light flavor that was amazing. Green beans, braised greens, and wild rice complimented the fish. I left the restaurant certain that I'd had one of the best meals of my life. I really can't explain it.
Subsequent days included trips to Red Stag Supper Club and Wilde Roast Cafe. The food at Red Stag was good, but did not compare to Cafe Brenda. The service, however, was fabulous. I sat at the bar and enjoyed the company of the bartender for the duration of my lunch. It was a slow day. I got a lot of attention, and our conversation proved to be the only truly meaningful one I've had since Tuesday. It's odd how that happens to me. I blame myself. I don't mix well in large groups, so I kept to myself a lot at the FoH.
There was much about the Festival that I enjoyed and will take back with me. I found a panel discussion with several writers to be the most helpful and challenging time of the Festival for me. Singer/songwriter Beth Nielsen Chapman was first to speak (and sing!). She used a computer/internet metaphor to talk about the creative process. I was annoyed by it. She talked about songs being in the ether and that all she had to do was download them. This struck me as extremely reductionistic. If this is how the creative process works, then why don't I have access to those songs she downloads. I still think it's too simplistic, and I suspect is an attempt at trying to explain something that seems impossible to describe. But what struck me is how quickly the others followed suit in describing their own creative processes. I expected at least one to disagree with her, but instead, they all described something similar.
I still think the metaphor and the descriptions are too simplistic. But, what I realized upon further reflection about my annoyance is that my problem isn't that I don't have access to that creativity. My problem is the I fear the process. I fear it so much that I can't sit still long enough to be inspired, to tap in and wait for the words to come, to keep wrestling with them until I understand. It's a fear of my own power, I think. There's something easy and comforting in assuming that I'm just meant to live day to day, happy and content with what I have, never wanting more.
The coveting, I believe, is an indication that I'm not nearly as content as I think I am. It's a holy discontent, I believe, and the covetousness is an expression of my laziness. I want what's out there, but I often lack the will and drive to do the hard work necessary to get it. The trick is to learn to embrace the discontent without spending too much time entertaining the self-pity coveting encourages.
I have a good life. When I think back to what I had two years ago, I can't complain about where I am now. But, I'd be lying if I said I'm satisfied. I want to be happy with what I have, but I realize now that being happy with what I have means accepting that the discontent I feel deep in my bones is part of that too. It needs to be embraced and understood and welcomed as an ally, a guide ready to show me that there is more for me than what I have now. I get trapped feeling guilty for wanting more. I have good friends who love me and accept me for who I am, who share their good fortune with me with such generosity that I'm often overwhelmed, yet at the end of the day, I go home to my quiet apartment alone. I travel to places where I know no one and a ten minute phone call to this friend or that back home helps me feel the connections I know there and seem to lose when I'm not there to be a part of the day-to-day activities we share, but it's never the voice of someone who wants to know the details of my day, who cherishes the small things I see and experience. It's not the sound of a voice I hear every night before I fall asleep that makes me long for the feel of her warmth in the bed next to me. I love my friends, but I want more. And that desire scares me.
I have a job that provides for my needs. I have opportunities to do some amazing things, but it doesn't fulfill my desire to make a meaningful, lasting difference in the world. It's important work, but it's not what I want for my life long term. I feel guilty about that too. There are people who don't have jobs. My own parents did work that neither found all that meaningful, yet they were able to grasp a deeper meaning in the way they provided for their families and worked toward providing us with opportunities for something more in our lives.
That too is a holy discontent. I am not doing what I'm called to do. The job I have now may be a means to an end. It may help keep me financially stable while I do what I need to do to be ready for that which I'm called to do. I find meaning in that, but I'm also grateful for the restlessness I feel. I can't be content with this job. The restlessness causes me to listen to the constant woos of a quiet voice inside of me that says there's more for me to do.
So I leave this place today, returning home to a life I love, but also grateful that I'm not fully satisfied. As hard as it is for me to admit, I want more for my life than what I have now. That may sound like a lack of gratitude, but I think, for me, it's an important step. I don't think I'm meant to be satisfied. Grateful, yes, but not satisfied.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Mary Oliver believes the fox has something to say
And I couldn't agree more!
Concretegodmother sent this poem to me last night. It's given me a lot to think about. It's from Mary Oliver's latest collection, Red Bird:
Concretegodmother sent this poem to me last night. It's given me a lot to think about. It's from Mary Oliver's latest collection, Red Bird:
Straight Talk from the Fox
Listen says fox it is music to run
over the hills to lick
dew from the leaves to nose along
the edges of the ponds to smell the fat
ducks in their bright feathers but
far out, safe in their rafts of
sleep. It is like
music to visit the orchard, to find
the vole sucking the sweet of the apple, or the
rabbit with his fast-beating heart. Death itself
is a music. Nobody has ever come close to
writing it down, awake or in a dream. It cannot
be told. It is flesh and bones
changing shape and with good cause, mercy
is a little child beside such an invention. It is
music to wander the black back roads
outside of town no one awake or wondering
if anything miraculous is ever going to
happen, totally dumb to the fact of every
moment's miracle. Don't think I haven't
peeked into windows. I see you in all your seasons
making love, arguing, talking about God
as if he were an idea instead of the grass,
instead of the stars, the rabbit caught
in one good teeth-whacking hit and brought
home to the den. What I am, and I know it, is
responsible, joyful, thankful. I would not
give my life for a thousand of yours.
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Fabulous day!
This day has been positively magical. It started with grilled pork chops for dinner last night and a chance to sleep in the fresh air on the sun porch at the new house some friends just bought. The house is on the river, so this morning I awoke to the sounds of birds too numerous to count.
The plan was to fish, but the river swelled after a storm on Thursday, making it impossible, so we sat and watched birds. The river right now is a stopping place for white pelicans returning to the Dakotas after a winter in Texas. Numerous other birds circled above and darted over the water in the beautiful morning sun.
But I was completely captivated by a Baltimore Oriole that must be nesting in their yard. I don't think that I've ever seen a more beautiful bird. The brilliant orange color is so striking I couldn't take my eyes off of it. I stood outside and watched it until he finally flew away.
I left around noon and returned home, eager to read about some of the things I saw. The night was busy and sleep interrupted by the dogs' fascination with the activity outside. I took a long nap this afternoon, a deep sleep that comes to me only when I'm totally relaxed. I did a few things around the house and then decided the new fishing pole had to be used. Today.
I drove out to the lake and fished for an hour and a half without a single bite, but while I was there, I saw a couple of bluebirds, the brilliance of their color matched only by a perfectly clear blue sky. At one point, I looked up and saw six vultures circling overhead. I decided not to take that as a sign of my impending doom, and chose instead to assume they had great confidence in my fishing skills. Alas, they were wrong, as I left the lake without so much as a hint that there were fish in it.
On the way home, a friend called. I was expecting her to call to tell me the homemade potato bread she was making was ready for me to taste, so it took me a minute to catch what she really said, "We have an owl on our front porch." She went on to explain that she thought, "This is the sort of thing Linda would like," but she delayed calling me thinking that by the time I got there it would have flown away. After about forty-five minutes of it sitting and staring at her, she decided to give it a try. I'm glad she did. When I arrived 15 minutes later, the owl was still there. I stayed for about 45 minutes more and there was no sign of it budging. You can see some of the pictures she got of it here and here. Don't hesitate to check out these links. You will not be sorry. The close up pictures of the owl are amazing!
Now, I'm home, relaxing while I eat a piece of still warm potato bread. The cat, not to be outdone by the rest of nature, is insisting on getting between me and the computer, trying to rest on my stomach and sleep.
It has been a most fabulous day!
The plan was to fish, but the river swelled after a storm on Thursday, making it impossible, so we sat and watched birds. The river right now is a stopping place for white pelicans returning to the Dakotas after a winter in Texas. Numerous other birds circled above and darted over the water in the beautiful morning sun.
But I was completely captivated by a Baltimore Oriole that must be nesting in their yard. I don't think that I've ever seen a more beautiful bird. The brilliant orange color is so striking I couldn't take my eyes off of it. I stood outside and watched it until he finally flew away.
I left around noon and returned home, eager to read about some of the things I saw. The night was busy and sleep interrupted by the dogs' fascination with the activity outside. I took a long nap this afternoon, a deep sleep that comes to me only when I'm totally relaxed. I did a few things around the house and then decided the new fishing pole had to be used. Today.
I drove out to the lake and fished for an hour and a half without a single bite, but while I was there, I saw a couple of bluebirds, the brilliance of their color matched only by a perfectly clear blue sky. At one point, I looked up and saw six vultures circling overhead. I decided not to take that as a sign of my impending doom, and chose instead to assume they had great confidence in my fishing skills. Alas, they were wrong, as I left the lake without so much as a hint that there were fish in it.
On the way home, a friend called. I was expecting her to call to tell me the homemade potato bread she was making was ready for me to taste, so it took me a minute to catch what she really said, "We have an owl on our front porch." She went on to explain that she thought, "This is the sort of thing Linda would like," but she delayed calling me thinking that by the time I got there it would have flown away. After about forty-five minutes of it sitting and staring at her, she decided to give it a try. I'm glad she did. When I arrived 15 minutes later, the owl was still there. I stayed for about 45 minutes more and there was no sign of it budging. You can see some of the pictures she got of it here and here. Don't hesitate to check out these links. You will not be sorry. The close up pictures of the owl are amazing!
Now, I'm home, relaxing while I eat a piece of still warm potato bread. The cat, not to be outdone by the rest of nature, is insisting on getting between me and the computer, trying to rest on my stomach and sleep.
It has been a most fabulous day!
Thursday, May 01, 2008
The gift of a mantra
I belong to a group that meets a couple of times a month. The facilitator of the group gave each of us mantras today, ones that she spoke to her about us. She chose them from the shakti mantras. Here's mine:
Om Akulayei Namaha [Om Ah-koo-lah-yei Nahm-ah-hah]
Translation: "Om and salutations to She who, having risen to the thousand-petaled lotus at the top of the head, is referred to as 'akula', having no perceivable genesis, lineage, or qualities whatsoever."
Receiving this from her and hearing the group's feedback was a powerful experience for me. I'm anxious to see what comes of using it in my meditation.
Om Akulayei Namaha [Om Ah-koo-lah-yei Nahm-ah-hah]
Translation: "Om and salutations to She who, having risen to the thousand-petaled lotus at the top of the head, is referred to as 'akula', having no perceivable genesis, lineage, or qualities whatsoever."
Receiving this from her and hearing the group's feedback was a powerful experience for me. I'm anxious to see what comes of using it in my meditation.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
A walk in the woods
I took a long walk in the woods today. 9-10 miles. About 4 of which were on top of snow pack deep enough that when I occasionally fell through, I sunk up to my knees. 1375' elevation change.
It's very tiring to hike like that.
It was a wonderful day. Tomorrow I head home. There will be a more substantial post in a few days, and some pictures. Now I will sleep. Very peacefully.
It's very tiring to hike like that.
It was a wonderful day. Tomorrow I head home. There will be a more substantial post in a few days, and some pictures. Now I will sleep. Very peacefully.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Why I love where I live
If someone were to ask me today why I love where I live, I'd tell them this....
I love that I can pull up to a friend's house at 5:30 in the morning, a dog whom I love peering out the window at me, and load up my luggage in the friend's car to head to the airport, where I will catch a flight that leaves at the ungodly early hour of 6:45. Then, walking in to the airport ticket counter, I walk immediately to the front of the line, check my luggage and proceed to security. Having nearly an hour before my flight leaves, I decide to enjoy a little coffee before I endure the long winding line at security. My mocha consumed, I walk up to the security checkpoint and take my place at the end of the line and start slowly moving forward.
A couple of minutes later, I look up to see two familiar faces coming toward me in the line that has doubled-back. It's a retired pastor from the area and her husband. I had lunch with her on Wednesday. They're headed to Germany for two weeks. We chat until the line separates. I continue moving slowly forward, winding my way back and forth a couple of times more when I hear my name in a familiar tenor voice to my right. I don't even have to look. I know it's Mike from church. He's going to New York for a few days of fun. We chat a couple of times when the line's winding brings us together. In between visits with Mike, I meet a couple from church who are headed...um...I can't remember where.
I've never lived anyplace where I regularly meet people I know at the airport. I do love this place!
I'm in Colorado for a couple of days of work and one big day of hiking! Woo Hoo! There's much to think about while I traverse the trails in Rocky Mountain National Park. I met with a minister at my church yesterday to talk about my application for the credentialing process. I don't know what I expected, but he was far more affirming and much less cautious in his enthusiasm about the possibilities than I imagined.
Could it be that ordination will actually happen this time? You'll understand if I'm not quite ready to believe it will just yet.
I love that I can pull up to a friend's house at 5:30 in the morning, a dog whom I love peering out the window at me, and load up my luggage in the friend's car to head to the airport, where I will catch a flight that leaves at the ungodly early hour of 6:45. Then, walking in to the airport ticket counter, I walk immediately to the front of the line, check my luggage and proceed to security. Having nearly an hour before my flight leaves, I decide to enjoy a little coffee before I endure the long winding line at security. My mocha consumed, I walk up to the security checkpoint and take my place at the end of the line and start slowly moving forward.
A couple of minutes later, I look up to see two familiar faces coming toward me in the line that has doubled-back. It's a retired pastor from the area and her husband. I had lunch with her on Wednesday. They're headed to Germany for two weeks. We chat until the line separates. I continue moving slowly forward, winding my way back and forth a couple of times more when I hear my name in a familiar tenor voice to my right. I don't even have to look. I know it's Mike from church. He's going to New York for a few days of fun. We chat a couple of times when the line's winding brings us together. In between visits with Mike, I meet a couple from church who are headed...um...I can't remember where.
I've never lived anyplace where I regularly meet people I know at the airport. I do love this place!
I'm in Colorado for a couple of days of work and one big day of hiking! Woo Hoo! There's much to think about while I traverse the trails in Rocky Mountain National Park. I met with a minister at my church yesterday to talk about my application for the credentialing process. I don't know what I expected, but he was far more affirming and much less cautious in his enthusiasm about the possibilities than I imagined.
Could it be that ordination will actually happen this time? You'll understand if I'm not quite ready to believe it will just yet.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Re-posting just for the heck of it
This memory has been on my mind for several days now, namely because some friends of mine and I have been talking about a quality of mine some of them find weird...the ability to sit with someone in silence and believe that it is a powerful and moving experience. This post from Father's Day 2005 speaks volumes about why that is the case for me:
Yesterday was Father's Day. My dad passed away two and a half years ago. He was actually my step-dad, the only father I knew well. I still miss him, especially this time of year.
Father's Day falls at the point in June when the summer in Missouri starts to grow hot and dry. For years I sneaked away for the weekend, carrying little more than a couple of pairs of ratty jeans, old t-shirts, and my fishing pole, to spend time with him silently casting lures and bait out into ponds where fish might or might not show interest in what we had to offer.
We would wake up early, stop by the grocery store to buy chicken livers for the catfish, and make our way to one of several family farm ponds in the area around his hometown in southwest Missouri. Many of the ponds were in fields where cattle grazed. We would drive his truck as far out as possible and trek the rest of the way on foot, carefully passing under electric fences and around the curious glances of bored cows. Words were few. Our ears were tuned to the droning of locusts and grasshoppers and the lonely calls of red-winged blackbirds and quail.
Conversations consisted of "what are you using?" and "have you gotten a bite yet?" My dad was not given to deep conversation. He would never have thought it necessary to talk about the meaning of life, but I never doubted he considered it, and I was always certain that his understanding of it was worked out while standing on the edge of a pond, rhythmically casting his fishing pole. God was there in those moments with him. With no words to put distance between us, we understood each other.
If heaven is a physical place that in any way resembles this earth, my dad is standing on the edge of a pond, silently whispering gratitude for a life filled with fun, family, and friends. The fish aren't in much danger because he's never been that concerned about catching them. He stands there knowing that he lived his life well, loving his family, showing care and concern for others in ways both big and small.
And in some way, I'm there with him, silently content to bask in the warmth of his love and acceptance, knowing that if I never did another thing of worth or value in this world, he would still be proud of me.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Teenagers and ministry as vocation
I have to speak to a group of teens about ministry and vocation soon. I've been given a 30-minute slot of time during which to talk. While they eat.
This kind of scheduling is not my idea of a good plan.
Any thoughts on how to make ministry as a vocation as engaging (or more so) as pizza and the banter to be enjoyed with dozens of others their own age? I need help, you all! I know I'm in trouble. I think pizza and teenage banter is going to be way more interesting that what I have to say!
This kind of scheduling is not my idea of a good plan.
Any thoughts on how to make ministry as a vocation as engaging (or more so) as pizza and the banter to be enjoyed with dozens of others their own age? I need help, you all! I know I'm in trouble. I think pizza and teenage banter is going to be way more interesting that what I have to say!
Friday, April 11, 2008
Friday Five: Makin' a Move
This week's Friday Five is about making a move. I don't think I've ever done a Friday Five. The topic this week though really grabbed my attention, and I haven't had much blogging mojo lately anyway. So here goes....
1.How many times have you moved? When was the last time?
As a kid, I lived in four homes in the same small town of 15,000, so while I had the experience of packing up and moving, I never experienced leaving behind friends and family until I went to college. My life since then has been different. I've had six major moves in the 22 years since I graduated from college, and several smaller moves within the towns I've lived in each of those six locations. My last move was 18 months ago, to where I live now. I hope to stay here for a good long while. No place has felt more like home than this. But, I have been here long enough to become reacquainted with some of my less than stellar personal qualities that have often led to my decisions to move in the past. I was full of adventure and wanderlust in my early adulthood, an independent spirit, afraid of bothering people, and of getting too close. I still love to travel, but I also love to come home, to a familiar place where I have a routine and where there are people who know me, but love me anyway.
2. What do you love and hate about moving?
Each of my moves have been to places where either work/ministry or school offered a chance to learn and explore things that were new and exotic to me. I love that about moving, but I hate the inevitable loneliness of being in a new place. I don't make friends easily, so a new place means a lot of work to get to know people and build relationships that are supportive. I also hate packing and unpacking!!
3. Do you do it yourself or hire movers?
I've always done my own moving, with little help even from friends - because I hate bothering people. This last move, however, my new employer paid my moving expenses. I still did all of the packing, though. I just didn't have to carry the boxes or furniture up the two flights of stairs to my apartment. In 100+ weather.
4. Advice for surviving and thriving during a move?
This last move forced me to do things differently and as a result, my advice is very different than it would have been two years ago. I arrived in my new town two weeks ahead of the moving truck, so I didn't have boxes to unpack for awhile. In the absence of stuff, I got out to explore my new surroundings everyday and was more intentional about going to events and places where I could meet people. I think that approach really helped me settle in to the new place more quickly. Of course, I still have only one picture on the walls, and there are boxes that have yet to be unpacked, an odd little thing left over from living with the ex who never made room for me and my things in her house, leaving me to store my things in a shed behind her house for the five+ years I lived with her. It was a ridiculous thing to put up with and I regret that I didn't care more for myself more than that, but it did shift my relationship to things.
So, I say, use a move to simplify your life and get down to just the basics, and be intentional about making relationships and connection to the landscape of the new place a higher priority.
5. Are you in the middle of any inner moves, if not outer ones?
I'm learning to be more tolerant of discomfort in my life, an inner move that is needed, but not especially easy, and contemplating a suggestion that I could take more risk in relationships as an invitation to an inner move that is both terrifying and exciting.
1.How many times have you moved? When was the last time?
As a kid, I lived in four homes in the same small town of 15,000, so while I had the experience of packing up and moving, I never experienced leaving behind friends and family until I went to college. My life since then has been different. I've had six major moves in the 22 years since I graduated from college, and several smaller moves within the towns I've lived in each of those six locations. My last move was 18 months ago, to where I live now. I hope to stay here for a good long while. No place has felt more like home than this. But, I have been here long enough to become reacquainted with some of my less than stellar personal qualities that have often led to my decisions to move in the past. I was full of adventure and wanderlust in my early adulthood, an independent spirit, afraid of bothering people, and of getting too close. I still love to travel, but I also love to come home, to a familiar place where I have a routine and where there are people who know me, but love me anyway.
2. What do you love and hate about moving?
Each of my moves have been to places where either work/ministry or school offered a chance to learn and explore things that were new and exotic to me. I love that about moving, but I hate the inevitable loneliness of being in a new place. I don't make friends easily, so a new place means a lot of work to get to know people and build relationships that are supportive. I also hate packing and unpacking!!
3. Do you do it yourself or hire movers?
I've always done my own moving, with little help even from friends - because I hate bothering people. This last move, however, my new employer paid my moving expenses. I still did all of the packing, though. I just didn't have to carry the boxes or furniture up the two flights of stairs to my apartment. In 100+ weather.
4. Advice for surviving and thriving during a move?
This last move forced me to do things differently and as a result, my advice is very different than it would have been two years ago. I arrived in my new town two weeks ahead of the moving truck, so I didn't have boxes to unpack for awhile. In the absence of stuff, I got out to explore my new surroundings everyday and was more intentional about going to events and places where I could meet people. I think that approach really helped me settle in to the new place more quickly. Of course, I still have only one picture on the walls, and there are boxes that have yet to be unpacked, an odd little thing left over from living with the ex who never made room for me and my things in her house, leaving me to store my things in a shed behind her house for the five+ years I lived with her. It was a ridiculous thing to put up with and I regret that I didn't care more for myself more than that, but it did shift my relationship to things.
So, I say, use a move to simplify your life and get down to just the basics, and be intentional about making relationships and connection to the landscape of the new place a higher priority.
5. Are you in the middle of any inner moves, if not outer ones?
I'm learning to be more tolerant of discomfort in my life, an inner move that is needed, but not especially easy, and contemplating a suggestion that I could take more risk in relationships as an invitation to an inner move that is both terrifying and exciting.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
What would you do?
I've been mulling over a situation that, as it turns, isn't a situation after all, but could have been. While glancing at profiles on an online dating site, I came across a picture that looked just like a friend of mine. A friend who is in a committed relationship. Fortunately, I was able to get access to additional pictures associated with that profile, so I was able to verify that it is not my friend, but it's left me wondering. The primary picture on the profile looked just like her!!!!
What would you do if you found a friend on an online dating site, one whose relationship status would make looking for a date seem a bit shady?
What would you do if you found a friend on an online dating site, one whose relationship status would make looking for a date seem a bit shady?
Monday, April 07, 2008
FINALLY!
Rock! Chalk! Jayhawk! KU!
2008 NCAA Champions in Men's Basketball!It seems like I've been waiting my whole life* for this: 75 to 68 in overtime!
Unfortunately, since Memphis beat UCLA to make it to the final, I didn't win the coveted banana bread prize for the Chalice Lighters pool I was in. I can live with that.
________
*It's only been 20 years since their last title, but that's long enough.
Unfortunately, since Memphis beat UCLA to make it to the final, I didn't win the coveted banana bread prize for the Chalice Lighters pool I was in. I can live with that.
________
*It's only been 20 years since their last title, but that's long enough.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
The shy person's guide to solving problems at work
53 easy steps to solving a problem at work:
- Go to church.
- On Wednesday night.
- In time to eat dinner.
- Forget to pick up name tag when you walk in to the church.
- Sit at a table full of people you know.
- Leave an empty seat next to you at the dinner table.
- Wait for gregarious church member to sit next to you.
- Visit with gregarious church member.
- Be appropriately impressed when he knows your full name without the aid of a name tag.
- Tell the truth when he asks what kind of work you do.
- Learn that he has a client with a business near yours.
- Learn surprising information about business owner's business.
- Realize that business owner might have a solution for a big problem at work.
- Tell gregarious church member about the need at work.
- Watch the wheels spin in gregarious church member's head.
- Notice that it's time for chapel to start and say goodbye.
- Forget to get gregarious church member's contact info.
- Forget to give gregarious church member your contact info.
- Go to chapel.
- Go to class.
- Go home.
- Sleep.
- Get up.
- Get ready for work.
- Start e-mail to boss at work about possible solution.
- Realize boss will think you're crazy for e-mailing at 6:00 a.m. when you will be at work that day.
- Delete e-mail.
- Have long phone conversation with friend before work.
- Go to work.
- Meet with boss.
- Forget to tell boss about conversation with gregarious church member.
- Remember to tell boss about conversation during meeting at work.
- Go to boss's office after meeting.
- Tell boss about conversation.
- Realize you don't know what kind of work gregarious church member does or what kind of client business owner is for him.
- Guess what kind of work gregarious church member does.
- Get boss's preference on how to proceed.
- Contact minister from church to get contact info for gregarious church member.
- Think about calling gregarious church member.
- E-mail gregarious church member instead.
- Answer phone when gregarious church member calls.
- Find out gregarious church member talked to business owner last night on his way home from church.
- Get contact info for business owner.
- Give contact info to boss.
- Talk to boss as she passes through your office and learn that she is on her way over to see business owner.
- Listen to the pouring rain start while boss is walking to see business owner.
- Wonder if you should take car to pick up boss.
- Relax when rain stops.
- Talk to colleague about employee appreciation luncheon.
- Let boss interrupt conversation with colleague to report on meeting with business owner.
- Find out that business owner may have just the solution you've been looking for for six months or more.
- Join boss in celebratory dance.
- Eat chocolate.
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