Hey, 2013, don't let the door hit you on the a** on your way out!

Yeh.  It hasn't been such a great year.  Well, there have definitely been some highlights.  I've made some pretty unexpected choices and done some unexpected things ... and have surprised myself with certain changes in me.  But 2013 has been frustrating and isolated and sort of sad.  I think those things come with change, along with some excitement here and there and at least a little happiness dotted in and around all the other stuff.  What does any of that even mean!?

The time period from last fall to the latest autumn pretty much marked the first year I have ever truly had on my own.  Most people thought I'd be wallowing in loneliness with my son off to school and my nest decidedly empty (save the RBD) -- but it was actually a year of revelation and (for lack of a less hackneyed word ...) growth.

When my mother died, I was finishing my sophomore year in college.  I spent the summer picking up all the pieces of my own life -- taking care of my broken father -- and two younger sisters.  Moving straight into an adult position at the age of 19, I sort of lost those last two carefree years of college -- yet somehow managed to "free" myself enough to fall in love with a most unlikely younger man.  Still, firmly scared of life at that point, I accepted a job at a firm far from home (and David) ... but working with my older sister.  The transition to the "real" world was more gentle and I wasn't really on my own.  Just a few months into that job -- living in a dreary apartment with so little money that I didn't do anything and didn't have any friends outside of work -- David and I got engaged.  Then, just after the New Year, my dad had some serious health issues, so I returned to Pennsylvania.  The objective was to help out at home, but a serious car accident in freezing rain landed me in the hospital with a fractured pelvis and I became a dependent to my ailing father and grandmother.  That was not the plan. 

When I was mobile and able to drive, I started working for my dad.  I was able to plan our wedding throughout the spring and summer and continued to work for my father's corporation following our late summer wedding.  Still a dependent, right?  But a year after we were married we moved to DC and I got a "real" job in the "real" world downtown Washington.  I did the big commuter life thing -- metro busses and subways -- then the long drives from the suburbs.  Then we started a family.  I had barely ever lived on my own.  I had only barely lived my life according to my own desires and schedule.  And I didn't want to! 

David started to become quite upwardly mobile around the time we started a family.  He began to travel extensively nationally and internationally.  I was so isolated.  I had worked part-time in DC until my daughter was 1 and I was pregnant with my son.  One evening trying to get home from work, an accident on I-95 prevented me from getting back to my baby in childcare while my husband was on a business trip in Switzerland or Wales or Belgium.  I was newly pregnant and the situation was pretty dire.  I quit the commute after that -- telecommuted until my son was born -- then quit altogether to raise my kids.  Just a couple years later, on the cusp of a move to Boston, David was diagnosed and everything came to a screeching halt.

Then I became not only a mother, but a caregiver and a home-base "rock."  David's travel life didn't end, but changed.  He travelled at least a third of the time.  Even if I had wanted to, it would have been extremely challenging to have any kind of career of my own.  (Too bad I never thought of writing back then ...)  Thankfully, I had a great group of friends -- other at-home, young mothers -- who came along-side of each other and diluted the isolation of choosing that life.  Raising my children is the most important and gratifying thing I have ever done.  That job is nearly complete ... so change is inevitable.  Change.

Some people think we were nuts getting married so young.  At 22, I had had very few worldly, exciting experiences.  It's true.  But I was able to embark on adventures WITH David -- not a girlfriend or roommate.  A husband.  That was great!  As young adults in DC, we were pretty poor.  We didn't go out much -- a draft was over $7 back in the late '80s.  Our little cave of an apartment cost us around $600/month and his starting salary was around $19K.  Somehow we managed some fun -- taking the "Montrealer" (Amtrak) to Canada -- a wee precursor to more international travel.  Then, just a couple years later, we travelled to Cyprus for Christmas with his family and extended the trip to three weeks -- two of which were spent kicking around Germany (not long after the wall came down), Austria, Switzerland and Italy spending every other night on the train.  We found ourselves on the Ponte Vecchio on Christmas Eve 1990 with a crowd of [wonderfully] crazy Italians swigging champagne, smashing bottles and shooting guns.  Yes, guns.  It was the most memorable night of my life to this day.  Incidentally, I had the best sex of my life that night, too.  No more on that, you dropped-jaw people!  Ha.

So ... the point is that I chose to NOT be alone.  I decided that living side-by-side with David was way preferable to being independent and adventuring on my own.  I would do it all over again.  I don't regret getting married young at all.  However, over this last year I got a taste of the liberties that being on your own can offer.

I no longer had to consider anybody else's needs or schedules or desires or problems or or or ...  I could sleep when I wanted; get up when I wanted (when I wasn't working); go out when I wished; eat what I liked; choose to get dressed or not.  No more homeroom bells, teacher conferences, lunches to pack (I love you guys -- loved making your lunches, but man! that got old!)  You get the point.  I still went to church every Sunday, but sometimes skipped Sunday School <gasp>.

But after a while, the liberty got stale.  The on my own stuff became boring and I, again, found myself to be quite isolated.  A friend who had been available started working longer hours and found a companion.  It didn't take long to recall why I chose to get married:  To live along-side of someone with whom I shared a belief system -- a value system -- love of music -- love of family -- love of travel.  Someone to warm the other side of the bed and brew the coffee.  Someone with whom to debate (discuss) a topic -- with whom to worship -- with whom to pray.  A warm hand to hold -- a movie-going companion -- a late-night dreamer.  Devotion.

So, along with everyone else, the new year offers somewhat of a clean slate.  Let's call it a "blank" slate -- on which to design, write, dream, risk -- across  365 more gifts of life.  I'm the first to admit that many of the upcoming days will be spent doing little that matters -- let's call that "rest."  Some days will be spent going through the motions of life with little to no consideration of affect.  Hmmm.  Maybe I can focus on that -- deciding what effect my motions and choices have on my world -- on the greater world.  It's too dang exhausting to attempt to have a positive effect every day, at least for my own tired soul ... but maybe it's something on which I can ponder.  Maybe the "greater world" can be a person or two or three.  Yeh, I can work with that.  I usually do anyway. 

So, returning to the same old same old ... Love.  How can I better love this year?  Love me, love others, love the world ... and better love God.  I think most of the fear is finally gone.  That opens up more opportunity for hurt -- for disappointment.  But it also opens up a world of expression, color, warmth and even trust in an untrustworthy world.  I may fail horribly and fall painfully on my butt, but at least I will have been open to the change -- to unexpected freedoms -- to new people and chances to venture down new roads -- to living more fully.  Will I embrace it?  I want to believe in people again.  I want to believe in God's promises.  I guess the newness of time will tell. 

Jeremiah 29:11-13
New International Version (NIV)

¹¹ For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. ¹² Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. ¹³ You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart.

Am I out of stories to tell?

A beloved has commented that I am doing less storytelling and more exploring of forces and values and loves in my life right now and wondered why the change.  I really had to stop and ponder the question.  I have already acknowledged feedback that "exile" is more dark than "uncleaving."  But why? 

To be  honest, many of the "stories" I could tell would be a bit damning to the main characters.  No true protagonists would explode onto the scene(s).  And that is really very sad.  I'm in a stage where the people in my life are either grossly disappointing or simply solid.  Disappointing can provide interesting tales! but I'm not ready to expose such shenanigans.  Maybe in the near/later future -- when their identities can be less obvious.  But for now I'm stuck with tales of not-so-dubious circumstances ... and those can fare less intriguing, right?  Everyone loves a good dirty laundry tale, though we shouldn't. ... "Identities have been changed to protect the ... GUILTY."  <snort>

So, in the interim, of what do I write?  Hmmm.  I'm doing laundry.  Whatever.  My house is dirty.  Yeh, what else is new?  I may have ten souls descending upon me for Thanksgiving and I should be panicking!!  Now that's a story, right?  Let's count beds ...

Once again I'm spending the evening with Allie, my faithful dog who swears she is in charge.  She sure is persevering sometimes -- standing at the edge of the kitchen (not allowed IN the kitchen) wagging her tail, ears perked, softly whimpering for a dog treat.  I'm trying to get her to stop that because it drives me nuts.  Begging is bad behavior.  I blame this on my kids who continue to feed her from the table against my wishes!  I hate a begging dog.  Sadly, though, she usually wears me down, not unlike the Persistent Widow of Jesus' parable wearing down the mean old king.  Keep praying keep praying keep praying -- translated to dog-speak:  keep whimpering keep begging keep wagging ... Who am I not to love my dog as God loves me?  So she gets the bone and the behavior is reinforced.  God, throw ME a bone, won't you please?!  Whatever.  Daughter, I already told this story!  http://reluctantlyuncleaving.blogspot.com/2012/11/the-true-alpha-female.html
 
But what I haven't written about is poor Allie's sensitivity.  A couple years ago, she began to have some real issues with her skin.  Her ears drove her crazy and had become course and stiff from some infection or something.  The skin on her belly started to turn black.  Her neck had become raw and the fur under her collar had fallen out, leaving her skin inflamed.  She was an itchy mess of a dog!  I was very distracted at that time with the business of death -- of keeping my kids afloat -- of making it through each day.  When I finally truly recognized Allie's discomfort, it was pretty advanced.  Guilty doesn't cover how badly I felt ... but human vs. dog ... humans took priority. 

The vet was able to give her a good steroid shot (the "silver bullet") for the itching -- and $50+ dollars' worth of ear ointment.  Add to that, a $30 bottle of antibiotic shampoo, the office visit and the regular exorbitant flea and heartworm meds ... I was paying more for my dog's healthcare than I had for David's!  (I'm freaking serious.)  Our vet was great -- very down-to-earth and understanding about my life situation/financial limitations, etc. and asked me if Allie and David were close.  She said it could be an emotional response to his death.  I had never considered that!
 

Hm.  Allie and David had a sort of Machiavellian kind of relationship.  I simply mean "cunning" here ... with a touch of self-servitude.  David was a snacker.  Allie is a snacker.  He wasn't really a dog person.  She isn't really a people dog (she won't fetch or play ... but does like to be the center of attention ...)  David and Allie had a relationship based on him doling out high-class snacks (almonds, cashews, pretzels, potato skins, combos ... anything in a crackle'y bag) and her continuously wagging her tail, perking her ears and giving him the loving eye in return.  When I was at work and the kids were at school, these two were constant companions -- especially during that last year of his life when he wasn't travelling as much.  They had a truly symbiotic relationship:  symbiosis (noun pl. sym-bi-o-ses) - 1. Biology - A close, prolonged association between two or more different organisms of different species that may, but does not necessarily, benefit each member; 2. A relationship of mutual benefit or dependence.

Yep.

But I thought there was more to it.  When David was in the Hospice House, I decided to take Allie to visit him.  I thought that he would respond positively to her and she would respond positively to him.  That wasn't the case!  He barely acknowledged her presence; she didn't even look at him.  It was almost as if the two of them already had an understanding:  It's over.  Move on.  I was stunned and perplexed.  Allie didn't make a return visit and David never asked about her at all. 

But after he died, her skin changed.  Why didn't I notice the possible connection?  I know full well that Allie is an emotional dog.  She can be quite vindictive when she decides that she's alone too much -- aka, neglected.  When the kids are at college and it's just me and I'm at work, or out shopping, or out at a rehearsal, or out with friends -- she's here all alone.  No crinkle'y crackle'y snack bag, no hand feeding her high-class snacks, no hand patting her head or voice speaking her name.  And no man of the house.  Allie is very female-oriented (I've always been the "boss") but David was her companion and he was gone.  Gone for good.

Everybody thinks the RBD is a "sweet dog."  And most of the time, she is.  But when she wants to be a meanie, she is a meanie.  Over the last year when I have spent too many hours away from the house or, God forbid, a night or two! I come home to her having clawed-down the blankets and pillows from all the chairs and sofas.  ????  In the sitting room, the family room, my bedroom -- all game.  I travelled up to the college this past weekend to see my kids.  I figured I would prevent all the dragging-down of stuff by putting guitars on sofas and boxes on chairs. That worked!  She was stymied!  So, instead, she clawed-down two heirloom quilts from a quilt rack in my upstairs hallway.  That made me pretty angry.

Anyone who says that dogs aren't vindictive don't have an Allie.  She punishes me for every moment she spends alone.  She actually does relax over the summer when there are more souls at home, but right now, she's miserable and quite intent on making me the same.  Some of you may be thinking, "Gee ... a couple pillows ... blankets ... some dog hair. What's the big deal?!"  I know.  It sounds petty.  But it's bigger than that.  It's the punishment that she is imposing on me when all I'm doing is trying to live this life I have -- to be a good mother -- a good friend -- a formidable church lady, etc.  I don't need to come home to judgment that I'm a bad dog mistress -- or whatever.  In the end, I didn't ever want a dog!  So I get a little bitter.  I know you dog lovers are mad at me now.  But I'm not getting that promised unconditional love from my dog.  I'm being punished -- over and over -- day after day.  It's terrible.

But she's my only companion in this moment.  She knows I'm mad at her, so she's not even begging for a treat.  She went upstairs, defeated.  We will make-up -- maybe tomorrow -- maybe the next day.  We have no choice but to be each other's symbiotic partner now.  We weren't made to be that for each other -- we were made to vie for the alpha position.  Sorry, old girl -- but it will always be me.  Still, she is VERY cute and very sweet, aside from the misbehaving and I do love her.  Good grief.  I need to get out more.

Two days later ... I came home from a 13 hour day at the church and just loved on Allie.  She moaned with relief at being forgiven -- for she had not been destructive in my absence.  She came when I called and was forgiving, too.  Everything is back in balance for now.  Oh how peace ebbs and flows ... Right now peace as I bake sweet potato soufflé, green bean casserole and pumpkin pies ahead of a busy Thanksgiving holiday where souls will come together in joy and love.  Allie will be right in the midst of it all, begging for some turkey meat.  <sigh> 

But when everyone goes home or back to college, it will just be the two of us again.  And she'll be right down here in the pit alongside me.  It's good to have company.

How Big a Deal is Friendship?

Friendship is vital to my very survival.

In no way does this minimize the importance of family ... but all of my family is well over 300 miles away in numerous directions.  Friendship is a big deal to me. 

(For the record, I am beginning this blog on a Friday night.  <sigh>  Though I have a lot of friends, most of them are with their spouses or better you-know-who's tonight.  I'm at home with my dog.  My daughter called, though!  I really wish I was out doing something fun ... but, alas, here I am.  I'm trying to be content with my current circumstances.  Ugh.)

I have a couple initial thoughts about friendship -- before any research or definitions or contemplation.  The best of friends often happen upon each other in an unplanned and wonderful way.  Friendship is a gift.  Ideally, it should bring you joy -- be natural -- "easy."  This doesn't mean that we don't have to attend to our friendships ... I just mean that it shouldn't be arduous.  I also believe that some friendships are for a season, of which I have written before.  I think that friendships round-out our emotional lives.  We can't only be in relationship with our families -- so friends fill-in the gaps -- become in-laws -- round-out our communities, including work and school and recreation.  It is also important to remember that there are so many different types of friends.  Some friends are more like aquaintances.  Most often, I think, friendships are formed due to mutual interests or similar personalities.  Some friends are inserted into your life -- like fellow Saints in your church -- or neighbors.  Some are schoolmates from childhood that have hung-in there with you.  Some are sister'y (or brother'y) friends from young adulthood and entries into parenthood.  Some are from the workplace or friends of friends.  Some friends become spouses or lovers and, yes, our family members can also be friends.  They all serve a different kind of purpose and fill a different kind of need.  Friendship is a myriad of all sorts of relationships in our lives and it is too complex to simmer-down to a simple expression or definition.  This is turning out to be a more complicated blog than I had anticipated. 

Defining friendship or friend is interesting -- broad and rich. 

friend·ship (noun)  1. the state of being a friend; association as friends; 2. a friendly relation or intimacy; 3. friendly feeling or disposition.

Clearly, one needs to understand what a friend is to glean anything from this!  However, additional reference is helpful in the form of a (synonym)  1. harmony, accord, understanding, rapport.  So ...

friend //(noun)  1. a person attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard; 2. a person who gives assistance; patron; supporter; 3. a person who is on good terms with another; a person who is not hostile; 4. a member of the same nation, party, etc.; 5. ( initial capital letter ) a member of the Religious Society of Friends; a Quaker; 6. a person associated with another as a contact on a social-networking web site.  (verb) 7. to befriend.; 8. to add (a person) to one's list of contacts on a social-networking Web site.  (synonym)  1. comrade, chum, crony, confidant; 2. backer, advocate. 3. ally, associate, confrere, compatriot.  (antonym)   enemy, foe.

I'm a little addicted to the music of Andrew Bird.  I can't explain his music -- or his lyrics -- in a few words.  Suffice it to say that his music is entirely unique and his lyrics are strange.  Not unlike Shakespeare, he makes up words as necessary --  to sound pleasant, rhyme or just sort of mean something more in a less definable way -- in any given song.  Trying to figure those lyrics out -- or trying to make sense of them -- is often an exercise in futility.  However, one of his songs, Tables and Chairs, has some honest words about friendship: 

If we can call them friends we can call them on red telephones
and they won't pretend that they're too busy or they're not alone
if we can call them friends we can call
holler at 'em down these hallowed halls
just don't let the human factor fail to be a factor at all

Do you have a friend or friends that you know will always answer the phone when you call?  To whom you aren't a nuisance or an interruption?  I hope so.  I bet you have a few friends that you aren't so sure about, too.  For whom do you answer that phone?  Friendship is varied, but we all need at least one red telephone friend!  (David was my red telephone friend and I was his.  He was the person who put me above everyone else with his affection, regard, support -- love.  Now I am nobody's most important person.  Although several lovelies have told me that I'm right up there, I know that there is no guarantee that the red phone will be answered when I call.)  This human factor is sort of a continuation of my thoughts on love, but not so readily apparent. 

A quick search on "human factor" yielded some strange stuff!  I happened upon a "definition" from the "urban dictionary" that was new to me:  human factors engineering -- the process and effects of intentionally playing on a person's attributes to achieve a goal, either directly or indirectly.  Huh??  I'm a little stunned that the word "engineering" is a part of this.  One of my other first searches yielded:  human factors -- The study of human interaction with technology/machines.  I further investigated that avenue and found a basic explanation:  Human Factors is a discipline of study that deals with human-machine interface. Human Factors deals with the psychological, social, physical, biological and safety characteristics of a user and the system the user is in.  It is sometimes used synonymously with ergonomics.  Yawn.  This doesn't apply to a discussion on friendship.  And it is nowhere near what I thought it meant, but it is definitely possible that Andrew Bird had just that in mind.  He's that strange -- and cerebral ... but I don't really think so.

I thought I'd look again ... and stumbled upon an obscure website called "International Institute for Human Factor Development."  Their definition is a possible basis for that whole song.

Defining the Human Factor - The Human factor is the spectrum of personality characteristics and the other dimensions of human performance that enable social, economic and political institutions to function and remain functional over time. Such dimensions sustain the workings and application of the rule of law, political harmony, disciplined labor force, just legal systems, respect for human dignity and the sanctity of life, and social welfare, and so on. As is often the case, no social, economic or political institutions can function effectively without being upheld by a network of committed persons who stand firmly by them. Such persons must strongly believe in and continually affirm the ideals of society.

I think that FRIENDSHIP is what continually affirms the ideals of society!  Think about it.  To be in association with someone/anyone who may be one of the following:  someone to whom a person is attached to another by feelings of affection or personal regard – or one who gives assistance – a supporter.  Someone who is on good terms with another; a person who is not hostile (not a foe!) -- living in harmony with good rapport, respect and well-being.  Maybe a member of the same nation, party or society.  A comrade, confidant, advocate, ally, associate, confrere, compatriot.  WOW.  I wonder how more peacefully we might co-exist if we could establish these kinds of relationships with everyone! 

But, starting more locally – more intimately, how about just our personal circles.  These definitions don’t mention love, but if we toss that in -- brotherly love, unconditional love and even romantic love -- a virtue representing human kindness, compassion, and affection — the unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for the good of another.  As well as, compassionate and affectionate actions towards other humans -- and patience, kindness, lack of envy, boasting or pride – honoring others – not greedy or easily angered or holding grudges (FORGIVENESS), delighting in truth rather than evil – and protecting, trusting, hoping and persevering.  That’s the kind of friendship that is a big deal – is important – can make a difference.  It is intentional.  How do you accomplish it?

LOVE IN ACTION. 

I think the ideal friendship is one which includes a personal presence -- being in relationship with another in close, physical proximity:  Getting together.  It is difficult to show affection without being able to touch.  It is challenging to show true understanding without being able to see each others' expressions.  It's affirming to be able to see, touch and smell that this person with whom you have a certain rapport is happy and well.  And this takes a certain level of disciple -- the attending to a friendship -- the getting together.  It's like working out.  You have to value it and you have to MAKE TIME in your life to do it.  If you have a lot of friends, it can mean a little juggling, but friendship is a big deal.  Our lives are less vibrant -- less meaningful -- without it.

You certainly can maintain friendships over long distances.  Email, text messaging, facebook, snapchats and red telephones are really great tools in helping us to take care of those friendships.  Sometimes, they can be more rewarding than our day to day friendships because they require more intentionality -- action fed by emotional energy (love).  Some of my long distance friendships are my most precious and enduring ones.  Go figure.  (You have to really want or need to stay friends to make this happen.)

My return from exile would not be possible without my beloved friends.  I want to take this opportunity to thank each of you who has placed my soul, my heart, my mind, my gifts -- my entire being -- on your "short list" -- through your love in action -- with your hand on the red phone.  You know who you are.

What the heck is love, anyway?

There are so many nuances of love, aren't there?  It can get a little maddening trying to figure out which kind of love you should apply to any given situation.  And yet, still, I choose to simplify it.  All that I do, I hope I do, in love.  What does that even mean?

If you live a religious kind of life, you probably know there are three "main" kinds of love:  philos (brotherly), eros (romantic) and agape (unconditional).  I think, for the most part, that the agape love serves as an umbrella for "love in action."  The kind of love that you can show to a family member, a friend, a lover ... a stranger and, yes, an enemy.  But it is most definitely subjective!  If someone acts in a way that they believe to be loving, the receiver can still perceive it as otherwise.  This is where the "agape" attribute really has to kick-in.  The receiver has to understand the heart of the lov-er.  Can you go through life explaining that everything you do and everything you say is from a point of agape love?  Maybe, but how exhausting!

I work in a church and spend a good bit of my life and time within and among my faith community -- my church family.  Agape love "should" be an assumption within the life of the church, right?  Right.  But who decides what is loving and what is not? 

We choose our friends based on mutual value systems and interests, mutual life situations, proximity of our homes, and, yes, how much fun we have together!  But ultimately we chose our friends based on whether or not we believe that they are kind and loving, as well as whether or not we can extend that kindness and love to them, don't you think? Whether or not we can trust them with our hearts and if we are going to be trustworthy with theirs?  If that is the case, then why do we question each others' motives sometimes?  Did we misunderstand their true spirit?  Did they overestimate our capacity to love?  Should we maintain these friendships?  Does love have anything to do with it at all?

I have a lot of friends.  Some I see frequently -- for whatever reason, I am able to spend time with them every week -- or sometimes even every couple of days.  Some friends I see less frequently -- every several weeks and some even every several months.  Why do we remain friends?  LOVE.  These are saints who have shown me their unmistakable loving spirits, as diverse as they may be, and I offer mine to them.  I never question that love is the foundation for all they say and do, at least as it pertains to me and our relationship.  I've had other friends for which I was not assured of the same and they were friends "for a season," but not for the long-run.  I bet you have similar relationships.

I love the writings of John Ortberg, an author, speaker and senior pastor at a Presbyterian Church in California.  Recently one of his facebook posts popped into my newsfeed.  It read:  "Say hard things TO people, but don't say bad things ABOUT people.  This would revolutionize politics, church and the blogosphere."  He's right!  It reminded me of something I used to say to my kids as they headed out to school -- out into the world.  I told them (probably ad nauseam) that they certainly did not have to spend time with kids who were unkind to them, but that they could not be unkind.  Ortberg takes this a step further -- an adult step -- incorporating a Biblical, yet very common-sensical directive to "hold your brother accountable" (admittedly subjective).  That is, to say hard things to people.  I would add:  IN LOVE.  But, again, who decides what is loving?

Have you ever felt like you have endured a refining fire?  It's an Old Testament kind of idea -- a concept of being purified.  Ideally, if we undergo such a refining, then wouldn't our intentions be pure?  of love?  John Piper, a Calvinist Baptist theologian (yeh, I thought that was somewhat oxymoronic myself ... but that's okay!) wrote of God's refining fire: 

A refiner's fire does not destroy indiscriminately like a forest fire. A refiner's fire does not consume completely like the fire of an incinerator. A refiner's fire refines. It purifies. It melts down the bar of silver or gold, separates out the impurities that ruin its value, burns them up, and leaves the silver and gold intact. He is like a refiner's fire.

It does say FIRE. And therefore purity and holiness will always be a dreadful thing. There will always be a proper "fear and trembling" in the process of becoming pure. We learn it from the time we are little children: never play with fire! And it's a good lesson! Therefore, Christianity is never a play thing. And the passion for purity is never flippant. He is like fire and fire is serious. You don't fool around with it.

But it does say, he is like a REFINER'S fire. And therefore this is not merely a word of warning, but a tremendous word of hope. The furnace of affliction in the family of God is always for refinement, never for destruction.

Yes, it's a little harsh -- pretty evangelical, even for me, but I love the part about hope:  Hope -- if we've been refined, even a little bit -- that our intentions have a purity -- a holiness -- about them.  That our LOVE is cradled by the same purity and holiness.  Yay!

But what does Jesus say about love?  Well, a whole lot, of course.  First of all, Jesus personified love -- he was "love incarnate."  We can't really do that because we aren't God.  Okay ... So the big commandment in John 13:34 is a little vague!  Love one another as I have loved you.  (Leave everything behind and follow me, even though you might starve, be naked, wear out your sandals, be run out of town and persecuted.  Yikes.)  In chapter 15 He goes on to say that as the Father loved Him, so He has loved us!!  Wow -- if you use the transitive property or syllogism, that's big.  We are to love each other like God loves.  That even further complicates it, does it not?  How big is God's love?  Bigger than the boogie man, according to Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber.  Still, how is love defined for we Christians? 

Thankfully, we have the two great commandments.  When the Pharisees tried to gang up on Jesus and trick him, asking him what the greatest commandment in "the Law" was, Jesus replied: “ 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’  This is the first and greatest commandment.  And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’  All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”  Matthew 22:37-40

What does it mean to love your neighbor "as yourself"?  I've heard two variances.  One is simply to love your neighbor in the same way you love yourself.  Ugh.  How do you love yourself?  Do you help yourself to a new car every two years?  Go golfing every week?  Dine-out frequently?  How do you translate that self-love to neighbor love?  Are you then called to be as generous or as indulgent with your neighbor as you are with yourself?  Maybe ... or what if it means that we are supposed to love our neighbor(s) at the same time as we love ourselves?  That means something a little different.  It means that it is okay to love ourselves! but we also need to love others.  I like this one.  It is deeper -- more profound.  You may disagree.

Are we painfully honest with ourselves when we stray from the path that God would have us follow (a gentler explanation of sin that I really like)?  Do we stop and examine our behavior and check our compass and redirect?  Can and should we do that for our neighbor(s)?  Is that loving?  Or is that judging?  How can we figure that out?

I like another concept shared by Ortberg, teaching about how we can tell if God is speaking to us or if it's some other voice.  He suggests that we ask ourselves if the "voice" is leading us in a direction toward life ... or in a direction of death.  I think that this is a good litmus test -- even with difficult stuff.  "Say hard things TO people, but don't say bad things ABOUT people."  But what if you're the one to whom someone is saying those hard things?  How can you "hear" them IN LOVE? 

Ortberg wrote of that, too, in his book, God Is Closer Than You Think.  Because he is not only a pastor in a very large church, but also a very well-read author, he is quite vulnerable to criticism.  He  wrote about a time when he was admonished by a stranger following a speaking engagement.  The admonisher pointed out a flaw to the pastor -- nothing "scandalous," but something that Ortberg found to be very embarrassing.  It was hurtful -- cutting -- because it was humiliating to him in that it pointed out "old junk" that he had wrestled with for years -- his Achilles heel.  He began to ponder about how many others also saw this flaw in him and he began to "spiral down into discouragement, paralysis, and self-pity."  It was like death to him.  He stopped the spiral by praying -- asking God to help him guide his thoughts.  (If only we could always remember to do that!)  What happened next is the point.  He began to think that it was exactly what he needed to hear if he wasn't going to get stuck -- that the words could help him grow -- that they identified a concrete piece of behavior that could be changed.  He then went on to consider whether he should want people to think he was better than he was! and, finally, that God loved him anyway and that's what grace is for.  Refined by "fire"?  Was the admonisher speaking out of love?  Let's hope so ... but regardless, Ortberg decided to take it that way.  <sigh>  I want to be like that.  I have an Achilles heel or two that I wrestle with over and over again.  Do you?  Do you want to be loved anyway -- to be given the benefit of the doubt by those who love you -- and give that benefit to those whom you love?  I bet you do.

So what is love?  A simple definition, which I always appreciate, states simply that love can refer to a variety of different feelings, states, and attitudes that ranges from interpersonal affection ("I love my mother") to pleasure ("I loved that meal").  It can refer to an emotion of a strong attraction and personal attachment.  It can also be a virtue representing human kindness, compassion, and affection—"the unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for the good of another".  As well, it may describe compassionate and affectionate actions towards other humans, one's self or animals.

So, if your words and actions are undergirded by affection, attachment, kindness, compassion, unselfishness, loyalty, benevolence, concern -- you're doing pretty well in the love department.

Still, I always refer to the teachings -- the preachings -- of an unexpectedly humble man named Paul (formerly Saul of Tarsus -- persecutor of Christians before his personal Road to Damascus) -- as written with great encouragement to first century Corinthians: 

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Love never fails.  (I Corinthians 13:4-8a)

And, to reiterate... And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.  (I Corinthians 13:13) 

No kidding. 

I made pancakes this morning.

Is that a "lighter" title?  I've heard that my recent posts have been a little "dark." 

... My first several pancakes were too dark.  I've been having a perpetual pancake dilemma. 

I used to make pancakes just about every Saturday morning.  I'm not talking Bisquick or Aunt Jemima ... I'm talking SCRATCH PANCAKES.  My own recipe, in fact.  If David was home for the weekend (rarely) I'd make waffles, using my mother's antique waffle iron -- and my own scratch recipe :-)  (You have to leave time for mixing the batter for these recipes -- there's more to it than adding a little milk and an egg.) 

Anyway ... I didn't make pancakes much when I was in exile.  In fact, maybe once?  twice?  and waffles a couple times?  It wasn't joyful anymore -- it was work.  I did it for my children.  They're worth it, though my son eats maybe two, three pancakes.  For some reason, he doesn't really like pancakes.  (?????)

One Saturday, a few weeks before they were to go back to college and a nephew was visiting, I decided to wake them with a homemade pancake breakfast.  I got up, got the batter mixed, and heated the griddle. 

I don't have a regular range -- I have a "Barbie" wall oven (too narrow) and a stove top.  I would have changed this scenario many years ago had it not been for the griddle on my stove top.  I love it.  I'm a terrible pancake flipper.  I can never get the heat settings quite right.  It takes me four or five batches to get everything right, but this griddle really helped me succeed. 

Suddenly, out of the blue, the dang thing wouldn't heat.  <snort> This was particularly troubling because I had already lost one burner on the stove and just the week before realized that the lower element in the top oven wasn't heating (the lower oven hadn't been working for a few years!)   I was not ready to buy a new stove.  I was not ready to replace the ovens.  What I really wanted to do was get a real range with a regular-sized oven and put a pantry where the ovens are -- but I was not in a financial position to do that yet!  I was not really on speaking terms with a possible contractor -- and was working to get the house painted.  (One big project at a time, please!)

I had to pull out the old cast iron skillet and hope for the best.  Remember, I was down to three burners! so I had to situate the skillet on the back burner and reach across.  I had no idea what heat setting would be right.  (I knew what heat setting to use for the griddle!)  This skillet is pretty well-seasoned, but I had no idea if the pancakes would stick, burn, or whatever.  I guess, ultimately, they turned out okay.  I don't recall a pancake disaster, but I'm sure the first couple batches were less than perfectly round, golden brown and evenly cooked.  Like this morning ...

Exile or no exile, I cook.  I cook for one and I cook good stuff.  Today, for example, I soaked three kinds of beans and made three quarts of delicious tri-bean stew with kielbasa.  Yum.  Think smoked stock, fresh onion, garlic, celery, carrot, tomato, sweet potato, cilantro and parsley served over tri-color quinoa.  (This was in lieu of cleaning the guest room for visiting college girls.)  Yesterday I made 6 quarts of Harvest Goodness Stew -- I am taking some for the church Soup Cook-Off tomorrow.  It took me ALL afternoon to create that stew and do all the dishes!  When I was down to one 8" burner, it was really a handicap!

I discovered that the oven wasn't heating properly when I was baking Snickerdoodles for another church thing -- and to send to my kiddos at school.  It took over a half hour to heat the oven!  Somehow, I am not sure how, I managed to get the cookies to come out ok.  They should not have!  Only the top element was heating the oven and it was no fun.  I reguarly use my oven to roast and broil fish, vegetables and meats and to bake breads and cookies -- I really needed my oven to work properly!!  I was panicked!  What was I going to do?!  It would be hundreds -- thousands? of dollars to replace the oven and a whole lot more effort to do it the way I wanted to. 

Somehow it occurred to me that I might be able to replace the stupid heating element in the oven.  Now I had been considering purchasing a new burner for the stove for a while -- but it was going to cost me about $80 + shipping and I wasn't even certain it would solve the problem ... but now with the oven, I had to figure something out.  I retrieved the user manual for the oven to get the model number and a web search led me to a great little site that not only sold the requisite oven element, but had a little video showing me how to do it!  I am a bit of a handyman, but electricity freaks me out and I had already shocked myself once when trying to repair the oven light switch (Yeh, I know -- dumb.  Even though I was on the phone with a sister insisting that I flip the circuit breaker, I didn't.  Zap.  Lesson learned.)

So I ordered the oven element.  It was under $40!  I knew it would cost upwards of $200 to get the Maytag repairman to even come out to LOOK at my oven -- and who knew when he'd come! (The year before it was going to be ten days before a refrigerator repairman could come look at my 'fridge.  I freaking fixed it myself, with the final assistance of my good neighbor.)  While I was at it, I ordered the stove burner element, too -- it was half the price that GE wanted!  So I waited for my package to arrive.

Long story short, I fixed my oven.  I had to brave the fear of electrocution, work with wiring, faced one fail -- but ultimately, succeeded in repairing my oven -- and the stove burner worked, too!  But the griddle parts were unavailable ...

So ... this morning ... I pulled out the iron skillet again (I don't really use non-stick pans).  I placed it on my new burner! and heated it up until a finger-flick of water danced.  I oiled the skillet and ladled-out three pancakes.  Oh freak.  The skillet was too hot and they were nearly black!  (So, once again, my blog entry is "dark."  ;-)  I turned down the heat -- ultimately a little too far, as a couple batches were blonde, rather than golden brown, and more eliptical than round -- but, alas, as always that last batch was perfect:  golden brown, perfectly round, flipped expertly.  Since I only ate three of them, I now have a Ziploc of frozen pancakes of miscellaneous shapes and done-ness.  <sigh>

As I stood at the stove, observing the progress of the multi-faceted flapjacks, I remembered my mother standing at the stove doing the same thing in a similar skillet.  Again, I pondered who has her skillet! because it is not I.  David and I purchased and seasoned my skillet the first year of our marriage.  Where is her skillet!?  Anyway, I pictured her using the corner of her cake turner to pop the little bubbles that formed while the pancakes were baking and wondered if she did that because she watched her mother do that and realized that I do that!  I wonder if my daughter will do that.  I also remembered that she made "silver dollar" pancakes.  I wondered if she made those because it was easier to make four at a time in that sized skillet (I will use my larger one next time -- more space to get in there to do the flipping!)  And, again, the heaviness of my losses pressed down on me in that moment.  I flipped my cakes and snapped out of it.

The point here is that I made pancakes.  I made pancakes for ONE -- for ME.  Two steps up ... even with all the frustration.  I hung in there and had an indulgent Saturday ... lunch.  (By the time I had figured all of this out, it was after noon.  Ugh.)  Still!  A little victory.  And I have some frozen pancakes that can easily be tossed in the toaster or microwave when the college students visit next weekend.  I know that's not as Mama B as usual, but it will have to do.  I've got other stuff going on these days!  <smooch>

Gaudete

Yes ... Latin again.  Once I get something in my head, I can't shake it.  I ended my last post talking about joy.  I had been working with Latin words for life and spirit ... and death ... but closed with a nod to joy.  Oh, Joy -- you elusive thing, you! 

As a vocalist, I've sung the "Masses" in Latin -- which are sometimes a little sorrowful, usually reverent and worshipful -- and always beautiful and moving ... but I have also sung the Gaudete, a typical medieval song of praise, and it is wonderful.  "Gaudete" is a verb, I think, rather than a noun.  It means REJOICE.   Basically, it is a sacred Christmas Carol.  I suppose I've happened upon the root of true joy ... the Nativity of the Lord, Jesus. 

I don't want to get all preachy here.  You know I'm not preachy.  But I can't not write about this.  I really wish I had had an opportunity to study Latin.  My high school didn't even offer it.  My father was bereft!  I will always remember him regularly conjugating Latin words for fun! sitting there experiencing a good bit of awe, but also probably exhibiting a little slack-jawed "huh?" due to my less than stellar education.  (Both of my kids took Latin in High School.  I was grateful that I didn't even have to press them to study it!  Silent Coups!)  Anyway ... the Gaudete:

Gaudete, Gaudete! Christus et natus Ex maria virgine, Gaudete!	Rejoice, Rejoice! Christ is born Of the virgin Mary, Rejoice!
Tempus ad est gratiae, Hoc quod optabamus; Carmina laetitiae, Devote redamus.	It is now the time of grace That we have desired; Let us sing songs of joy, Let us give devotion.
Deus homo factus est, Natura mirante; Mundus renovatus est A Christo regnante.	God was made man, And nature marvels; The world was renewed By Christ who is King.
Ezechiellis porta Clausa pertransitur; Unde lux est orta Salus invenitur.	The closed gate of Ezechiel Has been passed through; From where the light rises Salvation is found.
Ergo nostra cantio, Psallat iam in lustro; Benedicat Domino: Salus Regi nostro.	Therefore let our assembly now sing, Sing the Psalms to purify us; Let it praise the Lord: Greetings to our King.

This is where my true joy is supposed to be found ... as a Christian.  And it is!  Really! 

 

It's just a little difficult to translate this to my everyday life.  My life that doesn't have the heavenly host singing Alleluias every day (or are they?) or the blazing, blatant star that I'm supposed to follow (or is it there?)  Oh dang.  I'm backing myself into a corner.

What I really want to talk about is joy.  I've spent over half of my life believing that "joy" takes precendence over "happiness."  Now I'm not so sure.  About the precedence part.  I think they are two very different things and that one can exist without the other, but that experiencing -- no, embracing, both in your life is really good.  More than embracing.  I can reach out and try to convince myself that I'm experiencing joy or happiness, but that takes a whole lot of psychic energy.  If it's true, it shouldn't be work, right?  I'm just not knowing much of either one of them right now and I find that to be excruciating.

A quick web search on happiness resulted in this troubling definition:  a mental or emotional state of well-being characterized by positive or pleasant emotions ranging from contentment to intense joy. 

The same process for joy yielded:  a feeling of great pleasure and happiness. 

I'm in trouble.

To be more comprehensive about joy, synonyms included:  delight, jubilation, triumph, exultation, rejoicing, glee, gladness, exhilaration, exuberance, elation, euphoria, bliss, ecstasy, rapture.

Needless to say, I'm not experiencing much, if any, of this stuff.  What to do ...

I do know one thing:  Happiness is not one of the "Fruits of the Spirit," but Joy (Latin: gaudium; Greek:  chara) is.

The Greek word for 'joy' is Kevo, derived from the word charis, which is the Greek word for 'grace.'  Chara is produced by the charis of God. This means 'joy' is not a human-based happiness that comes and goes but, rather, true 'joy' is divine in its origin. It is a Spirit-given expression that flourishes best in hard times.

Flourishes best in hard times!!  Such is my luck!  Good grief.  For months now I've been trying to convince myself that simple happiness is okay!  Let's find some.  Go for it.  And every time I really look into it, I hit the joy wall.  ugh.

So where do I go from here?  My daughter spoke about it in her Senior Chapel presentation.  She spoke of being impatient and not listening -- then being still and trying to hear -- waiting better.  And she spoke of Joy.  Her father would have been so pleased.  She read Gibran and truly related her own sorrow and suffering to revealed joy.  I pray she really finds it, for I know it's lurking here and there ... ready to explode on her.  And I want it to!  I'll move back into the shadows of waiting as long as I must to ensure that my kids get their measure of joy -- of happiness.  Show it to me!

On Joy and Sorrow Kahlil Gibran

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.
And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.
And how else can it be?
The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter's oven?
And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, "Joy is greater thar sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits, alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

Kamilah, Kahlil's mother. Painting by Kahlil Gibran


Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

Now to translate that into my everyday life ... as I return (albeit slowly) from this exile of mine ...

Obitus ... or how about a little Vita ... or, better yet, Spiritus

Death.  Obitus is Latin for "death."  I know a lot about death.

I've had my hand in the creation of three  -- four? -- NO!  FIVE obituaries in my short life.  The crafting of an obituary is no small feat.  It is not to be taken lightly (at least in my mind).  It is the last thing "sung" about the person who has died.  It is so very important!  It is so crucial!  And yet, so many formal "obituaries" are lack-luster.  They provide the facts -- the data -- the details -- but so seldomly do they really paint the portrait of the one who has died.  That is, in my humble opinion, the purpose of an obituary ... a GOOD obituary:  To paint a perfect, beautiful, poignant, honest portrait of the beloved who has died.

The basic definition of an "obituary" is a "biographical sketch" or a "record of death" of someone who has lived -- and, subsequently, died.  Ugh.  How limited is that!?  And yet! that is how the majority of obituaries read.  Believe me.  I know.  I used to be a chronic reader of the obituaries.  Every now and then I would rejoice!  A write-up would beautifully portray the value that one's life held in this world -- at least to the portrait-master of the obitus.  Thank you!  Thank you for letting us know how and why this soul died!  Thank you for telling me about how they realized joy -- in the earth (gardening) or in their pets (give to the ASPCA) or in service to their church or the community.  Thank you for letting me know that their untimely death was because of an accident, not a terrible illness -- or because of tragic sorrow.  Thank you for letting me know that they were deeply loved by their children, their grandchildren and by their friends -- by their weekly bridge club!  Thank you for drawing a picture of their life's work in a way that colored them with deep hues and depth, rather than presenting them as sterile -- unremarkable -- all business -- meaningless? 

I suppose I might have ruffled a bunch of feathers there.  I certainly do not intend to offend or hurt or knock anyone off balance ...

I have shared with a few close loved-ones my personal "litmus test."  (Sorry.  I know that's sort of lame, but it does have some meaning ... "a crucial and revealing test in which there is one decisive factor.")  Of course I don't always live up to it!  If I did, then I'd already be in Heaven, rather than trying to do my part in exhibiting God's Kingdom while I'm still trudging around here on earth.  I have told my kids, my sisters, my close friends ... that if nothing else, I truly hope that what they remember about me is that "all she did was done in love."  I don't know if I'll ever live up to that, but it is my goal -- my "litmus test."  I seriously stop in my tracks in certain situations where I might react rather than respond ... and ask the question.  Are you doing this/saying this/whaterver'ing this in love?  Uh huh.  Stops me in my tracks.  Many times I simply fail to ask the question, so sometimes find myself apologizing.  I think that apologizing is done in love.  Redeemed.  I hope!   <sigh>

I don't get the newspaper anymore, so I've had to give up my habit of reading the obituaries.  It has probably been a healthy hiatus, but I sort of miss it.  Sometimes a simple web search results in an obituary link.  As I was reading the brief summaries that showed up on a recent search result, I felt drawn to click on just such a link a few days ago.  It was an obituary for a young woman; she was younger than David when she died.  The few words I could read on the summary included the phrase "... was lovingly cared for by ..."  I wanted to read about who that special person was who had cared for her throughout her illness.  I was crestfallen when I read the actual text.  She was "... lovingly cared for by the hospital staff!"  Don't get me wrong.  I thanked doctors and hospice care people, for sure, in David's obituary -- they were vital to us throughout his illness and the last few weeks of his life.  ... Okay, so I continued reading.  It went on to tell us about her education (impressive) and her job (she was a bunch of peoples' boss).  Then her close and extended family members were named.  They held a memorial service at some church (her church?  dunno).  I felt myself wanting to know more.  What did she believe?  Who loved her?  What were her passions?  Did she paint?  Sing?  Volunteer at a food kitchen?  Did she garden?  Why was her life special?  There had to be more than she had numerous degrees and a fancy job.

I was trying to explain this to a friend on a walk the other day.  We got off on a tangent, which was fine, because I wasn't sure I felt like exploring this any more deeply.  It really made me feel sad -- disappointed.  But we came full circle and my friend went on to say that in writing your own obituary, you can provide that "litmus test" for your life.  She is right!  I've often thought I should write my obituary way before I die because, honestly, how can my kids possibly know enough about me to be thorough!?  (More importantly, I don't want them to struggle with the task.  It is a really difficult thing to do.)  But writing your pre-obitus obituary can serve as a syllabus, of sorts, outlining the narrative and outcome of your living. It really can help you to know what that plan looks like in order to better live it, right?  You might as well ponder it (this includes prayer and learning and relationship and worship and service and fun) -- strive for it -- bring to fruition the masterpiece that is your life.  What would I write? 

One obit I read several years ago was about the life and death of a man in his 50's -- young -- like my father.  I was reading along and when I read that he liked to play Bingo and enjoyed bear huntin', I sort of laughed and thought, "Wow, that's deep."  But you know what?  The writer of the record of that man's life and death KNEW him and cared enough about him to go ahead and tell the world that he freaking liked to play Bingo (probably had a lot of friends there and engaged in super fellowship!) and he enjoyed the sport of hunting bear -- again, probably with a father or son or brother or friend -- someone who knew him well enough and cared enough to tell us about that. 

I don't mean to say that one's job is not important.  It is -- particularly if it is one's true vocation -- something they loved -- and if they made a difference -- and had meaningful relationships through their work.  But I want to know these things.  I want to know about the spirit of the person -- their ruah (Hebrew for breath or spirit) -- that they had vita (life, Latin) before their obitus -- that they had spiritus (spirit or "soft" breathing, Latin).  Soft breathing.  I love that.  Gentleness of Spirit.  Holy.

But there is still the sorrow with which to deal ... of which my daughter so wisely has spoken:  the joy, the gaudium that comes of sorrow, which brings about that gentleness -- that soft breathing.  We who have lost much, have much to give -- much love -- much soft breathing.  More on this soon ...

Return from What? Where?

It has been about 5 months since I have written. A few loyal readers have gently nudged me to start writing again -- so affirming! Thank you. It has been a long and weird five months. I probably won't go into much detail ...  Though, if you read my blog, you know I'll probably bare a lot more soul than you expect and you'll love me anyway, surprised that anyone could be so stupid as to tell such truths! Hmm.

I don't want to write. I don't want to do much of anything. I am seriously in a slump. I do cook -- and I cook good stuff! I may be lazy and unmotivated, but tasty food is very important. As winter approaches, I'm back to conjuring-up my miscellaneous soups and stews -- sauces and grains -- and have a few quarts of deliciousness in the freezer, just waiting for thawing day. Tonight ... probably a flash sauté of broccoli, zucchini and kale -- incomplete without the onion and garlic. To quote a good friend (and a slow and dirty cook, rather than a quick and dirty cook) "The chopping is therapeutic." Now I'm hungry.

"Return from Exile" ... a sequel to "Reluctantly Uncleaving," I guess.   (http://reluctantlyuncleaving.blogspot.com/2012/09/its-all-so-new.html)  Why the title? I've been contemplating a continuation for a while. My first idea for a name was "Returning from Sabbath" or "Return from Sabbatical." But when I really considered the meaning of Sabbath and Sabbatical, it just wasn't right. Taking a sabbatical or recognizing a Sabbath is VOLUNTARY. What I have been experiencing was definitely not my choice! In contemplating these ideas with the slow and dirty cook, the word "exile" was catapulted into my consciousness by that pesky Holy Spirit. Exile ...

ex·ile  /ˈɛgzaɪl, ˈɛksaɪl/ Show Spelled [eg-zahyl, ek-sahyl] noun   1. expulsion from one's native land by authoritative decree; 2. the fact or state of such expulsion: to live in exile; 3. a person banished from his or her native land; 4. prolonged separation from one's country or home, as by force of circumstance.

 

So ... if one's "native land" (home) happens to be their marriage, then the death of my husband basically expelled me.  And prolonged is forever, right?  Ugh.

 

As I struggle with this phase of my "grief journey," <gag> I do try to snap out of it from time to time.  I'm scoffing at myself as I write this.  Physically making that quasi-snorting sound and rolling my eyes.  All my attempts have been so stinking futile.  I'll tell you about one of them. 

 

"Bewildered but Not Lost" was the name of a keynote address at an event called "Seminary for a Day," held at Union Presbyterian Seminary in Richmond a couple weekends ago.  (I think it's fair to say that another sweet friend felt quite smug that I attended in that she's been "telling" me to go to seminary for a long time now.)  I didn't "go" to seminary, but did enjoy the day.  Anyway, "Bewildered but Not Lost" was a presentation regarding the greater church, but I identified with it personally on some levels.  I know I'm not lost.  Too many people are watching over me/watching out for me -- loving me, praying for me, spending time with me ... but bewildered is a really great word.  I wish I could remember to use it more frequently.  It's such a simple, straightforward, basic word!

 

be·wil·dered  /bɪˈwɪldərd/ Show Spelled [bih-wil-derd] adjective  completely puzzled or confused; perplexed.

 

This is how I feel about many people and many situations in my life.  Completely puzzled, confused -- perplexed.  How did I land here?  Almost 50 and alone.  In a house that badly needs to be painted.  Sad.  Unmotivated.  Yet loved and blessed.  And seemingly continuously shaking my head at the words, choices and actions of so many people.  Are they, too, bewildered?  or are they truly lost!?  I mean, seriously ... who would chose to be mean or bitter or isolated when they could be loved, be kind and be in someone else's midst?

 

Anyway, I digress a little, but it was worth it.  Exile.

 

The keynote speaker likened today's Christians to Jewish exiles of the Old Testament, as interpreted by Walter Brueggemann (American Protestant Old Testament scholar and theologian) -- "The exiled Jews of the OT were of course geographically displaced. More than that, however, the exiles experienced a loss of the structured, reliable world which gave them meaning and coherence, and they found themselves in a context where their most treasured and trusted symbols of faith were mocked, trivialized, or dismissed. Exile is not primarily geographical, but it is social, moral and cultural." 

 

This statement took me aback.  It slapped me in the face in yet another one of those unexpected affirmations -- this time of the choice of "exile" as basis for this continuation of my blog.  Though I have not [yet] been thrust into a Bailey "Diaspora," I do feel displaced:  emotionally, spiritually, mentally -- and, yeh, somewhat physically.  Very physically, if you please.  I lost the structure of my reliable world -- the world of being part of a marriage -- of a household -- which certainly gave my life great meaning and coherence.  Gone.  Poof.  And, actually, my children have been sort of "scattered!"  I wouldn't go as far as to say that my most treasured and trusted symbols of faith have been mocked, trivialized or dismissed ... but ... I have been displaced socially and culturally (the moral part would be defined by my own choices, I think). 

 

So just how does one RETURN from such a place?  Good question.  Do you have any suggestions?  I mean, I've dabbled in this and that.  I make myself get up, get dressed, go out, be amongst people even when I don't have to.  I do my dishes.  I stay current with my social media and try to be pertinent and sometimes even a little funny.  I definitely stay in tune with my kids -- I have mailed cookies and Halloween goodies to the college, as I often do.  I see friends.  I drove 150 miles all by myself to attend the Seminary for a Day, for Pete's sake!  I have even gone out on a few dates (ugh).  I have recently endured the excruciating process of weeding through contractors and estimates to have my house painted and the requisite landscaping work accomplished.  And I'm sitting here writing this entry.  But every single voice in my head is telling me to quit and go to bed.  This is a difficult, arduous return.  It  feels like it is only getting more and more challenging!  Is that a third year of the bereavement thing?  It should be getting better, right?  I've entered my fourth year.  But, goodness, would making such an assumption be "mocking, trivializing or dismissing" my exile?  I wonder ...

 

I read a book entitled, "Get Out of that Pit -- Straight Talk about God's Deliverance," by Beth Moore, an American evangelist, author, and Bible teacher.  Boy did I relate to her "pit."  I read this book YEARS AGO.  Way back when we were fighting brain cancer and David was travelling extensively -- I was in my pretty pit.  But I climbed out and was doing okay for a long time.

And then I was exiled again.

I have truly found a home here, in my pit -- all comfy and cozy with a soft sofa (or bed), a nice TV and DVD player (Roku) -- slippers, comfort food, phone (with texting and facebook), gentle lighting and the heavy breathing of my devoted dog.  I have moved back in.  I am solidly back in exile, but this time I voluntarily descended that ladder.  I thought I had climbed out -- little by little these last couple years.  (Remember, if you will, the spread wings and taking steps off into whatever of one of my last entries in "Reluctantly Uncleaving.")  But I guess I never really made it all the way out with my hair blowing in the winds of recovery.  I thought I had found liberation sometime over the last couple years, but I was wrong -- or fooled -- or delayed.  One step up, two steps back ... down the ladder into my comfy, cozy pit that I have decked-out with pretty curtains and soft pillows.  I'm a little embarrassed.  And I know ...

I have to do it all over again:  Climb on back out ... rung by rung.  I have another freaking journey to make.  To return from exile, whether it be by force or voluntarily.

 

So, will you join me on this new leg of my journey?  It might get tiresome!  I know it is for me!  Thank you, Beloved, for walking beside me.  I really need some good company!