I'm chuckling -- noticing the double entendre of the title of this post. HELP! That seems to be my every day mantra. Oh well.
According to the wonderful Wikipedia, May Day is related to the Celtic festival of Beltane and the Germanic festival of Walpurgis Night. May Day falls half a year from November 1 – another cross-quarter day which is also associated with various northern European paganisms and the year in the Northern Hemisphere – and it has traditionally been an occasion for popular and often raucous celebrations.
This is particularly intriguing because I am Scottish and German :-) I particularly like the reference to "raucous celebrations," though I am mostly rather 'reserved' in my celebration. I still LIKE the possibility of being raucous ...
Of course, the other concept of 'mayday' is that of "an emergency procedure word used internationally as a distress signal in voice procedure radio communications. It may derive from the French expression "venez m'aider", meaning "come help me", the last two syllables of which sound similar to "Mayday". Alternatively, it may have been coined randomly, making the similarity to "m'aidez" coincidental. It is used to signal a life-threatening emergency primarily by mariners and aviators, but in some countries local organisations such as police forces, firefighters, and transportation organizations also use the term. The call is always given three times in a row ("Mayday Mayday Mayday") to prevent mistaking it for some similar-sounding phrase under noisy conditions, and to distinguish an actual Mayday call from a message about a Mayday call." (Wikipedia.org)
Distress. Yeh, I have known distress. I have called out for help. Remember the prayer of my sweet friend who also lost her husband to a long and ugly illness: "Help me. Help me. Help me." Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Sometimes we don't think that our pleas for help -- our simple prayers -- are answered ... well, at least not in the way we hoped.
May is always a big month. College seniors graduate; high school seniors prepare for finals and make choices for college or other life direction ... tulips bloom and tease; gardens get planted, anticipating the last hard freeze. Mother's Day comes and goes, as does the anniversary of my own mother's death. (This year, it falls firmly on Mother's Day. She will have died THIRTY years ago. Yeh. What do I do with that??) Memorial Day rears its (ugly? or reverent?) head near the end of the month, marking the death of my sister's husband, usually yipping the haunches of her birthday (never a happy month for her, ultimately). But this year, I am determined to be joyful, dang it.
My beloved daughter is graduating from college this month -- in just a couple short weeks. Thank goodness she is a very easy-going, "chill" young woman. She doesn't have high expectations of big celebratory events! (Thank you.) She does want to be embraced by those who love her, though. This is lovely. She has accomplished wonderful things in her four brief years of college. She travelled a good 325 miles away from her dying father to begin her college career. She needed to do that. She should have done that. She did that with grace and sorrow and ... my love and encouragement. She made the Dean's List that semester -- and every semester. She is remarkable. My daughter. Our daughter. Our beloved.
She didn't do all of this alone. She had the loving support of two wonderful aunties and two grandparents within a hop, skip or a jump of her. How else could I have allowed her to go so far away? She had the support of the congregation who baptized her; the college where she spent every summer coming to an intrinsic understanding of Jesus' Great Commission (the mission field). She had the loving support of many saints who loved her ahead of her comings and goings. That is a beautiful thing. And she has been blessed by the loving education of her professors and administrators who know her by name -- and have encouraged and nurtured her these last four years. And she has always had the undying love and support of her soul mate, her beloved brother. I am so thankful for all of them.
However, again, she is on the cusp of travelling far from home -- far from me. David and I took her to Italy, where our family experienced Holy Week right where St. Peter and St. Mark established the church. A year later, I travelled with her to France. Since then, she has travelled to South Africa for a semester of study and to the Galilee, where she performed research for undergraduate studies and experienced just a bit of what her father and grandparents had before her. This summer she will return to the Middle East ... my little world traveler. Where will winter take her? I think I know...
Yet on this lovely spring evening in central Virginia -- having experienced a breezy, mild perfect spring day -- I ponder how far we have come. I remember the day my daughter was born -- a Palm Sunday 22 years ago -- so full of life and readiness that has never faltered. She made her debut with a curiosity and tenacity that has sustained her through her brief stint here in the Kingdom of Heaven thus far ... with either a crayon or a pen in her hand ... and I am excited to see where she will go. I'm also a little nervous and a wee bit scared because I know where she's headed right away -- but I do trust in God to return her both safely and further enlightened -- ready for her next adventure.
Nonetheless, as for me? Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Come help me!
Friday, May 2, 2014
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Boyfriends, Girlfriends and ... our Iniquities
Sunday ... the fifth Sunday in Lent. Renewal? Maybe not yet. Redemption? Yeh ... ongoing. What am I feeling today? What am I thinking today? Where am I today?
My children are young adults ... and they are both in love. That takes me back to when I was their age -- 20... 21 ... 22. I got married when I was 22. Oh my ... just a month shy of 23. Scare me.
David was 21. We were babies, at least in today's world. Not so much back in 1987. We knew we wanted to be together "forever." We wouldn't dare disrespect our parents or our Lord by living together! We got married. It was wonderful. True love and all that. A lost idea in today's world ... today's world. Ugh. What a disappointing world.
I've been enjoying getting to know the ... what do we call them these days?? Boyfriend/Girlfriend? Other halves? Hmmm. The lovely young adults with whom my children are currently involved. Ugh. That's a mouthful. But I have to protect the identities of the innocent. Ha. Innocent. I hope so ... nonetheless. No names! I have protected my own kids, so I have to protect the offspring of others -- those whom I have never even met. So, I'll call them my extended beloved. And I do love them. :-) Will you be a part of my life in the future? How far into my future? Gone are the days where forever is forever. Enter the days where "forever" is maybe. Kind of. Who knows? Whatever. I'm so sad about this.
And yet I have come to know and love these two beloved who have become constants in the lives of my children. I think they love me, too. With what wisdom or constancy can I embrace them? My home is your home. My God is your God. Will they accept that? Will they love, too? The dog is easy; our God may not be as easily understood.
It's Year A in the Lectionary. Today's Scripture ranges from the raising of Lazarus to the flesh vs. the spirit to the dry bones of Ezekiel. These are all really tough ideas -- what do I believe? What do they believe? What do we believe? We are a family -- I think -- perhaps -- maybe. Joshua 24:15b: '... but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.’ Get used to it.
In the not so distant past, I thought I sort of kind of had a "boyfriend." I never used that term. He used the term "girlfriend" once -- by accident. Then immediately altered the comment to "a girl who is a friend." Ha. I'm no girl. I am entirely woman. Thank you. But there was a hiccup -- a hesitation -- an unsurety. Of course there was. I still kind of sort of feel married! but I'm not. I'm widowed. So is he. He is also a broken person -- one who has known great sorrow -- and great loss. And a bunch of other junk. The junk made him dangerous -- a risk. Good grief. Literally -- grief. He got a pair of handmade socks, a great Bible and a favorite movie -- and some of my heart. His cat got in a few good scratches (I still have the scars) and a catnip toy. He thinks he's still in love with someone else. Aren't we all? David Bailey is no one with whom to be reckoned. I don't think he cares enough to be reading this anyway, so he'll never know. Ironically, it IS in his nature to care. I know this and that's why I gave him as much of my spirit and attention and affection as I did. But he's way behind. Who knows when he'll catch up. Most likely when it's too late. Okay ... where was I going with this?
I dabbled with online dating the other night. Okay ... let's take a moment to collect ourselves. Yes, I know. I can't believe it, either. Two beloved -- very close to me -- have encouraged me to do match.com or whatever. I've always eschewed them. I believed God had someone in mind for me -- would handle this -- ya da ya da ya da. I'm almost 50. For heaven's sake.
I did the whole thing -- the whole profile wizard, etc. etc. etc. -- and even the payment process. Then I totally freaked. I searched high and low for the avenue through which to cancel -- no such luck. I finally found a phone number on the west coast through which I could cancel. I cancelled. I emphatically told the lovely lady on the phone that their billing process was tricky and lacked integrity and I cancelled. Cancelled. Cancelled. She was sad. She commented on how much effort I had put into my profile. OMG. I wept and wept and wept. Is this really my life?
I hope my kids don't read this post. First of all, I don't want them to worry about me. More importantly, I don't want them to be as disappointed in this person for whom they have feelings as I am. I know he loves them. How does he manage this? How can I manage this? I prayed for him today. I can't wish any ill-will upon him. I care about him still. Jesus, help me.
But there's a greater purpose here -- a commentary on friendship -- on relationship. I've been contemplating relationship -- friendship -- lately. What comprises a relationship? A friendship? What do you think? I know what I think!
Does relationship require a certain degree of attention? of communication? If you've read any of my stuff, you know that I think that it DOES. Friendship requires attention, affection and communication. We say that certain people are our "friends," but isn't that really short-changing true friendship? Sure, some of my friends live far away. It is more challenging for us to regularly regard each other. Okay ... but "friends" who live in close proximity to me are people for whom I extend attention -- regard -- care. These are beloved for whom I constantly care. What is constant? Daily? Weekly? Monthly? YES. Any and all of the above. Sure, some are souls who are in my daily or weekly life. Then there are those with whom I spend a little less time -- monthly, perhaps. They don't attend my church, work with me, live near me, etc. But I love them and care about them. Then there are those who, perhaps, live outside of my weekly or even monthly life, but whom I care about a great deal. Of course there are those who live really far away, but for whom I have great affection.
What do we do with those who used to be within that "regular care" circle but who are no longer a part of that circle? Ok ... they're still friends, but distant friends. I have a few of those. Not all of those distant friends are because I wanted them to be "distant," but because they deemed us to be distant. That's life. Move on ...
So the question looms: Who do you love? Who are your true and lasting friends? To whom do you extend your time, attention, affection and grace?
Good question.
How full is your cup? Upon whom do you empty your cup? Who fills your cup? What is your cup?
Just when I think my cup has been "emptied" by a certain friend, she fills it. That's how I know she's a keeper. She's not the only one. There are a few. Most of them are women; not all. My son fills my cup from time to time. David filled my cup just when I thought I couldn't go on. My new pastor fills my cup unknowingly. A sister fills my cup daily. My daughter does, too. But a whole bunch of other people drain it. Some days I am truly running on empty. These are my darkest, lowest days. Those who fill my cup are truly blessed. I hope they know what a gift they are to not only me, but to others who are blessed by the filling of my cup. Does this mean anything to you? The cup?
Yesterday I didn't get dressed. My cup was decidedly empty. I got up. I had breakfast -- and lunch -- even dinner. But I did little else. I did some devotions -- I read a little in my Bible -- I was in touch with a friend, a sister, my kids -- but I wasn't fruitful. No, wait! I took my dog for a walk. I exercised. Got some fresh air. To me, this is a victory. What did you do yesterday? Mow your whole yard? Clean your entire house? Do your taxes? Something huge? When all I did was go for a walk and do the dishes and these were victories? See? Our realities are different. I used to be an achiever. A doer. Now if I get dressed, it is an accomplishment. How does that make you feel? I'm embarrassed.
But not really. I've been "down" here long enough to know that when I actually get out of bed, it's a victory. If I get my dishes done, yay! Some of you understand and are cheering me on. Those of you who don't understand, God bless you. I hope you never have to understand. I reach out every day to my Lord in thanksgiving -- some kind of thanksgiving -- so that I can be in His presence and clamber at that elusive joy that is promised to me. To those of you who don't have to claw and clamber, rejoice wholly. I wish I were in your shoes ... really. But in my own shoes, I know the grace of God's mercy to the least of us. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you.
Isaiah 53;5 But he was wounded for our transgressions,
crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the punishment that made us whole,
and by his bruises we are healed.
6 All we like sheep have gone astray;
we have all turned to our own way,
and the Lord has laid on him
the iniquity of us all.
My children are young adults ... and they are both in love. That takes me back to when I was their age -- 20... 21 ... 22. I got married when I was 22. Oh my ... just a month shy of 23. Scare me.
David was 21. We were babies, at least in today's world. Not so much back in 1987. We knew we wanted to be together "forever." We wouldn't dare disrespect our parents or our Lord by living together! We got married. It was wonderful. True love and all that. A lost idea in today's world ... today's world. Ugh. What a disappointing world.
I've been enjoying getting to know the ... what do we call them these days?? Boyfriend/Girlfriend? Other halves? Hmmm. The lovely young adults with whom my children are currently involved. Ugh. That's a mouthful. But I have to protect the identities of the innocent. Ha. Innocent. I hope so ... nonetheless. No names! I have protected my own kids, so I have to protect the offspring of others -- those whom I have never even met. So, I'll call them my extended beloved. And I do love them. :-) Will you be a part of my life in the future? How far into my future? Gone are the days where forever is forever. Enter the days where "forever" is maybe. Kind of. Who knows? Whatever. I'm so sad about this.
And yet I have come to know and love these two beloved who have become constants in the lives of my children. I think they love me, too. With what wisdom or constancy can I embrace them? My home is your home. My God is your God. Will they accept that? Will they love, too? The dog is easy; our God may not be as easily understood.
It's Year A in the Lectionary. Today's Scripture ranges from the raising of Lazarus to the flesh vs. the spirit to the dry bones of Ezekiel. These are all really tough ideas -- what do I believe? What do they believe? What do we believe? We are a family -- I think -- perhaps -- maybe. Joshua 24:15b: '... but as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.’ Get used to it.
In the not so distant past, I thought I sort of kind of had a "boyfriend." I never used that term. He used the term "girlfriend" once -- by accident. Then immediately altered the comment to "a girl who is a friend." Ha. I'm no girl. I am entirely woman. Thank you. But there was a hiccup -- a hesitation -- an unsurety. Of course there was. I still kind of sort of feel married! but I'm not. I'm widowed. So is he. He is also a broken person -- one who has known great sorrow -- and great loss. And a bunch of other junk. The junk made him dangerous -- a risk. Good grief. Literally -- grief. He got a pair of handmade socks, a great Bible and a favorite movie -- and some of my heart. His cat got in a few good scratches (I still have the scars) and a catnip toy. He thinks he's still in love with someone else. Aren't we all? David Bailey is no one with whom to be reckoned. I don't think he cares enough to be reading this anyway, so he'll never know. Ironically, it IS in his nature to care. I know this and that's why I gave him as much of my spirit and attention and affection as I did. But he's way behind. Who knows when he'll catch up. Most likely when it's too late. Okay ... where was I going with this?
I dabbled with online dating the other night. Okay ... let's take a moment to collect ourselves. Yes, I know. I can't believe it, either. Two beloved -- very close to me -- have encouraged me to do match.com or whatever. I've always eschewed them. I believed God had someone in mind for me -- would handle this -- ya da ya da ya da. I'm almost 50. For heaven's sake.
I did the whole thing -- the whole profile wizard, etc. etc. etc. -- and even the payment process. Then I totally freaked. I searched high and low for the avenue through which to cancel -- no such luck. I finally found a phone number on the west coast through which I could cancel. I cancelled. I emphatically told the lovely lady on the phone that their billing process was tricky and lacked integrity and I cancelled. Cancelled. Cancelled. She was sad. She commented on how much effort I had put into my profile. OMG. I wept and wept and wept. Is this really my life?
I hope my kids don't read this post. First of all, I don't want them to worry about me. More importantly, I don't want them to be as disappointed in this person for whom they have feelings as I am. I know he loves them. How does he manage this? How can I manage this? I prayed for him today. I can't wish any ill-will upon him. I care about him still. Jesus, help me.
But there's a greater purpose here -- a commentary on friendship -- on relationship. I've been contemplating relationship -- friendship -- lately. What comprises a relationship? A friendship? What do you think? I know what I think!
Does relationship require a certain degree of attention? of communication? If you've read any of my stuff, you know that I think that it DOES. Friendship requires attention, affection and communication. We say that certain people are our "friends," but isn't that really short-changing true friendship? Sure, some of my friends live far away. It is more challenging for us to regularly regard each other. Okay ... but "friends" who live in close proximity to me are people for whom I extend attention -- regard -- care. These are beloved for whom I constantly care. What is constant? Daily? Weekly? Monthly? YES. Any and all of the above. Sure, some are souls who are in my daily or weekly life. Then there are those with whom I spend a little less time -- monthly, perhaps. They don't attend my church, work with me, live near me, etc. But I love them and care about them. Then there are those who, perhaps, live outside of my weekly or even monthly life, but whom I care about a great deal. Of course there are those who live really far away, but for whom I have great affection.
What do we do with those who used to be within that "regular care" circle but who are no longer a part of that circle? Ok ... they're still friends, but distant friends. I have a few of those. Not all of those distant friends are because I wanted them to be "distant," but because they deemed us to be distant. That's life. Move on ...
So the question looms: Who do you love? Who are your true and lasting friends? To whom do you extend your time, attention, affection and grace?
Good question.
How full is your cup? Upon whom do you empty your cup? Who fills your cup? What is your cup?
Just when I think my cup has been "emptied" by a certain friend, she fills it. That's how I know she's a keeper. She's not the only one. There are a few. Most of them are women; not all. My son fills my cup from time to time. David filled my cup just when I thought I couldn't go on. My new pastor fills my cup unknowingly. A sister fills my cup daily. My daughter does, too. But a whole bunch of other people drain it. Some days I am truly running on empty. These are my darkest, lowest days. Those who fill my cup are truly blessed. I hope they know what a gift they are to not only me, but to others who are blessed by the filling of my cup. Does this mean anything to you? The cup?
Yesterday I didn't get dressed. My cup was decidedly empty. I got up. I had breakfast -- and lunch -- even dinner. But I did little else. I did some devotions -- I read a little in my Bible -- I was in touch with a friend, a sister, my kids -- but I wasn't fruitful. No, wait! I took my dog for a walk. I exercised. Got some fresh air. To me, this is a victory. What did you do yesterday? Mow your whole yard? Clean your entire house? Do your taxes? Something huge? When all I did was go for a walk and do the dishes and these were victories? See? Our realities are different. I used to be an achiever. A doer. Now if I get dressed, it is an accomplishment. How does that make you feel? I'm embarrassed.
But not really. I've been "down" here long enough to know that when I actually get out of bed, it's a victory. If I get my dishes done, yay! Some of you understand and are cheering me on. Those of you who don't understand, God bless you. I hope you never have to understand. I reach out every day to my Lord in thanksgiving -- some kind of thanksgiving -- so that I can be in His presence and clamber at that elusive joy that is promised to me. To those of you who don't have to claw and clamber, rejoice wholly. I wish I were in your shoes ... really. But in my own shoes, I know the grace of God's mercy to the least of us. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you.
Isaiah 53;5 But he was wounded for our transgressions,
crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the punishment that made us whole,
and by his bruises we are healed.
6 All we like sheep have gone astray;
we have all turned to our own way,
and the Lord has laid on him
the iniquity of us all.
Friday, March 21, 2014
Widows ... and orphans
Even
I think of "widows and orphans" in a context of a Word
document. Widows and orphans are a typographical no-no. How dare we
leave words alone on one line on the bottom or top of a page??
Horrors. And yet ... I'm left all alone tonight. Most nights.
Almost every night. On my own line. In my own space. In my
own company. In my own home. Alone. "A widow is a
word or line of text that is forced to go on alone and start its own column or
page." FORCED to go on alone. Yep. That's me.
Excuse me ... That is I ... who is forced to go on alone ... you get it.
My kids aren't truly orphans. They're not "single words at the bottom of a paragraph that get left behind." They have me. They have each other. However, they are fatherless and that means something altogether different -- and altogether poignant.
or·phan [noun] 1) a child who has lost both parents through death, or, less commonly, one parent. 2) a young animal that has been deserted by or has lost its mother. 3) a person or thing that is without protective affiliation, sponsorship.
So to those of you who
have taken good care of the widows (and orphans) in your midst -- and I've
heard so much about your good works through grace -- THANK YOU. You are
blessed. You are holy. To those of you who have taken good care of
me -- consistently cared about me, checked on me, called me, written to me,
loved me ... THANK YOU. Matthew
5:7 Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.
My kids aren't truly orphans. They're not "single words at the bottom of a paragraph that get left behind." They have me. They have each other. However, they are fatherless and that means something altogether different -- and altogether poignant.
or·phan [noun] 1) a child who has lost both parents through death, or, less commonly, one parent. 2) a young animal that has been deserted by or has lost its mother. 3) a person or thing that is without protective affiliation, sponsorship.
But
wait! ... "less commonly, ONE
parent." Maybe they are, to a certain degree. Goodness knows
they don't enjoy the same benefits as their peers with two healthy,
working, successful parents. I don't want to remove any special
consideration from my kids, but, hey ... I'm still alive. And I love them
fiercely and they know it. They have plenty of protective
affiliation. They have that unconditional love thing that comes from the
momma. That's me.
That
is I.
They
are getting along in age. One is now 20 ... and the other is closing in
on 22. What, then, is the natural progression of things? Do the
tables begin to turn ... to slowly rotate ... to swing the "protective
affiliation" thing? Does the momma naturally evolve into the
position of the person or thing who falls under the "protective
affiliation?" Hmmm. Probably in the not-so-near future, but
ultimately, maybe ... Especially because I'm a widow. Dang.
Poor kids. They're supposed to have a father taking care of such
stuff. I'm supposed to have a husband living beside me.
"Supposed to ..." What a crock.
The
first year after David died I did
experience the blessing of special consideration ... "protective
affirmation ... sponsorship" -- from my neighbors and from my church
family. I was and continue to be wholly thankful for that loving blanket
of care. However, the emergence of my situation has faded, I know.
My seemingly courageous and healthy "survival" has allowed my
neighbors and friends believe that I'm ok. And I am ... for the most part
... but I am alone -- "forced to go on alone." I can count on
one hand the number of beloved who understand that and who consistently check
in with me -- care for me -- be with me. Two of them are fellow
widows. Go figure.
Do
family, friends, church owe me special attention? Hmmm. Good
question. I'm not really one to whine or to expect such stuff, but
Scripture has something to say about it. The Psalms say plenty about
"defending" and "pleading the case of" the widow, as well
as God "not pitying the widow." That's confusing. But the
Lord said to "do no wrong or violence" to the widow and that the
"widows can depend on me." That presents a reader
with conflicting information ... but the over-riding message is:
Widow-dom = bad. Nobody wants to be a widow. Yeh. Me
neither. And yet, at times, widows were honored -- like at the
raising of Dorcas.
Acts 9:36 In Joppa there was a
disciple named Tabitha (in Greek her name is Dorcas); she was always doing good
and helping the poor. 37 About that time she
became sick and died, and her body was washed and placed in an upstairs room. 38 Lydda was near Joppa; so
when the disciples heard that Peter was in Lydda, they sent two men to him and
urged him, “Please come at once!” 39 Peter went with them, and when he arrived he was
taken upstairs to the room. All the widows stood around him, crying and showing
him the robes and other clothing that Dorcas had made while she was still with
them. 40 Peter sent them all out of the room; then he got
down on his knees and prayed. Turning toward the dead woman, he said, “Tabitha,
get up.” She opened her eyes, and seeing Peter she sat up. 41 He took her by the hand
and helped her to her feet. Then he called for the believers, especially the
widows, and presented her to them alive.
"Especially
the widows."
Timothy wasn't such a good friend of widows. Ultimately, through the centuries, his word has been distorted and has not been such a good friend of women in general. That's another blog ...
But James made it pretty clear: James1:26 Those who consider themselves religious and
yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their
religion is worthless.
27 Religion that God our
Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows
in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.
Timothy wasn't such a good friend of widows. Ultimately, through the centuries, his word has been distorted and has not been such a good friend of women in general. That's another blog ...
But James made it pretty clear: James
So on this Friday night,
having gone to the movie theater alone, spent the day alone, spent the evening
alone and now going on to bed alone ... I bid you all great peace. During
Lent when we are called to remember the love of Jesus and the joy of our
salvation, I leave you with these ponderings from Henri Nouwen (look him up).
The Honesty Of
Compassion
Do not judge, and you
will not be judged; do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Luke 6:37
Compassion means to
become close to the one who suffers, but we can come close to another person
only when we are willing to become vulnerable ourselves. A compassionate
person says: "I am your brother; I am your sister; I am human,
fragile, and mortal, just like you. I am not scandalized by your tears,
nor afraid of your pain. I too have wept. I too have felt
pain." We can be with the other only when the other ceases to be
"other" and becomes like us.
This, perhaps, is
the main reason that we sometimes find it easier to show pity than
compassion. The suffering person calls us to become aware of our own
suffering. How can I respond to someone's loneliness unless I am in touch
with my own experience of loneliness? How can I be close to handicapped
people when I refuse to acknowledge my own handicaps? How can I be with
the poor when I am unwilling to confess my own poverty?
I must do some things
to fulfill my duties. But isn't it time I examined my routines and cut
out the things I do just to stay busy? Lord, help me this Lent to begin
to focus my attention on the important things.
[RENEWED FOR LIFE : Daily Lenten Meditations from the works
of Henri J. M. Nouwen, Mark
Neilson, editor]
And that means me,
too. Daily I struggle to discern what I'm supposed to be doing! How
am I called to glorify my God? To be wholly in the "presence of
Jesus?"
Maybe there is a widow
to whom I should be attending ... or some orphans. Yeh. I can do
that, too.
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
It's Been a Year ...
... since I wrote about being "under pressure." It was the same week a year ago -- week "8" of the year. I know this because it's my timeshare week. It always falls over David's birthday. This year he would have turned 48. What do I do with that??
So during the last year I took a couple risks. Risk for me is pretty low-key. Let's get that out in the open. I'm cautious by nature. (I passed that on to my son; not my daughter.) I dipped my toe into the cold water. I got hurt. I did it again. I got hurt again. Not a good pattern, right? My sisters and close friends encourage me to be cautious -- to be guarded. I bravely state that I'd rather risk that hurt than be mortared-up -- isolated and bitter. And that's true. But NOT being hurt would be a lot better.
I'm on retreat again. I decided a couple years ago when both kids were in college to actually spend my timeshare week at my timeshare -- at the beach in the middle of winter. It's wonderful. I have a balcony right on the Atlantic. I can chose to freeze and hear the ocean or be warm and read. I chose both alternatively. I walk and walk and walk up the coastline on the water's edge, dodging the surf -- then back on the boardwalk tramping the sand out of my shoes. I meander in and out of the beach shops that delightfully remain open in the winter, allowing me to fulfill a familial obligation to conduct cheesy souvenir shopping. It's so gratifying to find the perfect keepsake for the year (this year a bottle opener and an insulated coffee cup ... yeh, I know .... kind of boring, but last year's bamboo windchimes never got hung so they're still good).
Last winter I brought a friend with me to experience the winter beach. This year I'm alone. Beloveds have asked why? If this is wise ... Do I want company? My responses span from "yes, of course ... I'm accustomed to being alone" to "what is my choice?" And I have invited a few to join me. I know at least one would have come had I said I just couldn't be alone. Thank you. Another would have been challenged to take the time off. I'm really okay. As I told a sister, I do most everything alone. Why should vacation be much different? Is that a commentary on my life? Perhaps.
Even when David was alive, I lived possibly the majority of my life alone. Some weeks he was gone from Friday through Monday -- sometimes Thursday through Tuesday. Weekends were lonely and challenging, but one can get used to most anything, right? Whether right or wrong/good or bad. It was to what I was accustomed -- my normal. I didn't like it then; I don't like it now.
I haven't read much since David's death. It is a glaring contrast to pre-widowed behavior. I was always deep in a novel -- reading through several in a week most of the time. David could sometimes get me to read one of his non-fiction favorites ... but the point is that I was an avid reader. I sort of feel a bit like an intellectual failure the last few years -- reading a bit of young adult fiction here and there ... dabbling in grief books or healing devotionals -- but never really committing to any written word. This week I brought some spiritual stuff, a silly book and a popular novel. I'm more than half-way through a book about sorrow, joy, blessings and faith (humbling) -- more than half-way through a book about how people affect each other. Interesting. I already discarded a tedious parody -- and have yet to open the novel. What does that say about my state of mind and heart this week? I'm seeking avenues for joy -- permission to trust that God's promises "not to harm me but to prosper me" have merit. Ugh.
So, Henri Nouwen, you have me very humbly acknowledging joy. Thank you! At least you permit the sorrows first. Yeh, I have a bunch of those. You have made me ponder blessings and want to break further out from my own suffering. It is time, right? Believing it and wanting it are a little different than doing it, but it's a start. I've also been repeatedly slapped in the face by a best-selling devotional about self-pity and self-preoccupation. Geez!! Today's entry basically accused me of rebelling against God by not trusting in His promises to care for me even though my future seems precarious -- that my future is a mystery and I should just put up and shut up (translation: have faith). Ouch. Be patient. How much longer do I have to wait before I "prosper?" What are these promises? Then the self-pity creeps in and I only see my sorrows and lose sight of my joys. It takes a LOT of energy to keep on keepin' on!
So in the interim, I have tried to be in "community" with someone who made me feel less "different." Someone who understood my sorrows -- my losses. I risked a good deal ... and was hurt. I was truthful and vulnerable and naked -- offered Grace that, it turns out, was decidedly undeserving ... but isn't that was Grace is? Nouwen expresses this as 'lifting our cup' of our life -- sharing with one another our "sufferings and joys in mutual vulnerability" so that the new covenant (Jesus' sacrifice) can become visible among us. "The surprise of it all is that it is often the least among us who reveal to us that our cup is a cup of blessings." And I'd do it again. I want only to BE a blessing. Of course it would be lovely if I would also be blessed, as "promised," but I guess I'll have to wait patiently on the Lord for this -- assuming that I don't rebel against this promise.
"The cup of blessings is the cup the meek have to offer to us." ~H.J.M. Nouwen, "Can You Drink the Cup?" How do you convince someone that despite their brokenness -- their abandonment -- their aimless wandering-- they can actually bless others? I don't know ... but, on David's birthday, I have to give him credit for believing that they can. He believed that there was no heart that could not be turned and that those who suffer the most have the most to give. But only if they tear down the walls that imprison them and find liberation -- freedom to be a blessing, to be in community, to lift their cup to life. Isn't that beautiful?
The rest of the world is sleeping
Like it seems to do every night
Here I am again, alone with my friends
the candles and the clouds and the moonlight
I know it isn't the first time
I'm sure it won't be the last
But this is my time, these are my hours
Gotta take them now before they become the past
And night after night I keep trying
to understand this life that I live
I keep coming back to the same old track
Those who suffer most have the most to give
There's a heart that's bleeding in the heartland
and another that is broken in the east
Somewhere far across the ocean
there's a soul just searching for peace
Prisoners of hope,
Love's last refugees
If we cannot suffer together,
Then our pain don’t mean a thing
The rest of the world is sleeping
Maybe, tonight I will too
If not, there's always tomorrow
And If not there’s always you
but every night, you can find me with my candles
celebrating this life I live
listen to this song and always remember
those who suffer most have the most to give
"Most to Give," Love the Time - http://www.davidmbailey.com/audio/DAVID_M_BAILEY-Most_to_Give2_hifi.m3u
So during the last year I took a couple risks. Risk for me is pretty low-key. Let's get that out in the open. I'm cautious by nature. (I passed that on to my son; not my daughter.) I dipped my toe into the cold water. I got hurt. I did it again. I got hurt again. Not a good pattern, right? My sisters and close friends encourage me to be cautious -- to be guarded. I bravely state that I'd rather risk that hurt than be mortared-up -- isolated and bitter. And that's true. But NOT being hurt would be a lot better.
I'm on retreat again. I decided a couple years ago when both kids were in college to actually spend my timeshare week at my timeshare -- at the beach in the middle of winter. It's wonderful. I have a balcony right on the Atlantic. I can chose to freeze and hear the ocean or be warm and read. I chose both alternatively. I walk and walk and walk up the coastline on the water's edge, dodging the surf -- then back on the boardwalk tramping the sand out of my shoes. I meander in and out of the beach shops that delightfully remain open in the winter, allowing me to fulfill a familial obligation to conduct cheesy souvenir shopping. It's so gratifying to find the perfect keepsake for the year (this year a bottle opener and an insulated coffee cup ... yeh, I know .... kind of boring, but last year's bamboo windchimes never got hung so they're still good).
Last winter I brought a friend with me to experience the winter beach. This year I'm alone. Beloveds have asked why? If this is wise ... Do I want company? My responses span from "yes, of course ... I'm accustomed to being alone" to "what is my choice?" And I have invited a few to join me. I know at least one would have come had I said I just couldn't be alone. Thank you. Another would have been challenged to take the time off. I'm really okay. As I told a sister, I do most everything alone. Why should vacation be much different? Is that a commentary on my life? Perhaps.
Even when David was alive, I lived possibly the majority of my life alone. Some weeks he was gone from Friday through Monday -- sometimes Thursday through Tuesday. Weekends were lonely and challenging, but one can get used to most anything, right? Whether right or wrong/good or bad. It was to what I was accustomed -- my normal. I didn't like it then; I don't like it now.
I haven't read much since David's death. It is a glaring contrast to pre-widowed behavior. I was always deep in a novel -- reading through several in a week most of the time. David could sometimes get me to read one of his non-fiction favorites ... but the point is that I was an avid reader. I sort of feel a bit like an intellectual failure the last few years -- reading a bit of young adult fiction here and there ... dabbling in grief books or healing devotionals -- but never really committing to any written word. This week I brought some spiritual stuff, a silly book and a popular novel. I'm more than half-way through a book about sorrow, joy, blessings and faith (humbling) -- more than half-way through a book about how people affect each other. Interesting. I already discarded a tedious parody -- and have yet to open the novel. What does that say about my state of mind and heart this week? I'm seeking avenues for joy -- permission to trust that God's promises "not to harm me but to prosper me" have merit. Ugh.
So, Henri Nouwen, you have me very humbly acknowledging joy. Thank you! At least you permit the sorrows first. Yeh, I have a bunch of those. You have made me ponder blessings and want to break further out from my own suffering. It is time, right? Believing it and wanting it are a little different than doing it, but it's a start. I've also been repeatedly slapped in the face by a best-selling devotional about self-pity and self-preoccupation. Geez!! Today's entry basically accused me of rebelling against God by not trusting in His promises to care for me even though my future seems precarious -- that my future is a mystery and I should just put up and shut up (translation: have faith). Ouch. Be patient. How much longer do I have to wait before I "prosper?" What are these promises? Then the self-pity creeps in and I only see my sorrows and lose sight of my joys. It takes a LOT of energy to keep on keepin' on!
So in the interim, I have tried to be in "community" with someone who made me feel less "different." Someone who understood my sorrows -- my losses. I risked a good deal ... and was hurt. I was truthful and vulnerable and naked -- offered Grace that, it turns out, was decidedly undeserving ... but isn't that was Grace is? Nouwen expresses this as 'lifting our cup' of our life -- sharing with one another our "sufferings and joys in mutual vulnerability" so that the new covenant (Jesus' sacrifice) can become visible among us. "The surprise of it all is that it is often the least among us who reveal to us that our cup is a cup of blessings." And I'd do it again. I want only to BE a blessing. Of course it would be lovely if I would also be blessed, as "promised," but I guess I'll have to wait patiently on the Lord for this -- assuming that I don't rebel against this promise.
"The cup of blessings is the cup the meek have to offer to us." ~H.J.M. Nouwen, "Can You Drink the Cup?" How do you convince someone that despite their brokenness -- their abandonment -- their aimless wandering-- they can actually bless others? I don't know ... but, on David's birthday, I have to give him credit for believing that they can. He believed that there was no heart that could not be turned and that those who suffer the most have the most to give. But only if they tear down the walls that imprison them and find liberation -- freedom to be a blessing, to be in community, to lift their cup to life. Isn't that beautiful?
The rest of the world is sleeping
Like it seems to do every night
Here I am again, alone with my friends
the candles and the clouds and the moonlight
I know it isn't the first time
I'm sure it won't be the last
But this is my time, these are my hours
Gotta take them now before they become the past
And night after night I keep trying
to understand this life that I live
I keep coming back to the same old track
Those who suffer most have the most to give
There's a heart that's bleeding in the heartland
and another that is broken in the east
Somewhere far across the ocean
there's a soul just searching for peace
Prisoners of hope,
Love's last refugees
If we cannot suffer together,
Then our pain don’t mean a thing
The rest of the world is sleeping
Maybe, tonight I will too
If not, there's always tomorrow
And If not there’s always you
but every night, you can find me with my candles
celebrating this life I live
listen to this song and always remember
those who suffer most have the most to give
"Most to Give," Love the Time - http://www.davidmbailey.com/audio/DAVID_M_BAILEY-Most_to_Give2_hifi.m3u
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