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Thursday, October 31, 2013
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
again...the grace
there are seasons, there are times, there are places. things are never easy. things are never impossible either- in all things there is grace. you know i love the words and wisdom of frederick buechner. he is able to find the absolute mystery of God, the power of God, in the gentleness and the brokenness of the world and he shares it simply and boldly and humbly with words that reach me.
words like this....
a good sleep is grace and so are good dreams. most tears are grace. the smell of rain is grace. somebody loving you is grace. loving somebody is grace.
the list could go on and on- because we find it in different ways and in different places. but it abounds.
yesterday was a day of my kids, all four of them, having issues in some form or fashion.
yesterday started with an email from zoe's wonderful school aide entitled "expressions of concern over recent events with zoe". the grace was her words of praise over how zoe was handling the 'teenage drama' with other girls at school, her concern was about the other girls being mean. the grace was in the meeting i had at the end of the day with the school special ed teacher and hearing how well zoe is doing over all. the grace is in zoe's smile when i put her to bed and her giant hug.
yesterday jude destroyed his halloween toy sword because he was upset about something unrelated and he chose that self-destructive path to manage his anger- he chose to express it by wrecking something he loved. the grace was in the long talk we had while walking the dog about the acceptability and beauty of our range of emotions but our need to control our actions around those emotions. the grace was in hearing him share what's hard about being eight. about being in the middle of the family. about having responsibilities he didn't ask for with zoe for a sister. about sometimes feeling lost. the grace was in those moments as the sun set of just being with him- listening to his world- letting it just be about him with no one else.
yesterday bryn was crying at pick up because he'd been given a big role in the class production which prompted teasing from his classmates and caused him to refuse the part. the grace was in walking through it with him. in helping him understand that he needs to chose what he wants to do and how he wants his world to go- and not listen to others teasing.
yesterday rose's birthmom met with the babies home social worker to hopefully solidify our case so we could go to court for guardianship. yesterday her mom said she never agreed to let us even take rose out of the country to visit america (a complete turn around from where we've been). yesterday i sat in the car after hearing that from the lawyer and tried to imagine my life with out our rose which of course i couldn't. the grace was in knowing that God loves her more even than i do. the grace was in trusting that. the grace was in knowing that somehow, goodness will come from this. the grace was in remembering that the world is very broken and things are so messy and we do the best we can, and we do it in love. the grace was in mike and i being on the same page about it.
the grace of God means something like: here is your life. you might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you. here is the world. beautiful and terrible things will happen. don't be afraid. I am with you. nothing can ever separate us. it's for you I created the universe. I love you.
there is only one catch. like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you'll reach out and take it. maybe being able to reach out and take it is a gift too.
today, what ever comes, may i reach out and take the grace. may i see it and feel it and smell it and hold it and know it. may you as well.
words like this....
a good sleep is grace and so are good dreams. most tears are grace. the smell of rain is grace. somebody loving you is grace. loving somebody is grace.
the list could go on and on- because we find it in different ways and in different places. but it abounds.
yesterday was a day of my kids, all four of them, having issues in some form or fashion.
yesterday started with an email from zoe's wonderful school aide entitled "expressions of concern over recent events with zoe". the grace was her words of praise over how zoe was handling the 'teenage drama' with other girls at school, her concern was about the other girls being mean. the grace was in the meeting i had at the end of the day with the school special ed teacher and hearing how well zoe is doing over all. the grace is in zoe's smile when i put her to bed and her giant hug.
yesterday jude destroyed his halloween toy sword because he was upset about something unrelated and he chose that self-destructive path to manage his anger- he chose to express it by wrecking something he loved. the grace was in the long talk we had while walking the dog about the acceptability and beauty of our range of emotions but our need to control our actions around those emotions. the grace was in hearing him share what's hard about being eight. about being in the middle of the family. about having responsibilities he didn't ask for with zoe for a sister. about sometimes feeling lost. the grace was in those moments as the sun set of just being with him- listening to his world- letting it just be about him with no one else.
yesterday bryn was crying at pick up because he'd been given a big role in the class production which prompted teasing from his classmates and caused him to refuse the part. the grace was in walking through it with him. in helping him understand that he needs to chose what he wants to do and how he wants his world to go- and not listen to others teasing.
yesterday rose's birthmom met with the babies home social worker to hopefully solidify our case so we could go to court for guardianship. yesterday her mom said she never agreed to let us even take rose out of the country to visit america (a complete turn around from where we've been). yesterday i sat in the car after hearing that from the lawyer and tried to imagine my life with out our rose which of course i couldn't. the grace was in knowing that God loves her more even than i do. the grace was in trusting that. the grace was in knowing that somehow, goodness will come from this. the grace was in remembering that the world is very broken and things are so messy and we do the best we can, and we do it in love. the grace was in mike and i being on the same page about it.
the grace of God means something like: here is your life. you might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you. here is the world. beautiful and terrible things will happen. don't be afraid. I am with you. nothing can ever separate us. it's for you I created the universe. I love you.
there is only one catch. like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you'll reach out and take it. maybe being able to reach out and take it is a gift too.
today, what ever comes, may i reach out and take the grace. may i see it and feel it and smell it and hold it and know it. may you as well.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
letting go of one thing to make room for another
"Creativity and newness of life have a cost, and the cost is what
appears to look like death. But really it is not. It is just letting go
of one thing to make room for another thing. Loss is always perceived
as an enemy or affliction, and looks like what we don’t want. Somehow
to embrace loss, spiritually speaking, is to achieve something more and
something bigger. Some form of positive dying invariably allows us to
be united with what is Larger Reality, but of course we never know that
ahead of time."
- richard rohr
i love this idea. the idea of letting go of one thing to make room for another. the idea of embracing necessary losses to grow into something better. of creating space for newness and creativity.
i am so bad at letting go - even of things that are not good for me. there is something about what is right in front of us, what is 'normal', what occupies us, what is routine and gives structure to our days-that is easy to just live with. there are things that exist with us, or beside us, things that shouldn't be, things that have had their season, yet we hold on to them still.
sometimes we don't even notice that we are stifled. that we are living smaller than we should or could. sometimes things need to change for us to move into bigger places, into better spaces, into newness. and change is hard. letting go of things is hard. letting go of parts of ourselves- especially parts that have been with us for long- is really hard. but.
Creativity and newness of life have a cost.
and when i read that, i felt my lack of. i felt my restraint- my fruitlessness. when i take a step back and look at my days, i see that it's time to clean out the closets and make room for newness. it's time to create. it's time to breathe. it's time to let go, to untether, to move forward and to embrace the losses that need to be so i can bloom into what is next. i will prayerfully go forward, letting go, making room.
- richard rohr
i love this idea. the idea of letting go of one thing to make room for another. the idea of embracing necessary losses to grow into something better. of creating space for newness and creativity.
i am so bad at letting go - even of things that are not good for me. there is something about what is right in front of us, what is 'normal', what occupies us, what is routine and gives structure to our days-that is easy to just live with. there are things that exist with us, or beside us, things that shouldn't be, things that have had their season, yet we hold on to them still.
sometimes we don't even notice that we are stifled. that we are living smaller than we should or could. sometimes things need to change for us to move into bigger places, into better spaces, into newness. and change is hard. letting go of things is hard. letting go of parts of ourselves- especially parts that have been with us for long- is really hard. but.
Creativity and newness of life have a cost.
and when i read that, i felt my lack of. i felt my restraint- my fruitlessness. when i take a step back and look at my days, i see that it's time to clean out the closets and make room for newness. it's time to create. it's time to breathe. it's time to let go, to untether, to move forward and to embrace the losses that need to be so i can bloom into what is next. i will prayerfully go forward, letting go, making room.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
some days feel like the worst ever
i just opened the beautiful invitation to my best friends daughters Bat Mitzvah. and then i began to cry.
i didn't cry in that 'oh i can't believe she is old enough to be a Bat Mitzvah' way.
i cried in the 'oh i can't believe that i live 8000 miles away" kind of way.
i cried in the 'missing very important events in the lives of people who are very important to me' way.
i cried in the pure feeling of being so very far away way.
i cried because on november 23rd- when i should be at Temple Beth Elohim in wellesley massachusetts with my people- i will be in the village in luwero uganda at a fundraiser for the little village school with new people- most of whom i don't know. she will be celebrating. there will be dancing and good food and table decorations and memories.....like the memories i have of her mom's bat mitzvah....and i will be sitting in a field, under a makeshift tent, eating matoke and trying to get people to donate a bag of cement.
i cried because it's everything sometimes.
because i had to go to a meeting at the kids school because we've been placed on high alert. because the meeting was about security and having police guards with automatic weapons and attack dogs, and things shouldn't be that way.
because the car air conditioning is still broken and it's so darn hot that i bought a bag of ice and sat on it on the way home...seriously.
because even the 'i'm thankful' game didn't help entirely.
so i sat on my bed and cried because some days are like that. some days you feel old and tired and done. some days you feel hot and over the red dirt that you know you'd long for if you left. some days you feel how far away you are in ways that are more than miles. you feel your whiteness and your difference. you feel foreign and outside. and that is really hard on days when you want to belong and feel connection. on days when you want familiar and known.
and then you open a sparkly pretty invitation from someone who has known you for 38 years and you kind of fall apart. someone who as walked through decades of hard days with you, who knows exactly what to say and do and not say and not do. someone who gets you because she watched you become who you are now. one of the special people at home who have loved us enough to let us go and manage to forgive us for being so far away and missing their big moments.
and then you realize that your big moments have changed. that your life has changed. you realize that even though you are tired, and sometimes lonely, and even though you want to be at that Bat Mitzvah, you can't really imagine going back. you realize that you have forever changed. that you now live between places and people and that you can't go back to how it was because you just can't. you have two things in your heart. so you have to learn to live with it, in it, through it, despite it, because of it.
you have to be in the crazy beautiful mess of it.
so i went back to the 'i'm thankful' game. i'm thankful that i got the Bat Mitzvah invitation- i mean that it actually made it here. i'm thankful that i have friends for 38 years. that i get to help the luwero village get cement and corrugated metal roofing pieces. i'm thankful for sparkly and red dirt and that there was ice for my ride home. i'm thankful for my newish friends here who get this life because they do it to. i'm thankful for my ugandan friends who love us even though we are different and don't always get each other. i'm even thankful for the beautiful mess of it.
i didn't cry in that 'oh i can't believe she is old enough to be a Bat Mitzvah' way.
i cried in the 'oh i can't believe that i live 8000 miles away" kind of way.
i cried in the 'missing very important events in the lives of people who are very important to me' way.
i cried in the pure feeling of being so very far away way.
i cried because on november 23rd- when i should be at Temple Beth Elohim in wellesley massachusetts with my people- i will be in the village in luwero uganda at a fundraiser for the little village school with new people- most of whom i don't know. she will be celebrating. there will be dancing and good food and table decorations and memories.....like the memories i have of her mom's bat mitzvah....and i will be sitting in a field, under a makeshift tent, eating matoke and trying to get people to donate a bag of cement.
i cried because it's everything sometimes.
because i had to go to a meeting at the kids school because we've been placed on high alert. because the meeting was about security and having police guards with automatic weapons and attack dogs, and things shouldn't be that way.
because the car air conditioning is still broken and it's so darn hot that i bought a bag of ice and sat on it on the way home...seriously.
because even the 'i'm thankful' game didn't help entirely.
so i sat on my bed and cried because some days are like that. some days you feel old and tired and done. some days you feel hot and over the red dirt that you know you'd long for if you left. some days you feel how far away you are in ways that are more than miles. you feel your whiteness and your difference. you feel foreign and outside. and that is really hard on days when you want to belong and feel connection. on days when you want familiar and known.
and then you open a sparkly pretty invitation from someone who has known you for 38 years and you kind of fall apart. someone who as walked through decades of hard days with you, who knows exactly what to say and do and not say and not do. someone who gets you because she watched you become who you are now. one of the special people at home who have loved us enough to let us go and manage to forgive us for being so far away and missing their big moments.
and then you realize that your big moments have changed. that your life has changed. you realize that even though you are tired, and sometimes lonely, and even though you want to be at that Bat Mitzvah, you can't really imagine going back. you realize that you have forever changed. that you now live between places and people and that you can't go back to how it was because you just can't. you have two things in your heart. so you have to learn to live with it, in it, through it, despite it, because of it.
you have to be in the crazy beautiful mess of it.
so i went back to the 'i'm thankful' game. i'm thankful that i got the Bat Mitzvah invitation- i mean that it actually made it here. i'm thankful that i have friends for 38 years. that i get to help the luwero village get cement and corrugated metal roofing pieces. i'm thankful for sparkly and red dirt and that there was ice for my ride home. i'm thankful for my newish friends here who get this life because they do it to. i'm thankful for my ugandan friends who love us even though we are different and don't always get each other. i'm even thankful for the beautiful mess of it.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
the very worst mother ever
okay here is the back drop... mike went way with the boys on a boys camping weekend. this is great in theory, i'm all for it. this left me with zoe and rose. lets just say that at this stage in life, i was holding the short end of the stick, the more high-maintenance end, the possible bed-wetting, the needing constant reminders to do anything end, the follows you around and stares at you end, the endless conversation and question asking end. the "can i please use your computer to google homemade videos of people snoring" end. anyway....
the weekend was fine and the boys rolled in mid-afternoon. i knew they'd be tired and hungry so i cleaned up the house, made a favorite dinner early (even the gluten/ dairy free part) and got popcorns. mike announced that he'd have to go to work for the rest of the night because of a meeting he has tomorrow.
okay, so not exactly what i was hoping for, but i can roll with it. or so i thought. i can totally rock the single parent bedtime routine. i mean, i have it down...except when you throw a monkey wrench in it, like this one....
most of them had brushed and pajama-ed and i'd laid out the clothes for tomorrow and even read a book to the three younger ones while the boys were in the tub. smooth sailing. then it was time to pack their bags for school tomorrow. and i happened to look in their folders. and i happened to remember that they had homework... and for jude... it happened to be an ENTIRE REPORT on christopher columbus. ooooppps.
he started to cry.
it was 7:12.
i meanwhile was swallowing my laugh because this. is. the. story. of. my. life. i was always forgetting about my report on the vertebrae or the opium poppy, until sunday night before i had to go to back to school. i was always tormenting my parents with my ADD-ish approach to scholastic organization. and here i was, teaching this to my kids!
"teacher sharon is going to KILL me!!!" jude sobbed.
"don't worry, i will take the blame." i retorted.
"teacher sharon is going to KILL me!!" jude whinned, completely unconvinced of my blame taking offer.
"okay, well, lucky for you, we have a book on christopher columbus.....somewhere.. and lucky for you...i'm REALLY good at last minute."
"but teacher sharon is going to KILL me!!"
at this point, rose and bryn who were doing something God knows what but it wasn't bothering us, came in.
"did you guys brush your teeth and go potty?" i said trying to remain calm as i scramble through the bookshelves.
"i left my toothbrush at the camping place mom!" says bryn.
"well find an extra one somewhere." i said reading through all the dr. suess titles to find "my first biographies"
"there AREN'T any extra ones!!"
"then use your finger"
"i CAN'T use my finger!"
"argh!!" i say throwing found biography book on the dinning room table for jude and heading for the bathroom.
"who's is this light green one?" i say, having no idea nor care about who's toothbrush it is.
"that's judes"
" but i thought judes is purple?"
"he has two." said bryn.
"perfect than use this one!"
"i CAN'T!"
"well bryn... i don't know what to tell you. go to bed with dirty teeth, but read rose a story first."
rose had been standing in my face for most of this conversation and both she and bryn started to cry.
"i want YOU to read me the story mommy!!" says rose.
"MOM!!! it doesn't SAY where christopher columbus was born!" shouted jude.
and zoe's silence meant that she was clearly NOT doing her bedtime routine. the sailing was not so smooth.
"OKAY! here is the deal.... YOU" pointing at bryn "are going to take your unbrushed teeth and read to rose. and rose YOU are not going to pout because i've been with you all weekend. and i am going to figure out exactly WHERE christopher columbus was born. OKAY?"
the two little ones disappeared. jude and i finished his report in about 20 minutes with two references, both being (believe it or not) printed and not from the internet.
so i calmly tucked rose in. then the boys- with tears over lost glowstick connectors and "please don't sing any Jesus songs tonight, i want you to sing close your eyes." then i headed toward the dreaded room of zoe, knowing all too well, what awaited me......namely that she would have done nothing to get ready for bed.
sho' nuff'.
i yelled. i shoved her pajama shirt on her. i pushed her into the bathroom. and i began to clean up the kitchen. 5 minutes later i went to check on her. she was standing in the bathroom with her HAND covered in toothpaste. "oopps" she said.
i wanted to kill her. i wanted to smear that toothpaste all over her face. it was all i could do to not do that. but off came the screen of restraint and out came the verbal garbage...."YOU NINCOMPOOP!" yes i actually said that. oh dear. it was a mess.
i was just so tired and so tired of the years of it. so tired of the possibility of so many more years of it. i just want ONE night to have it not be about her. one night when someone else can take the time up. one night when i only have to ask her 3 times and not stand next to her to make sure she does it.
we went to her room and i tried, calmly now, to explain to her some of my frustrations in a way that was not degrading her personhood. in a way that would make sense but not be comparing her to other neurotypical 14 year olds, or myself at 14. and i tried to hear her in a way that might let me understand where she was coming from. then i closed my eyes and kissed her forehead and began to pray out loud. for patience. for understanding. for gentleness. and for her to care and to try.
she pulled me close and hugged me. my head was on her chest and i could hear her little heart beating and i began to cry. i could hear that little heart and i wondered when was the last time that i listened to it and why had it been so long. i could hear in that heartbeat all the years we've walked together. i remembered all the early echo's and cardiology visits when she had 2 holes in that heart. i remembered all the appointments and the xrays and the unfolding of her story- her curved spine, her shoulder, her body that came out of my body with broken parts to forever remind me of all my many broken parts. and then i cried harder.
zoe patted my back and rubbed my arm with her butter soft hands. "mom aren't you going to keep praying?"
"no. it's your turn." i wept, meaning so much more than praying.
"dear Jesus thank you for my mom. thank you that she loves me..."
i don't remember the rest. that was enough. that was all i needed to hear to know that it will, in some form or another, be okay. because somehow, despite my parenting, despite my big, filter-less mouth, despite my anger and impatience, somehow she knows i love her.
and i do. so. much.
the weekend was fine and the boys rolled in mid-afternoon. i knew they'd be tired and hungry so i cleaned up the house, made a favorite dinner early (even the gluten/ dairy free part) and got popcorns. mike announced that he'd have to go to work for the rest of the night because of a meeting he has tomorrow.
okay, so not exactly what i was hoping for, but i can roll with it. or so i thought. i can totally rock the single parent bedtime routine. i mean, i have it down...except when you throw a monkey wrench in it, like this one....
most of them had brushed and pajama-ed and i'd laid out the clothes for tomorrow and even read a book to the three younger ones while the boys were in the tub. smooth sailing. then it was time to pack their bags for school tomorrow. and i happened to look in their folders. and i happened to remember that they had homework... and for jude... it happened to be an ENTIRE REPORT on christopher columbus. ooooppps.
he started to cry.
it was 7:12.
i meanwhile was swallowing my laugh because this. is. the. story. of. my. life. i was always forgetting about my report on the vertebrae or the opium poppy, until sunday night before i had to go to back to school. i was always tormenting my parents with my ADD-ish approach to scholastic organization. and here i was, teaching this to my kids!
"teacher sharon is going to KILL me!!!" jude sobbed.
"don't worry, i will take the blame." i retorted.
"teacher sharon is going to KILL me!!" jude whinned, completely unconvinced of my blame taking offer.
"okay, well, lucky for you, we have a book on christopher columbus.....somewhere.. and lucky for you...i'm REALLY good at last minute."
"but teacher sharon is going to KILL me!!"
at this point, rose and bryn who were doing something God knows what but it wasn't bothering us, came in.
"did you guys brush your teeth and go potty?" i said trying to remain calm as i scramble through the bookshelves.
"i left my toothbrush at the camping place mom!" says bryn.
"well find an extra one somewhere." i said reading through all the dr. suess titles to find "my first biographies"
"there AREN'T any extra ones!!"
"then use your finger"
"i CAN'T use my finger!"
"argh!!" i say throwing found biography book on the dinning room table for jude and heading for the bathroom.
"who's is this light green one?" i say, having no idea nor care about who's toothbrush it is.
"that's judes"
" but i thought judes is purple?"
"he has two." said bryn.
"perfect than use this one!"
"i CAN'T!"
"well bryn... i don't know what to tell you. go to bed with dirty teeth, but read rose a story first."
rose had been standing in my face for most of this conversation and both she and bryn started to cry.
"i want YOU to read me the story mommy!!" says rose.
"MOM!!! it doesn't SAY where christopher columbus was born!" shouted jude.
and zoe's silence meant that she was clearly NOT doing her bedtime routine. the sailing was not so smooth.
"OKAY! here is the deal.... YOU" pointing at bryn "are going to take your unbrushed teeth and read to rose. and rose YOU are not going to pout because i've been with you all weekend. and i am going to figure out exactly WHERE christopher columbus was born. OKAY?"
the two little ones disappeared. jude and i finished his report in about 20 minutes with two references, both being (believe it or not) printed and not from the internet.
so i calmly tucked rose in. then the boys- with tears over lost glowstick connectors and "please don't sing any Jesus songs tonight, i want you to sing close your eyes." then i headed toward the dreaded room of zoe, knowing all too well, what awaited me......namely that she would have done nothing to get ready for bed.
sho' nuff'.
i yelled. i shoved her pajama shirt on her. i pushed her into the bathroom. and i began to clean up the kitchen. 5 minutes later i went to check on her. she was standing in the bathroom with her HAND covered in toothpaste. "oopps" she said.
i wanted to kill her. i wanted to smear that toothpaste all over her face. it was all i could do to not do that. but off came the screen of restraint and out came the verbal garbage...."YOU NINCOMPOOP!" yes i actually said that. oh dear. it was a mess.
i was just so tired and so tired of the years of it. so tired of the possibility of so many more years of it. i just want ONE night to have it not be about her. one night when someone else can take the time up. one night when i only have to ask her 3 times and not stand next to her to make sure she does it.
we went to her room and i tried, calmly now, to explain to her some of my frustrations in a way that was not degrading her personhood. in a way that would make sense but not be comparing her to other neurotypical 14 year olds, or myself at 14. and i tried to hear her in a way that might let me understand where she was coming from. then i closed my eyes and kissed her forehead and began to pray out loud. for patience. for understanding. for gentleness. and for her to care and to try.
she pulled me close and hugged me. my head was on her chest and i could hear her little heart beating and i began to cry. i could hear that little heart and i wondered when was the last time that i listened to it and why had it been so long. i could hear in that heartbeat all the years we've walked together. i remembered all the early echo's and cardiology visits when she had 2 holes in that heart. i remembered all the appointments and the xrays and the unfolding of her story- her curved spine, her shoulder, her body that came out of my body with broken parts to forever remind me of all my many broken parts. and then i cried harder.
zoe patted my back and rubbed my arm with her butter soft hands. "mom aren't you going to keep praying?"
"no. it's your turn." i wept, meaning so much more than praying.
"dear Jesus thank you for my mom. thank you that she loves me..."
i don't remember the rest. that was enough. that was all i needed to hear to know that it will, in some form or another, be okay. because somehow, despite my parenting, despite my big, filter-less mouth, despite my anger and impatience, somehow she knows i love her.
and i do. so. much.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
some words and a little poem
today was one of those days when i love my kids and can't believe that i have them, all at once. i had the 4 of them in kampala running errands which mostly consisted of dental visits and doctors appointments - but also playdates and ice cream- i know, extremes. it was one of those days when i can't believe that zoe is 14 and jude is only 8, when he was acting her age and she was closer to rose's.
but. we did it. and it was even fun. like life. le bien, le mal.
tonight the moon is full and i love that. tonight the world looks happy and deep and i love that too. and this poem gives me that good inside feeling, maybe it will for you too.
At Blackwater Pond - mary oilver
At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled
after a night of rain.
I dip my cupped hands. I drink
a long time. It tastes
like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold
into my body, waking the bones. I hear them
deep inside me, whispering
oh what is that beautiful thing
that just happened?
but. we did it. and it was even fun. like life. le bien, le mal.
tonight the moon is full and i love that. tonight the world looks happy and deep and i love that too. and this poem gives me that good inside feeling, maybe it will for you too.
At Blackwater Pond - mary oilver
At Blackwater Pond the tossed waters have settled
after a night of rain.
I dip my cupped hands. I drink
a long time. It tastes
like stone, leaves, fire. It falls cold
into my body, waking the bones. I hear them
deep inside me, whispering
oh what is that beautiful thing
that just happened?
Monday, October 14, 2013
the old mango tree
yesterday i sat under a giant old mango tree. it was during church- we were outside, there were tents and chairs and lots of people and music and microphones and i just sat under that tree and it let it speak to me. it was so beautiful and full. it was filled with things that maybe didn't belong, but were now there. it was filled with history and change and time and allowance. this tree held and supported things - other plants, other life forms, other things that needed a place- and this tree had opened her arms. there were ferns and long dangly tentacled things and large cauliflower type plants and mosses and lichen. there were her own leaves, full and shade giving. her bark peeled and her trunk had barbed wire embedded, helping to hold up a fence. she no longer produces mangos, but she sustains, she takes on, she holds life she didn't bear, life that needed a space to be. it spoke to me about evolution and unexpected and taking what comes and with being okay.
we often get in life what we didn't sign up for. we are often given things we didn't want or think we'd be faced with. things grow in us and on us that aren't always part of our vision. and this can be hard and frustrating and time can be spent fighting it, but why? because we get what we get-whether we think we deserve it or not - whether we think we can handle it or not. no one signs up for excessive loss or pain or illness or handicapped children or divorce. but these things are part of our story. we all have a story and all stories have hardness and challenge- all of them.
last night i went to womens fellowship. we are looking at the different names of God and last night was Jehovah Jireh - Jehovah as provider. this name for God is spoken by Abraham after God asks him to sacrifice his son Isaac but then at the last minute, provides a ram instead. there are certain words in the english language that i strongly dislike the sound of and jireh is one of them, (so is orthodontia) but i do love the words for God as a provider. because it's true. because i know this. because i have lived in this provision.
but. it's often easier for me to feel the provision in those big 'i didn't sign up for this' moments. it can be harder for me to remember the provision in all the other moments- those which make up my days. i tend to be able to trust Him when it's big and dramatic, but all the little things, the things that i think i may actually be able to handle on my own- that is when i forget the provision. it's the creeping small nagging needs that i don't remember to lay at the table. that i convince myself i can manage. but those are the ones that eat at my joy.
provision also requires us to think about need and want. when i trust in the provision of God, i trust that provision will be sometimes 'above and beyond what i can ask or imagine', and most of the time it will be 'enough'. it will be what is needed. and it will often show up at the very last minute. for abraham, God showed up when isaac is tied to the firewood. God provided that ram. i think if i were abraham i would be have already swapped isaac out for a worm. "oh look son, God has provided this nice worm for us. " i would say with dirt under my nails from frantically digging, "you can get up off of that alter, i'm sure this will be fine." my guess is that God would have just shaken her head and let it go. i don't think i, or isaac would have been struck down by lighting. i think we would have just missed out on the incredible, indescribable provision, and the relationship that comes from that level of trust and faith. we would have gone down that mountain, knowing that our worm, was not the point. knowing inside, that somehow we'd missed it. we got the vanilla version of experiencing God, when we could have had new york super fudge chunk.
i wonder how many times i miss the grandeur because i don't fully trust. i get up the mountain and i can't stop digging for my own version of meeting the need. how many times do i miss out on the deep life changing provision of God?
the thing is, we can take what comes our way when we know of the provision, when we can not just trust in it, but rest in it. then we can open our arms like the branches of that old mango tree and welcome what is- even in it's unexpectedness, it's undesirability. the promise is that it will be okay. it will be enough. and if we can wait, if we can wait expectantly, patiently, trustingly, we will be amazed.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
lay it down.
you bring what you have to the table. you lay it down. sometimes it's in pieces. sometimes it's tears. sometimes it's a full blossom. sometimes it's a pebble of hope. or hopelessness. or a seed of unknown. or laughter. or confusion.
it doesn't matter.
you give what you have. you bring what's been given to you in that day, this week, a minute. you bring the incessantly barking dog. and the seizing cat who finally died yesterday afternoon, with the moments that followed of grave digging and brynies voice shouting "my mom can sing amazing grace at the funeral!"
you bring your best efforts at kindness. you bring your failures in sacrifice.
you bring the time that slowed down enough that you could taste it. you bring the hours blended together into blurry days.
you bring the smell of your kids hair, and the book that they're making on 'my life in uganda', and their words on the goodness of it all. and roses constant chatter and zoe's growing insight and the way the light illuminates all kinds of green.
you bring another persons recurrent cancer. you bring your feeling of failure. and the fear. and the sorrow.
you bring your own years of loss. and the times when you cried out on bathroom floors. and the times when you sang out in praise, goose-bumped and crying in joy and thanks and awe- at this God who sits at the table. who welcomes all, and all of it. openly. willingly. expectantly.
i bring my distractions, my choices, my grappling attempts at self soothing. i bring my wandering. my lostness. and my memories of being found. i bring my trying. my getting back up. my desire.
i bring them all, the good parts and the ugly parts- because they are already known. they are already forgiven. i lay them down so that i can be free and not alone. i lay them down because sometimes i am tired and weary and in need of rest. and sometimes i am in need of remembering. and sometimes i just need to feel the everlasting arms.
then i go. back into the week of collecting things. and working on it. of gathering new bits and smoothing them with old bits and learning and shifting and adjusting. i go into the wild unexpected- in both it's monotony and it's unforeseen joys and terrors. life will unfold before us. whether we like it or not. it will be and we will be in it. and again we will assemble what we have and go to the table and lay it down.
it doesn't matter.
you give what you have. you bring what's been given to you in that day, this week, a minute. you bring the incessantly barking dog. and the seizing cat who finally died yesterday afternoon, with the moments that followed of grave digging and brynies voice shouting "my mom can sing amazing grace at the funeral!"
you bring your best efforts at kindness. you bring your failures in sacrifice.
you bring the time that slowed down enough that you could taste it. you bring the hours blended together into blurry days.
you bring the smell of your kids hair, and the book that they're making on 'my life in uganda', and their words on the goodness of it all. and roses constant chatter and zoe's growing insight and the way the light illuminates all kinds of green.
you bring another persons recurrent cancer. you bring your feeling of failure. and the fear. and the sorrow.
you bring your own years of loss. and the times when you cried out on bathroom floors. and the times when you sang out in praise, goose-bumped and crying in joy and thanks and awe- at this God who sits at the table. who welcomes all, and all of it. openly. willingly. expectantly.
i bring my distractions, my choices, my grappling attempts at self soothing. i bring my wandering. my lostness. and my memories of being found. i bring my trying. my getting back up. my desire.
i bring them all, the good parts and the ugly parts- because they are already known. they are already forgiven. i lay them down so that i can be free and not alone. i lay them down because sometimes i am tired and weary and in need of rest. and sometimes i am in need of remembering. and sometimes i just need to feel the everlasting arms.
then i go. back into the week of collecting things. and working on it. of gathering new bits and smoothing them with old bits and learning and shifting and adjusting. i go into the wild unexpected- in both it's monotony and it's unforeseen joys and terrors. life will unfold before us. whether we like it or not. it will be and we will be in it. and again we will assemble what we have and go to the table and lay it down.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
wednesday poem
Next time- mary oliver
Next time what I'd do is look at
the earth before saying anything. I'd stop
just before going into a house
and be an emperor for a minute
and listen better to the wind
or to the air being still.
When anyone talked to me, whether
blame or praise or just passing time,
I'd watch the face, how the mouth
has to work, and see any strain, any
sign of what lifted the voice.
And for all, I'd know more -- the earth
bracing itself and soaring, the air
finding every leaf and feather over
forest and water, and for every person
the body glowing inside the clothes
like a light.
Next time what I'd do is look at
the earth before saying anything. I'd stop
just before going into a house
and be an emperor for a minute
and listen better to the wind
or to the air being still.
When anyone talked to me, whether
blame or praise or just passing time,
I'd watch the face, how the mouth
has to work, and see any strain, any
sign of what lifted the voice.
And for all, I'd know more -- the earth
bracing itself and soaring, the air
finding every leaf and feather over
forest and water, and for every person
the body glowing inside the clothes
like a light.
Monday, October 7, 2013
day 3
its a hard but almost warm rain and the sky nearby is bright. i am on this journey- it's a spiritual journey and like all journeys maybe starting is the hardest part. you get sore. the kinks need to be worked out. you need to find your rhythm. so here i am on the rocky beginnings of a journey. one of the things i've been reading and reflecting on is something i read from the center for action and contemplation:
"the path of descent is the path of transformation. Darkness, failure, relapse, death and woundedness are our primary teachers, rather than ideas or doctrines."
another one of the readings was the story of peter walking on the water toward Jesus. he is in a boat with the other guys- they see Jesus walking on the water toward the boat- they think he's a ghost- they are terrified- he tells them not to worry it's just him- peter doubts. peter says: if it's you, than command me to walk on the water to you and i will come. he steps out of the boat in faith. his faith enabled him to do the impossible- but then his doubt causes him to sink. when he fixed his eyes on his Lord, he could do great things, when he looked away, when he looked around him at the absurdity of what he was doing, at the waves and the surrounding storm, he fell into the deep. but. then he cried out. then he asked for help and immediately Jesus took his hand.
there is so much in that. Jesus didn't say "come on peter! try harder! have faith! look at me!" no. Jesus reached out to him- Jesus took him by the hand and got him back in the boat.
fast foward to the last supper- Jesus is talking to his friends- he is predicting his death and resurrection. it is the night that he will be betrayed. Jesus tells them that their faith will be shaken. there is peter. he is so confident. he knows himself. he's learned his lesson about faith and doubt- he remembers that boat and that storm and walking on that water. boldly he speaks- not i- no- not me- i know all about faith and mine will never be shaken. and Jesus calls him out. peter- this very night- you will deny me, not once, but three times before the rooster crows. and what does peter say? even if i must die with you i will not deny you!
can you imagine what he must have felt less than 12 hours later when he heard that early morning call- that echoing screeching in his ears? that deep ache at his betrayal. that sore spot of his failure to correct his biggest challenge - shaky faith. he went out and wept bitterly.
bitterly. i can taste that. its that sick feeling of never seeming to get it right. of the constancy of our inability to do and speak and love and be the way we want. our daily struggle with faith and our humanity.
again, like adam and eve who were walking with God in the garden and still messed it up, here is peter walking with God wearing skin- and even being warned that he will mess it up, and he still messes it up too!
but it doesn't end there- and that is the absolute beauty of Jesus. He meets us where we are- sinking wet feet in deep water, or as the sun is rising and we are weeping bitterly. He transforms. He uses our failures and our weakness and our dark hours to teach us and grow us and strengthen us. look at what happens to peter. he is the rock on whom the church (lower case letters) is built. He chooses peter- maybe because he finally got it. he finally saw his arrogance and his brokenness and in humility he returns. he doesn't run away in shame like judas does. he allows his path of descent to transform him. but it is Jesus who brings the healing- Jesus who calls him out again- to know his true transformed self- peter, do you love me? not once, but three times he asks this. He covers his denials with a question about love- and a command to feed his sheep.
and that is what peter does. i am one of those sheep- being fed by his lessons, by his woundedness, by his transformation. i am so thankful for peter. for those who have walked before me. for those who have lived through the paths of descent and been transformed. as here i am, on this journey........
"the path of descent is the path of transformation. Darkness, failure, relapse, death and woundedness are our primary teachers, rather than ideas or doctrines."
another one of the readings was the story of peter walking on the water toward Jesus. he is in a boat with the other guys- they see Jesus walking on the water toward the boat- they think he's a ghost- they are terrified- he tells them not to worry it's just him- peter doubts. peter says: if it's you, than command me to walk on the water to you and i will come. he steps out of the boat in faith. his faith enabled him to do the impossible- but then his doubt causes him to sink. when he fixed his eyes on his Lord, he could do great things, when he looked away, when he looked around him at the absurdity of what he was doing, at the waves and the surrounding storm, he fell into the deep. but. then he cried out. then he asked for help and immediately Jesus took his hand.
there is so much in that. Jesus didn't say "come on peter! try harder! have faith! look at me!" no. Jesus reached out to him- Jesus took him by the hand and got him back in the boat.
fast foward to the last supper- Jesus is talking to his friends- he is predicting his death and resurrection. it is the night that he will be betrayed. Jesus tells them that their faith will be shaken. there is peter. he is so confident. he knows himself. he's learned his lesson about faith and doubt- he remembers that boat and that storm and walking on that water. boldly he speaks- not i- no- not me- i know all about faith and mine will never be shaken. and Jesus calls him out. peter- this very night- you will deny me, not once, but three times before the rooster crows. and what does peter say? even if i must die with you i will not deny you!
can you imagine what he must have felt less than 12 hours later when he heard that early morning call- that echoing screeching in his ears? that deep ache at his betrayal. that sore spot of his failure to correct his biggest challenge - shaky faith. he went out and wept bitterly.
bitterly. i can taste that. its that sick feeling of never seeming to get it right. of the constancy of our inability to do and speak and love and be the way we want. our daily struggle with faith and our humanity.
again, like adam and eve who were walking with God in the garden and still messed it up, here is peter walking with God wearing skin- and even being warned that he will mess it up, and he still messes it up too!
but it doesn't end there- and that is the absolute beauty of Jesus. He meets us where we are- sinking wet feet in deep water, or as the sun is rising and we are weeping bitterly. He transforms. He uses our failures and our weakness and our dark hours to teach us and grow us and strengthen us. look at what happens to peter. he is the rock on whom the church (lower case letters) is built. He chooses peter- maybe because he finally got it. he finally saw his arrogance and his brokenness and in humility he returns. he doesn't run away in shame like judas does. he allows his path of descent to transform him. but it is Jesus who brings the healing- Jesus who calls him out again- to know his true transformed self- peter, do you love me? not once, but three times he asks this. He covers his denials with a question about love- and a command to feed his sheep.
and that is what peter does. i am one of those sheep- being fed by his lessons, by his woundedness, by his transformation. i am so thankful for peter. for those who have walked before me. for those who have lived through the paths of descent and been transformed. as here i am, on this journey........
Saturday, October 5, 2013
40 day journey
these days it rains in the mornings. a beautiful good hard and heavy rain. a rain that keeps people inside. that shouts. that makes things still, that makes me sit still. its a rain that i wish would stay all day and let me be in it. in the noisy quiet of it. but it doesn't stay. by afternoon it's a hot and sunny kind of beautiful, but i long for a good long rain and a fireplace. that is the new englander in me who craves the seasons - who needs the change- the stirring up- the different- the time for falling leaves and raking and cold air and baked breads and sweaters and the smell of wood burning and apples. the closest i get to it, are these cold morning rains.
yesterday was the feast of st. francis- that wise monk from so long ago. he spoke many good truth- like this one:
“We have been called to heal wounds, to unite what has fallen apart, and to bring home any who have lost their way.”
– St. Francis
heal. unite. bring home. that is what we are called into. and the reason we need to do those things- are because of the broken- wounds, fallen, lost. the truth of the world we live in and the task before us. lately in what i've read or seen and in words spoken to me through others- i have been seeing my lack of healing, uniting and bringing home. i have been seeing more of my wounds and apartness and lostness and it is calling me to a season of slowing it way down, of refocus, of moving a degree to realign. i am seeing my motion, my need for that, my insatiability, my grappling. i am seeing my self distraction and my numbing and that is not how i want to live.
i want to live in my breath. i want to live in a place of pause and waiting- not movement not need of busy and email and facebook and messages.
so i'm giving myself a time-out. i'm taking a break and i have begun a journey, a 40 day journey. i'm not going anywhere physically-and that is part of the point. i'm going to sit in my life- to be in my life- but to be in it without needing facebook. to be in it with contemplative prayer and collected readings and quiet purposeful space. to be in it with anticipation with advent with a stillness and a discipline that i trust will lead to openness. to healing. to uniting. to bringing home. to mending.
today my reading was about love and forgiveness- which basically sums up God- pure love and constant forgiveness. it was about agape love-
"a profound concern for the welfare of another with out any desire to control that other, to be thanked by that other, or to enjoy the process."
wow. what got me was the "with out the desire to enjoy the process." that speaks to me of the work and discipline of love. of learning to love deeply and correctly and constantly- no matter what. no matter if you get anything back. no matter if it hurts. no matter if it's not fun. no matter if there are joyless seasons.
i have always had this expectation that i should enjoy the process of loving someone- and part of my angst in seasons with zoe have been about the unfairness of this- of feeling the struggle and challenge of love- of living the 'not enjoying the process.'
but i want to change the expectation. i want to practice loving better- loving selflessly- loving correctly - to loving in the apage way. to loving my family with my tone of voice and my time and my eye contact and my choices.
because this is the place to begin.
this is the how to heal wounds, to unite what has fallen apart, and to bring home those who have lost their way.
love and forgiveness. always, and even for oneself.
