Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
-mary oliver
Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.
-buechner
maybe because it's lent. or maybe because i just feel my own broken neediness these days- i have been really searching, and looking, and listening to find the voice of God in the words of others. and as promised, when we search, we find. when we look, we see. when we listen, we hear- at least....something.
these days, i'm struggling a lot. these days i feel and see zoe struggling- i hear about it - i watch it- and often i am the target of it. being 14 years old is hard. for everyone. but 14 with significant learning challenges and difficultly reading social cues, with no good friends? that's REALLY hard. so zoe is angry and moody and crabby and likes to take most of it out on me. i don't blame her, but i really don't like it.
yesterday i was driving back from kampala and i was listening to the words of dave thompson- a very wise missionary surgeon. every time i hear him- i hear the voice of God- and i get some insight- and some peace. he told a lot of stories about his life and when we tell stories about our lives they are usually about the hard parts, and the hard parts make us ask a lot of questions. but often the questions we ask- the why's and the why not's come back to us, as God asks back - is my love enough? and - do you trust me?
it's really easy to say- YES- to both questions when things are easy. when life is going well- when things are not complicated. when we have energy and reserve and hope about life, and joy. but when things are darkish and hard and you're tired and wondering what to do and where to do it- those answers can be slower to come....
the month of march is finally over. it took forever. it was the month that my jude turned 9. the month lent began. the month emmanuel died of his cancer. this month- full of all that- left me with a lot of questions about life and death and healing and God and our histories and what's in our names.
emmanuel had a picture of st. jude on the wall in his house where i saw him when he couldn't breathe and needed to go the the big city hospital where i knew he'd take his last breath. st jude. the patron saint of lost or hopeless causes.
the day he died they brought his body back to the house. i'm now used to this. to the main room emptied of furniture- straw mats placed on the floor- the body laid out- the family surrounding it- a fire outside- porridge being made and eaten. quiet voices. tears. long sitting. long staying. being together.
on the yellow walls across from where he lay- was that picture of st. jude. looking down. remaining. this cause over- at least on this side of things. i sat on that straw mat, bit my lip and through teary eyes i glared at st. jude. really? i thought. where was the intercession? i was just so tired of the dust and the heat and the death and the knowness of it all. i was so tired of what i heard- the thanks to me for caring for him when all i wanted to do was apologize and disappear. another cancer death. another failed attempt at cure.
jude is the name of my son. my son who just turned 9, when he wasn't even supposed to turn 1. when he was supposed to be disabled. my smart, beautiful, amazing son. st. jude hung over his crib. i had bought it at the catholic cathedral bookstore on the edge of chinatown in san francisco. i bought it because it gave me hope when i wasn't being given much. i bought it to remember that with God - all things are possible. that miracle still exists. that the divine touches the finite world. there are brushes of holy- moments of clarity beyond ourselves. they are all around us.
emmanuel's name means God with us. in his coffin, surrounded by those yellow walls and his family and friends and beneath st. jude, through that little window over his face, i could see his smile- even in death-even though his treatment didn't stop his cancer- what his name meant- that was enough.
really, i don't know why my jude was restored and emmanuel wasn't. i don't know why timothy died of his cancer at age 14, and jude didn't. i don't know why bad things happen to people- over and over again. i don't know why my zoe has to struggle as much as she does. or why much of the world has to walk far still for clean water. or why there is so much poverty and disparity.
but. there is. and what i'm left with is- is Gods love enough?
is it enough for me to hold on to and chose joy, even when i can't do much for late stage cancer and find myself sitting on mats beside coffins? is it enough when zoe is freaking out because there is a new kid in the class, or because the thunder is just too loud? is it enough when i keep messing it all up over and over again? is it enough in the red dust, yellow jerrycan, tin roof place i live? is it enough even though...
somehow it is enough- somehow.
so we do as mary oliver and frederick buechner have said- to be- to be and live in our lives-
we pay attention.
we listen to it.
we see it for the fathomless mystery that it is.
we remain astonished.
we touch and taste and smell our way to the heart of it.
and we tell about it.
we tell about the grace.
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.
-mary oliver
Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery it is. In the boredom and pain of it, no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it, because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.
-buechner
maybe because it's lent. or maybe because i just feel my own broken neediness these days- i have been really searching, and looking, and listening to find the voice of God in the words of others. and as promised, when we search, we find. when we look, we see. when we listen, we hear- at least....something.
these days, i'm struggling a lot. these days i feel and see zoe struggling- i hear about it - i watch it- and often i am the target of it. being 14 years old is hard. for everyone. but 14 with significant learning challenges and difficultly reading social cues, with no good friends? that's REALLY hard. so zoe is angry and moody and crabby and likes to take most of it out on me. i don't blame her, but i really don't like it.
yesterday i was driving back from kampala and i was listening to the words of dave thompson- a very wise missionary surgeon. every time i hear him- i hear the voice of God- and i get some insight- and some peace. he told a lot of stories about his life and when we tell stories about our lives they are usually about the hard parts, and the hard parts make us ask a lot of questions. but often the questions we ask- the why's and the why not's come back to us, as God asks back - is my love enough? and - do you trust me?
it's really easy to say- YES- to both questions when things are easy. when life is going well- when things are not complicated. when we have energy and reserve and hope about life, and joy. but when things are darkish and hard and you're tired and wondering what to do and where to do it- those answers can be slower to come....
the month of march is finally over. it took forever. it was the month that my jude turned 9. the month lent began. the month emmanuel died of his cancer. this month- full of all that- left me with a lot of questions about life and death and healing and God and our histories and what's in our names.
emmanuel had a picture of st. jude on the wall in his house where i saw him when he couldn't breathe and needed to go the the big city hospital where i knew he'd take his last breath. st jude. the patron saint of lost or hopeless causes.
the day he died they brought his body back to the house. i'm now used to this. to the main room emptied of furniture- straw mats placed on the floor- the body laid out- the family surrounding it- a fire outside- porridge being made and eaten. quiet voices. tears. long sitting. long staying. being together.
on the yellow walls across from where he lay- was that picture of st. jude. looking down. remaining. this cause over- at least on this side of things. i sat on that straw mat, bit my lip and through teary eyes i glared at st. jude. really? i thought. where was the intercession? i was just so tired of the dust and the heat and the death and the knowness of it all. i was so tired of what i heard- the thanks to me for caring for him when all i wanted to do was apologize and disappear. another cancer death. another failed attempt at cure.
jude is the name of my son. my son who just turned 9, when he wasn't even supposed to turn 1. when he was supposed to be disabled. my smart, beautiful, amazing son. st. jude hung over his crib. i had bought it at the catholic cathedral bookstore on the edge of chinatown in san francisco. i bought it because it gave me hope when i wasn't being given much. i bought it to remember that with God - all things are possible. that miracle still exists. that the divine touches the finite world. there are brushes of holy- moments of clarity beyond ourselves. they are all around us.
emmanuel's name means God with us. in his coffin, surrounded by those yellow walls and his family and friends and beneath st. jude, through that little window over his face, i could see his smile- even in death-even though his treatment didn't stop his cancer- what his name meant- that was enough.
really, i don't know why my jude was restored and emmanuel wasn't. i don't know why timothy died of his cancer at age 14, and jude didn't. i don't know why bad things happen to people- over and over again. i don't know why my zoe has to struggle as much as she does. or why much of the world has to walk far still for clean water. or why there is so much poverty and disparity.
but. there is. and what i'm left with is- is Gods love enough?
is it enough for me to hold on to and chose joy, even when i can't do much for late stage cancer and find myself sitting on mats beside coffins? is it enough when zoe is freaking out because there is a new kid in the class, or because the thunder is just too loud? is it enough when i keep messing it all up over and over again? is it enough in the red dust, yellow jerrycan, tin roof place i live? is it enough even though...
somehow it is enough- somehow.
so we do as mary oliver and frederick buechner have said- to be- to be and live in our lives-
we pay attention.
we listen to it.
we see it for the fathomless mystery that it is.
we remain astonished.
we touch and taste and smell our way to the heart of it.
and we tell about it.
we tell about the grace.
1 comment:
thanks ;)
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