You have broken me.

Not sure at this point that I'm even entirely ready to cry out to God. There's still a lot of things leaving a foul taste in my mouth. It's been a really rough few days. But if I was going to cry out, I'd start here, with a verse I read in the Psalms last night.

Oh, give me back my joy again;
you have broken me -
now let me rejoice.
(Psalm 51:8)

Because I Should Have Done it Hours Ago

This has been a particularly rough day, and I ignored the warning signs and bottomed out physically, emotionally and spiritually again tonight.

I ignored the prompting all day to shift my thought patterns, to do the things that can usually shift the mood a bit. I ignored the internal prompting to make a smile list - a list of things I'm thankful for. So much for self-care.

I should have done this hours ago, but I didn't, and now, because of the low I'm at, it's a harder thing to do. But it needs to be done. And then, then, I hope I'll sleep. We'll try this "i have come that you might have life, and have it more abundantly" thing again tomorrow.

Without further ado... my current smile list (the list of things that make me smile - things I'm thankful for):

• that tomorrow is another day that, to quote Anne of Green Gables "has no mistakes in it yet"
• that it's a long weekend and I have three days away from the mess that is currently my job
  
• a tiny silver Saint Clare medal that I've been wearing around my neck all week
• a friend who loves me even in the moments when I'm completely unable to fully believe it, or to love myself
• music from Karla Adolphe and Jacob and Lily
• music from Misty Edwards
• TLC (the television station - I needed the mindless background while I was in the midst of a rather intense conversation tonight)
• tickets to go to the symphony at the beginning of October with my roommates and my brother
• 2 dozen red roses in a vase on my dressing table
• comfy sweat pants to wear to bed
• Nelly (a favorite teddy bear - a friend since birth - she still lives on my bed, and she gives great hugs when you cry)
• a photo beside my bed from a really special moment in my favorite meadow on top of a mountain earlier this summer
• that I get to see my best friend one last time before she leaves
• gmail chat - lets me keep in touch with a dear friend across the country, and will hopefully aid in staying close to my best friend when she's on the other side of the planet
• Psalm 51
• LUSH bath and shower products
• freezies
• kit-kat bars
• tea lights
• clean hair
• long hot showers
  

Struggling, waiting, praying

This has been an oddly full week. And not necessarily full in the best sense of that word.

I'm in the midst of saying some goodbyes. Literal and otherwise.

I'm tired.

My facebook status for the last few days has generally read something like "Lisa is waiting, praying and remembering to breathe."

It's all I can manage right now. Just waiting. And talking with Jesus. Sometimes in a very angry tone. Sometimes in quiet desperation. Sometimes just waiting and hoping he'll simply hold me. And remembering to breathe. That's it's okay to go slowly. To cut myself some slack. To stick to those thoughts I shared a week or so ago about self-care.

So it might be quieter around here for a few days again. I'm processing away from this public space. With good friends. Alone. and with Jesus.

Celebrity or Saint?

I liked this post at ysmarko today.

you can find it here.

Come

I read this prayer from St. Augustine in a little book called "Devotions to the Holy Spirit" while I was on the bus this morning.

It spoke of the places my heart has occupied lately, and to the things I'm praying for today.

Come,
You who best console the lonely heart,
Refuge in danger, Protector in distress.
Come,
You who cleanse the soul of every stain,
and heal all its wounds.
Come,
Strength of the weak,
Support of those on the verge of falling.
Come,
Teacher of those who are humble of heart,
who humbles the proud-hearted.
Come,
Father of the fatherless, Hope of the poor,
Treasure of those in need.
Come,
guiding Star of every pilgrim,
Harbor for those in danger of shipwreck.
Come,
Strength of the living,
Salvation of those about to die.
Come,
Holy Spirit,
and have mercy on me.

Voices

Some quotes and thoughts that have been collecting in my email inbox the last while...

The job of the peacemaker is to stop war, to purify the world, to get it saved from poverty and riches, to heal the sick, to comfort the sad, to wake up those who have not yet found God, to create joy and beauty wherever you go, to find God in everything and in everyone.
- Muriel Lester
(1884-1968)

Christianity ... is always in need of re-simplifying, going back to its origins, ridding itself of the excessive superstructure it has acquired through history. - José Comblin, Catholic theologian in Brazil Forgiveness is the key that unlocks the door of resentment and the handcuffs of hate. It is a power that breaks the chains of bitterness and the shackles of selfishness.
- Corrie Ten Boom

Holy Spirit, we love to pray when we are filled with an awareness of your presence, sometimes excited and joyful, sometimes silent and hopeful. During those other times when we are barely able to believe, thank you for hearing the unspoken prayers of our hearts and minds. Breathe on us, breath of God. Amen.
(Moravian Prayer for the Day, August 15, 2008)

Conversion pulls us out of our hiding places and takes us, "where we would rather not go" in following Christ.
-Segundo Galilea
Pastoral worker in Santiago, Chile

God sets out upon the humiliating path of reconciliation and thereby pronounces the world free. God wills to be guilty of our sin, and takes over the punishment and suffering sin has brought upon us. God answers for godlessness, love for hatred, the saint for the sinner. Now there is no godlessness, no hatred, no sin which God has not carried, suffered, and atoned. Now there is no reality, no world that is not reconciled and in peace with God. God did this in the beloved son Jesus Christ.
- Dietrich Bonhoeffer
Meditations on the Cross

Social sin is the crystallization ... of individuals’ sins into permanent structures that keeps sin in being and makes its force to be felt by the majority of people.
- Oscar Romero
Salvadoran archbishop, assassinated in 1980

Prayer is not a pious instrument by which we move God to baptize our enterprises; it is entering the strength of him who moves history and binds the powers that be.
- Melba Maggay
Filipina theologian

The cross is a symbol reminding the world that God is at God’s strongest when God seems to be at God’s weakest.
- Choan-Seng Song
Taiwanese theologian

We can move in the direction of justice, but if our personal relationships don’t become more human, we haven’t moved in the direction of the reign of God and, in the long run, we will discover that our point of arrival is just another form of tyranny.
- Arturo Paoli

There can be no evangelization without incarnation.
- Alvaro Barreiro
Brazilian Catholic theologian

Statue Found

The history geek in me requires me to post this link:

Huge Statue of Roman Ruler Found

Horrendous

I just read this article.

Afghanistan's Epidemic of Child Rape

Horrendous.

Hold me near..

My friend Karla Adolphe penned these lyrics to a song simply titled "Hold Me Near" which appears on the album I mentioned earlier today "Enter the Worship Circle: Chair and Microphone Volume 3". Tonight, though, as I sit in my bedroom, curled up, exhausted, and crying, with Karla's voice singing over my stereo, they are something more. They are the prayer and cry of my heart.

Hold me near
when I am restless
Hold me near
when I am bitter
Hold me near
when I'm rebellious
Hold me near
until the end

Hold me near
when my heart is broken
Hold me near
when I'm ignorant
Hold me near
when I am jealous
Hold me near
until the end

But as for me
my feet almost gave out
I nearly sold my heart
It's good to be
held by my father
It's good to be
where you are

Papua

Last week I had the privilege of listening to a young woman speak about the three and a half years she spent teaching and working in a small seminary in Papua New Guinea - the part that is actually considered part of Indonesia.

Her words were powerful, and sparked some rather surprising decisions in me. (No, I'm not heading for Papua any time soon!) But they did challenge me greatly.

Today, I received the following urgent email from a missionary that the church I grew up in has long provided prayer support to. After years as a missionary in the field in Indonesia, he and his wife now serve as a sort of traveling pastor/counsellor couple to other missionaries with their organization all over South East Asia. Because of my experience last week, I am praying specifically for them today.

URGENT: I am extending my time in Papua, Indonesia for two more days (until the 28th). There are various crisis at the present moment, and it feels like this field is under attack. Please pray that Satan’s designs would be thwarted and that God’s Spirit would move powerfully among us, convicting, encouraging, and strengthening all that are in great need at this time. “Father, you tell us to take the full armor of God and to trust in the Lord with all our hearts, not depending on our own understanding. We ask you now to protect your Church from the evil one, and break through the bonds that bind us and hinder unity. We want to see your Name lifted up and your people filled by and walking in your Spirit”

Monday Morning Thoughts

It's Monday morning again.

I nearly stayed home ill today. Not that I'm so much sick, as simply exhausted.

It's now been a week of waking at 3 am every morning. I sleep a bit after that, but never deep or restful sleep.

I'm struggling with being very sensitive to certain things again. It's playing out in some health matters, but also, I think in my sleep. I've had some rather terrifying dreams again lately - which, in combination with the minimal amount of sleep that I get, is a problem.

I'm fairly certain that sometime in the next month I will become a car owner. That will, at least, allow me to mostly eliminate the many "adventures" I have on the bus and train each week from my days.

I'm listening to Enter the Worship Circle Chair and Microphone Volume 3 this morning, which features my friend Karla Adolphe (of Jacob and Lily fame!). I'm needing to hear her words and prayers right now. I played this disc all day yesterday, and suspect I'll do the same today. Reminders of the nearness of Jesus even in the midst of the darker spaces.

Drew wrote a post about healing that I really liked. You can find it here.

And Claudia Mair Burney wrote a post that included a beautiful Ignatian prayer -the words of God to us. You can find that here.

I'm sipping tea. Fighting a headache. Working to make it through another day.

It's only Monday and I'm already anxious for the arrival of the weekend.

Ah well.

Here we go again!

Covered (trust in that)

I have had an awful lot of moments lately where I just want it all fixed. I want to wave some sort of magic wand and solve problems.

I see hurting friends and long for them to be filled with joy and peace.

I see illness, and long for healing.

I see those I love struggling, and long for the battle to cease, at least for a time.

I see broken relationships and long for restoration.

I see so many things, and long for them to be fixed.

And through it all, as I pray, I hear over and over again "my body broken, my blood shed"

And I pray again with Jesus in the garden, "if possible, let this cup pass, but not my will but yours be done."

And I work to remember that shed blood that covers all these longings of my heart. And to trust in the timing and promise of that.

Sunday

I had the chance to attend a very fun event last night. More importantly, I got the chance to have a long conversation with a relatively new friend. She's an awfully special person - one of few with whom I feel completely free to simply be who I am. Some of the things that I shared with her are things that have been greeted with a degree of shock or derision by other very dear friends. She took them in stride, understanding without me explaining why they were things that are uniquely suited to me, and to where my life and journey are at. I'm thankful for the conversation, and the hug we shared.

Today was an odd sort of day.

Time spent cleaning.

Some reading. Some writing.

Tea and conversation with a friend.

Dinner.

More reading.

And I'm currently sitting here watching Rob Bell teach that "Everything is Spiritual" while my roommate and I discuss our meal plan for the upcoming week, and while I begin to formulate a budget.

It's been a quiet, but oddly lonely day.

And tomorrow starts another week. At a job that is less than thrilling. My boss is out of town again. That means that the other managers will conveniently "forget" that I have a brain, and I'll likely do idiotic things all week.

Sigh.

At least next weekend is a long weekend.

August 23, 2008

A dear friend of mine sent me an email this morning with the "Saint of the Day". She knows my deep heart desire to spend some time in Peru, and we'd recently been talking about a Peruvian Saint, Saint Rose of Lima. I smiled when I woke this morning and found her message. She told me simply that she was thinking of me this morning, and forwarded on the following:

August 23, 2008
St. Rose of Lima
(1586-1617)
The first canonized saint of the New World has one characteristic of all saints—the suffering of opposition—and another characteristic which is more for admiration than for imitation—excessive practice of mortification.

She was born to parents of Spanish descent in Lima, Peru, at a time when South America was in its first century of evangelization. She seems to have taken Catherine of Siena as a model, in spite of the objections and ridicule of parents and friends.

The saints have so great a love of God that what seems bizarre to us, and is indeed sometimes imprudent, is simply a logical carrying out of a conviction that anything that might endanger a loving relationship with God must be rooted out. So, because her beauty was so often
admired, Rose used to rub her face with pepper to produce disfiguring blotches. Later, she wore a thick circlet of silver on her head, studded on the inside, like a crown of thorns.

When her parents fell into financial trouble, she worked in the garden all day and sewed at night. Ten years of struggle against her parents began when they tried to make Rose marry. They refused to let her enter a convent, and out of obedience she continued her life of
penance and solitude at home as a member of the Third Order of St. Dominic. So deep was her desire to live the life of Christ that she spent most of her time at home in solitude.

During the last few years of her life, Rose set up a room in the house where she cared for homeless children, the elderly and the sick. This was a beginning of social services in Peru. Though secluded in life and activity, she was brought to the attention of Inquisition
interrogators, who could only say that she was influenced by grace.

What might have been a merely eccentric life was transfigured from the inside. If we remember some unusual penances, we should also remember the greatest thing about Rose: a love of God so ardent that it withstood ridicule from without, violent temptation and lengthy periods of sickness. When she died at 31, the city turned out for her funeral. Prominent men took turns carrying her coffin.

Comment:

It is easy to dismiss excessive penances of the saints as the expression of a certain culture or temperament. But a woman wearing a crown of thorns may at least prod our consciences. We enjoy the most comfort-oriented life in human history. We eat too much, drink too much, use a million gadgets, fill our eyes and ears with everything imaginable. Commerce thrives on creating useless needs to spend our money on. It seems that when we have become most like slaves, there is the greatest talk of "freedom." Are we willing to discipline ourselves in such an atmosphere?

Quote:

"If your hand or your foot causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. It is better for you to enter into life maimed or crippled than with two hands or two feet to be thrown into eternal fire. And if your eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. It is better for you to enter into life with one eye than with two eyes to be thrown into fiery Gehenna" (Matthew 18:8–9).

(This entry appears in the print edition of Saint of the Day.)

I was glad to know that today is the day of the Patron Saint of the country that has so stolen my heart.

Today is also my grandpa's birthday. I wrote a few weeks ago about time spent in a cemetery, saying goodbye, letting eight years of woundedness begin to heal. Today feels bittersweet, as his birthdays often have, but it is no longer a day where I am working to forget, to hide, to avoid the guilt that would come springing to the surface, and for that I am grateful.

The plan is to make today a quiet one. I'm attending a fun concert/party later tonight, with some old and some new friends, and I need to do a few errands this morning sometime. But other than that, I'm going to simply enjoy quiet. To read and pray and rest. To remember my grandpa, and think about the country of Peru, to which Jesus has so drawn my heart. To pray for friends, and family members (my brother T. is likely facing another surgery on his wrist), to find joy. To write. To simply rest in the presence of Jesus for a while.

Peru in the news

Peru Throws Out Amazon Land Laws

Long Day, but Good

I made some big decisions yesterday. Stuff I'm not quite ready to share with the world at large, but things that will change some directions in my life.

Today underscored some of those decisions, and added some interesting dilemmas to my life.

But I spent time with my best friend this evening, and that was great. Time with her is getting short. In just over a week and a half she is leaving to spend eight months bringing babies into the world in Pakistan, and doing pre and post-natal care. Four months after she returns, she'll be getting married, and I'd be a fool to think that marriage won't bring changes to our relationship. But tonight, we shopped for girly things and just enjoyed being together. We talked about bath products, and what makes our skin break out. About her travel and wedding plans. About the possibility of me perhaps visiting her in Pakistan before she comes home. About what we're doing this weekend, and when we're getting together next.

It was great to spend time with her, to forget about all the hard and serious stuff for a couple of hours and talk about things that were way more fun. I'm so glad for her.

News Article

Afghan Women Painters on Show

I love the photo of a painting that accompanies this article. Titled simply "Hope". So good.

Try to Love the Questions...

Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.
(Ranier Maria Rilke)

I found this quote on somewhere recently, and, well, it grabbed at me. I am not good at patience with the unresolved things. And while I'm better than some at living with the questions, I certainly don't love them, and I've never managed to just live them, instead of looking for answers. I've recently been in the midst of some things that are quite frustrating, and told a dear friend in exhaustion that I was wishing for a three-step method to solving all the problems, and that I then wanted to accomplish all three of those steps in the next 20 minutes and be over and done with this all. She pointed out that I didn't really want that. Darn those friends who tell the truth! (Which is precisely what I want in a friend, but dang, sometimes I wish the truth lined up with what I want to hear/see/do a little more often.)

Beautiful Words

I updated my list of links in the sidebar to include a few more blogs that I've been reading rather regularly lately.

I want to highlight one of those. I have loved each of the few books I read by Claudia Mair Burney, and I loved her blog, Ragamuffin Diva in the days when she was still writing there. I was delighted to see that she's started a new blog, with vignettes, and info on her books.

Here are three posts I loved this week:

Encouragement from St. Clare of Assisi (I have my own special affection for St. Clare, and her feast day was August 11th - I'll probably write about her sometime soon here, but in the meantime, I loved these words from her that were included in this post.)

Something Beautiful for God (because this played nicely into the poverty theme that I've been encountering lately)

Being Quiet (Because oh, do I ever know about avoiding God and the call to silence)

Enjoy!

Sigh

Thankfully, today has been mostly peaceful, if tedious.

In spite of that, I'm exhausted.

And craving chocolate.

And trying to remind myself that I don't "need" chocolate. (see my post on self-care from earlier this week.) I think there might be banana chocolate muffins in the staff kitchen. I should check on that. That would be a good compromise.

I'm also incessantly thirsty.

I'm on my fourth bottle of water for the day, and will likely refill at least once more before the day ends.

The workday ends in an hour. I'm so glad for that.

Then about an hour, maybe an hour and a half on public transit to get home.

But there should be a dinner of honey-garlic pork roast, potatoes, and broccoli waiting for me when I get there, courtesy of my recently returned roommate, who has not yet returned to work.

And a quiet evening. I need a quiet evening.

Maybe a long bath.

Maybe just curling up like I did last night with a book, my laptop, my journal, and some snacks and a magazine.

Sigh.

I'm almost done.

And I'm glad for that.

Quick Smile List

Because it's half-way through Wednesday, which means I'm half-way through another week of work. Because it's been the kind of week where before I ever left my house on Monday morning, I thought to myself "I need a weekend". Because I'm tired, but oddly peaceful today, and a quick list of things that make me smile can only contribute to that.

• dove in flight necklace


• cooler weather


• figuring out a way to move an office machine so that an extraordinarily tedious task which will fill most of this week is slightly less tedious, and doesn't involve me standing and running back and forth from my desk all day.


• an email from a friend


• satsuma oil and sandlewood oil burning in my bedroom last night


• good leftovers for lunch today


• a favorite new purse from the Tibetan shop I love (my roommate surveyed me this morning and commented, "You look very business like and formal until you see your purse." I laughed and reminded her again that I'm embracing my "hippy, bohemian side")


• mandarin oranges being back in stock at the grocery store


• five reminder stones sitting on my desk


• an odd, but somehow peaceful experience this morning


• time writing on the train


• books

Tonight

Tonight has defied expectations.

I was exhausted when I left my office, and less than thrilled for the things I needed to accomplish this evening.

My roommates and I needed groceries. We had a list, and a menu plan, which would make the shopping easier, but I wasn't looking forward to expending the effort that would be required to go to two different stores and purchase the things on our lists.

I restocked on the essentials. You know, fruit, veggies, chocolate. The chocolate was definitely an essential.

It's been a much better evening than I expected it to be.

After groceries, and a quick but good dinner (roast chicken from the grocery store- pre-made, an asian cucumber salad, and green beans, with mango for dessert), I've been curled up in my bedroom.

I went with the no-pressure approach and decided to read a magazine instead of forcing myself into the more intense reading and writing I need to accomplish.

Took a shower, and braided my hair in the hopes of encouraging it to be curly tomorrow.

My bedroom smells like sandlewood and oranges, courtesy of the oil burner sitting near my mirror.

The weather outside has finally cooled off a bit, making Calgary a far more liveable place.

So, I'm sprawled across my bed on my stomach, writing a blog post. In a few minutes I'll finish the article I'm reading in the magazine I bought, and then I'll grab the book I'm reading, and my journal, and finish up a bit of writing I started on the train tonight. I'll eat a bit more chocolate - maybe a chocolate cream oreo or a ferrero rocher. And I'll try for early to bed, in the hopes that tonight will bring more than four hours of rest.

Hope

Hope posted this quote, which she titled "waiting and walking" about hope on her blog this morning, and I loved it too. You can find the post here.

More on Poverty

Poverty (in all sorts of forms) is a theme that's been popping up a lot around me lately.

I read and was quite touched by both the practical advice, and the deep love expressed in this story, "A Swindled Heart." Check it out here.

Henri Nouwen on Poverty

Our Poverty, God's Dwelling Place

How can we embrace poverty as a way to God when everyone around us wants to become rich? Poverty has many forms. We have to ask ourselves: "What is my poverty?" Is it lack of money, lack of emotional stability, lack of a loving partner, lack of security, lack of safety, lack of self-confidence? Each human being has a place of poverty. That's the place where God wants to dwell! "How blessed are the poor," Jesus says (Matthew 5:3). This means that our blessing is hidden in our poverty.

We are so inclined to cover up our poverty and ignore it that we often miss the opportunity to discover God, who dwells in it. Let's dare to see our poverty as the land where our treasure is hidden.

Meeting God in the Poor

When we are not afraid to confess our own poverty, we will be able to be with other people in theirs. The Christ who lives in our own poverty recognises the Christ who lives in other people's. Just as we are inclined to ignore our own poverty, we are inclined to ignore others'. We prefer not to see people who are destitute, we do not like to look at people who are deformed or disabled, we avoid talking about people's pains and sorrows, we stay away from brokenness, helplessness, and neediness.

By this avoidance we might lose touch with the people through whom God is manifested to us. But when we have discovered God in our own poverty, we will lose our fear of the poor and go to them to meet God.

Self-Care

A few weeks ago I wrote here about a visit to a cemetery, about healing, and about letting go of eight years worth of shame caused by one decision made from a place of self-care. I stayed home exhausted one Friday night, and discovered the next morning that my grandpa had died in the night, and I wouldn't get a chance to say goodbye.

That night started a new pattern in my life. Over the next eight years I consistently put everything and everyone that I cared about ahead of myself, pouring myself out even when there was nothing left in me to give, because I never wanted to regret another decision of that sort.

I've realized in recent weeks, as I've begun to seek to care for myself just a little that I'm terribly bad at self-care, and that I genuinely believe that others are far more deserving of care and concern than I am.

So, I'm trying to make decisions that take my own mental, spiritual and emotional health into consideration. And I suck at it, but I'm working at getting better at it.

What does that look like?

Well, right now it looks like making sure I remember to take a multi-vitamin with a meal once a day.

It looks like trying to be in bed before midnight, and taking my evenings slowly.

It looks like being willing to face a lot of stuff that I'd rather not face - like not avoiding some tough stuff because I'll be a healthier human being if I deal with it instead.

It looks like taking long baths, with a book that's been challenging me, because in the bath there are no distractions and I actually have to focus and let what I'm reading impact my heart.

It also looks like giving myself a break when things get a bit too intense, and finding a way to escape for just a bit into a novel, or find a movie that makes me laugh.

It looks like recognizing the tendency my body has to sugar crash, and trying to control that by eating regular small amounts of healthy stuff, instead of the chocolate bars that I crave.

It looks like remembering that the sugar crashes and cravings really can be controlled. That for three months earlier this year I fasted from sugar and chocolate, and managed to control the sugar crashes with healthier choices like banana bread and fruit.

It looks like holing up in my bedroom when I know that I need to alone.

And it looks like spending time with people who aren't draining, when I recognize that being alone is beginning to fuel the storms in my mind instead of calming them. People who can pull me out of myself a bit, help me to laugh, gain perspective, and refocus my thoughts.

It looks like drinking at least a couple of litres of water a day.

It looks like long chats with the friends who know me well and will hug, encourage and generally push me towards Jesus, discouraging my numerous avoidance techniques.

It sometimes looks like walks in the park, or painting my toenails, or eating chicken ceasar salad for dinner or indulging in freezies on long hot evenings.

It looks like trying to re-establish a tiny bit of rhythm to various parts of my life. Not hard and fast rules to struggle against, but something to provide a bit of general structure to what has felt scattered and disorienting this last while.

I'm working at it. I'm not there yet, and parts of me say I shouldn't "waste" so much time worrying about how I'm doing - there are others out there who "really suffer" - and yet, I'm recognizing more and more that physical, mental and emotional collapse will happen if I don't spend a bit of time caring for myself.

Between Old and New

At the suggestion of a friend I've been re-reading a book by Henri Nouwen. "The Inner Voice of Love." What's funny about this whole situation is that the friend who suggested it is one who doesn't particularly enjoy Henri, and is reading that book herself partly as my suggestion. When she suggested that I work my way back through it, I wasn't expecting to be caught and convicted by nearly every page.

I read this section tonight, called "Enter the New Country"

You have an idea of what the new country looks like. Still, you are very much at home, although not truly at peace, in the old country. You know the ways of the old country, its joys and pains, its happy and sad moments. you have spent most of your days there. Even though you know that you have not found there what your heart most desires, you remain quite attached to it. It has become part of your very bones.

Now you have come to realize that you must leave it and enter the new country, where your Beloved dwells. You know that what helped and guided you in the old country no longer works, but what else do you have to go by? You are being asked to trust that you will find what you need in the new country...

Trust is so hard, since you have nothing to fall back on. Still, trust is what is essential. The new country is where you are called to go, and the only way to go there is naked and vulnerable.

It seems that you keep crossing and recrossing the border. For a while you experience a real joy in the new country. But then you feel afraid and start longing again for all you left behind, so you go back to the old country. To your dismay, you discover that the old country has lost its charm. Risk a few more steps into the new country, trusting that each time you enter it, you will feel more comfortable and be able to stay longer.

I wrote the following line in my journal tonight, just after recording that quote...

I'm living most days right now in some sort of bizarre no-man's-land between the old and new countries - completely dissatisfied with the old country, and yet very much afraid of the trust and risk that the new country requires for me to fully inhabit it.

I'm between old and new, and it kind of sucks, but I'm working to trust that it will be okay.

Living Sacrament...

I loved this blog post today... for a variety of reasons, most of which I can't really explain...

But the photos are great, and I love her definition of sacrament.

Sun Kissed

I went to the farmer's market first thing this morning to buy raspberries and blackberries. Then a quick trip home to pick up my roommate, L., and we headed out to do a couple of errands and go to Shakespeare in the Park again.

After the park, we went to the river, and laid on the banks in our bikinis, enjoying the sun, and the quiet. A quick dip in the river and we headed home, sun-kissed (but thankfully not burnt) and rather thirsty.

Now we're crashed on the couches in our living room, watching olympic coverage (we cheered as the kenyan woman beat out the chinese woman for the silver medal in the women's marathon, and we're presently watching swimming) and relaxing.

I have a headache from being out in the sun - pretty normal for me, but one that should be easily drugged into submission.

It's been a good day.

Peru in the news...

Thousands Join Peru Quake Protest

thoughts circling (can't avoid)

It’s finally Friday.

This has been a long, and weird sort of week, and I’m glad it’s ending.

There are dozens of things circling my brain.

I’m the queen of avoidance techniques, and even those are no longer working.

I’m hoping to go to my favorite park early tomorrow morning. There is a strong pull to be there. I need to walk, and pray. I need to throw stones, and leave some things behind. I need to stand by the water, and maybe dip my feet in it. I need to spend some time surrendering.

I’m thinking about poverty and provision, and my lack of ability to trust (though I’ve seen it over and over through the years) that God will provide.

I’m thinking about how easy it is to say that everything I own is God’s, even my money, and my things, and how hard it is to actually live that out.

A favorite bookstore begins their final close-out sale tomorrow. And I want to go and shop. And yet, this week I’ve realized that spending money is just another avoidance technique. That sometimes I shop with purpose and direction, but sometimes (often lately) I shop because I want to forget, or to avoid. And, as I think of visiting the bookstore, I realize that the pull is the sale prices, rather than the need for books. There are probably close to fifty books on my shelves that I have not yet read, and the list would likely balloon to close to one hundred if we counted the books that I’ve started and never finished. So I’ll probably skip the bookstore, and curl up with one of the many books I already own.

I’m thinking about Christ as the suffering servant. How that is both a completely comforting and totally discouraging image right now. How, as I tried to pray on the train this morning, I was essentially complaining about the rejection, the hurt, the things in my life, and I kept being reminded that Jesus suffered too. And that’s comforting, but not. Because He suffered, he understands. But He also said that because he suffered and was rejected, how can we as his followers expect any less? It doesn’t paint a particularly rosy picture for the future.

I’m thinking about trust, and how that’s still absolutely one of the hardest things for me to do.

And about how conquering fear is maybe the only thing that is equal in difficulty to trusting.

I’m thinking about the advice of a friend last weekend, not to pray for others until I myself had been filled and satisfied. About how hard it is for me to enter into the presence of Jesus and be satisfied. About how much easier it is for me to come to God on behalf of the needs and cares of those I love, than it is to come to him with my own needs and cares. About how much easier it is for me to believe that he loves other people than it is to believe that he loves me. About how I tend to feel that they’re more deserving of his love and his presence than I am. And about how I then have to battle jealousy that he is meeting and healing those I love, while I find myself broken and alone. And then I need to remind myself that as often as not I seek to avoid his presence, and I refuse to meet his gaze, or answer his call, because I don’t trust him to be gentle, I expect to be hurt and rejected.

And I wonder if the fact that I’m aware of all of these things is the first real step to the freedom and healing I long for?

I’m hoping to go to my favorite park tomorrow morning.

To walk and pray and meet with Him.

He’s calling me there.

And the word I keep hearing is “surrender”.

Protecting Our Hiddenness - Henri Nouwen

A follow up from yesterday's Henri Nouwen email...

Protecting Our Hiddenness

If indeed the spiritual life is essentially a hidden life, how do we protect this hiddenness in the midst of a very public life? The two most important ways to protect our hiddenness are solitude and poverty. Solitude allows us to be alone with God. There we experience that we belong not to people, not even to those who love us and care for us, but to God and God alone. Poverty is where we experience our own and other people's weakness, limitations, and need for support. To be poor is to be without success, without fame, and without power. But there God chooses to show us God's love.

Both solitude and poverty protect the hiddenness of our lives.

Hosea

"But then I will win her back once again.
I will lead her into the desert
and speak tenderly to her there.
I will return her vineyards to her
and transform the Valley of Trouble into
a gateway of hope.
She will give herself to me there,
as she did long ago when she was young,
when I freed her from her captivity in Egypt.
When that day comes," says the Lord,
"You will call me 'my husband'
instead of 'my master.' "

I will make you my wife forever,
showing you righteousness and justice,
unfailing love and compassion.
I will be faithful to you, and make you mine,
and you will finally know me as the Lord.

(Hosea 2:14-16, 19-20, NLT, italics mine)

Today

Today I am:

• just as tired as usual
• wearing a top purchased from the Tibetan store downtown. If you're being nice, you'll describe it as "bohemian" if you're not being so nice it's just "hippy"
• wearing earrings from the same shop
• needing to embrace life and color and warmth
• feeling deeply introspective
• longing for "home"
• going to drink at least one cup of tea
• eating protein (string cheese!) for breakfast
• caught by the things I've been reading lately
• going to curl up for at least part of the evening with a Bible, a journal, and figure out how to pray again

Hiddenness - Henri Nouwen

It's been a while since I shared one of the daily emails I receive from the Henri Nouwen society, but the one from this morning spoke deeply to some things I've been thinking about and experiencing lately...

Hiddenness, a Place of Purification

One of the reasons that hiddenness is such an important aspect of the spiritual life is that it keeps us focused on God. In hiddenness we do not receive human acclamation, admiration, support, or encouragement. In hiddenness we have to go to God with our sorrows and joys and trust that God will give us what we most need.

In our society we are inclined to avoid hiddenness. We want to be seen and acknowledged. We want to be useful to others and influence the course of events. But as we become visible and popular, we quickly grow dependent on people and their responses and easily lose touch with God, the true source of our being. Hiddenness is the place of purification. In hiddenness we find our true selves.

I'm Lovin' It

Does anyone else see the humor that I see in the fact that Macdonalds is the official restaurant of the Olympic Games?

I have this ridiculous mental image of a highly trained, toned athlete sitting down to his Big Mac and supersize french fries.

Does it seem oxymoronic to anyone else that one of the least healthy fast food restaurants is the official food venue for an event that celebrates health and has "faster, higher, stronger" as it's motto?

My dad visits a little old lady and occasionally takes her out to eat. She passed the 90 year mark a while back now. Her dieticians have given her permission to eat the occasional hamburger at any fast food place except Macdonalds - apparently there's something in the way they cook and store the burgers that makes them absolutely one of the worst things around.

I'm Lovin' It!

On Hope...

Hope has been a major word in my life these last months, and I always perk up when a blog I like, or someone I respect uses it.

Renee Altson both has a blog I love, and is someone for whom I have much respect. She wrote this post today, and I think it's absolutely beautiful.

For Unity

I purchased a little booklet of prayers over the weekend, titled "Devotions to the Holy Spirit" and compiled by Jesuit priest Brian Moore.

This prayer, titled simply "For Unity" is catching at my heart right now:

One only Spirit of Father and Son
in whom all are baptized,
of whom all have drunk;
one Giver of many gifts,
one Tree of many fruits,
one Speaker of every tongue,
renew in our day
the wonders of Pentecost.
Grant that people of every race and nation
may understand one another,
and, as one, proclaim
the praises of God.
Grant that all may be one
as you, Spirit, with the Father and the Son
are one God, one Lord.
Grant unity to the Body of Christ;
grant unity to the human family.
Sole breath of every living thing,
may all be one who, in you,
live and move and have their being.

Tuesday Morning Smiles

I'm sitting here, with a cup of tea, eating a scone. I'm on the fourth day of this particular headache, and I'm having some other annoying symptoms as well. All that to say that I'm rather desperately in need of a "smile list" this morning.

So, here's my Tuesday, August 12, 2008 edition of "Things that are making me smile":

• This flower arrangement, which was a birthday gift from a dear friend.


• The lilies from aforementioned flower arrangement, which are making my bedroom smell absolutely fantastic
• passion tea
• that my ipod warranty hadn't expired (though three weeks without it while it gets repaired is a little much)
• Misty Edwards
• a certain teddy bear named Nelly
• a favorite soft blanket from ikea
• water
• plans to mail some gifts to a friend
• an evening with very little on the schedule
• that a certain troublesome colleague is still on vacation
• reminder stones resting on my desk.

Dove

Today I wore a dove around my neck. I bought a necklace at a fairtrade shop on the weekend. It was made in the Philippines. Just a simple cord, with a few beads, and a white dove, in flight, made from shell.

I needed the reminder it is for me today, and found myself fingering it often.

Peace. Doves are internationally a symbol of peace. I'm trying to find peace in a number of parts of my life again. Feeling unsettled.

But more than that, for me, a dove is the symbol of the Holy Spirit, of God descending and dwelling in us. I'm reminded of the Spirit descending "like a dove" on Jesus at his baptism. I'm reminded that God dwells with me, holds me. And these days I'm reminded too that the spirit intercedes for us with "groaning beyond words". I need that right now.

So I wore a dove today, and I'll likely wear it again tomorrow, and the day after that, for as long as it takes. I'm waiting for some things to change and I need the reminders of peace, and the presence of the Lord with me closely these days.

Catching My Attention

This blog post "Strength and Beauty"

These two posts at Naked Pastor:
"Been a While"
"Pastor's Apprentice and Spiritual Porn"

This news article on "Peacekeeper's Day" which happened August 9th.

Things Read, and Heard (Again)

Seems these last days have been full of things seen, heard and experienced... I'm not sure there's a common theme, or that I'm really yet beginning to absorb any of it, but here are some words, links, quotes, ideas, photos and thoughts that have grabbed at my heart...

"Come, take a closer walk with me." (Morgan Freeman as "God" in Bruce Almighty)

These two posts, from earlier this year, about Lent. "Lenten Resolutions" and "Lent Hurts".

"Nobody gets baptized alone." (Sara Miles, author of Take This Bread, in an article found here, titled "By Water and By Fire.)

"You have to move gradually from crying outward - crying out for people who you think can fulfill your needs - to crying inward to the place where you can let yourself be held and carried by God, who has become incarnate in the humanity of those who love you in community." (Henri Nouwen, The Inner Voice of Love)

Federal Government Marks First World War Milestone (the last 100 days)

100% Right, But Only Partly

The Singing Priests of Belfast

"It's okay for you to be whole." (words spoken by a dear friend, that are rattling around my brain, making space for themselves)

"If we do not apprehend the truths the Lord has revealed - most of which are spiritual, invisible, and inaccessible to the senses - we are technically mad, because we are out of touch with the greater part of reality." (Bert Ghezzi, The Sign of the Cross)

"When we sign ourselves we are taking up our cross and accepting whatever suffering comes our way. With that ancient gesture we are saying that we welcome suffering on God's terms. And we are subordinating our will - that would rather not endure pain - to God, just as Jesus subordinated his will to his Father when he gave himself to the cross." (Bert Ghezzi, The Sign of the Cross)

"When we make the sign of the cross we invite the Lord to join us in our suffering. We touch our forehead and move down to our breast, telling the Lord with this gesture that we want him to bend down to us. Then we cross our shoulders in a movement that asks him to support us - to shoulder us - in our suffering." (Bert Ghezzi, The Sign of the Cross)

"The new self that we received in baptism is not a finished product." (Bert Ghezzi, The Sign of the Cross)

"...real prayer penetrates to the marrow of our soul and leaves nothing untouched. The prayer of the heart is a prayer that does not allow us to limit our relationship with God to interesting words or pious emotions... the prayer of the heart challenges us to hide absolutely nothing from God and to surrender ourselves unconditionally to his mercy." (Henri Nouwen, A Restless Soul)

"I suddenly realized that no mask can make people really happy. Happiness must come from within." (Henri Nouwen, A Restless Soul)

"It is so sad that people who act out brotherhood, friendship, and intimacy live the opposite." (Henri Nouwen, A Restless Soul)

"Anything so attacked as loyal unity is attacked does need care if it is to be preserved. We need to walk humbly not only with our God but with one another, lest the enemy slip in at some unguarded gateway and poison the sweetness of our life together." (Amy Carmichael, Candles in the Dark)

I suppose that's enough for now... there are other voices... bit and pieces of scripture... prayers from a little prayer book I bought yesterday at a Catholic book shop.

I've been trying all day to get in a space quiet enough to pray, and this is the closest I can get for the moment. Thoughts and voices swirling, reflecting the cry of my heart for myself, and for those that I love deeply. And so I pray with the words of others, and the deep cries of my heart. I pray for wholeness. For peace. For a knowledge that each one of us is deeply loved, known, and held by Jesus. For ever deepening intimacy, and calling to draw others there as well. For those requests that have been spoken, and those left in the silence.

I pray this way, and I pray with actions. Cleaning - restoring order and peace where there was little. Cooking - remembering that the moments where I have seen the most unity are those spent sitting around a table, sharing a meal with friends.

This is what I can manage today, and I pray it is enough.

Busy Day

I was out and about for most of the day today.

Errands.

And fun stuff.

I did a bit of shopping.

Bought some things that are making me smile.

And saw a play at noon with a friend and her sister.

"The Complete Works of William Shakespeare: Abridged" but on by the crew at Shakespeare in the Park.

Have you ever seen this play? All of the plays of Shakespeare, performed by three cast members, in an hour. And they do Hamlet three times, fast, faster, and backwards. Absolutely hilarious, and totally worth seeing. And that's high praise coming from someone who generally doesn't enjoy Shakespeare.

Needing tomorrow to be mostly low key. My roommate and I will grocery shop. But mostly we'll rest and recharge around home. I'm hoping to read and maybe write a bit.

08/08/08 Things on My Radar

I actually had a decent birthday evening last night. For the last several years I've felt obligated to have a "party" of some sort, and they've all been horrifically terrible. Socially awkward, under-attended affairs that I hated, because I hate parties in the first place. This year I had dinner at my parent's house (mom made a few foods that she knows I love), and then my roommate and I went to see the movie "Mamma Mia" which I absolutely loved, and she found quite ridiculous. Either way, we laughed hard, came home with ABBA songs stuck in our heads, and enjoyed the evening. It was a good way to spend my 25th birthday...

Anyway... here are some things that have been catching my attention today, and the last few days...

This blog post on forgiveness...

Apparently a group from the US known as Westboro Baptist Church is sending people across the border to protest a funeral being held in Winnipeg today. Who is the funeral for, you ask? A young man who was brutally stabbed to death and then decapitated on a greyhound bus a week or so ago. And why, you ask, are these lovely "Christians" protesting the funeral? Well, it would seem that the slaying of this young man is God's response to Canadian policies that enable abortion, homosexuality, and adultery. You can read a bit more about it here.

This article about a foiled jewel theft earlier this week made me laugh. How stupid can you get?

And you absolutely have to read "A Ragamuffin's Dream" by Claudia Mair Burney, posted on the sojourners blog this week in two parts. You can find part 1 here and part 2 here. I've loved every one of her books (especially Zora and Nicky, which I read twice in a week earlier this summer) and this short story is no exception. Challenging and beautiful.

Okay... think that's it for today...

Happy 8.8.8 day and Happy beginning of the olympics!

25

(If you want substantial content, come back tomorrow, or scroll down and read my previous post titled "Saying Goodbye" - there's good stuff in that one if I do say so myself. If you just want rambling thoughts about birthdays, oddly named desserts, and a "quarter-century crisis", this post is for you!)

Today is my 25th birthday.

It's been a bit of a wild year. Lots of ups and downs. Lots of downs. Lots of changes. Some beautiful new things, and the seeming death (or process of dying) of some old things that I'd thought were beautiful. I'm feeling a bit lonely and melancholy this morning as I reflect on some of the things that have happened.

But I'm really excited to be 25. No. Really. 25 seems like the age when all those people who've still been treating you like you're 15 have to suddenly realize that you're an adult, and maybe even start treating you like one.

My co-workers will celebrate with me at coffee break. "Sex in a Pan". Have you ever eaten this dessert? Layers of whipped cream and cream cheese and chocolate and vanilla pudding. Basically it's to die for. It's also the worst nightmare for the stomach of someone who is lactose intolerant. But I don't care! Bring on the stomach ache... it'll be worth it!

(Also, my best friend and I have an ongoing debate over what to call this particular dessert when you make it for a church potluck dinner. Neither of our somewhat more conservative backgrounds will let us call it "sex in a pan" at a church function. The baptist cookbook she grew up with calls it "pudding cake" and I grew up calling it "creamy chocolate dessert" which was generally abbreviated by friends and family to "creamy chocolate." I remember the day that I discovered that this was not the "official" name for this dessert. My mistake was confronting my mother over this igredious change of name. Her response was one of those things that you just never want to hear coming out of the mouth of one of your parents. "I don't know why they call it that. It's not that good!")

My parents will feed me dinner tonight. And then my roommate and I are going to see a movie.

I told a friend yesterday that I was looking forward to today for one reason only. Today I can officially say that all the drama of these last months has just been a "quarter-century crisis". Seriously, did you know that you can have those now? No more waiting for middle age. Get yourself into crisis mode at 25. I read about it in TIME magazine a while back, so it must be true, right?

Saying Goodbye

If you read my blog regularly, you'll know that I spent Saturday morning in a local cemetery, not for a funeral, or because anyone I know is buried there, but simply because I'd long felt the pull to visit. It turned out to be an invitation from Jesus to find healing for a long-wounded place in my heart.

I woke far earlier than I'd planned on Saturday morning, having been looking forward to a long, lazy morning in bed. Instead, I found myself wide awake, but with little motivation to move from the warm cocoon of my bed. I grabbed my laptop from the dresser beside my bed, and turned it on, intending a quick check of my email, and then popping in a dvd and (hopefully) falling back asleep as it played.

Instead, while I was perusing my emails a friend on the other side of the country instant messaged me, and we began chatting. We talked about our various plans for the day, and I happened to mention that I was feeling a strong urge to visit this particular cemetery. (She been visiting a few weeks before, and I'd pointed it out to her.) She suggested that perhaps I was feeling the urge to spend time in a cemetery because some things in my life have been dying of late. Her comment brought to mind a situation from nearly ten years ago, and before I knew it I was sharing a story with her that I'd never before told anyone. Her response had many helpful thoughts in it, but what stood out in my mind was a succinct comment "And you wonder why you want to go to a cemetery?" It made me laugh and convinced me that that was, indeed, how I was going to spend my day.

Just over eight years ago my grandfather passed away. Our relationship was not a particularly close one due to many things, though he'd been a constant presence in my life since birth. He was from a generation of men that rarely if ever expressed emotion. He loved to tease, and during my teenage years I had a love-hate relationship with this man who drew seemingly great pleasure from making sometimes rude comments about my love for food, and my weight. When you are a woman with curves in a family of women who are rather slender, you can't help but feeling self-conscious, and Grandpa's comments did little to alleviate my teenage (and onwards) angst.

His illness was long, and drawn out. Congestive heart failure they called it. Over the last years of his life he was in and out of hospital, and there was even talk of him and my grandma moving into the home of my family (my dad is their oldest child) because the care required was becoming more than grandma could handle alone, while not enough to necessitate nursing care.

I remember that last week of his life in ways that are both vividly clear and completely blurry. It was becoming obvious that he would not be leaving the hospital this time around, and family members were beginning to stay nights at the hospital, taking turns, never leaving him alone. I'd visited the hospital with my parents and brothers several times that week, each time knowing that it could be the last.

On the Friday of that week, I came home from high school exhausted – completely spent, physically and emotionally. My mom and brothers were once again heading to the hospital, and though I felt guilty, I made a decision based in self-care, and chose to stay at home and rest, planning to visit the following day. It was a decision that I would regret deeply for the next eight years.

When I rose fairly early the next morning, and stumbled out into the living room, collapsing on the couch, I was greeted by my dad. No softening, just "Grandpa died last night. Your aunt and I went to the hospital when Grandma called, to say our goodbyes. We need to head for Grandma's house soon."

All I could think in the shock of that moment was that I'd put myself first in a moment of exhaustion the day before, and now I'd never get the chance to say goodbye.

As time wore on, the guilt of that decision weighed heavy. I knew it was irrational, and I never mentioned it to anyone, but I was unable to escape it, either, and it came up at the oddest of times.

I hadn't thought about any of this in months, but found the story spilling out of me in that brief conversation with my friend early on Saturday morning. Her words hit home, "You can say goodbye now. He can say goodbye too." I questioned her further, "He can say goodbye?" She reminded me that the Catholic church, which both of us have been exploring of late, believes that the saints – those who are believers – are still alive, and free to speak to us. Unsure what to do with that statement, we said our goodbyes, ended our conversation, and I dressed and prepared for the day.

Some quick research on the internet (the history buff in me wanted to know where to locate a few specific graves in what I knew to be a historic cemetery) and I headed out the door, praying the whole way, still stunned at what had suddenly risen to the surface in my early morning conversation. I'd quickly tucked a journal, bottle of water, my wallet and camera into a bag, and I was ready to go. I didn't know what to expect, or how the day would go, only that the Lord seemed to be drawing me to himself, and bringing to the surface long hidden wounds.

After arriving, I wandered through the cemetery for over an hour. Turns out that what is commonly referred to in our city as cemetery hill is actually composed of several separate cemeteries. I spent my time in Union Cemetery, and Burnsland Cemetery. I snapped photos, smiled at the wide variety of small animals that had seemingly turned out to greet me, and generally just enjoyed the peace of walking in a beautiful old cemetery – more like a park than anything. I located the graves of the RCMP Colonel who founded the fort that eventually grew into our city, naming the fort (and ultimately the city) after his hometown in Scotland, and of the first settler in the Calgary area as well. I visited the military burial grounds, walking through graves for soldiers killed in both world wars as well as the Korean war. I found the grave of a young woman, a rising local journalist, killed only months ago, in a brutal attack.

After walking for quite some time, I found myself wandering up a pathway

towards a building that I knew from my brief research to be the

old chapel and mortuary. I wondered what the orange ball lying in the pathway was, and as I drew closer and recognized the object I simultaneously began to laugh and cry. It was a bright orange giant marigold.

At this point I know you're all wondering why a large, ostentatious, and rather ugly flower inspired such a burst of emotion. My grandpa was known for his gardening skills. He'd built a few greenhouses in his backyard, and each winter started a bevy of plants from seed, that in the spring he'd then give to whatever family and friends cared to enjoy them. He was especially known for geraniums, tomatoes, and yes, marigolds. Each spring he'd bring my mom a huge flat of the giant marigolds – the sort that get a foot or two tall, and produce large, smelly, ant attracting flowers that are several inches in diameter, and are generally ostentatious and lacking in subtlety. Every year the front of our home was graced with these flowers, and every year my mom and I would have a conversation about how absolutely hideous I felt that these particular flowers were.

And so, finding one laying, completely out of place in the middle of a pathway, on a morning when I'd been grieving my grandfather, and had come to the cemetery hoping to lay to rest eight years of guilt and say goodbye, was a rather shocking experience for me. A quick perusal of the nearby area told me that there were no marigolds growing in the flower beds or on graves, and no flower arrangements that contained marigolds anywhere in the vicinity.

I picked the flower up, and, cradling it in my hand, began to hunt for a section of the cemetery that I'd been looking for all morning. It was time to say my goodbyes. Known as "The Potter's Field" (a reference to the field purchased by the priests, with the blood money Judas Iscariot had been paid for his betrayal of Jesus and ultimately returned to the priests, and designated by them as a cemetery for foreigners) this section of Union Cemetery houses approximately 1000 unmarked graves – the final resting place for the bodies of Calgary's earliest homeless, indigent, and a few executed criminals. Finding the spot, a narrow strip sandwiched between two sections with gravestones, and planted with large trees and shrubs, I climbed to the top of the hill and settled myself in the grass. Pulling out my journal I began to write, releasing the many years of emotion, and finally, addressing my grandpa in a letter of sorts, and saying goodbye.

The marigold now sits in a tiny glass of water on a bookshelf in my bedroom. It's wilting and fading, and within the next day or two I'll discard it. The memory it carries, though, will go with me forever.

On a day that I desperately needed release, to be freed from some things I'd carried far too long, Jesus met me in a cemetery. On a day when I'd spoken with a dear friend about saying goodbye, and she'd reminded me that the Lord would allow that to happen, I unexplainably found in my path the one flower that could open that well of emotion, and allow the release I'd longed for to occur. I said goodbye, and in that goodbye found great freedom. Freedom from guilt. From the silence that had marked this for so long in my life. From the grief that I'd carried unnecessarily past the time when the sorrow ended. I found life in a place known for death. And for that I am grateful.

Solzhenitsyn

TIME magazine published this tribute to writer Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn today...

I read one of his books in IB World Lit in high school "One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich" and loved it. I've never gotten around to reading his other works, but hope to at some point.

I suppose what surprised me about the article is it's mention of Solzhenitsyn's faith. I was particularly caught by the last paragraph.

A cry...

Psalm 142, of David

I cry out to the Lord;
I plead for the Lord's mercy.
I pour out my complaints before him
and tell him all my troubles.
When I am overwhelmed,
you alone know the way I should turn.
Wherever I go,
my enemies have set traps for me.
I look for someone to come and help me,
but no one gives me a passing thought!
No one will help me;
no one cares a bit what happens to me.
The I pray to you, O Lord.
I say, "You are my place of refuge.
You are all I really want in life.
Hear my cry,
for I am very low.
Rescue me from my persecutors,
for they are too strong for me.
Bring me out of prison
so I can thank you.
The godly will crowd around me,
for you are good to me."

Fractured...

This post, on brokenness, caught my attention today.

Things Heard... Monday morning...

Sooner or later I do trust that your best loved ones will understand and be in sympathy. It must have seemed strange to the angels when our Lord Jesus emptied Himself and came to earth, to live a poor man's life and die a felon's death. It must have hurt them too. I know this must have been a holy pain, but even so I think it could not have been easy for our Lord to let them suffer at all. And what of the Father's suffering? The only beloved Son could not lightly see His Father suffer as He gave Him up for us all. So He, Jesus your Lord, can enter into even this with you, and He does. And if He calls you into a new fellowship with Him in His suffering I know that you will not draw back.

'Across the will of nature
Leads on the path of God;
Not where the flesh delighteth
The feet of Jesus trod.'


'Oh Jesus, Thy care is not to make
The desert a waste no more,
But to keep our feet lest we miss the track
Where Thy feet went before.'
(Candles in the Dark, Amy Carmichael)

One morning I woke with these words on my lips: "We follow a stripped and crucified Saviour." Those words go very deep. They touch everything, one's outer life as well as one's inner; motives, purposes, decisions, everything. Let them be with you as you prepare for the new life. It is sure to have tests, unexpected tests as well as many an unexpected joy. But if you follow a stripped and crucified Saviour, and by the power of His resurrection seek to enter into the fellowship of His sufferings, you will go on in peace and be one of those blessed ones who spread peace all round.

Deep in me, Lord, mark Thou Thy holy cross,
On motives, choices, private dear desires;
Let all that self in any form inspires
Be unto me as dross.

And when Thy touch of death is here and there
Laid on a thing most precious in my eyes,
Let me not wonder, let me recognize
The answer to my prayer.
(Candles in the Dark, Amy Carmichael)

Isaiah 17:6-8a, 9b-11
"Only a few of it's people will be left,
like stray olives left on a tree after the harvest.
Only two or three remain in the highest branches,
four or five scattered here and there on the limbs,"
declares the Lord, the God of Israel.
Then at last the people will look to their Creator
and turn their eyes to the Holy One of Israel
They will no longer look to their idols for help
or worship what their own hands have made.
It will be utterly desolate.
Why? Because you have turned from the God who can save you.
You have forgotten the Rock who can hide you.
So you may plant the finest grapevines
and import the most expensive seedlings.
They may sprout on the day you set them out;
yes, they may blossom on the very morning you plant them,
but you will never pick any grapes from them.
Your only harvest will be a load of grief and unrelieved pain.

I find myself spending large chunks of this long weekend sitting, reading, praying, thinking. Slowly wading through things that have circled around inside of me for months. I hope to write a post containing my own words later today, or perhaps tomorrow, but in the meantime, I pray that these words that are speaking (though not always clearly) to my heart will rouse things in yours as well. (And I'd love to hear those things if you'd care to share them.)

Things Heard...

I'm thinking much about baptism, about ritual, about the cross, about prayer, about life and death, about hope and hopelessness and redemption and resurrection...

Here are some bits and pieces from what I've been reading these last several days...

"Relying too heavily on our imagined ideas of God may weaken or distort our relationship with him." (The Sign of the Cross, Bert Ghezzi)

"When we invoke the Trinity, we fix our attention on the God who made us, not on the idea of God we have made." (The Sign of the Cross, Bert Ghezzi)

Screwtape speaking to Wormwood, advising the junior demon to encourage his "patient" to pray to the mental picture of God that he has constructed for himself:
"But whatever the nature of the composite object, you must keep him praying to it - to the thing that he has made, not to the Person who has made him. ...For if he ever comes to make the distinction, if ever he consciously directs his prayers "Not to what I think thou art but to what thou knowest thyself to be," our situation is, for the moment, desperate." (C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters, in The Sign of the Cross, Bert Ghezzi)

"Every year on a Sunday in Lent millions of Catholics witness a striking reenactment of an ancient Christian ceremony. During Mass on that day, women and men who will be baptized at Easter are presented to the congregation. Their sponsors stand before them and claim them for Christ with the sign of the cross. The rite does not end once the sponsor has traced the little mark on his candidate's forehead. The sponsor then multiplies the sacred gesture, signing the candidate's eyes, ears, mouth, shoulders, hands and feet. Finally, in a magnificent climax, he makes the sign of the cross over the person's entire body." (The Sign of the Cross, Bert Ghezzi)

St. Cyril of Jerusalem on baptism:
"For by this immersion and rising you were both dying and being born. That water of salvation was at once your grave and your mother." (in The Sign of the Cross, Bert Ghezzi)

"Each time we trace the cross over our body, we ask the Lord to refresh the life in the Holy Spirit that we received in baptism." (The Sign of the Cross, Bert Ghezzi)

"As soon as the Redeemer had restored to us our liberty he marked us with his sign, the sign of the cross. So we bear on our forehead the same sign that is engraved on the doors of palaces. The Conqueror places it there so that all may know that he has reentered into possession of us, and that we are his palaces, his living temples." (St. Caesarius of Arles, in, The Sign of the Cross, Bert Ghezzi)

"This is the true meaning of self-denial: Jesus expects us to deny that we belong to ourselves and to declare that we belong to him." (The Sign of the Cross, Bert Ghezzi)

"It matters a good deal that your book-food should be strong meat. We are what we think about. Think about trivial things or weak things and somehow one loses fibre and becomes flabby in spirit." (Candles in the Dark, Amy Carmichael)

"Many of you are preparing for service. This is my word for you: Don't say 'It doesn't matter' about anything (except your own feelings), for everything matters. Everything is important, even the tiniest thing. If you do everything, whether great or small, for the sake of your Saviour and Lord, then you will be ready for whatever work He has chosen for you to do later." (Candles in the Dark, Amy Carmichael)

Isaiah 5: 18
What sorrow for those who drag their sins behind them
with ropes made of lies,
who drag wickedness behind them like a cart!

Isaiah 6:5
Then I said, "It's all over! I am doomed, for I am a sinful man. I have filthy lips, and I live among a people with filthy lips. Yet I have seen the King, the Lord of Heaven's Armies."

Isaiah 8: 11-17 - A Call to Trust the Lord
The Lord has given me a strong warning not to think like everyone else does. He said,
"Don't call everything a conspiracy, like they do,
and don't live in dread of what frightens them.
Make the Lord of Heaven's Armies holy in your life.
He is the one you should fear,
He is the one who should make you tremble.
But to Israel and Judah
he will be a stone that makes people stumble,
a rock that makes them fall.
And for the people of Jerusalem
he will be a trap and a snare.
Many will stumble and fall,
never to rise again.
They will be snare and captured."
Preserve the teaching of God;
Entrust his instructions to those who follow me.
I will wit for the Lord,
who has turned away from the descendants of Jacob.
I will put my hope in him.

Isaiah 12:2-3
See, God has come to save me.
I will trust in him and not be afraid.
The Lord God is my strength and my song;
he has given me victory.
With joy you will drink deeply
from the fountain of salvation!

Cue the odd looks...

Okay, are you ready? You're ready to look at me with that "she's slightly odd" look on your face?

I spent the morning in a cemetery. Voluntarily. And it was fantastic.

There wasn't a funeral to attend. No one I know is buried in that particular cemetery.

There was just a strong pull to be there. So I spent an hour wandering, walking, praying, taking photos, reading gravestone inscriptions.

And then another hour sitting quietly and writing.

I'm not going to give you details, but it was a very good morning. Much needed. And I'm glad I followed the prompting I woke up with to go and explore a cemetery I've been wanting to visit for a couple of years.

Pieces of Flair

Have you seen the "Pieces of Flair" application on Facebook? I'm kind of in love with it.

And today, my friend Rae sent me the best piece of flair ever.

It had the following quote on it:

"You can't get a cup of tea big enough, or a book long enough to suit me." (C.S. Lewis)

It made me want to jump up and down in the joy of agreement and being perfectly understood.

And made me smile.

Weekend Plans

My mom called me this morning to let me know that she needed to cancel some plans we'd tentatively made for tomorrow since she's been ill the last few days.

She wanted to know what I was planning for this long weekend.

My answer?

Sleep. (and maybe some writing.)

I told her that I've been exhausted, and I plan to sleep as long as my body will possibly let me tomorrow morning, following which I plan to lay in bed for quite a length of time, following which I will probably relocate to the couch and lay some more.

Actually, while I do plan to spend a long time in bed tomorrow, I have other things on the agenda.

I'm going to bake brownies.

And do some laundry and cleaning.

Maybe call a good friend and see if he's in town for the long weekend, and if he'd like to hang out.

Tonight I'm watching a movie with my baby brother.

Tomorrow my roommate L. and I have plans to cook dinner together.

I'll probably mow the back lawn.

And call my cell phone company to see about making some changes to my plan.

I might go shopping for books. Or work pants. (Books are more fun than work pants.)

But mostly, I want to rest for a while. And work on some writing projects. And pray. I need to find time to get quiet and pray. Maybe make it to my park. Or this cemetery I've been wanting to visit and walk through.