Saturday, February 28, 2009

From today's installment of Teresa of Avila

I'm still working my way through Teresa of Avila's "The Interior Castle". I'm still understanding it in a somewhat limited fashion. But today, for maybe the first time, I can honestly say that I know for sure a chapter was helpful, that I "liked" it. (Liked being sort of the wrong word, but I can't seem to find a different word for it.) The quotes below speak to much of what I've felt this last year...

Some quotes from today's installment (Sixth Mansions, Chapter 1):

...An outcry is made by people with whom such a person is acquainted, and even by those with whom she is not acquainted, and who she never in her life supposed would think about her at all. "How holy she's getting!" they exclaim, or "She's only going to these extremes to deceive the world and to make other people look sinful, when really they are better Christians than she is without any of these goings-on!" (Notice, by the way, that she is not really indulging in any "goings-on" at all: she is only trying to live up to her profession.) Then people whom she had thought her friends abandon her and it is they who say the worst things of all and express the deepest regret that (as they put it) she is "going to perdition" and "obviously being deluded," that "this is the devil's work," that "she's going the way of So-and-so and So-and-so, who ruined their own lives and dragged good people down with them," and that "she takes in all her confessors." And they actually go to her confessors and tell them so, illustrating what they say by stories of some who ruined their lives in this way: and they scoff at the poor creature and talk about her like this times without number...The worst of it is, these things are not soon over - they last all one's life long. People warn each other to be careful not to have anything to do with persons like oneself. You will tell me that there are also those who speak well of one. But oh, daughters, how few there are who believe the good things they say by comparison with the many who dislike us!

Let us begin with the torture which it costs us to have to do with a confessor so scrupulous and inexperienced that he thinks nothing safe: he is afraid of everything, and doubtful about everything, as soon as he sees that he is dealing with anything out of the ordinary. This is particularly so if he sees any imperfection in the soul that is undergoing these experiences. He thinks that people to whom God grants these favours must be angels; and, as this is impossible while they are in the body, he attributes the whole thing to melancholy or to the devil. The world is so full of melancholy that this certainly does not surprise me; for there is so much abroad just now, and the devil makes so much use of it to work harm, that confessors have very good cause to be afraid of it and to watch for it very carefully. But, when the poor soul, harassed by the same fear goes to the confessor as to a judge, and he condemns her, she cannot fail to be upset and tortured by what he says - and only a person who has passed through such a trial will know how great it is... When the confessor reassures the soul, it becomes calm, though in due course it gets troubled again; but when all he can do is to make it still more fearful the thing grows almost intolerable, especially when on top of everything else come periods of aridity, during which the soul feels as if it has never known God and never will know Him, and as if to hear His Majesty spoken of is like hearing of a person from a great distance away.

Friday, February 27, 2009

Self-Care...

It's been a longish week.

Lots of things going on personally and professionally.

I knew this would be the sort of Friday night where I'd need to treat myself gently.

To ease myself into a time of prayer and writing.

So I made plans to care for myself.

I picked up dinner - take out, but healthy take-out.

I shopped for a while. Bought some products for self-pampering.

And then I came home.

I caught up on a favorite television show online.

I filed and buffed and shined and painted my fingernails. And then repeated the process with my toenails.

I put a warming masque on my face, and relaxed in the bathtub for a while.

I shaved my legs, and slathered them with lovely scented cream.

I moisturized my face with more care and nicer products than usual.

I took a long shower and washed my hair.

I put on perfume.

And now I'm resting. Slowly settling into a space where my heart (which has, in some ways been praying all evening) can enter into communion with Jesus. Where I can read and find words to write some of the things that Jesus and I have been talking about in the last day or two. Where my heart can focus inward, and I can let myself be held and loved and treated gently by Jesus.

Goodnight.

In the News...

Some headlines catching my attention today...

Judge's Report Calls for Sweeping Changes to NB Mental Health System

Doodling Helps You Pay Attention

Asia Braces for Spike in Suicides Due to Economic Woes

UN Genocide Court Jails Rwandan Priest for 25 Years

Creating Space for God.

another thought from Henri Nouwen. This one was hard on my heart (in a good way). Discipline is not a word I like very much. It has all sorts of negative connotations from growing up. It was one of my dad's favorite words, and sometimes it felt like it was being used as a weapon, as a means of creating shame. I've revisted that word this last year, trying to establish a rhythm and discipline in certain areas of my life, and asking Jesus to restore his meaning to the word. It's helping a little.

Creating Space for God

Discipline is the other side of discipleship. Discipleship without discipline is like waiting to run in the marathon without ever practicing. Discipline without discipleship is like always practicing for the marathon but never participating. It is important, however, to realize that discipline in the spiritual life is not the same as discipline in sports. Discipline in sports is the concentrated effort to master the body so that it can obey the mind better. Discipline in the spiritual life is the concentrated effort to create the space and time where God can become our master and where we can respond freely to God's guidance.

Thus, discipline is the creation of boundaries that keep time and space open for God. Solitude requires discipline, worship requires discipline, caring for others requires discipline. They all ask us to set apart a time and a place where God's gracious presence can be acknowledged and responded to.

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Lent. Morning. Day 2.

I've sorted out, at least a little what my observance of Lent will look like for this year. What things will be added, and what will go. I know from experience that that will shift and change as the season moves and deepens.

I marked Ash Wednesday in my own quiet, private way late last evening. A simple but deep time of prayer. The mixing of incense and oil. Wrapped in a shawl that has come to symbolize those deeper moments of prayer. Lifting my own heart and lenten season and the hearts and seasons of those I love before the Savior who increasingly owns my heart.

Deep cold and snow have set in again this week, feeling somewhat oddly appropriate for this season in the church calendar. Yesterday was a particularly grey and gloomy day, oddly appropriate for a day celebrated with ashes. It was -36C with windchill factored in here this morning. And snowing.

But there is somehow hope in the midst of that. Both of the last two days, as I've brushed the snow off of George in the greyness of semi-dawn, in the bitter cold, I've noticed the song of some intrepid sparrows and chickadees singing in the trees that line my street. Calling out about warmer times coming. About spring and new life.

I told a friend last night that while I'd dreaded the deepening arrival of Lent this year, with it's coming, my heart was somehow ready. Ready for the season. Praying for change and restoration and freedom. That somehow, overnight, between Shrove Tuesday, and Ash Wednesday, Jesus moved in my heart, and replaced dread with a peaceful, purposeful acceptance. That though I'd worried that I hadn't yet heard from him how to observe the Lenten season this year, he spoke quietly to my heart and made it clear through the day yesterday.

I wonder sometimes if I don't waste a lot of time worrying about what is ahead when it seems so clear that right now Jesus usually waits until just the moment of necessity to speak his clarity and direction into a situation.

I suppose it ties back to the quote from Teresa of Avila that I shared last night, and the lyrics from dcTalk that I shared this morning.

"I'm learning to give up the rights to myself." Right now that means the right to know what is coming. The right to understand. The right to see much beyond the moment in which I am existing. It means learning to trust in a radical new way. A way that is painful and stretching.

As I said yesterday, I'm committed to waiting and fasting and praying and listening and letting my heart be changed.

Still Thinking About Teresa (Giving up the rights to myself)

I was still thinking about the quote I shared last night from Teresa of Avila as I was driving to work this morning, and a song lyric from when I was a teenager came to mind in relation to that. Nothing like some old school dcTalk, but I've always loved the following lines, and they are speaking the same thing to my heart that the quote from Teresa was.

I'm learning to give up the rights to myself.
The bits and the pieces I've gathered as wealth
Could never compare to the joy that you bring me.
The peace that you show me is the strength that I need.
(From "My Will" by dcTalk)

Wednesday, February 25, 2009

What a mistake...

I read this quote in "The Interior Castle" - the sixteenth century book I've been working my way through for a while now, and it struck me deeply. I'm continuing to ponder as the evening goes on...

"We are so very fond of ourselves and so very careful not to lose any of our rights! Oh, what a great mistake we make! May the Lord in his mercy give us light lest we fall into such darkness."
(Teresa of Avila, The Interior Castle, Fifth Mansion, Chapter 4)

Surrendering. Everything. Even my rights. To Jesus.

News Headline

Income affects Hospitalization for Depression

Ashes

A little over a year ago, on Ash Wednesday last year (which fell earlier in February than it does this year), I landed in Rome.

As that day drew to a close, two friends and I were able to be part of the last mass marking the day being celebrated in St. Peter's Basillica.

A year and a bit later, I still have very few words for those moments.

To describe what it was to stand in that place, after the trip that was drawing to a close, and mark the beginning of Lent.

To remember the scent of incense that seemed to linger long after it should have drifted away.

To recall how I'd French braided my hair into two separate braids that day, and remember the sensation of the ashes sitting in the part of my hair, resting on my head for the day that followed.

To remember the blessing of standing amidst a deep and holy space with friends.

Much has changed in the year that has followed, and I remain uncertain how I will mark this Lenten season.

But today, today I'm remembering the ashes. The feeling of them on my head, and in my hair. The moments that are too deep for words, but are treasured in my heart.

Today I'm marking again the beginning of a season of fasting, waiting, praying. A season traditionally of preparation for baptism. A season that moves without faltering towards death, and then culminates in the celebration of life.

And so, I will wait and watch and fast and pray. For miracles of joy and hope and restoration. For miracles of resurrection and new life. For peace. And I will remember ashes and dust and let my heart be changed.

Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Tuesday Morning (Snowing)

We are in the midst of a heavy snowfall warning again. A few inches fell overnight, and were waiting to be brushed off of George when I left the house this morning. It continues to snow steadily, which I'm sure will make the evening commute even "more" fun than the morning one was.

I had a good time with my brother and his girlfriend last night. We sipped our various beverages of choice and chatted about everything from the choir that they both sing in, to their forthcoming busy schedules, to a project my brother is conducting at school during Lent, challenging his peers to give up something they would normally indulge in on a weekly basis (coffee, eating out, buying clothes, movies etc.), and set that money aside to be donated to projects supporting poverty initiatives on a local and international level. While I'm not certain that the project will fit with my own Lenten observance, I am hopeful that I will be able to donate to it, and I'm challenged that my brother has taken the time to challenge his peers to reconsider their consumptive lifestyle.

I'm looking forward to having dinner with Faye tonight. There's always lots of laughter, deep conversation, and fantastic stories when we manage to connect, and I'm delighted that we've somehow managed to make those connections a bit more regularly of late.

I'm still slogging my way through "The Interior Castle". Translation from Spanish of a work by a sixteenth century nun is not the easiest read ever. I think it's actually been beneficial. But I alternate between having moments where I'm fairly certain my heart is understanding what's being said, and moments where I'm absolutely certain that I have no idea what on earth she's talking about. There are many pages that I read and re-read in a desperate attempt to grasp the concepts being discussed, or at least begin to feel that my heart has absorbed some benefit, even if my head has not. I've set a (flexible) goal of one chapter a day barring engagments which fill my evening. I'm thankful that most of the chapters are ten pages or less, and am continuously amazed at just how long it can take to read those 5-10 pages each evening.

It's Shrove Tuesday, or Fat Tuesday, or Pancake Tuesday today (whichever name you prefer). I probably won't be having pancakes the way I usually do, but I am deeply conscious that Lent begins tomorrow. And that I need to find some quiet space to talk with Jesus about how I'm going to observe the Lenten season this year. I sort of fell pell-mell into it last year, arriving in Rome on Ash Wednesday, and then travelling for the entire first week. Coming home into the readjustment of life after 5 weeks away from routine, and the deep struggles that emerged amidst that. In many ways I feel like that Lenten season of fasting and preparing for death never really ended last year, and I have dreaded the coming deepening as the season officially begins again. And so, I need to find time, today or tomorrow morning, to listen and wait for direction. To seek Jesus and be willing to obey.

Bringing it to Light

I experienced the truth of this thought from Henri Nouwen about a month ago. Henri doesn't say quite how difficult it can really be to bring things to the light, but I think, in the long run, it's been worth it - that's it's brought a certain degree of freedom.

Bringing Our Secrets into the Light

We all have our secrets: thoughts, memories, feelings that we keep to ourselves. Often we think, "If people knew what I feel or think, they would not love me." These carefully kept secrets can do us much harm. They can make us feel guilty or ashamed and may lead us to self-rejection, depression, and even suicidal thoughts and actions.

One of the most important things we can do with our secrets is to share them in a safe place, with people we trust. When we have a good way to bring our secrets into the light and can look at them with others, we will quickly discover that we are not alone with our secrets and that our trusting friends will love us more deeply and more intimately than before. Bringing our secrets into the light creates community and inner healing. As a result of sharing secrets, not only will others love us better but we will love ourselves more fully.

Monday, February 23, 2009

Article

Abuse Creates Scars Down to the Genetic Level

Monday Night

I woke at 4 am, ill and feeling prompted to pray. But also with that panicky worry that comes from knowing that waking at 4 and letting my mind engage to pray will mean that the day will be long, and I'll be quite tired.

By the time I rolled out of bed, about 3 hours later, I'd done a little bit of sleeping, a bit of praying, and a bit of worrying. I'd like the mix of those three to decrease.

I was feeling quite ill, and the feeling became worse as I drove in to the office. When I arrived at the office, I wasn't certain I'd last even an hour, never mind a whole day.

I stayed the day.

A quick walk in the falling snow at lunch to a nearby grocery store to buy bread. There was no way my crabby stomach was going to tolerate the leftover Chinese food I'd planned to eat. Time out in the light, and a little bit more praying before returning to the office.

This was a day I'd dreaded, uncertain for a number of good reasons. It went far more smoothly than expected. And I received some news that I suppose I shouldn't really celebrate (and I'm not really, since it involves a slight misfortune to another) but it will make my life a bit easier this week.

Today is the birthday of a very dear friend, and I am wishing I lived closer to her, so that I could give her a birthday hug. I'll try phoning her in a few minutes, and at the very least leave a voicemail.

I'm headed out for coffee with T. tonight. I've missed my brother. It's been a while since we've spent time together. He may or may not be bringing his girlfriend, but either way it'll be loads of fun (I love her too.).

Monday night. Coffee. Then home to do a bit more reading and writing. I need to tackle another chapter in my book by the sixteenth century nun. And I need to finish up a bit of writing I started on the weekend.

All in all, for a Monday, it was pretty good.

I'm hoping we don't get quite as much snow as they're predicting overnight. I'd like to not have to contend with that in the morning.

3 From Henri on Relationships: Space, Distance, & the Personal

3 more great thoughts from Henri Nouwen that hit home today...

True Intimacy

Human relationships easily become possessive. Our hearts so much desire to be loved that we are inclined to cling to the person who offers us love, affection, friendship, care, or support. Once we have seen or felt a hint of love, we want more of it. That explains why lovers so often bicker with each other. Lovers' quarrels are quarrels between people who want more of each other than they are able or willing to give.

It is very hard for love not to become possessive because our hearts look for perfect love and no human being is capable of that. Only God can offer perfect love. Therefore, the art of loving includes the art of giving one another space. When we invade one another's space and do not allow the other to be his or her own free person, we cause great suffering in our relationships. But when we give another space to move and share our gifts, true intimacy becomes possible.

The Balance Between Closeness and Distance

Intimacy between people requires closeness as well as distance. It is like dancing. Sometimes we are very close, touching each other or holding each other; sometimes we move away from each other and let the space between us become an area where we can freely move.

To keep the right balance between closeness and distance requires hard work, especially since the needs of the partners may be quite different at a given moment. One might desire closeness while the other wants distance. One might want to be held while the other looks for independence. A perfect balance seldom occurs, but the honest and open search for that balance can give birth to a beautiful dance, worthy to behold.

What Is Most Personal Is Most Universal

We like to make a distinction between our private and public lives and say, "Whatever I do in my private life is nobody else's business." But anyone trying to live a spiritual life will soon discover that the most personal is the most universal, the most hidden is the most public, and the most solitary is the most communal. What we live in the most intimate places of our beings is not just for us but for all people. That is why our inner lives are lives for others. That is why our solitude is a gift to our community, and that is why our most secret thoughts affect our common life.

Jesus says, "No one lights a lamp to put it under a tub; they put it on the lamp-stand where it shines for everyone in the house" (Matthew 5:14-15). The most inner light is a light for the world. Let's not have "double lives"; let us allow what we live in private to be known in public.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Sunday night

It was a mostly quiet day.

A long walk in "my" park to think and pray.

Errands.

My brother's choir concert.

And writing. Much needed writing.

A long week awaits.

The beginning of Lent coming quickly too.

Saturday, February 21, 2009

Find Rest

Maybe if I say it again and again and again...

Find rest O my soul, in God alone.
My hope comes from Him.

Unsure (The Kind of Day)

This has been an odd sort of day.

The kind that sort of never ended from yesterday, because sleep was even more fleeting than usual.

The kind where you greet the morning by sobbing for a couple of hours.

The kind where you wonder why on earth your heart has to be so soft, so sensitive.

And why on earth the myriad of things that cause that heart to hurt won't go away.

The kind where you definitely have to treat yourself to the Macdonald's breakfast you've been craving for weeks.

The kind where you're really grateful you had a massage appointment scheduled.

The kind where a headache lingers, coming and going all day.

And where you nap for a few hours mid-afternoon, half-way curled up under a blanket, on a bed with no sheets, since the sheets are in the laundry.

The kind where you read a chapter in the book you're working through and wonder when it became possible for a book to make total sense and absolutely no sense at all at exactly the same time.

The kind where you write a blog post listing what kind of day it's been, because your heart is unsure how to find itself amidst the day.

Friday, February 20, 2009

He Repeats it back to me

On my way to work this morning, (at a stoplight), I jotted three reminders on the back of a handy envelope. Things I wanted to blog about here today or in the upcoming days. Thoughts I'm toying with and thought I might share. What I'm actually sitting here to write isn't any of those three.

I arrived at work this morning and found an email waiting for me that contained some disappointing news. Not entirely unexpected, but still deeply disappointing. The news that something I'd longed for, something that had finally seemed to be within reach, would not come through.

I could blame the outcome on a number of different things.

On a decision to take what I still believe was a step of obedience to the Lord just over a year ago, and the huge ongoing cost that that has had.

On my own inability to control some difficult emotional things this past year, and the way they've shown through in all areas of my life.

On the raging menopausal moods of someone who had a direct impact on the outcome.

On someone else who has very much been a catalyst for many of the difficult things that have affected this outcome.

On ongoing spiritual attack that has seemed to "steal" so many things I desired and thought God had for me over the course of the last year.

But I don't think I'm interested in playing the blame game. I'm not interested in harboring further hurt and bitterness. I'm not interested in exploring how this year long mess is still having negative impact. I'm not all that interested in continuing to be angry and miserable. (And those of you who know the finer details of this year will know what an impact it is for me to say that.)

As I said, the news wasn't entirely unexpected. All week as I wondered which way the outcome would be, I rather militantly told God (and myself), "I'll be okay if it's not the outcome I want." Sometimes I even believed it.

This morning, when it was confirmed that it was not the outcome I wanted, just for a moment or two I felt a bit stunned. Someone who had an impact on the outcome asked me if I'd received word, and I told them bluntly that I had, and that it was likely their input that had cost me what I'd longed for. I was a bit angry, and frustrated.

And then, I paused, and waited just for a moment in silence, sitting at my desk.

And in that silence I began to hear two things.

First, a lyric to a song by David Ruis (which is a whole other story, how I came to be listening to David Ruis this morning) began playing through my head:

For I know that you are faithful
As we walk these fields of white
To the weary and the hurting
Your Kingdom Comes

I needed to be reminded that he was faithful, and that His kingdom often comes when I am most weary and hurting (and that it rarely looks how I expect either).

Second, I began to hear a quiet litany, the sound I've come to associate with the voice of Jesus whispering over me. "You're going to be okay. Even though it's not the outcome you wanted."

And that was enough. Those words whispered over me brought peace and restored joy.

A coworker (who knows the whole scenario) agreed with me when I commented, "I'm in a way better mood than I should be given the news I received."

I made some decisions on how to handle this latest news. I made some decisions on how I will move forward.

I'm going to be okay. I've reminded myself (and told Jesus) of that all week, and, in the moment that I couldn't quite cling to it this morning, when I most needed to be able to believe it, He repeated it back to me in a whisper, reminding me of oil poured out the other day, the day where this scenario took a decided turn to the negative outcome. He reminded me that blessing was spoken, and that I really would be okay, even in this latest mess.

I'm going to be okay, and that phrase is filled with a peace that has no rational basis right now. He repeated it back to me.

The Non-Possessive Life (from Henri)

another thought from Henri Nouwen...

The Nonpossessive Life

To be able to enjoy fully the many good things the world has to offer, we must be detached from them. To be detached does not mean to be indifferent or uninterested. It means to be nonpossessive. Life is a gift to be grateful for and not a property to cling to.

A nonpossessive life is a free life. But such freedom is only possible when we have a deep sense of belonging. To whom then do we belong? We belong to God, and the God to whom we belong has sent us into the world to proclaim in his Name that all of creation is created in and by love and calls us to gratitude and joy. That is what the "detached" life is all about. It is a life in which we are free to offer praise and thanksgiving.

Thursday, February 19, 2009

Isaiah 53

I really liked this video I came across this morning. One of my favorite scripture passages, and I loved the way it played out.

These Spoke to me...

This cartoon at ASBO Jesus. In my darkness indeed. A needed reminder today.

This reflection by Oswald Chambers on "Initiative Against Depression"

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Like fragrant oil...

Yesterday was a day that I don't know how to describe. There aren't really words, because I don't really understand the dynamics that were obviously in play around me.

I spent a large chunk of the day fighting back panic. Heart-racing, seconds from losing it, melt-down at any time, way amped up panic. Now, I'm not known as the most emotionally calm and stable person on the planet, but this was unusual, even for me. I don't think most of the people I work with had any idea, but from about noon on, my body was physically in overdrive as I worked to tamp down the panic.

And yet, in spite of all that, at the end of the day, as I was reflecting back on what had been, my mind was drawn to an odd sort of blessing with which I began the day.

A few years back, in a quiet moment, someone who at the time I hardly knew but who is now a very dear friend, poured oil over my hands, and marked the sign of the cross on my forehead in a moment of deep prayer that remains just a bit blurry for me. Since then I've seen her pray with oil in many places, and was not particularly surprised when it became a way that I prayed as well - oil poured out.

At Christmas this year, the same friend gave me a tiny sealed cylinder attached to a key ring, and a vial of oil with which to fill it. Oil of frankincense and myrrh. The fragrant burial spices presented by the magi to Jesus. I attached the filled cylinder of oil to my keys and carry it with me nearly everywhere I go.

Yesterday morning, before all the panic set in, I drove as usual to work. Instead of listening to music as I drove, I had opted for silence, and spent some time praying. My work environment can be challenging at times, and yesterday, as I parked, I paused for just a moment in my car to ask Jesus to walk with me through the day.

I have two sets of car keys, one on my main key ring, and a spare set on another ring. I'd used the spare set in the car yesterday, and my main key ring was in the pocket of my jacket. As I paused in the car to pray, I slid my hand into that pocket, encountering the keys. I pulled them out and noticed that the vial of oil attached to my key ring was strangely warm - more warm than it should have been from simply being tucked in my pocket in my cold car.

I had an immediate mental image of warm liquid pouring over me, of Jesus meeting me as I touched the warm cylinder. I twisted the top from the vial, tipping just a little onto my fingers, and quietly marking the sign of the cross on my forehead, lips, heart. Dabbing just a little of the fragrant oil on my wrist, where I knew the scent would linger through the day. And then, as I tried to seal the vial back up, it overflowed. Maybe I tipped it wrong as I was twisting it back together, or maybe I didn't, but in any case, as I rejoined the two parts of the vial, there was an excess of oil. Struck mostly by the need to mop up the excess before my keys could be returned to my purse, I rubbed it on my wrists, and absorbed the rest with my mittens.

I climbed out of my car, and headed into what proved to be a very difficult day.

And yet, simple as it seems, last night, and through today as I reflected back, I find blessing in that moment spent alone in my car. Blessing in the warmth and comfort of the oil. A reminder from Jesus in the sudden and unexpected overflow. Meaning in the scent of burial spices that carried with me through the day.

And I am grateful, that at the beginning of what proved to be a very trying day, a day full of attack and confusion and fear, Jesus met with me tangibly for just a moment. That in that moment I could nearly feel the warm oil pouring over my whole being, and not just being marked in the shape of a cross on my forehead, lips and heart. That he reminded me of his love poured over me and shielding me. Of the overflow of that love - it's abundance and fragrance.

I didn't know all those things in the moment. It's really only in looking back over the day that I realized that he met and prepared me for what was to come. But I'm so grateful that he did.

And repeat...

The gifts of God are irrevokable.

If God is for me, who can be against me?

I will hide you in the shelter of my wings.

If Jesus has something for me, it can't be stolen from me.

(and repeat.)

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Panic (Self-Reminders)

I've been dealing with panic all day today.

That tightness in your chest, slightly short of breath, adrenaline pumping, I'm two seconds from totally freaking out and losing it sort of panic.

I have not been impressed to feel that rising up within me again.

It used to happen a lot. It's hardly happened in the last three years. Not since I was healed.

I had one particularly bad attack about a month ago. Two friends talked and prayed with me and calmed me down.

I've spent most of the day talking to myself. Reminding myself that certain situations, which seem to be partially inducing the panic, are things in which I just need to wait and pray.

Out loud and in my head all day.

And now by blogging (because the panic kicked up again a few minutes ago).

Reminding myself that if God has given or set something aside for me or to me, then it cannot be taken from me.

Reminding myself that even in the things I can't control, I walk with a God who offers peace. A God who stills storms. Even the mental, adrenaline rushing sort of storms.


Reminding myself that no matter the outcome of these situations, I will be okay. That I walk with Jesus, and He's not going anywhere (not always easy for me to believe, but a reminder worth giving myself anyway.)

Reminding myself of Paul's words - to live is Christ, to die is gain. So I win either way. Even when it sucks, and seems more like suffering. If I'm alive, it's Christ. If not, then I get to be with him, and tears and suffering will end.

Around the table

It was a weird day. maybe I'll write my own post later. maybe not until tomorrow.

In the meantime, I received some emails from Henri Nouwen on meals/food that struck me deeply.

The Meal That Makes Us Family and Friends

We all need to eat and drink to stay alive. But having a meal is more than eating and drinking. It is celebrating the gifts of life we share. A meal together is one of the most intimate and sacred human events. Around the table we become vulnerable, filling one another's plates and cups and encouraging one another to eat and drink. Much more happens at a meal than satisfying hunger and quenching thirst. Around the table we become family, friends, community, yes, a body.

That is why it is so important to "set" the table. Flowers, candles, colorful napkins all help us to say to one another, "This is a very special time for us, let's enjoy it!"

The Intimacy of the Table

The table is one of the most intimate places in our lives. It is there that we give ourselves to one another. When we say, "Take some more, let me serve you another plate, let me pour you another glass, don't be shy, enjoy it," we say a lot more than our words express. We invite our friends to become part of our lives. We want them to be nurtured by the same food and drink that nurture us. We desire communion. That is why a refusal to eat and drink what a host offers is so offensive. It feels like a rejection of an invitation to intimacy.

Strange as it may sound, the table is the place where we want to become food for one another. Every breakfast, lunch, or dinner can become a time of growing communion with one another.

The Barometer of Our Lives

Although the table is a place for intimacy, we all know how easily it can become a place of distance, hostility, and even hatred. Precisely because the table is meant to be an intimate place, it easily becomes the place we experience the absence of intimacy. The table reveals the tensions among us. When husband and wife don't talk to each other, when a child refuses to eat, when brothers and sisters bicker, when there are tense silences, then the table becomes hell, the place we least want to be.

The table is the barometer of family and community life. Let's do everything possible to make the table the place to celebrate intimacy.

Monday, February 16, 2009

Headline

Rome to dismantle illegal camps

Everest in the news

One of the religion teachers from my high school was the first Canadian to summit Mt. Everest twice. Last I heard he's now a provincial MLA. Mr. Rodney was always fun to have around the school, and ever since that time, headlines about Mt. Everest have caught my attention. Even more so since a good friend of mine spent some time in Nepal, and came home with photos of Everest taken from a plane tour, and looking stately, displaying it's own weather system.

So, this headline caught my attention today:

Brothers Plan 24 Hours Atop Everest.

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Warranty Issues (Alternative Plans)

When, upon waking this morning, I came to the realization that what I would have liked most to do today was not a possibility, I decided instead to tackle a task or two that I'd been putting off for months. Right after I laid in bed and watched two or three episodes of Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice. Because, after all, I couldn't do the main task until the stores were open, and it was Sunday morning after all - nothing would open until at least 10:30.

I decided that today was the day that I would once again gather up my mental and emotional energies and tackle a warranty issue with Best Buy. Best Buy is not my favorite store. I have had terrible service there, and every large electronic item I've ever purchased there has to be exchanged - it's a good thing I paid all that money for their extended warranties - I've needed them.

My television has been making a terrible squealing noise for months, usually starting after it's warmed up a bit - been on for an hour or so. Generally just about half-way through whatever movie you happen to be watching and really enjoying.

And so, this morning, I gathered myself up, and loaded the TV (which size for size could match me) into George and set off. This was the day I was going to see this problem solved. Or at least on the way to being solved.

I arrived at the store, loaded the TV onto a shopping cart, and made my way inside. Directed to the warranty desk with which I am very familiar (this was, after all, the third electronic item purchased from Best Buy that has required repair or replacement in the last year), I prepared myself to do battle.

And a battle it was. The guy at the service desk informed me that my warranty would allow for replacement, but I would only get a credit for what I'd spent, not a straight replacement to a current model. And, I would have to purchase a new extended warranty to cover whatever replacement product I selected, at a cost of around $100.00. When I asked if he knew if there were any models available in that price range, he replied curtly, "You'll have to look in that department."

And so, in full fume, I took myself off to the television department. Hunting around, I managed to locate a sales person. He looked like he was about 12 years old. He clearly wasn't shaving yet, and I could look him in the eye. I'm five foot two inches, and the only guys I can look in the eye are generally under the age of fifteen. I was all set to ask "Is there a grown-up that I can talk to?" but decided to explain my problem anyway. He showed me some options, and it seemed that not only would I get the privilege of paying for a new warranty, it would also cost me approximately an extra $150 to purchase a new television model. My frustration was growing when he stopped me, "Let me just go check on something for you."

When he came back five minutes later, he was my instant hero, and made me regret my initial internal desire to ask for service from a grown up. "We can do a straight exchange to this model for you." (He selected the model I'd been planning to select anyway.) "You'll just have to pay for the warranty." I was delighted. Especially since I'd already asked the customer service clerk about this possibility, and been told that it was impossible.

He carried the new model to the customer service desk for me, and stayed there (earning me a much politer experience with the customer service clerk) until I'd finished the exchange, and paying for the new warranty.

I left the store, vowing to fill out a customer satisfaction survey that praises this young man, and speaks strongly of my dislike for the customer service representative (who I've had the misfortune of encountering on previous trips as well.)

I got back into George, and wanted to cry. That says something about the level of my emotional energy these days. The tense moments, anger, frustration, adrenaline and relief of a bad customer service experience wore me out. I wonder where I can exchange my emotional health? Does it have a warranty? Who can I see about that?

In any case, I was exhausted. And overly emotional. About a television of all things. And about finally getting some decent service. And feeling guilty for having pre-judged the young man who finally helped me.

So I took the rest of the afternoon off.

Well, actually, I went grocery shopping with my roommate.

And then I worked on a project a friend asked for about eight months ago. It took me most of three hours to compile the list of items she'd asked for.

I read a little, alternating between Anne Lamott, and Teresa of Avila, the sixteenth century nun whose book I'm working my way through just presently.

I took a walk in the cold through our neighborhood with my roommates.

I watched a movie while I worked on some of those other things.

I made myself eat a whole plate of dinner.

I snacked. Cheese. Yogurt (mango pineapple - so good). Cashews. Blue corn chips with parmesan artichoke dip from the farmer's market.

I took another LUSH bubble bath.

I lit candles.

It wasn't really the day I was looking for when I woke up this morning. I had warranty issues, and made alternative plans. It brought odd emotions, and a sense of accomplishment from finishing two separate items on my mental "to do" list that I've been putting off for at least 6 months.

And now, I'm resting again.

I'll be hunting for another snack in a few minutes.

And going back to reading. Teresa next. I just finished one of Anne's essays.

I'm so glad it's a long weekend. I've needed three days of mellow unplanned, mostly resting.

Tomorrow will bring a wedding dress fitting with one of my roommates. And a family party later in the day. But mostly it will likely bring rest as well. Much needed rest.

And hey, I have a new TV. One that doesn't squeal half-way through your favorite movie. (I tested that theory this afternoon.) One that's all modern looking and flat screened. And it only cost me $130 in new warranty charges, and federal government taxes and electronics recycling fees for the privilege.

Another deadly fire...

Fire in Russian Hostel Kills 15Link

Headline

Anne Frank Guardian Reaches 100

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Reading, and pausing to listen

I've been waiting for this day for several weeks now. I didn't know it would be today, I only found out this morning really, but I've been waiting for it, and I'm quite enjoying it. Today I have the house to myself. And instead of being out and about, or Jesus asking me to go somewhere, I'm staying at home. Reading, and resting.

I did a few errands this morning - groceries, and gas for George. (For those of you who are uninitiated, George is the car Jesus gave me for a dollar, via a nice elderly lady in the church I grew up in, who's health prevented her from driving him anymore. George is a big silver grandma boat of a car, who has brought me a great deal of freedom and sanity by removing the need to spend three hours on every weekday riding public transit, and giving me the ability to go out on evenings and weekends without a twenty minute trip taking three hours.)

Then I came home and started to read.

I'm working on two books right now. One of Anne Lamott's books of essays on faith that I've read several times in the past. And a translation of a sixteenth century manuscript on the spiritual life and prayer which I've avoided reading several times in the past.

After the errands and returning a few emails, I settled in to read.

I'm not above bribery and comfort, and it's taking a lot of both to convince myself to read the one book.

So I ran a hot bath, added citrus and frankincense scented bubbles from LUSH, and climbed in. I told myself that if I made it through one chapter, I could celebrate by reading one of Anne's essays. (I'm going to have to buy more of Anne's books if I need to match her essays one for one to the chapters in my sixteenth century book on prayer.)

I made it half-way through the chapter before I stopped. I was on my third read of the same paragraph, trying desperately to understand what this sixteenth century nun was trying to communicate. I was getting more and more frustrated, and the voices in my head that question my reading of this book were getting louder and more insistent.

So I stopped to have a frank conversation with God. Sometimes I manage to talk to God in the sort of holy tones and language that I grew up with, couching things in nicer terms. I don't manage that very often (and I'm not actually sure I want to for that matter.) The rest of the time I just talk to him honestly. This was one of those times. My prayer went something like, "God, I believe that you've asked me to read this book, but I've read the same paragraph three times and I can't understand it, and it's making me cranky. If you really want me to read this, could you help me to hear what this woman is trying to say?"

It seemed to help a little.

I finished the chapter. (Perhaps at this point I should sheepishly admit that the chapter was only 4 pages long?)

And I rewarded myself with Anne's story of the time she started a Sunday school in her church. I like a woman who can pen lines like, "One secret of life is that the reason life works at all is that not everyone in your tribe is nuts on the same day. Another secret is that laughter is carbonated holiness." or " We did not exclude anyone, because Jesus didn't. On bad days, I could not imagine what he had been thinking."

So, I'm passing this day that I've been waiting for in the company of two women, one a nun from the sixteenth century, and one a smart, sassy, left-wing writer from California. And I'm loving it, even in the moments when I have to stop and pray, "Help me, help me, help me to hear what this book is saying, because I sure can't make it out on my own."

Headlines

Genocide expert dies in US crash

Fifteen Die in India Train Crash

Friday, February 13, 2009

Reading.

I took a little while tonight to remind myself that I actually do love to read.

I've forgotten a bit lately.

You see, reading was always my escape. I'd lose myself in a novel to avoid or escape reality.

And lately, well, lately, Jesus, and a few trusted friends (whose voices in my life Jesus has a tendency to borrow) have been making the point that perhaps escaping into a fictional reality to avoid my own reality might not be the healthiest decision around. And, having seen the effects of the last few escapist trips on my mood and my ability to be satisfied with my own life, I'd say that Jesus and those friends are probably right.

So, most of my reading of late has been stuff that has spoken to where I'm at in life, and challenged me to live and think and experience my own reality more deeply, and to find healing in the midst of that.

But dang, have I missed that escapism.

I took time tonight to relax in a bath tub and read some essays from Anne Lamott's "Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith". No escapism in that writing. Just lots of earthy reality, balanced somehow by humor. And I remembered that I really do love to read. That sometimes truth comes packaged in humor. And that it's okay to laugh and love something - that loving it doesn't automatically make it escapism.

I was also taking the time to remember that I love reading because I'm embarking on a book that I suspect will be a bit more of a challenging read, and I wanted to remind myself that God speaks to me in written form, even when it's not something that makes me laugh.

I made it through the translators introduction (it's a manuscript from the 16th century) and the author's introduction before remembering that even as a history student I hated the way medieval authors wrote. As a historian I can tell you that all that self-demeaning stuff is typical of the time period, and not at all out of character. As a reader, I can tell you that the word I wanted to use in the previous sentence instead of stuff was "drivel" and that two pages of it sent me in search of chocolate. I'm going to have to replenish my stash to make it through this one I think!

And with that, I'm off to read some more. Maybe I'll reward myself for reading the first chapter with a bit more Anne Lamott.

Celebrating Being Alive - Henri Nouwen

another thought from Henri...


Celebrating Being Alive


Birthdays are so important. On our birthdays we celebrate being alive. On our birthdays people can say to us, "Thank you for being!" Birthday presents are signs of our families' and friends' joy that we are part of their lives. Little children often look forward to their birthdays for months. Their birthdays are their big days, when they are the center of attention and all their friends come to celebrate.


We should never forget our birthdays or the birthdays of those who are close to us. Birthdays keep us childlike. They remind us that what is important is not what we do or accomplish, not what we have or who we know, but that we are, here and now. On birthdays let us be grateful for the gift of life.

Words that Feed Us - Henri Nouwen

another great thought from Henri Nouwen...


Words That Feed Us


When we talk to one another, we often talk about what happened, what we are doing, or what we plan to do. Often we say, "What's up?" and we encourage one another to share the details of our daily lives. But often we want to hear something else. We want to hear, "I've been thinking of you today," or "I missed you," or "I wish you were here," or "I really love you." It is not always easy to say these words, but such words can deepen our bonds with one another.


Telling someone "I love you" in whatever way is always delivering good news. Nobody will respond by saying, "Well, I knew that already, you don't have to say it again"! Words of love and affirmation are like bread. We need them each day, over and over. They keep us alive inside.

Friday Morning I am...

I am...
  • constantly amazed at how the oddest things can evoke memories. Scents. Noises. A texture. Any one of those things can throw me immediately back in time, and it always catches me off guard.
  • having trouble regulating body heat this week. Practically, this means that I take my magic bags to work with me, and reheat them through the day, keeping myself warm.
  • sipping a cup of passion tea.
  • glad I made the drive in without anything on the stereo this morning. Just quiet, and a little bit of me praying out loud.
  • looking forward to watching last night's episodes of Grey's Anatomy and Private Practice on the internet this weekend.
  • wearing a very cute pink with red polka dots thermal top that I bought last weekend. I saw it in the store several months ago, when I bought the same top in black and white, and wanted it, but didn't want to buy two. It was on sale for $7 last weekend when I was back in that shop, and I immediately purchased it.
  • generally not a fan of pink, but something about this top called my name. And it is quite cosy, which is great for a week where I can't seem to properly heat my body.
  • looking forward to a quiet long weekend. A wedding dress fitting with my roommate on Monday, and a family birthday party Monday night, but generally just me and lots of quiet time to rest and read and write and think.
  • re-reading Anne Lamott's "Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith" and remembering all over again why I fell in love with her writing, and feeling grateful that there are other slightly neurotic and willing to admit it lovers of Jesus out there. Especially ones that write with that sort of humor and grace. Even when I don't agree with all of their politics!
  • glad that I live someplace where clean water is readily availalble. I love water.
  • glad for a heart that is somewhat more at rest right now.
  • learning much about joy, and how closely connected joy and sorrow or suffering really are.
  • waiting for the right words to flow to describe some of the deep things the Lord has been speaking to my heart about his promise to shield me.
  • continually amazed by how much it helps my mood just to be able to wear jeans to work on Friday's.
  • going to do some work tasks I actually really enjoy today.
  • going to enjoy my usual Friday evening free of roommates in our house tonight - I love the quiet!
  • looking forward to lunch with a co-worker today, and loving the fact that she's buying as an apology for a very funny joke she played on me earlier this week.
  • looking at a calendar and realizing that it's Friday the Thirteenth, and remembering the hilarious stories my best friend used to tell about working in the hospital as a nurse on a full moon or a Friday the thirteenth.
  • missing my best friend when I remember those sorts of stories, and going to send her an "I'm thinking about you" email, since she's on the other side of the planet at the moment.
  • off to start the day.

Fire again...

Seems an odd way to protest, but catching my attention nonetheless.

Man Sets Himself Ablaze in Downtown Calgary

Thursday, February 12, 2009

In the bookshop and other thoughts

I've been thinking all day about how it's important to me to stop in here once a day or so, and put something up, even if it's just news headlines that are catching my attention and stirring my heart to pray.

Truth is, I don't have a lot of collected and coherent thoughts today.

There are some deep thoughts and writing bits brewing, but other than those, for the first time in a couple weeks, my heart feels kind of quiet.

A dream I had earlier this week is still with me. But I feel like that's getting closer to being processed, or at least to the point where it is not fully present and affecting my days.

I'm thinking about the delightful conversation I had with the little older lady working in the Catholic book shop last night. She was so excited by the title I was looking for, delighted that someone as "young as me" would be interested in reading a work by a mystic from another continent and several centuries past. (I didn't have the heart to tell her that I'm not quite so young as she seemed to assume, though I am certainly younger than her.) She had read and purchased many of the titles in the shop, and since I was the only one in there, I took advantage of the opportunity to chat, and asked her to point out her recommendations. I walked with her through several aisles, making mental notes for next time, and did end up purchasing about $75 worth of new reading material as well.

Bumping into her was providential. I'm not sure of her name, though I introduced myself to her as I was leaving and another customer came in. I hope I run into her there again. She had a sweet and beautiful spirit about her, a passion for Jesus that my own spirit recognized. I pray that I will be that in love with the Lord, and with the church and with the words of others who love the Lord and the church when I am her age, and that my own spirit will glow the way hers did.

And now, semi-reclined and curled up in bed, lounging against the myriad of pillows I feel are essential for a comfortable space and sleep, I'm going to stop writing here, pick up a journal, and do some writing that needs to be accomplished. And then, then I'm going to spend a bit of time with one of the books I purchased yesterday before I attempt to sleep.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

5 Questions

Hope recently had this fun meme on her blog (see her questions and answers here) and invited anyone who was interested to contact her for questions and play along. I decided to jump in on the fun, and she sent me the following five questions. If you'd like to play along, leave me a comment or drop me an email, and I'll come up with five questions for you.

1. How has your relationship with God changed over the course of your blogging?

Well, I started blogging in 2005, and I was in the midst of transitioning from attending the church I grew up in as a pastor's kid, to a church that was somewhat less conservative, and was charismatic in bent. I'd never heard really dreamed that the Holy Spirit could play any more active role in my life than being the voice of my conscience, and was curious and horrified and strangely drawn. Somehow the people I met in that church had something that I didn't, and that I wanted. They knew God, instead of just talking about him.

2005 was also the last year that I suffered from severe depression before being healed, and the 7 years I struggled with depression, and the three and a bit years since the healing have profoundly shaped my life and experience of God.

My relationship with God over the years I've been blogging has changed. There's no question about it, though it's hard to put words around. It has become less about what I know, and more about what I experience and feel and see. And about finding a balance between knowledge and experience that works for me.

2. What would your dream job look like?

My dream job would involve some combination of reading, traveling, praying, and writing. If it also included extended periods of time sharing cups of tea with dear friends of the old or new variety, that would be fantastic. If anyone can figure out what job fits that description, and how I can get it, you should definitely let me know. (Though I suspect at least a few of those who read my blog would give me fairly stiff competition for just such a job.)

In the meantime, a job where I'm interacting with and helping people, and have the chance to do things I enjoy and where I can be challenged rather than bored will absolutely suit me.

3. I see you love to drink tea! What is your favourite kind?

Well, see, that depends. I don't like black tea. Which is what most of the world seems to drink. I can tell you the exact number of times (5) and places (England, Malta, Canmore, Newfoundland, and a friend's home) that I've had black tea in the last year.

I love looseleaf teas, and own several varieties, mostly rooibos (or red bush) teas. I have mango rooibos, vanilla rooibos, provence rooibos and several others. I also have a few herbal teas (like lavender honeybush) and one fantastic loose fruit tea (lemon mango).

I've also been known to have the occasional cup of green tea - I have a pomegranate green tea that's pretty fantastic.

However, my most commonly drunk cup of tea is probably Tazo Passion Tea from Starbucks. I start most workdays with a cup of it (I buy the tea bags and make my own instead of buying one every day - way more affordable.) It's also become a sort of unspoken prayer of mine to sip that tea from Starbucks, and I'll often pick up a cup from the shop when I'm needing to spend some time talking with Jesus, or when I'm praying for certain people and things.

4. Your recent post "Crying Out For Restoration" was beautiful. In it you mentioned several objects that held significance for you. If you had to pick just one, what would it be and why?

I thought a lot about how to answer this. I'm definitely a collector, and it would be hard to pick just one item.

To be honest, I think I'd probably keep "Nelly". Nelly is a teddy bear that was given to me at birth, and we've been through a lot together. She gives great hugs, has traveled the country and the world with me, and is a source of many memories and has been greatly loved.

If I was picking something of more spiritual significance, I'd probably choose either a coin that sits on the frame of my mirror which is a memento from a very personal and deep moment of encounter with God, or a little plaque that sits in my window sill, has a tiny shield hanging from it, and reads "The Lord is my shield in whom I take refuge." The plaque was a gift from a very dear friend, and speaks to me of a number of things. The shield on it bears a Maltese cross, and reminds me of many things encountered this last year. The fact that it is a gift from my friend reminds me of the deep love we share, and the many hard and deep and beautiful places we have walked together. And the scripture verse is a reminder of a promise that I believe God spoke to me over my life at one point, a line he said first to Abraham, "Do not be afraid, I am your shield and your very great reward." This is a central promise in my life, and has given birth to an image (still being developed) that I eventually would like to have tattooed on my back. There's something powerful for me in the image of having God's promise to shield and protect me permanently inked on my back.

5. When you think of your parents' generation is there any one thing that comes to mind that you wish you could say to them when it comes to living out their Christianity? Anything that they are holding on to that is unnecessary?

I wish sometimes that I could ask them to make Christianity about more than doing the right things. More than being in church each week, and a small group bible study, and doing some sort of community service and outreach or evangelism. I think all of those things are important, I just think that sometimes Jesus gets lost in them.

I met Jesus first when I was four years old, kneeling on the carpet in my parent's living room, and praying with my mom. I'll be 26 this coming summer, and I'm only just beginning to believe that Jesus actually loves me for who I am, not because I do and say and know the right things about him.

I think there are a thousand and one things my parents and their generation did right. They are very devoted to the concept of gathering together to celebrate God and worship him. My generation is by and large rejecting church. But I also think that there comes a moment when church can be adapted a bit to fit the changes in culture and thought and attention span. That it can become a bit less of an institution and a bit more of the family and body of Christ.

I'm a historian by training (with a specialty in church history), and I have a deep love for the church, and even the idea of the church as an institution that many of my peers seem to lack. In fact, I find myself increasingly drawn to the deep liturgy and ancient tradition of the Catholic church. But I also long for church to be a place where I go to meet with family - however wild and crazy and dysfunctional - people whom Jesus has called and collected. The Psalms talk about God setting the lonely in families, and in a culture that can be so isolating and individualistic, I see a great opportunity for the church to be the body of Christ, to form deep and loving extended families who also love and long to live out a life radically changed by an encounter with a living savior who understands the pain of the human existence, and knows suffering more deeply than any of us ever will.

~~~

Those were fantastic questions, Hope! thanks for sending them my way.

If anyone else wants to play along, let me know!

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Redeem

The new years walk, restoring
Through a bright cloud of tears, the years, restoring
With a new verse the ancient rhyme. Redeem
The time. Redeem...


(from "Ash Wednesday" by T.S. Eliot)

Fires and Homeless

Fires are still catching my attention.

Fire Burns Southeast Calgary Home to the Ground

Australia Fears More than 200 Dead in Wildfires


And this article made me smile and lifted my heavy mood just a little.

Calgary's Doctor to the Homeless

Monday, February 09, 2009

An odd comfort

In these days and moments that remain intense and strange, I am increasingly thankful for the psalmists and prophets of the old testament variety. Their words give me an odd sort of comfort and hope. A model for prayers.

If these characters of "biblical proportions" can pen words of such anger and frustration and despair, and yet still model a love of the Lord, and a commitment to serve and worship him, then maybe it is possible for me to find some sort of balance in this as well.

I am taking comfort in Lamentations 3 tonight.

Particularly these verses:

My tears flow endlessly;
they will not stop
until the Lord looks down
from heaven and sees.
(3:49-50)

Look down, O Lord, and see me. Hold me and gather me to yourself. Carry me, as Isaiah says, the way you would carry a lamb, in your arms, holding me close to your heart. Leading me gently.

From Henri

a couple more thoughts from Henri Nouwen...

Care, the Source of All Cure

Care is something other than cure. Cure means "change." A doctor, a lawyer, a minister, a social worker-they all want to use their professional skills to bring about changes in people's lives. They get paid for whatever kind of cure they can bring about. But cure, desirable as it may be, can easily become violent, manipulative, and even destructive if it does not grow out of care. Care is being with, crying out with, suffering with, feeling with. Care is compassion. It is claiming the truth that the other person is my brother or sister, human, mortal, vulnerable, like I am.

When care is our first concern, cure can be received as a gift. Often we are not able to cure, but we are always able to care. To care is to be human.

Giving and Receiving Consolation

Consolation is a beautiful word. It means "to be" (con-) "with the lonely one" (solus). To offer consolation is one of the most important ways to care. Life is so full of pain, sadness, and loneliness that we often wonder what we can do to alleviate the immense suffering we see. We can and must offer consolation. We can and must console the mother who lost her child, the young person with AIDS, the family whose house burned down, the soldier who was wounded, the teenager who contemplates suicide, the old man who wonders why he should stay alive.

To console does not mean to take away the pain but rather to be there and say, "You are not alone, I am with you. Together we can carry the burden. Don't be afraid. I am here." That is consolation. We all need to give it as well as to receive it.

Sunday, February 08, 2009

Crying out for restoration

A dear friend of mine who posts to her blog very infrequently has posted twice in the last two days, and her words are eating at me. They're not directed at me. She is speaking her heart (and it is one that I love). But for my heart her words are carrying a strong message of conviction.

She spoke in her most recent post about some of the little things around her home, the reminders of deep moments and the promises that Jesus has made to her. I've been in her home, and seen those reminders. And while my own tendency to collect those things in my own home was already present, in the time I've known her, she has taught me much about collecting and marking the things the Lord has spoken. She has also given me several little gifts that mark things about our relationship (one that is deeply important to me) or things that she knows the Lord has been speaking to me.

From where I sit several of her gifts are visible. And several other items that are tied to deep moments we've shared can also be seen.

I cleaned my bedroom from top to bottom a few weeks back. In the midst of a day where the wrestle was strong, and I felt the need to simply silence all the voices, I cleaned. I reordered, reorganized, and generally removed chaos wherever I could. I cleaned the surfaces that are prayer "altars" of a sort in my bedroom, and the temptation was strong to remove many of the items sitting on them, to put them away in a box where they couldn't be visible reminders any longer. Where they couldn't sting.

Because right now the reminders sting. They speak of deep places that in some cases I'd rather forget. They call me to things I'm afraid of, and not always certain I want. They speak of what was, and what subsequently seems to have been shattered. There are a few items in particular that I would much rather have stored safely away in a box, than in plain sight, visible each time I rise to look in the mirror.

When I feel like this, I avoid those "altars" as much as possible. I don't light the candles that rest there, or anywhere else in my bedroom. I don't burn incense, or oil, because those fragrances, too, carry reminders. I don't look at the items on my window sill - some gifts from my friend, a stone from "my" spot in the mountains when I met Jesus there and twirled last summer, a heart shaped stone from Indonesia, some strings of shells from Hawaii, a container of rose petals from various special bouquets this last year, and some pieces of driftwood I gathered from a lake shore when I was there with friends last July. I try not to make eye contact with the photos that hang on the wall across from my bed, one of a lake, and one of a spot my heart has been called to visit.

And yet, I can't avoid them either. I have slept for several weeks now wrapped in two scarves, both symbols of prayer and reminders of deep things the Lord is speaking. I tried last night to lay down without wrapping myself in the scarves. I was peaceful, and felt I didn't need them. I couldn't do it. Within moments I was sitting up, and reaching for them, wrapping them around me before laying back down to sleep. I wear a few of those reminders on a daily basis - a ring, and a necklace and a bracelet, each speaking of different deep moments.

And I have felt the tug of all these things scattered around my space deeply.

My friend spoke in the writing she shared on her blog these last few days of finding her feet again, and returning to the promises spoken. Of believing and standing amidst these things.

And I have resented the reminders scattered around my space. Even the reminders I wear each day, or fall asleep wrapped in. I have resented the deep pull of Jesus on my heart and life. I have wanted nothing so badly as to be "normal". I have resented that so many of the deepest moments of this last year, so many of the things scattered around my room also speak of moments of deep pain and sorrow.

The photo of the place my heart longs to go speaks of a dream, and a calling of Jesus to me. It also speaks of a shattered dream. Of fear of traveling to pray with friends. Of a hesitancy and brokenness I don't know how to handle.

The railway spikes on one of the altars speak of a moment when I found family. I found the place in which I belonged, I fit. They also speak of the deep shattering that has taken place within that family in the last year. Of anger and frustration and pain. Of a year of tears and wondering and struggling.

There is a tiny gold camel from Pakistan. A gift from missionaries when I was a child, but also a reminder of a very dear friend who is serving the Lord in that country now. And a reminder of some painful words. Of moments when the direction the Lord is taking my life has been unseen, or judged because it is not understood. (And how can I expect someone else to understand that which I am hardly able to accept or comprehend?)

There are stones and wine corks. Goblets. A tiny rose pin. Three pure white candles. A stone cross handmade into a necklace. A cross from my graduation and a rosary hanging over another photo. Five stones with words etched in them. Bits of wax left from the advent candles I burned and prayed with. Scarves. Palm leaves and willow branches. A tiny oil lamp from Israel. A medal and a tassel from Rome. Coins. Two boxed baptism candles.

And I have been tempted at moments to pack each and every one of them away. To simply move on. To box up a season of my life, and shut it down. To declare something new and create a life out of it. To close off the deepest parts of myself because while they have held the deepest joy, they have also carried immeasurable sorrow. I am tempted to purge these things from my life.

But I can't. And I have resented that too. That in becoming more and more fully myself, I have encountered such shattering, such deep pain.

I have been tired and angry, and haven't known what to do with those feelings.

And reading my friend's words these last few days has caused much of this to surface within my own heart. In part because I love her heart. And in part because of an awareness of how far my own is at times from where I'd like it to be.

I read her words about finding her feet again, and I am glad, because I love her deeply and desire that for her. I also wrestle with jealousy, because in these moments where she is finding her footing, I have been feeling like I have lost what little hope and footing I had left.

Just over a year ago, in an impossibly deep moment, I confessed to the Lord and a friend that I could stand amidst the storms. That I could fight. That I had been hearing him say that to me, and ignoring it, because I didn't want to stand or fight. That I didn't want that to be part of my reality. I haven't regretted that confession, and yet, I have regretted it nearly every day of the year that has followed.

I am discovering that this journey with Jesus is highly confusing and full of paradox.

That joy and sorrow seem far closer together than I dreamed was possible.

My heart is being stretched and tugged and shattered and pierced.

I sat and listened to an African children's choir last week, and fought tears I didn't understand.

I look at the photo on my wall of a place that I know unequivocally that the Lord has asked me to visit. To go to, and pray, and speak some words of scripture, and I remember that same passage of scripture echoing in a hall where diplomats of the world have gathered. And I remember too the division in that moment. I look at it and remember that Jesus told me not to make that trip alone. To have companions for the journey. And I remember how many relationships have fallen to pieces since and because of the last trip where he asked me to travel and pray with friends.

I look at a ring on my finger - a placeholder until just the right ring presents itself, and I remember a moment of deep vows near a lake. And I remember too how quickly those statements of choice were tested.

I see the coin resting on the frame of my mirror and remember a dream I had and a moment to deep to be publicly shared. And I remember how quickly it too became a source of conflict and division

There are moments when I feel as if life has become a ridiculous sort of balancing act, and I wonder if that is healthy.

Abba, I confess that my heart has ached. That I have resented the reminders of the things you've done, and the promises you've spoken that are scattered around my space. That I've been angry that this life that you've offered me has been so marked by pain. I admit that I don't understand, and that that lack of understanding really bothers me. That I have been jealous of those who seem more able to find you in the midst of suffering or more able to find you without experiencing suffering. That I have wanted to have the benefits of knowing you deeply without drinking the cup of your suffering. That I have a hard time trusting you. That at times I am afraid of you. That though you have spoken often to me about joy, I seem to be unable to grasp what you mean by that. That I have hated people I deeply love. That I have harbored anger and unforgiveness. That I have been certain that you cannot be loving, because the life you have offered has been far too cruel for that. That I have hated the things you've said, and feared the things you've called me too. That there have been moments when I've created distance from you and others in an attempt to protect my heart, instead of believing that you will shield and protect it.

And so I ask for your forgiveness. And your voice and your presence and your help as I seek to walk differently. I ask for a heart that loves. A heart that is still willing to believe that you can and will change things that I believe are impossible. I ask for your healing, and your wholeness, recognizing that your definition of wholeness might just look a lot like my definition of shattered. I ask for more of the deep moments when my heart knows that it has met with you, and for you to remind me of those moments even when I'd rather forget and let my heart grow hard. Give me back a heart of flesh, in place of a heart of stone. Let me see you in the gift of a church candle from my roommate, and wine goblets waiting to be used. Let me see you in the scarves wrapped around me. Let me see you, and not the pain and bitterness and questions that so many of the reminders scattered around my bedroom have carried.

I love you. And I long to walk in step with you. (And I admit that I'm afraid of what that could mean.) Ease my fears with your comfort. Remind me of that first verse I memorized as a small child, to say aloud in the middle of the night to combat the nightmares, "when I am afraid, I will put my trust in you." Help me to trust. Help me to want to trust.

I love you. And I desire you.

I remember the vows I made to you. And I remain committed to them. Give me the strength and grace to walk those out.

Remind me that I chose this. That I committed to follow you, even if it meant drinking from the cup of suffering.

Pour out your blessings on those I have resented. Help me to walk daily in forgiveness towards them.

Work a miracle and once again draw together the things that have been impossibly broken.

Bring peace and restoration.

Bring an outpouring of hope and joy.

May it be enough comfort for me that I was where you asked, when you asked me to be, even if others were not. Help me to rest in that obedience. Help that to be enough, to be the thing I remember, not the brutally painful things.

Help me to see beauty instead of the ashes. To remember the deep image of the phoenix that night a few years back, sitting on the floor at epic, next to a friend, while Kirk preached. That was another week and another year that was marked by deep beauty and deep pain walking hand in hand. Help me to remember that so often the beauty came in the midst of the deepest destruction and pain. Help me to look for the beauty and not become focused on and mired in the destruction and pain.

You are good. It's a truth spoken by your word. Help my heart to trust and rest in that.

Bring freedom. Help me to see the places you have offered it, and to walk in it. Help me to be still in those places where I am still bound - to stop thrashing in order to be set free.

Provide in new ways for me.

Restore my health.

Show me the church community that you have for me.

I love you.

Abba, I belong to you. May your will be done in my life.

Amen.

Headlines

Soweto Gospel Choir

Three Dead after Cuba Train Crash

Australia Inferno toll Nears 100

Malaysian Twins Spared Death Row


Friday, February 06, 2009

Concentration/Creativity

So apparently they've done a study, and the color red aids in concentration, while blue aids with creativity.

Read about it here.

In My Purse

It was oddly comforting, the several times I woke in the night, to have "hope" clutched against me. Hope, and Nelly, who is my oldest friend, a slightly raggedy teddy bear that I've had since my parents brought me home from the hospital. Nelly is worn in all the right places, and she gives great hugs.

I'm still feeling exhausted, still feeling the need for a tangible symbol. I'm facing a day that promises to be long and bring many unique challenges.

I'm going to carry hope with me in my purse today. I need it.

Thursday, February 05, 2009

Clinging to hope

These days are proving perhaps more painful and difficult than I anticipated. I'm glad I'm nearly at the weekend, and will be able to take life more slowly for a few days.

Tonight has been really hard. Full of memories and tears.

Sleep remains an "adventure" full of vivid and powerful and unsettling dreams.

Hope has been a word central to so much of the year. And in some ways the symbol of a dove has been linked to that for me.

I have a dear friend, one of the most important people in my life, who has walked out much of this year with me. She has quite literally, over the course of the year, given me "hope" twice. Once early in the year. A broken hope, restored. And then again at Christmas. We saw each other briefly, and she gave me several small gifts. One was a resin cast of the word hope, with two doves nestled in it.

It's been hanging on our front door, and I didn't take it down when I put christmas back in a box last weekend. I left it hanging on our door for all who enter to see. Until tonight. As I was preparing to head for bed, I went and retrieved it. I need the literal ability to hold hope to myself tonight. I'm going to sleep with it next to me. I need that symbolism today. I'm so grateful for a friend who knows me well, and gave it to me. (I'm also grateful that she has taught me how helpful it can be at times to have that physical symbolism while you sleep - to have the symbolism of sleeping with a bible, or a rosary, or a scarf or hope clutched to yourself.)

I'm quite literally clinging to hope tonight, praying for my life.

tears

Some days I wonder, when I wake with red and gritty eyes, if the tears no longer confine themselves to my waking hours, but fall silently while I sleep.

Headlines Again

Further article on the Anti-Abortion group at the university that I mentioned earlier this week.

More on the house fire a few weeks ago that I've been following closely.

Wednesday, February 04, 2009

i am not forgotton: the watoto choir

I saw a different version of this choir perform last night. This song spoke deeply to places in my heart that are raw with the onset of these days of anniversaries.

It is still speaking to my heart today. I've been playing it on repeat here at work for much of the morning.

Article on Depression

TV and Video Games Increase Teen Depression Risk

Tuesday, February 03, 2009

Remembering

It may be quiet around here for the next few days. I'm not sure yet.

The next three days all mark significant "anniversaries" for me. Things that happened, things that are deep and full, but are also marked with deep pain and high cost.

I'm not sure where my heart will be at as I face these days.

I'm not sure if there will be words, or only silence.

But I need to walk these days out.

I need to take the time to remember.

I'm thinking again about the verse in Psalm 27 that says something to the effect of "my heart has heard you say, 'come and talk to me.' and my heart has responded, 'Lord, I am coming.' "

I'm going to give my heart the space and permission to write or to be silent, to remember, to pray and wait, to feel the presence of Jesus deeply, and grieve the wounds that still remain.

In the News...

There are various stories catching my attention today:

Fires are still catching my attention.

One dead, two missing in Winnipeg House Fire

Military news...

Body of Soldier Returns Home

This next story frustrates me. I am avidly opposed to abortion, however, I think a little bit of sensitivity in how that opposition is expressed could be in order. For example, a student group displaying horrifically violent and gruesome images, comparing abortion to the genocide in Rwanda, and the Holocaust, is probably not the most sensitive method of expressing opposition. Displaying those same photos in an area of the university campus frequented by small children is also probably not particularly sensitive. Insisting that the photos face outwards, instead of compromising with the university and letting them face inwards, so that people have a choice about whether or not to view them is problably not the most sensitive either.

And for the record, I'm not all that impressed with the university in the midst of this controversy either. (And I speak as an alumni of the school.) I do think the university should honor free speech, and I'm pleased that they offered to compromise with the students. However, engaging in a court debate over trespassing as free speech, and spending money that is primarily collected from students and alumni is perhaps not the best use of campus money. Especially by a university that has consistently raised tuition the maximum amount allowed under provincial regulations for the last several years.

U of C Charges Campus Anti-Abortion Group for Trespassing
U of C Administration Joins Campus Pro-Life on the Low Road

And finally, in news on depression/mental health, this headline caught my attention:
Antidepressants Lower Suicide Risk for Adults, Raise it for Adolescents

Monday, February 02, 2009

Reality

I'm still working my way through Anne Lamott's "Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life" and enjoying it. I tend to read Anne Lamott when I need to reconnect with some sort of more earthy reality. When life has become too intangible, and I need to ground myself a little.

And yet, I fell in love with this line from Bird by Bird tonight:

"Reality is unforgivingly complex." (pg. 104)

How very true. A truth that I'm feeling deeply these days.

Joy Hidden in Compassion

More from Henri Nouwen.

Solidarity in Weakness

Joy is hidden in compassion. The word compassion literally means "to suffer with." It seems quite unlikely that suffering with another person would bring joy. Yet being with a person in pain, offering simple presence to someone in despair, sharing with a friend times of confusion and uncertainty ... such experiences can bring us deep joy. Not happiness, not excitement, not great satisfaction, but the quiet joy of being there for someone else and living in deep solidarity with our brothers and sisters in this human family. Often this is a solidarity in weakness, in brokenness, in woundedness, but it leads us to the center of joy, which is sharing our humanity with others.

More on the Fire

I've been closely following a story on a basement fire that happened in Calgary a week ago. This is the latest headline.

Delay of Care a Factor in Calgary Fire Death

Sunday, February 01, 2009

In Pictures

The day in photos...

At the zoo

The Grey Wolf (also at the zoo)


Sledding with my roommate near Bragg Creek


I liked this guy, watched him for quite a while.

With L, at Elbow Falls

A special, must searched for purchase in a Bragg Creek art gallery.

Updated Headline

Week of Mourning for Kenya Fires

Headlines...

Legendary British Warship Found

Scores Killed in Kenya Oil Fire

Kenya Store Fire Death Toll Rises

Just Be.

I'm going to have a "just be" sort of day today. Or at least I'm going to try for that.

No obsessive worrying about doing. Just be me.

And, to borrow advice from Anne Lamott, I'm going to take it bird by bird.

I'm pretty tired.

And a bit lonely and at loose ends.

I had a long and involved dream about a friend last night. I'm not quite sure what to make of it. I think it's mostly just my mind's way of processing a shifting in the relationship. Not necessarily a bad shifting, but one that hurts right now.

I think I'm going to go to the zoo. I need a "hanging out with the gorillas" fix. I love the gorilla exhibit. It is the one place on earth (other than wrapped in a hug from a dear friend who lives far away) where I can go and feel peaceful. It doesn't matter how many or few people are there. It's a peaceful spot, and I visit it often early on Sunday mornings.

And then I think I'm going to come home and make myself pancakes. Which my brain tells me is not a practical idea, given all the other leftovers I have in our fridge. But I kind of really want pancakes. They're sort of a joyful thing for me. So I'll probably make some pancakes.

It's a new day. New week. New month. Praying that 2009 shifts today. That it begins to be better.