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.