Breathing

I'm feeling oddly relaxed today. Can't explain it really.

It could be the casual clothes.

It could be that I slept almost 7 hours straight last night for the first time in a couple weeks.

I should be stressed about some work stuff. I'm not. I'm letting everyone else be stressed about that. I'm resting in the knowledge that I've done everything possible to this point on my end, and that any problems are not at this point my fault or my problem.

I'm remembering to breathe. And it's good.

What's Working and What's Not

I've learned, in weeks when I'm particularly tired and overwhelmed or stressed, to take a minute, pause and ask myself two questions:

1. What's working this week?
2. What's not working this week?

Here are some things that are working this week:

• dinner with Kari
• baths with lovely scented bath salts from the Rocky Mountain Soap Company and a really good novel
• going to bed early last night
• tea lights in the living room as prayers
• burning incense just before bed to fill my room with a spicy scent last night
• long johns
• leaving my shoes at work instead of carrying them back and forth
• wool socks
• emails with a few friends
• good news from my brother
• dinner with mom and dad and a few others the other night

These are some things that are not working this week:

• taking the train home several days in a row instead of the bus
• having something scheduled every night, and well into next week
• the wait and see stress level at my office right now
• eating on a scattered schedule and a rather unbalanced diet
• being the fallout person for every problem someone has with an office machine, or every question they just don't quite know how to answer

The big thing that stands out to me from these two lists is the "taking the train home" one. I've missed climbing on the bus, and settling in for the next hour and a half to read, think, listen to my ipod, or just stare out the window. That space has become "sabbath" space for me, and on the weeks when my schedule doesn't permit me to make my commute home longer, I feel the pressure. I've compensated with taking hot baths, but it doesn't help as much - it doesn't separate my workday from my evening the way the bus ride does.

So, next week, I'm going to try and take the bus a little more often!

The Little Things

This week is insanely busy, and it's starting to get to me.

So I'm shut up in my bedroom, enjoying the quiet. In a few minutes I'll crawl into bed, and do a little reading, then turn the lights out early.

Tonight I'm realizing that I can find rest in the little things:

• in a long bath with a good novel, and my favorite bath salts.
• in incense burnt in my bedroom, making the air spicy and beautiful
• in decorating a Christmas tree - even if it does look a little "Charlie Brown" like
• in slathering on hand cream for sore skin
• in a quick spray of my favorite perfume
• in comfy sweat pants to wear to bed
• in a really good chocolate
• in a cup of tea
• in wrapping myself in a blanket and curling up on the couch
• in emails from a few dear friends
• in a photo of a special spot in the mountains that's hanging on my bedroom wall
• in a clean bedroom
• in a warm duvet cover
• in a quick dinner with a dear friend
• in taking vitamins and knowing I'm taking good care of myself
• in facial moisturizer that I really like, and that doesn't make my crazy sensitive skin break out
• in anticipating travels over the next while
• in a pretty vase on display in my bedroom
• in a smile from a friend
• in laughter with a coworker over mutually "blond" moments
• in the nearness of Jesus
• in a favorite Psalm
• in a moment's prayer
• in hearing a friend's heart - even the painful bits.
• in knowing that there are only two work days left this week, and one of them is casual Friday.
• in the satisfaction of knowing I've done my job well this week, despite crazy and sometimes adverse circumstances.
• in clean-smelling, freshly washed hair, hanging damp around my face
• in warmth and light
• in the birth of a friend's child
• in a favorite teddy bear named "Nelly"
• in cozy wool socks that don't itch
• in music
• in a great novel I've just finished
• in twinkling Christmas lights on the tree
  

Tonight, I'm all about the little things.

Breaking hearts and Wednesday Transit Adventures

This is one of those mornings. It is, indeed, a Wednesday!

I slept poorly again last night, waking often (though this has become the norm lately and I think I am once again adapting to functioning with less sleep).

I woke dry-heaving, and feeling ill, but knowing I needed to head for the office.

I managed to make it out the door and to the train on time, but no sooner had I climbed on the train then there was a passenger medical emergency that delayed us at the stop for an extra ten minutes, officially putting me on track to be late.

While the train was delayed at the station, a rough looking older man pushed his way on. Transit delays generally make the entire over-crowded train population grumpy, and this gentleman was no exception. He began to loudly expound upon his views on everything from the coming plans for expansion of the c-train line, and how ridiculous he finds them. As we finally got underway, he simply continued talking, holding a conversation with another woman who chose to agree with him at each turn. His comments became rapidly more ignorant and offensive, as he complained about the province of Alberta providing disaster relief a few years back to another province, “that’s money we paid in for our own. They’re not our own.” He then moved on to complain about money Stephen Harper has recently committed of African aid projects for much the same reason – it’s not caring for our own. Another woman on the train made eye contact with me at that point, saw her thoughts reflected on my face, and smiled. I made a comment to her about the necessity of providing aid to starving nations. As I glanced away, a beautiful black muslim lady found my eyes with her own, and smiled at me.

The gentleman, however, charged on with his diatribe. Content that he’d covered his political bases, he complained at the high cost of living in Calgary, regaled us with his adventures of living on or nearly on the street (he’d had a run in with the police yesterday), and flashed his Canada Pension check, boasting at the large amount he received. Not satisfied with that, he and the woman he was talking with began to discuss the cost of living in other Canadian cities in comparison to Calgary. Vancouver came up, and of course, this man had lived in Surrey a number of years back. His next comments became increasingly racist – horribly rude things, directed mostly at Muslims.

By this point, the anger in me was building. All I could think was how desperately I wanted to get off of that train and away from this man. (I also wanted to punch him in the nose!) There were two beautiful Muslim women on the train in close enough proximity to hear this gentleman’s comments this morning, and I found my heart breaking at his rudeness.

As I got off at my stop, and walked to the platform where I transfer trains, I was reminded again of the Sunday school lesson I taught a few weeks back. Of the question we posed, “What would make Jesus angry today? What would break his heart?” I paused as I began to see Jesus, standing between this man and the two women on the train. I saw him wincing as the words hit him like whips, tearing into him. And I understood, just a little bit more, the power of words. More than that, I understood, again, just a little bit more, the way the heart of the father breaks at things done and said without love. And my heart broke too.

Lyrics...

Was listening to Steve Bell's album of Bruce Cockburn covers the other day, and was caught by the last verse of the song "Pacing the Cage."

Sometimes the best map will not guide you
You can't see what's round the bend
Sometimes the road leads through dark places
Sometimes the darkness is your friend
Today these eyes scan bleached-out land
For the coming of the outbound stage
Pacing the cage
Pacing the cage

My friend Andrea played a song for me after a coffee date one night about a month or so ago... the lyrics caught me, reminded me of a person I used to know, one I'd bumped into that night... I've listened to the song a few times again these last few days (it was on the mix cd she gave me on the weekend...) the lyrics are still catching me, reminding me of so many broken young women I've been or continue to be involved with...

i see her wander around, princess without her crown, stumblin' and fallin' down beneath her burden. she's floating through our town, bride without her gown, passin' her heart around to numb the hurting.

she's scared of coming home, she's been so long alone, she's stat upon her throne, until it crumbled, now she's got to choose, she's nothing left to lose, she's battered and she's bruised and feeling humbled as saying her prayers to no-one.

who is her brother, who is her keeper? where is her lover, can anyone reach her? cup of cold water, in the name of the Father, sending a letter to the prodigal daughter.

now where is love everyone, for all the one's who mourn, for those who suffer scorn and have no father. maybe to bless not curse, maybe the last not first, maybe the ones who thirst, will find the water.

her lover sees inside, He sees with lovers eyes, He sees a radiant bride, with passion burning. everything's upside down, her rags become her gown, her scars become her crown with no returning and i sing my song to you baby!

who is her brother, who is her keeper? where is her lover, can anyone reach her? a cup of cold water, in the name of the Father, sending a letter to the prodigal daughter.

By: Andrew Smith