There are days when I am left with a sense that regardless what I do in this lifetime, it will never be enough. That somehow I will never be enough. Ultimately none of what we can do to save ourselves or one another is enough.
I realize this is fatalist thinking to some degree, and that some of it started back when I was a teenager/young 20's adult. When I was in college I took a lot of theology/philosophy and a lot of political science. And the thing that used to set me over the edge was the political science. Because ultimately there is no perfect system or way of doing things. We can theorize all day long, and we can work for justice and peace our entire lives, and ultimately maybe not make more than a small ripple, that is felt in our own ponds only. Part of me still wants heaven on earth. I'm worn of this world and all of it's craziness. Where the hell is the kingdom of God and when it is going to arrive?!
I want a life for the kids I work with that is full of the things they need and all the love they can hold. I want peace on the planet for those ravaged by war and strife. I want life, and I want abundant life for those who live with doubts, fears and pain. I want justice for those who have been harmed by others. I want simpler things too. I want some semblance of control over my body and my fluctuating weight (which happens to be up at this moment). I want my children to grow up in a loving environment free of the harsh criticism I endured. I want a partner in this life who loves me completely and without reservation. I want healing for myself and for those who need it. I want the happy ending...where all the struggle and strife and pain ends up being worth something in the end, perhaps turned into healing and unconditional love and peace.
That's a heck of a Christmas list I suppose. And yet I feel as if there is just not enough to go around. While I believe in God, and know more so now than ever that God desires relationship with me, I wonder where all this other stuff fits in. Is it too much to ask for? To hope for? To desire? It seems so. I've had Archbishop Romero on the brain today. It's the anniversary of his death - the day he was shot while celebrating mass in El Salvador. Romero has been someone I've studied for many years, and a sort of folk hero to me. Yet, for all of his passionate preaching and love for the Salvadoran people, he was gunned down. He died. He is not here now, the dream was never realized for him. King faced the same end - he worked to see the end of racism and classism, and yet, he too was killed before he ever got to be "enough." For all of the work so many do, it doesn't seem to be enough ultimately.
For every one happy ending I get to see in juvenile court, there are 5 crappy ones. So 1 kid gets the dream, and the other 5 get shit on. It just seems wrong. Unfair. Unjust. Hopeless.
The better angels of my nature reassure me that the one child would not have gotten that ending but for the same systems I rail against. That even if it is only one, it is someone. And that one should be celebrated and I should be thankful for the one. I guess I'm just at a cyncial juncture. I'm more caught up with the other 5.
Perhaps it's my own life - that I feel too close to - or identify too much with - the other 5. I know what it's like to face some of what they face - to never feel the warmth of unconditional love as a child. And to still long for it now decades later. To still want healing...to still hope that love wins in the end - that love really does conquer all. And despite all my desire as a kid to please God and to be acceptable, I just never could quite get the hang of it. I never could actually *feel* it.
More than anything else today, I desire to still have a spark of hope that what I'm doing is serving a higher good, even when it seems dismal. I so want to believe that God waits for me, wanting to share in both my despair and my joy. That even in the darkest hour of the darkest night, there is a loving Father, only too ready to shoulder some of my burden, to lighten my load.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
Happy Anniversary
Today is the 21st anniversary of my confirmation into the Lutheran church. I was a 13 year old girl. I studied with the pastor of my childhood church for 3 years to prepare, and then on a Palm Sunday in 1989 I was accepted into the Lutheran church. Back in those days you underwent an examination in front of the church to be sure that you knew the catechism, commandments, etc. It was a little nerve-wracking/intimidating for a 13 year old. There were four of us that year - which was a small class - so we found ourselves having to memorize more than classes before or after us. Four girls - now 34/35 year old women. I remember fear as the primary emotion of that day. Fear I would screw up the stuff I was supposed to remember to say. Fear I would trip over the robe/vestments we had to wear. Fear I was somehow not worthy of this event. My confirmation was a big deal for me. I was very into church at 13. It was my stability in the midst of my chaos. I felt drawn there. I wanted so badly to please God - who in my mind was waiting for me to screw it up. A god who didn't have much faith in me at all, but demanded a sacrifical faith of me.
How life changes! These past few months have been about letting go of fear for me. Releasing the notion that God somehow wants my fear or seeks to make me scared of Him/Her. As I struggle to understand now where I go from here, or how I move forward, I wonder why I ever bought into the religion of fear and dominance. What are the roots? How do I pull them up so that I don't give them to my children? When i was 13 I had to choose a Bible verse to be "my verse" for my confirmation day. I chose Psalms 118:14. "The Lord is my strength and my song. He has become my salvation." Today I would likely choose other verses in the same psalm..."O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his steadfast love endures forever...Out of my distress I called on the Lord; the Lord answered me and set me in a broad place. With the Lord at my side I do not fear...I thank you that you have answered me and have become my salvation."
This is what life is about. The love of God which endures forever. Steadfast means unwavering. In other words there is nothing so bad or so sad that I can do that would ever mean a loss of that love. That God has become my salvation. Not because I did anything spectacular, but because God so wants a relationship that He goes to the ends of the earth to find me. With God, therefore I do not need any fear in my life. Fear only stunts my growth, and makes me react with violence.
Back in 1989 there was an Amy Grant song that I listened to often (I still love me some Amy) called 1974 where she talks about the day she was confirmed.
"We were young. None of us knew quite what to say. But the feeling moved among us in silence anyway. Slowly we had made...quite a change. Somewhere we had crossed a big line. Down upon our knees we had tasted holy wine. No one could sway us in a lifetime."
That faith is my history. But perhaps it is not my future. And that is somewhat painful. That sense of loss. In 1989 faith was easy, comfortable and made simple sense. This new faith is tougher to come to, complicated and at times makes me uneasy. It is the grey, fringe areas - there is no black and white.
I was reading a book by a woman I have really come to love, and she said that when your experience and your religion clash or conflict, you have three choices. You can deny your experience and conform to the religion. You can leave the religion because you cannot deny your experience. Or you can become a theologian. While I see now clearly my call to the third option, the third option is not easy. While it makes room for experience and religion to co-exist, it still seems complicated, messy.
21 years later...and I feel good and holy and loved and that perhaps all I ever really needed was to let go of fear. The steadfast love of God endures forever. I know that much is true.
How life changes! These past few months have been about letting go of fear for me. Releasing the notion that God somehow wants my fear or seeks to make me scared of Him/Her. As I struggle to understand now where I go from here, or how I move forward, I wonder why I ever bought into the religion of fear and dominance. What are the roots? How do I pull them up so that I don't give them to my children? When i was 13 I had to choose a Bible verse to be "my verse" for my confirmation day. I chose Psalms 118:14. "The Lord is my strength and my song. He has become my salvation." Today I would likely choose other verses in the same psalm..."O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his steadfast love endures forever...Out of my distress I called on the Lord; the Lord answered me and set me in a broad place. With the Lord at my side I do not fear...I thank you that you have answered me and have become my salvation."
This is what life is about. The love of God which endures forever. Steadfast means unwavering. In other words there is nothing so bad or so sad that I can do that would ever mean a loss of that love. That God has become my salvation. Not because I did anything spectacular, but because God so wants a relationship that He goes to the ends of the earth to find me. With God, therefore I do not need any fear in my life. Fear only stunts my growth, and makes me react with violence.
Back in 1989 there was an Amy Grant song that I listened to often (I still love me some Amy) called 1974 where she talks about the day she was confirmed.
"We were young. None of us knew quite what to say. But the feeling moved among us in silence anyway. Slowly we had made...quite a change. Somewhere we had crossed a big line. Down upon our knees we had tasted holy wine. No one could sway us in a lifetime."
That faith is my history. But perhaps it is not my future. And that is somewhat painful. That sense of loss. In 1989 faith was easy, comfortable and made simple sense. This new faith is tougher to come to, complicated and at times makes me uneasy. It is the grey, fringe areas - there is no black and white.
I was reading a book by a woman I have really come to love, and she said that when your experience and your religion clash or conflict, you have three choices. You can deny your experience and conform to the religion. You can leave the religion because you cannot deny your experience. Or you can become a theologian. While I see now clearly my call to the third option, the third option is not easy. While it makes room for experience and religion to co-exist, it still seems complicated, messy.
21 years later...and I feel good and holy and loved and that perhaps all I ever really needed was to let go of fear. The steadfast love of God endures forever. I know that much is true.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Signs, Symbols and Smells
So, we're midway through Lent, and I'm sitting at my desk at work drinking a Diet Coke...hmmm. Well, that discipline isn't working out as well as planned...! As for the other things I was hoping for...well i seem to be right on track.
I read a book recently called Proverbs of Ashes. It was the book i was moved to pick up while at a bookstore that reminded me of Lent. It was a painful read in a lot of ways. The book confronts the notions of violence as it relates to God, the cross and Lent. Two women share their life experiences and reflect on how they fit into the church (universal), theology and christology. Some of it was heady, but most of it was pretty raw. You could feel their pain and alienation in the words on the pages. I had to put it down a few times so as not to become overwhelmed by it all. It confirmed for me though, that my childhood belief that Jesus died for my sins is ...well...a childhood belief, and not one I currently hold. I cannot love a God who would require his own son to die for my salvation. This idea just doesn't make any sense to me anymore. Part of me is liberated by releasing my old beliefs and part of me is unnerved by it.
This symbol of my childhood - that Jesus had to die for me - was one I held on to tightly. Perhaps it was the idea that I was important enough for such a sacrifice. Or maybe it was that I needed something to hold onto. I think at least part of it was that I indeed felt dirty and sinful in some ways, and so a theology that affirmed that made some sense to me. Regardless I clung to that idea, and was in some ways molded by it. Letting it go has taken me some time.
I have this thing about smells. I relate my life and events to smells oftentimes. In the same way some people relate a song to an event, I more often relate smells to big events. For example, if you took me into my childhood church blindfolded, I could identify it by its smell. Same thing goes for my dad. He has a smell to him. (Not in a bad way) In the same way, I have certain smells branded into my memory in not such a good way. The smell of mud reminds me of a traumatic moment in my life, and to this day a strong whiff of mud turns my stomach over. Recently, while thinking, praying, meditating (not sure how to define it)...the smell of mud overwhelmed me. I wasn't sure how to react. It caught me by surprise.
With it though, came a new clarity. That oft repeated phrase from Scripture...do not be afraid. And I recalled that the reason that Jesus had to be the ransom for my sin as a child and young adult was because of my own fear. I was afraid of a vengeful god, and felt that if perhaps Jesus did my time for me, it would be ok. I just knew I was a big sinner, and hopefully god would accept me if Jesus came first. My own fear of hell on earth, hell in the after life was enough to motivate me to cry out to Jesus to forgive me. Even when I wasn't sure what I had done wrong. I think I was also afraid of what it would mean to be in relationship with rather than subordinate to. I was speaking with a new friend recently and he was questioning why people are not more inclined to seek out God or a holy place that represents God. My answer, which sprung to my lips before I could think it through was that people are fearful. I am fearful. If you choose to live in relationship to God, life changes. You cannot stop the trajectory. If you surrender to it, the rug seems to be pulled out from under you. Not in a punitive way, but in a new and beautiful way. It doesn't mean there isn't still pain at moments. But it does mean you have to make choices that make sense to you in the moment as opposed to continuing to stumble along through life as if you don't know any better. It means you have to value yourself as a creation of God, holy and beloved from the start, as opposed to a fallen sinner who has no worth and carries the age old sin of Adam (or Eve) around until Jesus's blood cleanses us. It means risking a life of passion and love as opposed to a life that appears to be safe and good enough.
The sign is clear to me now. Clearer than perhaps ever before. I choose relationship. I choose understanding, compassion, and ultimately joy. The choice is not easy. It's not a cop out. But it is one without fear, without apologies.
20 days in...now if I could just give up Diet Coke.
I read a book recently called Proverbs of Ashes. It was the book i was moved to pick up while at a bookstore that reminded me of Lent. It was a painful read in a lot of ways. The book confronts the notions of violence as it relates to God, the cross and Lent. Two women share their life experiences and reflect on how they fit into the church (universal), theology and christology. Some of it was heady, but most of it was pretty raw. You could feel their pain and alienation in the words on the pages. I had to put it down a few times so as not to become overwhelmed by it all. It confirmed for me though, that my childhood belief that Jesus died for my sins is ...well...a childhood belief, and not one I currently hold. I cannot love a God who would require his own son to die for my salvation. This idea just doesn't make any sense to me anymore. Part of me is liberated by releasing my old beliefs and part of me is unnerved by it.
This symbol of my childhood - that Jesus had to die for me - was one I held on to tightly. Perhaps it was the idea that I was important enough for such a sacrifice. Or maybe it was that I needed something to hold onto. I think at least part of it was that I indeed felt dirty and sinful in some ways, and so a theology that affirmed that made some sense to me. Regardless I clung to that idea, and was in some ways molded by it. Letting it go has taken me some time.
I have this thing about smells. I relate my life and events to smells oftentimes. In the same way some people relate a song to an event, I more often relate smells to big events. For example, if you took me into my childhood church blindfolded, I could identify it by its smell. Same thing goes for my dad. He has a smell to him. (Not in a bad way) In the same way, I have certain smells branded into my memory in not such a good way. The smell of mud reminds me of a traumatic moment in my life, and to this day a strong whiff of mud turns my stomach over. Recently, while thinking, praying, meditating (not sure how to define it)...the smell of mud overwhelmed me. I wasn't sure how to react. It caught me by surprise.
With it though, came a new clarity. That oft repeated phrase from Scripture...do not be afraid. And I recalled that the reason that Jesus had to be the ransom for my sin as a child and young adult was because of my own fear. I was afraid of a vengeful god, and felt that if perhaps Jesus did my time for me, it would be ok. I just knew I was a big sinner, and hopefully god would accept me if Jesus came first. My own fear of hell on earth, hell in the after life was enough to motivate me to cry out to Jesus to forgive me. Even when I wasn't sure what I had done wrong. I think I was also afraid of what it would mean to be in relationship with rather than subordinate to. I was speaking with a new friend recently and he was questioning why people are not more inclined to seek out God or a holy place that represents God. My answer, which sprung to my lips before I could think it through was that people are fearful. I am fearful. If you choose to live in relationship to God, life changes. You cannot stop the trajectory. If you surrender to it, the rug seems to be pulled out from under you. Not in a punitive way, but in a new and beautiful way. It doesn't mean there isn't still pain at moments. But it does mean you have to make choices that make sense to you in the moment as opposed to continuing to stumble along through life as if you don't know any better. It means you have to value yourself as a creation of God, holy and beloved from the start, as opposed to a fallen sinner who has no worth and carries the age old sin of Adam (or Eve) around until Jesus's blood cleanses us. It means risking a life of passion and love as opposed to a life that appears to be safe and good enough.
The sign is clear to me now. Clearer than perhaps ever before. I choose relationship. I choose understanding, compassion, and ultimately joy. The choice is not easy. It's not a cop out. But it is one without fear, without apologies.
20 days in...now if I could just give up Diet Coke.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Something new
Today I went to a place I'd never been before. I did so with a little trepidation, feeling a bit like the test case. Some of the folks at the church I attend regularly and I were talking about attending a service at this center, and I quasi-volunteered to "try it out." I view (rightly or wrongly) the others in the group to be a bit more invested in the organized Episcopal church than I am. While I identify myself as an Anglican, I'm not too caught up in "right" or "wrong" way to be an Anglican. Part of the beauty of the tradition is that it is rich, diverse and mostly non-judgmental.
So after my kids settled in with a sitter, I headed down to the Clayton area to a place called the Living Insights Center. The premise, if I understood it correctly, is that this is a place where all religions and all followers of a particular way (whatever that may be) are welcomed and accepted. Regardless of your creed, or lack thereof, there is a space for you. I didn't get much chance to experience the place because the service I came to attend was starting. During the service's quiet time, I felt acutely aware of the sacred. It just seemed like a holy place. I can't articulate it much better than that, nor do I want to try to given that I tend to over-explain things that can't really be explained very well at all.
After the service I walked around and looked at the various icons, relics, etc. from various traditions...many were represented. Most I could think of in fact. I was struck by the unity of it all, and the universality of it all. I typically subscribe to the idea that there are many different paths to the divine, the center affirmed that in a new way for me.
Today's experience, and hopefully more to come at the Center, are exactly what Lent is to me. Part of my Lent was to be open to the divine - to allow space in my soul for something new to take hold. As much pain as I have survived in recent years, I am ready for joy. I feel prepared to be in love again. Not with a new man, but with something so much bigger than that... life, love and that which is holy.
So after my kids settled in with a sitter, I headed down to the Clayton area to a place called the Living Insights Center. The premise, if I understood it correctly, is that this is a place where all religions and all followers of a particular way (whatever that may be) are welcomed and accepted. Regardless of your creed, or lack thereof, there is a space for you. I didn't get much chance to experience the place because the service I came to attend was starting. During the service's quiet time, I felt acutely aware of the sacred. It just seemed like a holy place. I can't articulate it much better than that, nor do I want to try to given that I tend to over-explain things that can't really be explained very well at all.
After the service I walked around and looked at the various icons, relics, etc. from various traditions...many were represented. Most I could think of in fact. I was struck by the unity of it all, and the universality of it all. I typically subscribe to the idea that there are many different paths to the divine, the center affirmed that in a new way for me.
Today's experience, and hopefully more to come at the Center, are exactly what Lent is to me. Part of my Lent was to be open to the divine - to allow space in my soul for something new to take hold. As much pain as I have survived in recent years, I am ready for joy. I feel prepared to be in love again. Not with a new man, but with something so much bigger than that... life, love and that which is holy.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Lent
This year, in approaching the liturgical season of Lent, I was unsure of what to do. Most years I try to take on some Lenten discipline. Whether it's giving something up, taking something on, or trying to form a new habit, I usually take advantage of this 40 day period as a new beginning of sorts.
As i approached Lent this year, I didn't really know what to do. As tumultuous as life has seemed this past year, I wasn't sure what to try and take on. I opted first for the easy out - giving up soda. I've been drinking a ton of diet coke lately - so it would be good if I could drop some of that stuff. But for something deeper, I was struggling.
Then late on Shrove Tuesday, two things occurred to me. The first occurred to me while I was preparing some bankruptcy paperwork for a client...we categorize debts in bankruptcy by "priority." The debts that get paid first in a bankruptcy are priority debts and the others are listed as non-priority. All this talk of priority made me recall something fundamental. How I got to this point in my life, and ultimately what provided the downfall of my marriage was forgetting that I should at times be a priority. That my health, both physical and mental, and my life only gets to be a priority if I make it one. No one is going to oblige me that. I have to claim it for myself. For whatever reason, this is a tough task for me. I feel pulled in a lot of different directions, and it's tough for me to make me a priority. And perhaps I've felt for most of my life that there was something inappropriate about making oneself a priority. It sounds selfish and silly in some ways. But of course I really do believe it is difficult if not impossible to love someone else (including God) if I can't start with me. If I can't acknowledge the divine or holy in me (from God), then I don't value who I am, in all my abilities and disabilities. So, Lent is also a time for renewal for me - I'm headed to the gym tomorrow to begin to work again. I'm cutting back on things that are not healthy. Not so I can be thin, but so that I remember what it feels like to feel good about my physical body, and so that I can be physically whole.
The last part of this is going to sound "new-agey" or mystical...but I really want to recall again (and perhaps more importantly experience again) what it feels like to be in that divine communion. I've had experiences in my life that have felt holy, divine. But oftentimes I get so caught up in life, and explaining life to myself, that I close myself off from those sorts of experiences. I had one of those moments probably most recently when I was in Mexico bobbing around in the Caribbean. I just felt this presence. And then a peace, that was indescribable. In the midst of my turmoil and my un-settledness, I received this gift. It was all at once amazing, beautiful, holy. I want to be open to the experience. Accept that I cannot explain everything, but to be open. As I struggle to put some definition or some flesh on the bones of that I think is next for me...whether that be seeking ordination, staying precisely where I am, or a third path, I have become a little obsessed with wanting something to strike me. As I have felt "struck" in the past by a notion that I was right where I was supposed to be at a particular moment, so too I want some nod or nudge or gut reaction to arise in me that tells me what is next for me. But part of me is aware that I am perhaps not ready yet. Not open enough, not ready to receive that which is my birthright, my next "home." So the prayer for me, for now, is that I can be open to receiving...whatever it is I might receive. That instead of ripping off the paper and tearing open the box, I'm just open to receiving the gifts. Because knowing what is in store isn't really possible, and imagination of what is next is often scary and filled with too many unknowns. For now I just want to unclench my fist, one finger at a time. Just remain open to being transformed, transfigured into what I was intended to be all along.
It's going to be a good, powerful 40 days. That I know for sure.
As i approached Lent this year, I didn't really know what to do. As tumultuous as life has seemed this past year, I wasn't sure what to try and take on. I opted first for the easy out - giving up soda. I've been drinking a ton of diet coke lately - so it would be good if I could drop some of that stuff. But for something deeper, I was struggling.
Then late on Shrove Tuesday, two things occurred to me. The first occurred to me while I was preparing some bankruptcy paperwork for a client...we categorize debts in bankruptcy by "priority." The debts that get paid first in a bankruptcy are priority debts and the others are listed as non-priority. All this talk of priority made me recall something fundamental. How I got to this point in my life, and ultimately what provided the downfall of my marriage was forgetting that I should at times be a priority. That my health, both physical and mental, and my life only gets to be a priority if I make it one. No one is going to oblige me that. I have to claim it for myself. For whatever reason, this is a tough task for me. I feel pulled in a lot of different directions, and it's tough for me to make me a priority. And perhaps I've felt for most of my life that there was something inappropriate about making oneself a priority. It sounds selfish and silly in some ways. But of course I really do believe it is difficult if not impossible to love someone else (including God) if I can't start with me. If I can't acknowledge the divine or holy in me (from God), then I don't value who I am, in all my abilities and disabilities. So, Lent is also a time for renewal for me - I'm headed to the gym tomorrow to begin to work again. I'm cutting back on things that are not healthy. Not so I can be thin, but so that I remember what it feels like to feel good about my physical body, and so that I can be physically whole.
The last part of this is going to sound "new-agey" or mystical...but I really want to recall again (and perhaps more importantly experience again) what it feels like to be in that divine communion. I've had experiences in my life that have felt holy, divine. But oftentimes I get so caught up in life, and explaining life to myself, that I close myself off from those sorts of experiences. I had one of those moments probably most recently when I was in Mexico bobbing around in the Caribbean. I just felt this presence. And then a peace, that was indescribable. In the midst of my turmoil and my un-settledness, I received this gift. It was all at once amazing, beautiful, holy. I want to be open to the experience. Accept that I cannot explain everything, but to be open. As I struggle to put some definition or some flesh on the bones of that I think is next for me...whether that be seeking ordination, staying precisely where I am, or a third path, I have become a little obsessed with wanting something to strike me. As I have felt "struck" in the past by a notion that I was right where I was supposed to be at a particular moment, so too I want some nod or nudge or gut reaction to arise in me that tells me what is next for me. But part of me is aware that I am perhaps not ready yet. Not open enough, not ready to receive that which is my birthright, my next "home." So the prayer for me, for now, is that I can be open to receiving...whatever it is I might receive. That instead of ripping off the paper and tearing open the box, I'm just open to receiving the gifts. Because knowing what is in store isn't really possible, and imagination of what is next is often scary and filled with too many unknowns. For now I just want to unclench my fist, one finger at a time. Just remain open to being transformed, transfigured into what I was intended to be all along.
It's going to be a good, powerful 40 days. That I know for sure.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Invitation
Sometimes words seem to take on a new meaning for me. The word I have focused on in this past week has been "invitation." I first thought about this word some in the context of the sacramental theology class I've been taking. We've had some discussion in the class about the idea that God has taken the initiative in all of our sacraments...that God comes to us, invites us and we respond.
Then I watched my three year old play his favorite game these days...im-ba-tations. He colors on a small slip of paper and then hands them out to me, his sister, anyone else at our house at that time. He tells us these are our im-ba-tations - invitations - to whatever...dinner or bath time or his "party" he's going to have in the basement. What he really is asking you to do is to share an experience with him.
And isn't that typically what we are doing when we invite someone somewhere? Typically we are asking that they share in an experience with us. We're not asking for anything more than the presence of the other at something. In a normal invitation, we are not asking the person to be something, or bring something or perform in any certain way, we just want them to come along and experience whatever it is with us.
Oftentimes I think I have placed restrictions or requirements where God has none. Rather than just accept the invitation, and come along and be with Him/Her, I presuppose I know what God wants from me, expects of me, knows of me. It would seem not enough somehow for God just to want my presence. Of course that is a tall order in many ways. Can I be present, in the here and now, and simply be with God? Can I still my racing mind, drop all the things that *need* to be done today and let ago of my assumptions about God long enough to just "be with"?
I find myself at a loss that God would be inviting me, just for me to come along. Surely there must be something else He/She expects of me - otherwise grace begins to seem cheap. Then I recall just how difficult it often is for me to just be with God. Being with assumes a self-acceptance that I haven't figured out yet. And I realize that this grace is anything but cheap. But it is not costly in all the ways I assumed as a child and young adult. I don't have to be someone else, or do something extraordinary with my life. I simply have to live into who I was meant to be each day. In the small ways and in the everyday moments. I simply have to be willing to be with God. And to be with is challenge enough. I accept the invitation.
Then I watched my three year old play his favorite game these days...im-ba-tations. He colors on a small slip of paper and then hands them out to me, his sister, anyone else at our house at that time. He tells us these are our im-ba-tations - invitations - to whatever...dinner or bath time or his "party" he's going to have in the basement. What he really is asking you to do is to share an experience with him.
And isn't that typically what we are doing when we invite someone somewhere? Typically we are asking that they share in an experience with us. We're not asking for anything more than the presence of the other at something. In a normal invitation, we are not asking the person to be something, or bring something or perform in any certain way, we just want them to come along and experience whatever it is with us.
Oftentimes I think I have placed restrictions or requirements where God has none. Rather than just accept the invitation, and come along and be with Him/Her, I presuppose I know what God wants from me, expects of me, knows of me. It would seem not enough somehow for God just to want my presence. Of course that is a tall order in many ways. Can I be present, in the here and now, and simply be with God? Can I still my racing mind, drop all the things that *need* to be done today and let ago of my assumptions about God long enough to just "be with"?
I find myself at a loss that God would be inviting me, just for me to come along. Surely there must be something else He/She expects of me - otherwise grace begins to seem cheap. Then I recall just how difficult it often is for me to just be with God. Being with assumes a self-acceptance that I haven't figured out yet. And I realize that this grace is anything but cheap. But it is not costly in all the ways I assumed as a child and young adult. I don't have to be someone else, or do something extraordinary with my life. I simply have to live into who I was meant to be each day. In the small ways and in the everyday moments. I simply have to be willing to be with God. And to be with is challenge enough. I accept the invitation.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Trusting Me
This past week I had two experiences that while seemingly unrelated are in fact indicative of a new way of being for me. Both of the experiences are some time in coming, but I feel they have a certain synchronicity.
The first relates to a woman I met about a year ago. I met her, and didn't know her at all. But for whatever reason I judged that she was entirely unlike me. That she seemed gossipy and girly and one of those people I would not typically like very much. She seemed very surface and not at all deep in heart. Then I spent some time in a small group with her a few weeks ago. The same person I had so quickly dismissed was in fact intelligent, articulate, vulnerable and amazing. I was sort of stunned. And then more than that I was humbled. I had clearly misjudged this person. In my rush to "know" her and have her figured out, I didn't look at her heart. I hate now that I wasted an entire year of life without getting to know her and her journey better when she was in front of me the entire time. But I'm glad that I was open enough to really see her now. I am inspired by her journey and hope to understand her better and better.
The second instance relates to a woman I met several years ago - while I was in law school. It was a strange time for me. I was exceedingly unhappy with where I was and with who I had to deal with on a daily basis. I was a square peg for sure in law school. And after I learned what it took to pass, I checked out to a large degree. I didn't invest myself in most of the people i met, and I avoided getting to know people very well. I had mixed feelings about this woman. We didn't seem to have much in common. We had mutual friends, but we never really gravitated to one another. Over time, I made more of an effort to get to know this person. But still there was always this obstacle of some sort. She appeared to be judging me at every turn. I actually learned at one point that she had made jokes about me to a group of people. Despite that fact, years later, I found myself interacting with this woman again. This time, she and I are peers in the legal community. In spite of some gut feeling or reservation I have, I have spent time with her socially. Today, when i saw her, I was struck by how different we are. And how I don't want to be anything like her. She seems to me now (years later) insecure, judgmental and not at all kind. She is not anything I want to be. She may be a wonderful person to others, but my gut and my experience tells me different. And so I made a conscious decision today to not be around her anymore.
As time goes by, and I find myself more and more drawn to those better angels of my nature. As opposed to wasting the time I've been given trying to be someone I'm not, or distrusting what my own gut and experience tells me, I'm going to try and live more into it. And trust that if I listen with my heart as opposed to my own judgmental eyes, I will see what I need to see. And then I can make the best decisions for me.
The first relates to a woman I met about a year ago. I met her, and didn't know her at all. But for whatever reason I judged that she was entirely unlike me. That she seemed gossipy and girly and one of those people I would not typically like very much. She seemed very surface and not at all deep in heart. Then I spent some time in a small group with her a few weeks ago. The same person I had so quickly dismissed was in fact intelligent, articulate, vulnerable and amazing. I was sort of stunned. And then more than that I was humbled. I had clearly misjudged this person. In my rush to "know" her and have her figured out, I didn't look at her heart. I hate now that I wasted an entire year of life without getting to know her and her journey better when she was in front of me the entire time. But I'm glad that I was open enough to really see her now. I am inspired by her journey and hope to understand her better and better.
The second instance relates to a woman I met several years ago - while I was in law school. It was a strange time for me. I was exceedingly unhappy with where I was and with who I had to deal with on a daily basis. I was a square peg for sure in law school. And after I learned what it took to pass, I checked out to a large degree. I didn't invest myself in most of the people i met, and I avoided getting to know people very well. I had mixed feelings about this woman. We didn't seem to have much in common. We had mutual friends, but we never really gravitated to one another. Over time, I made more of an effort to get to know this person. But still there was always this obstacle of some sort. She appeared to be judging me at every turn. I actually learned at one point that she had made jokes about me to a group of people. Despite that fact, years later, I found myself interacting with this woman again. This time, she and I are peers in the legal community. In spite of some gut feeling or reservation I have, I have spent time with her socially. Today, when i saw her, I was struck by how different we are. And how I don't want to be anything like her. She seems to me now (years later) insecure, judgmental and not at all kind. She is not anything I want to be. She may be a wonderful person to others, but my gut and my experience tells me different. And so I made a conscious decision today to not be around her anymore.
As time goes by, and I find myself more and more drawn to those better angels of my nature. As opposed to wasting the time I've been given trying to be someone I'm not, or distrusting what my own gut and experience tells me, I'm going to try and live more into it. And trust that if I listen with my heart as opposed to my own judgmental eyes, I will see what I need to see. And then I can make the best decisions for me.
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