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.

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.

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.

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.

You can't go home again.

If there is one thing I have learned in my 34 and half years on earth, it is that you can't go home again. I mean that metaphorically, literally and probably figuratively as well. The first time I learned this lesson was in kindergarten. Of course I wasn't as profound back then (or as wordy), but I sensed my first day of kindergarten that my world was changing drastically. And that it would never be the same.

I started kindergarten shortly after my 5th birthday. I had been a fairly sheltered kid. I had not attended any sort of pre-K or preschool. So this was my first foray into structured, American public school. And I didn't know anyone in my class. In fact, the moment I realized I wasn't going to be able to go home again, I was on the playground. I walked up to another kid, and she said, "Hi my name's Dana." I knew one Dana. She was the kid down the street. This was not that kid. So I said, "No you're not. You're not Dana." She looked bewildered and skipped away to play with a more normal kid. It was evident to me in that moment, I didn't quite fit.

Fast forward 12 years...I left my small, decidely midwestern, semi-rural, Lutheran existence for 3 states away to a Southern Baptist college in the south. Again, I was quick on the draw. It didn't take me long to realize, I could not home again. In fact my first long break back home I felt awkward, out of place and realized despite all of those promises, I was not going to stay close with the people I went to high school with forever. We seemingly had little in common and I felt like someone in a foreign land. My adjustment to college life in the south was a little rocky, but just about the time I had figured it all out, it was time for another transition.

This time I wound up at law school closer to my hometown, but still 150 miles away. When I traveled back to Tennessee to visit my "home" - I was shocked to learn that again, you just can't go home once you've left. This transition was decidely the most difficult for me. I felt like a fish out of water. I had no soft place to fall. My fellow law students were seemingly competitive and oddly self-focused. I had been an activist in college - both politically and to some degree in the religious left as well. Here, nothing seemed to matter to anyone. Everyone appeared to be out for #1 (himself or herself) and all my relationships seemed very, very surface. I was back to that strange playground where "Dana" didn't seem like Dana at all. Like there was a code that no one had let me in on.

After law school, I transitioned back in the St. Louis area - complete with a boyfriend that I had stuck with for most of my law school career. He got me through those years. He gave me something to look forward to. A soft place to fall I guess. Ultimately we married two years after I graduated.

Soon I was expecting our first baby - a fat and happy girl. Still I felt some sort of loss - that longing for my past life maybe...or a longing for getting back to who I was. I couldn't go home again. And I knew that my image of "home" was forever changed by this little person I had brought forth. A few short years later came a beautiful boy - but again I learned quickly that home had again moved out from under me. My little boy was not perfect...he was sick. And I felt as if the sun was hiding its face from me. Our second baby pulled through it all though, with some sort of determination that he might've picked up from me.

This past year brought another transition, and possibly the chance for even more transitions to come. I left my marriage. After several years of pain, and a complete loss of who I was, I made the painful and sometimes still questionable (for me) decision to leave. Once that card had been placed on the table, I again understood, although more intuitively than I have in the past, that I could not go home again. Home, again, had shifted. As I look down the path I have begun to travel, I sense yet more upheaval.

For someone who has never been particularly good at change, I'm scared. I'm frightened of that feeling of alienation. Of separateness. Of isolation. These were the markers of each of my journeys away from home. And although I realize that life has worked itself out at each of these junctures in my life, I am still scared. Scared of what leaving this "home" will look like and feel like. I was reading the alumni magazine from my college today. And perhaps this is what brought on this blog...but I realized I can never go back to that place and find acceptance. And of course in all of these transitions, that is what I have craved more than anything else. And in some places I found it. And in others, I didn't.

When I say that you can't go home again, I don't mean that I was ever meant to go back. Because of course life moves forward, and that momentum is not a bad thing. But sometimes, on tough days, I wish I could go back to certain times and places. If nothing else, to feel some sense of unconditional love and acceptance that I so crave. And perhaps that is how I know that I am not currently home. Because I lack those things in large pockets of my life at least as I'm currently living it.

The only thing I know for sure in this moment is that I'm sad. I almost feel as if I'm in a sort of mourning. In preparation for leaving home again. Because I know that the day is drawing nearer, and my heart hurts at the thought of leaving home, yet again.

Quiet Month

I'm usually more wordy. It's been a *really* busy month at work and at home. My older baby was struggling this month. I think sometimes we delay adjustments, and then they hit you all at once. She was seemingly fine with the divorce, and then suddenly fell into a difficult period with it. She's stabilizing and seems to be doing better again. I'm hopeful.

As for me, well I'm here. That's about all I can do today. I'm not sad or mad or anything other than too busy to really think about what's next for me.

I got a mass email yesterday (or maybe the day before) from the guy who wrote Conversations with God. It said something to the effect of "your inner life is begging for some attention...are you listening?" I always seems to get these emails when I need to hear them. I've been so busy with work, kids, reading for my ESM class, just keeping my head above water, that I really haven't taken much time to meditate, pray and think. And I find myself missing that. Lent is coming, and life seems to slow down around Lent. I'm hoping to think of some good, healthy disciplines to take on this year for Lent.

For now, I'm content to have a break from self-examination.

A conversation

My God, where are you?
I am here.
God, where are you?
Here
Abba, Father, I need you.
I am in the wind, all around you.
Help, Father.
I am with you, always.
Help me to see you, to feel you, to know you.
Are you ready?
I want to be. Still scared.
My child, why do you fear me? I would never hurt you.
I hurt Abba.
I know. Trust my love.
I can't. I still hurt.
Let me heal you. I so want that for you.
Do you?
Yes. Trust that. Can you? Start by trusting my intentions.
Struggling. But I desperately want this.
I want to know you. For you to know me.
Me, too.
You have to take the second step.
The second step?
Yes. I have taken the first...so long ago.
I can't remember that.
I know, but I was there...still am.
Can you love me?
I already do. I always will.
Why?
It is your destiny - my destiny - both of ours.
I love you.
I know. I love you, my child. You are my beloved.
I want to accept this.
Open your heart - not your head.
I see you Abba.
With your heart...see me with your heart.
I do.
That is faith...