This week has been an oddity - busy at work (though not making much money), busy at home, busy brain and avoiding what needs to happen next...
Life at work has been much the same. I had a series of fairly distraught clients in this week - which is slightly unusual. While a lot of family law clients are dismayed, it isn't an every day thing to see so many people, women in particular, come through my doors that are upset, tearful and worn out. I can identify with so much of what they tell me, that sometimes I have to consciously separate myself from their stories. Thankfully I have never known physical violence in a relationship, but I'm scared for these women. In the back of my mind is a protective instinct. Particularly for the ones that are experiencing violence of some sort currently. I've been very affected by the latest in a string of murders of women by their husbands/boyfriends/lovers. This last one was a lady that I saw in the courthouse the day she died. She parked her car right outside of the building I work in. No doubt she walked by my window on her way to court that morning. She never made it back to her car. She was intercepted by her estranged husband and killed - left in a ditch. Her car sat alone - next to mine - and when I left that night and went home to my children, I had no idea she was gone - she would never kiss her babies good bye again. She had three small children. Did I mention her name was Jill? Her children are going to grow up without their mother. I cannot understand a world like this one. My heart hurts.
Life at home, well my Rudy got sick Wednesday night - strep throat... and something not yet identifiable. My son has had lots of health issues since he was born. I used to get really worried, but he has done so well the last year, that I had forgotten that fear in the pit of my stomach...until Thursday. I knew he didn't feel well Wednesday night. In same way that I instinctually knew he was sick in the past, I knew he wasn't well. By morning, he had a high fever. I babied my baby - fed him applesauce, gave him medicine and held him while he slept. I called one of the few numbers I don't have to look up - our beloved pediatrician. Eventually we got the news it was strep throat, and got him on antibiotics. He also got another round of steroid cream for his eczema. Everything seemed to be ok, until we got to the pool today and I discovered he had a rash all over his torso. This is his third drug reaction. They always scare me. I don't know what exactly to do, and I'm not in any sort of control. So, I took him back to the after hours clinic - so they could tell me what I already knew - another drug allergy to add to his growing list and we got another prescription. Sometimes I think I cherish my son even more because of his health issues - he's had so many scares in such a short life. But what a great kid. He has a sweetness like no other child I've known.
In the rest of my life, and the real reason I started this post...I attended my small group Wednesday night. It didn't go really well for me. It ended up being a discussion prompted by one of the members in the group. I look forward to this group - it centers my week and I feel encouraged and inspired by something or someone every week. That didn't happen this week. The person that dominated the meeting was upset by a solo that was sung in church some weeks ago. (and what she perceives the solo to represent) She did not believe the solo fit into the Anglican way of church or liturgy. She also mentioned that she (or perhaps others, I'm not sure) were also put off by a sermon that was given some months ago by a priest who is occasionally part of the church I attend. He's not the rector of the church (who I have come to know, and really like), but I have come to respect and genuinely like this priest. And I will say, unabashedly, he is one of the reasons I have become involved in the parish I am in. The sermon she referenced was actually one I still remember parts of. It meant a lot to me at the time, and was really inspiring. It was precisely what I needed to hear at that moment, and I am thankful to God for the words (and for the speaker). I was moved to tears at one point in the message. So to hear someone be critical of this sermon, well, it bothers me. Try as I might, it changes my opinion about this member of my group. I think I am probably also upset by the fact that while I assumed that the community I have ventured into has it's issues and problems like any other, I didn't realize these sorts of issues or conflicts existed. I'm disappointed. I'm not sure with whom. But nonetheless I feel let down. I guess it's hard for me to understand. We are all touched, moved and impacted by different things in this life. What may be something incredibly important for me to hear this Sunday may not be what another person wants to hear per se. But I think God puts our rear ends in the right seats/places/times so that we can be moved, touched and impacted by his servant's message. That servant might be black, he might use different words than we are accustomed to hearing in the predominantly white Episcopal church in the United States, he might not stand behind the pulpit...nevertheless God has placed this person in our path for a reason. If we can just see past our own prejudices - whatever they might be - we just might be amazed. I know I was. For such an inclusive sort of church as the Episcopal church aspires to be, I was disappointed with this person's inability to make room for the woman who sang the solo or for the priest either. She indicated that the music wasn't the sort she enjoys (the woman sang a spiritual sort of song, not a hymn), and that she really couldn't accept the woman's gift and felt it didn't have a place in the corporate worship of the church. The speaker was very emotional about all of this, and I have no doubt her feelings are genuine. Yet, I still find myself disappointed in her. What if there was one person who needed that message more than they needed anything else at that moment? I know that happens. I've been that person, starving for hope. And so we close off the message because it doesn't fit within our prescribed framework for our liturgy...well that's not an acceptable result for me.
What a week.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
Carrot Cake
Who would've thought all the dysfunctionality in my marriage could be summed up by two words? Carrot cake.
Wednesday was my birthday. It was a lovely day. I really enjoyed it. I met with a guy who has become a spiritual advisor to me first thing in the morning. I got a good (but mild) workout in. I had lunch with lots of friends. I went and had a massage and a manicure. And I rounded out the day with dinner with my kids and a thought-provoking session with the small group I've been participating in at the church I go to. All in all, it was a really nice day. It was the first time in recent memory that I did things I wanted to do all day long. My soon to be ex-husband called and wished me a happy birthday and indicated he had something for me. Typically we don't see one another on Wednesdays because he gets home after I leave in the morning, and he leaves out for work before I return from work. This Wednesday was no exception to the rule.
So yesterday (the day after my birthday), I went to work and caught up on what I left undone Wednesday and generally got my house (office) in order for the weekend. I didn't want to have too much to clean up for the half day I intended on working Friday. When I returned home I found a plant sitting in our kitchen next to a carrot cake. My husband came around the corner and said "Happy Birthday." I'm sure the look on my face was fairly clear because he said, "What's wrong?" I couldn't help myself, the words starting coming and I didn't bother to censor myself. (Something I'm having a tough time doing these days) I said something to the effect of, "How long have you known me?" My husband looked perplexed, but answered me with "12 years or so." I said back, "Have you EVER in the 12 years you've known me EVER known me to eat, look at or talk about eating carrot cake?" The fact of the matter is I HATE carrot cake. I'm not ambivalent about how I feel about carrot cake. I don't like it. I don't like the texture, I don't like the smell, I don't like the look of it. I HATE carrot cake. There is something unnatural about vegetables in cake.
My husband on the other hand, well, he loves the crap. He can eat an entire carrot cake on his own. How do I know this? I've made them, and he's eaten the entire thing. I've bought them from different stores, and he's eaten the entire thing. Now, perhaps I'm being too hard on this man. Surely he can't be expected to know everything about me? But the thing is carrot cake is one of two desserts I really dislike. I don't meet too many sugary foods that I am not fond of. Let's face it when you spend several years over 300 lbs, you likely are a fan of sugar. In fact, had this been a cheesecake or a chocolate cake or a peach pie...well I would've gained a few lbs this weekend downing it. Carrot cake and pumpkin pie...really the only two things I can't stand that are sugary by nature. And they both come from orange things that don't belong in sweets! How hard is it to remember that? Really?!
The silly thing is, I shouldn't be mad at my husband. Not really. Because a long time ago, I allowed every one of the things I liked or wanted or desired to be usurped by the things that he liked or wanted or desired. At some point I cannot even identify, I decided that he was the more important person in our relationship, and that my job was to learn how to be the woman he wanted rather than the woman I am. He didn't ask me to do this, and for a long time I didn't even realize I was doing it. Once the realization hit me (probably a few years ago), we've been in a downward spiral in our relationship. Because once you figure out something like this, you feel compelled to change it. I insisted on eating Mexican food, seeing movies I wanted to see, going places I wanted to go and taking time for myself. It was in direct contradiction to the way I had been for 10 years. It created a strain in our relationship to the point of breaking. I made small decisions that said I was important, and I don't like carrot cake dammit.
In the past year, the thing my husband has accused me of most has been that "I've changed." And I must admit he's absolutely right. I have changed. For him, there is an assumption that it must be a new man. Someone that I am now conforming to. A few years ago I blew up at him over the silliest thing - very similar to the "Watergate carrot cake incident." For as long as I can remember, my husband has eaten off my plate. At a restaurant, at home, wherever. He will have piles and piles of food on his plate (the man can eat)... but he will feel compelled to reach over and take something that is mine and eat it. He typically doesn't ask or if he does, it's a foregone conclusion anyway. One day I was writing in a journal and I realized how angry that makes me. Why? Not because the food is important, I typically didn't finish what I had anyway. It was the taking part. It was the "I'm more important than you" in this relationship. You are secondary to me. I can take what you have. I can take who you are. I can use up your time and energy and spirit. These things are mine for the taking.
One of the people I've been seeking out as a spiritual advisor asked me Wednesday, when were you happy in the relationship? I've been thinking about that. I don't really remember. Or perhaps that's a cop out. My marriage gave me a certain level of security and safety. I felt protected. I also felt wanted in some ways. When I first removed my wedding ring, it was an internal struggle. What was I telling the outside world? That I wasn't wanted anymore? That I was alone? My greatest fear all along has been in being alone. I realize now more than ever I've been alone for years. I can paint it anyway I want to others, I was alone in my marriage.
So, was I ever happy? No, I suppose I wasn't. On some level, I didn't quite think I deserved that part. But more than ever, I craved it. So instead of admitting it years ago, I overate, I had babies, I buried myself in my work...the list is a mile long of the things I did to hide from what I couldn't admit. I was unhappy, unfulfilled and had lost who I was.
Today, I crave relationships that nourish me from the inside out. I find myself distancing myself from relationships that don't do that for me. I also crave a relationship with a man that is full, rich and sweet. I don't know if I'll discover that along the way. There's still so much for me to unravel, that I feel I'm ill-prepared to accept another's love. But acceptance is what paves the way. I've always been a "giver" in most of my relationships. It is complicated and difficult for me to accept love, affection, attention, etc. I was reading Henri Nouwen this morning and one of the passages talks about how difficult it is to accept gifts. How true that is. Yet, in acceptance I find what I need. And there's room there for happiness, too.
Wednesday was my birthday. It was a lovely day. I really enjoyed it. I met with a guy who has become a spiritual advisor to me first thing in the morning. I got a good (but mild) workout in. I had lunch with lots of friends. I went and had a massage and a manicure. And I rounded out the day with dinner with my kids and a thought-provoking session with the small group I've been participating in at the church I go to. All in all, it was a really nice day. It was the first time in recent memory that I did things I wanted to do all day long. My soon to be ex-husband called and wished me a happy birthday and indicated he had something for me. Typically we don't see one another on Wednesdays because he gets home after I leave in the morning, and he leaves out for work before I return from work. This Wednesday was no exception to the rule.
So yesterday (the day after my birthday), I went to work and caught up on what I left undone Wednesday and generally got my house (office) in order for the weekend. I didn't want to have too much to clean up for the half day I intended on working Friday. When I returned home I found a plant sitting in our kitchen next to a carrot cake. My husband came around the corner and said "Happy Birthday." I'm sure the look on my face was fairly clear because he said, "What's wrong?" I couldn't help myself, the words starting coming and I didn't bother to censor myself. (Something I'm having a tough time doing these days) I said something to the effect of, "How long have you known me?" My husband looked perplexed, but answered me with "12 years or so." I said back, "Have you EVER in the 12 years you've known me EVER known me to eat, look at or talk about eating carrot cake?" The fact of the matter is I HATE carrot cake. I'm not ambivalent about how I feel about carrot cake. I don't like it. I don't like the texture, I don't like the smell, I don't like the look of it. I HATE carrot cake. There is something unnatural about vegetables in cake.
My husband on the other hand, well, he loves the crap. He can eat an entire carrot cake on his own. How do I know this? I've made them, and he's eaten the entire thing. I've bought them from different stores, and he's eaten the entire thing. Now, perhaps I'm being too hard on this man. Surely he can't be expected to know everything about me? But the thing is carrot cake is one of two desserts I really dislike. I don't meet too many sugary foods that I am not fond of. Let's face it when you spend several years over 300 lbs, you likely are a fan of sugar. In fact, had this been a cheesecake or a chocolate cake or a peach pie...well I would've gained a few lbs this weekend downing it. Carrot cake and pumpkin pie...really the only two things I can't stand that are sugary by nature. And they both come from orange things that don't belong in sweets! How hard is it to remember that? Really?!
The silly thing is, I shouldn't be mad at my husband. Not really. Because a long time ago, I allowed every one of the things I liked or wanted or desired to be usurped by the things that he liked or wanted or desired. At some point I cannot even identify, I decided that he was the more important person in our relationship, and that my job was to learn how to be the woman he wanted rather than the woman I am. He didn't ask me to do this, and for a long time I didn't even realize I was doing it. Once the realization hit me (probably a few years ago), we've been in a downward spiral in our relationship. Because once you figure out something like this, you feel compelled to change it. I insisted on eating Mexican food, seeing movies I wanted to see, going places I wanted to go and taking time for myself. It was in direct contradiction to the way I had been for 10 years. It created a strain in our relationship to the point of breaking. I made small decisions that said I was important, and I don't like carrot cake dammit.
In the past year, the thing my husband has accused me of most has been that "I've changed." And I must admit he's absolutely right. I have changed. For him, there is an assumption that it must be a new man. Someone that I am now conforming to. A few years ago I blew up at him over the silliest thing - very similar to the "Watergate carrot cake incident." For as long as I can remember, my husband has eaten off my plate. At a restaurant, at home, wherever. He will have piles and piles of food on his plate (the man can eat)... but he will feel compelled to reach over and take something that is mine and eat it. He typically doesn't ask or if he does, it's a foregone conclusion anyway. One day I was writing in a journal and I realized how angry that makes me. Why? Not because the food is important, I typically didn't finish what I had anyway. It was the taking part. It was the "I'm more important than you" in this relationship. You are secondary to me. I can take what you have. I can take who you are. I can use up your time and energy and spirit. These things are mine for the taking.
One of the people I've been seeking out as a spiritual advisor asked me Wednesday, when were you happy in the relationship? I've been thinking about that. I don't really remember. Or perhaps that's a cop out. My marriage gave me a certain level of security and safety. I felt protected. I also felt wanted in some ways. When I first removed my wedding ring, it was an internal struggle. What was I telling the outside world? That I wasn't wanted anymore? That I was alone? My greatest fear all along has been in being alone. I realize now more than ever I've been alone for years. I can paint it anyway I want to others, I was alone in my marriage.
So, was I ever happy? No, I suppose I wasn't. On some level, I didn't quite think I deserved that part. But more than ever, I craved it. So instead of admitting it years ago, I overate, I had babies, I buried myself in my work...the list is a mile long of the things I did to hide from what I couldn't admit. I was unhappy, unfulfilled and had lost who I was.
Today, I crave relationships that nourish me from the inside out. I find myself distancing myself from relationships that don't do that for me. I also crave a relationship with a man that is full, rich and sweet. I don't know if I'll discover that along the way. There's still so much for me to unravel, that I feel I'm ill-prepared to accept another's love. But acceptance is what paves the way. I've always been a "giver" in most of my relationships. It is complicated and difficult for me to accept love, affection, attention, etc. I was reading Henri Nouwen this morning and one of the passages talks about how difficult it is to accept gifts. How true that is. Yet, in acceptance I find what I need. And there's room there for happiness, too.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Struggling
This weekend I went to the Lake of the Ozarks with some family. I hesitated in deciding to go. Mostly, I have trouble coping with more than a few hours with my parents, in particular these days with my father. I've felt this way for a long time, but I just sucked it up for the most part, and lived with him and his way of being for quite some time. Lately, I haven't felt up to it, and for the most part I haven't forced myself to deal with him for more than a brief visit.
My niece and nephew were going, and they pleaded with me, because they knew that I would entertain them - take them out on my father's boat, buy them junk food and hang out with them. I missed being with them, so I went along for the ride. My two kids were thrilled to be going - they like the water, the boat and the lack of structure for short amounts of time.
So, off we went. The kids had fun I think, and I managed it fairly well. We had one minor skirmish, but we moved on. I took the kids out on the water, got some sun on my pasty skin and relaxed some, too.
What I didn't expect, was to find such a peace. I went out on the Lake Saturday night for awhile - at the point the sun was starting to set behind the trees. It is a beautiful place to be. All at once, I began to pray. It occurred to me that what I'm learning most these days is that life, and discernment and love, do not have to be a constant struggle. Much of my life has been marred with struggle. It's hard for me to let go of that way of life.
In some of my reading recently, the author of one book talked about when you enter into the process of reclaiming your soul, you don't even realize what you are doing at first. You are simply drawn into it, and you cannot fully articulate why or how. I've felt that way. It's hard to explain to other people, but I feel a renewal of life, of love. It's a wonderful thing. My prayers have went from desperate pleas of a woman out of touch with herself and her environment to thanksgiving for the gifts in my life. When I was looking at the lake and the trees and the hills, all I could think was, "I surrender all." Not because I'm too tired to fight anymore or because it's too difficult. But, because I want to surrender all. I want to release the need to fight and struggle with myself, my soul, my God. So my prayers were short sentences - "God, if you want me to be a priest, I will do that; if you want me to be a lawyer, I will do that; if you want me to be something else entirely, I will do that." I don't have to struggle to figure it out - I just have to surrender it to the One who already knows my heart. And then listen for His voice. There's no strife in that.
My niece and nephew were going, and they pleaded with me, because they knew that I would entertain them - take them out on my father's boat, buy them junk food and hang out with them. I missed being with them, so I went along for the ride. My two kids were thrilled to be going - they like the water, the boat and the lack of structure for short amounts of time.
So, off we went. The kids had fun I think, and I managed it fairly well. We had one minor skirmish, but we moved on. I took the kids out on the water, got some sun on my pasty skin and relaxed some, too.
What I didn't expect, was to find such a peace. I went out on the Lake Saturday night for awhile - at the point the sun was starting to set behind the trees. It is a beautiful place to be. All at once, I began to pray. It occurred to me that what I'm learning most these days is that life, and discernment and love, do not have to be a constant struggle. Much of my life has been marred with struggle. It's hard for me to let go of that way of life.
In some of my reading recently, the author of one book talked about when you enter into the process of reclaiming your soul, you don't even realize what you are doing at first. You are simply drawn into it, and you cannot fully articulate why or how. I've felt that way. It's hard to explain to other people, but I feel a renewal of life, of love. It's a wonderful thing. My prayers have went from desperate pleas of a woman out of touch with herself and her environment to thanksgiving for the gifts in my life. When I was looking at the lake and the trees and the hills, all I could think was, "I surrender all." Not because I'm too tired to fight anymore or because it's too difficult. But, because I want to surrender all. I want to release the need to fight and struggle with myself, my soul, my God. So my prayers were short sentences - "God, if you want me to be a priest, I will do that; if you want me to be a lawyer, I will do that; if you want me to be something else entirely, I will do that." I don't have to struggle to figure it out - I just have to surrender it to the One who already knows my heart. And then listen for His voice. There's no strife in that.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Naked
Yesterday I went to a day spa and had a facial. Let me start off this blog by letting you in on two little secrets - First, I'm not a touchy person. I'm not sure how I got this way - perhaps it was my upbringing...my parents were not/are not touchy people. I can't recall the last time I hugged either of my parents. I hug, kiss and love on my kids, but that's about as far as I go. I don't typically hug other people. I have difficulty reaching out. Part of me craves physical contact with people, but it just doesn't come easily or naturally to me. I think at least part of my hang up is in my physical body. Having been 350 lbs for some amount of time, and then losing 125 lbs, but still not connecting my current physical being to who is looking back at me in a mirror. Well, it's confusing. I'm disconnected in large part to my physical body. When people touch you, you quickly become in touch with your physical body, and I've never been particularly comfortable with that.
Second, I don't get naked. Now for a facial you only get half naked (waist up)...so it's not all the way. Regardless I don't take my clothes off in public regardless of a sheet that covers me. Call it hyper-modesty, odd, whatever. Even after birthing two children (and all the people who see you naked during that process), I still would rather not show any part of my skin to other people. It makes me uneasy. And I'm not a big fan of seeing other people naked. Over 12 years of marriage, it still strikes me as odd that my husband can walk around naked and not be bothered at all by that fact. I'm used to seeing him naked, but I've never gotten completely comfortable being naked around him.
The further I get into this process of discernment (or whatever I call it today) the more I realize that both of my secrets have to do with intimacy and vulnerability. I don't want others to see my frailty. I would rather not be touched, whether it's emotionally or physically. I like my sense of control. Anything that undermines that, well, thanks, but no thanks.
I had a conversation last night with my husband (albeit soon to be ex). He said that he could look at me and he knew that I was not in our marriage anymore. That as much as he would like to salvage things, he could tell that my heart just wasn't it in anymore. While this is true, I was surprised that he could perceive what I haven't been able to say. I've had a lot of rationales for why our marriage is ending. But, I didn't want to admit the big truth, which is that for reasons I don't entirely understand, my heart hasn't been in it for a long time. As much as I tried to force myself to comply, to stay, to do the "right thing," to keep up the act, ultimately I couldn't do it. I just lost the ability to maintain the facade. This conversation unnerved me because I felt exposed. Naked. Vulnerable. My husband knows me well, and has known me for 12 years. What I assumed I had hidden well, was obvious to him.
How much greater then does God know me? This must mean that my ability to hide my face from Him/Her hasn't been nearly as successful as I thought. "To You all hearts are open, all desires known and from you no secrets are hid." This must mean that God knows the deepest parts of me. The ones that I have hidden so deep and tried like hell to forget. The notion that the naked body is shameful because sex is shameful because I am...well you get the idea. The idea that in moments of intimacy with others or with God, I have to admit I'm scared, hurt and sad sometimes, and that I can't control the deluge of emotions at times. The fact that I have to stop holding back the tears and let them fall so that I can be cleansed, so that I can begin to unseal that which I have long since sealed and buried.
I've booked a massage next week on my 34th birthday - it's almost an experiment in how I cope with getting naked and being touched.
Second, I don't get naked. Now for a facial you only get half naked (waist up)...so it's not all the way. Regardless I don't take my clothes off in public regardless of a sheet that covers me. Call it hyper-modesty, odd, whatever. Even after birthing two children (and all the people who see you naked during that process), I still would rather not show any part of my skin to other people. It makes me uneasy. And I'm not a big fan of seeing other people naked. Over 12 years of marriage, it still strikes me as odd that my husband can walk around naked and not be bothered at all by that fact. I'm used to seeing him naked, but I've never gotten completely comfortable being naked around him.
The further I get into this process of discernment (or whatever I call it today) the more I realize that both of my secrets have to do with intimacy and vulnerability. I don't want others to see my frailty. I would rather not be touched, whether it's emotionally or physically. I like my sense of control. Anything that undermines that, well, thanks, but no thanks.
I had a conversation last night with my husband (albeit soon to be ex). He said that he could look at me and he knew that I was not in our marriage anymore. That as much as he would like to salvage things, he could tell that my heart just wasn't it in anymore. While this is true, I was surprised that he could perceive what I haven't been able to say. I've had a lot of rationales for why our marriage is ending. But, I didn't want to admit the big truth, which is that for reasons I don't entirely understand, my heart hasn't been in it for a long time. As much as I tried to force myself to comply, to stay, to do the "right thing," to keep up the act, ultimately I couldn't do it. I just lost the ability to maintain the facade. This conversation unnerved me because I felt exposed. Naked. Vulnerable. My husband knows me well, and has known me for 12 years. What I assumed I had hidden well, was obvious to him.
How much greater then does God know me? This must mean that my ability to hide my face from Him/Her hasn't been nearly as successful as I thought. "To You all hearts are open, all desires known and from you no secrets are hid." This must mean that God knows the deepest parts of me. The ones that I have hidden so deep and tried like hell to forget. The notion that the naked body is shameful because sex is shameful because I am...well you get the idea. The idea that in moments of intimacy with others or with God, I have to admit I'm scared, hurt and sad sometimes, and that I can't control the deluge of emotions at times. The fact that I have to stop holding back the tears and let them fall so that I can be cleansed, so that I can begin to unseal that which I have long since sealed and buried.
I've booked a massage next week on my 34th birthday - it's almost an experiment in how I cope with getting naked and being touched.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Heading to the Mountain?
As usual, I've been reading a lot lately. A wide of variety of things from Henri Nouwen to Clarissa Pinkola Estes to Eckhart Tolle. Life still feels like it is converging, and I still feel slightly (ok maybe more than that) out of control. But, I'm managing. One of the concepts that has repeated itself in some way in all that I've read recently is the concept of going to the mountain. It's a Buddhist concept in some ways, but it seems like the next step to me. Therapy, trusted advisors, community...all of it has been very important to me in this journey. But, now seems the time to go away, at least for a day or two and try to understand it all in the context of my life and faith. I don't know that I want or need direct answers to all the questions milling about in my head, but I do want to feel as if some things are making sense in some small ways.
The other piece of this journey to the mountain is that I want some peace. I don't feel as if I get much of that on a regular basis. I've struggled to create a place for peace in my life, but life, well, it tends to get in the way. A divorce, 2 little ones, a chaotic job...well it doesn't allow me much room some days to feel at peace in my life. I've finally gotten to the point in my life where I really crave peace.
Last, but not least of all, I've realized that I haven't really allowed myself to mourn the loss of my marriage. Recently this became very clear to me when I realized in the middle of a seminar about divorce and its effects on children and tears came to my eyes, that I haven't faced my feelings about the divorce. I've avoided feeling the feelings. I would rather not deal directly with the pain of it. And I know it's time.
So off I go. And hopefully when I come down the other side I will have some ideas about where I go from here.
The other piece of this journey to the mountain is that I want some peace. I don't feel as if I get much of that on a regular basis. I've struggled to create a place for peace in my life, but life, well, it tends to get in the way. A divorce, 2 little ones, a chaotic job...well it doesn't allow me much room some days to feel at peace in my life. I've finally gotten to the point in my life where I really crave peace.
Last, but not least of all, I've realized that I haven't really allowed myself to mourn the loss of my marriage. Recently this became very clear to me when I realized in the middle of a seminar about divorce and its effects on children and tears came to my eyes, that I haven't faced my feelings about the divorce. I've avoided feeling the feelings. I would rather not deal directly with the pain of it. And I know it's time.
So off I go. And hopefully when I come down the other side I will have some ideas about where I go from here.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Catechumenate?
Last month and this month, I have spent a Friday and Saturday hanging out with and attending classes designed to assist me in the process of discernment. The group of people is varied and interesting, no one much like me at all, other than our chosen denomination of the Christian faith. The group has been interesting and engaging, and I've enjoyed it.
One of the concepts we've discussed in both small groups and in the class I'm enrolled in is the concept of Catechumenate. It's a mouthful. Essentially, if I'm understanding, in the early Church before infant baptism became so prevalent, adults who were contemplating being baptized into the Church went through a period of time in the Catechumenate. I'm going to write my research paper on the concept, because it is fascinating. This period of time was normally years, rather than months. During this time, those in the Catechumenate prayed, fasted, and generally prepared themselves to be received into the communion. Why don't we do this anymore? There are references to "re-adopting" the practice in the last Lambeth Conference concerning the Anglican communion, but so far, well, we're still generally ok with baptizing infants, and in the case of adults after a brief "educational" session.
I think the reason I'm drawn to the concept of the Catechumenate is because it involves some soul-searching. Rather than just follow like sheep being led to...well...slaughter...we make a conscious decision to be or not be a part of the Church. Today I would dare to say that we spend precious little time on the concepts of call, vocation, discernment. Where are we being called to next? Well, that seems a bit hard to say for me right now, but I'm finally asking the questions and not presupposing the answers. Someone said yesterday (quoting someone else) that "vocation is the way in which God wishes to save us." I like that, and I'm going to mull it over. More on that after I've thought and prayed on it.
I've realized more and more that I am drawn into community now more than ever. Ever since I've been Episcopalian - which is about 12 years - I have been uneasy with the "Passing of the Peace." I'm still trying to understand why, but I think it's the intimacy of the act. Looking someone in the eyes, and wishing them God's peace. It makes me uncomfortable. I'm at odds with myself, and so wishing someone else peace in such a close contact way throws me off. It's one of things I'm trying to get. When I figure it out, well I'll be that much closer to understanding my separation from God and from everyone else. My self-imposed separation. The oddity - I didn't used to be this way. When I was younger - 18, 19, 20...I was fairly free with affection. I hugged and touched the people I loved with an ease that escapes me now at 33. It's another piece of the puzzle. Sometimes I think it stems from a general feeling of safety I had that I don't have now. Which seems odd, but nonetheless it's there.
I'm thankful today. Despite the wreckage that is my life these days, there are bright moments. I have found a trusted counselor. I have found a spiritual advisor. I have found two different faith communities that are loving and nurturing places. If I can just let myself live in this and be in this, and not judge, analyze or deconstruct it all, I can move into the next moments of my life with sureness of foot and steadfastness of heart. I'm hopeful. Perhaps God really does *want* to save me. Now I have to want to save myself.
One of the concepts we've discussed in both small groups and in the class I'm enrolled in is the concept of Catechumenate. It's a mouthful. Essentially, if I'm understanding, in the early Church before infant baptism became so prevalent, adults who were contemplating being baptized into the Church went through a period of time in the Catechumenate. I'm going to write my research paper on the concept, because it is fascinating. This period of time was normally years, rather than months. During this time, those in the Catechumenate prayed, fasted, and generally prepared themselves to be received into the communion. Why don't we do this anymore? There are references to "re-adopting" the practice in the last Lambeth Conference concerning the Anglican communion, but so far, well, we're still generally ok with baptizing infants, and in the case of adults after a brief "educational" session.
I think the reason I'm drawn to the concept of the Catechumenate is because it involves some soul-searching. Rather than just follow like sheep being led to...well...slaughter...we make a conscious decision to be or not be a part of the Church. Today I would dare to say that we spend precious little time on the concepts of call, vocation, discernment. Where are we being called to next? Well, that seems a bit hard to say for me right now, but I'm finally asking the questions and not presupposing the answers. Someone said yesterday (quoting someone else) that "vocation is the way in which God wishes to save us." I like that, and I'm going to mull it over. More on that after I've thought and prayed on it.
I've realized more and more that I am drawn into community now more than ever. Ever since I've been Episcopalian - which is about 12 years - I have been uneasy with the "Passing of the Peace." I'm still trying to understand why, but I think it's the intimacy of the act. Looking someone in the eyes, and wishing them God's peace. It makes me uncomfortable. I'm at odds with myself, and so wishing someone else peace in such a close contact way throws me off. It's one of things I'm trying to get. When I figure it out, well I'll be that much closer to understanding my separation from God and from everyone else. My self-imposed separation. The oddity - I didn't used to be this way. When I was younger - 18, 19, 20...I was fairly free with affection. I hugged and touched the people I loved with an ease that escapes me now at 33. It's another piece of the puzzle. Sometimes I think it stems from a general feeling of safety I had that I don't have now. Which seems odd, but nonetheless it's there.
I'm thankful today. Despite the wreckage that is my life these days, there are bright moments. I have found a trusted counselor. I have found a spiritual advisor. I have found two different faith communities that are loving and nurturing places. If I can just let myself live in this and be in this, and not judge, analyze or deconstruct it all, I can move into the next moments of my life with sureness of foot and steadfastness of heart. I'm hopeful. Perhaps God really does *want* to save me. Now I have to want to save myself.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Living in the Now
Lately, I've been reading Eckhart Tolle. He is difficult at times to understand. Mostly it's just a way of speaking, doing and being that seems foreign to me. He has a book called Stillness Speaks that I've been mulling over at night or sometimes early in the morning before the day has gotten fully underway. He talks primarily about living in what he calls the "now." If I'm getting it (and I don't know that I am entirely)...his idea is that we are often focused on the before, the after, the not yet, etc. In being and doing this way, we miss the current state we are in - just being. He suggests that instead of just "being" in the things we do everyday we construct or deconstruct everything to the nth degree, and that we miss much of our lives and the point life is making to us because of this.
As I said, I don't totally get him, but I think he has a lot of good points. For instance, instead of just "letting the truth" be. We create stories and myths about the truth to try and describe it.
With the loss of my marriage and much of my security lately, I've been in "mighty deconstruction" mode. I've went back to therapy. I've been trying to figure out how I got here, what happened along the way and what lies ahead. While identifying patterns and how to not repeat them is important, I think that fundamentally that is part of my problem. Rather than just feel the pain, the sadness, the anger over the events of my life (both the ones I could control, and more importantly the ones I could not control), I deconstruct them until they are no longer my life, but someone outside of me. I create an "other" that is me - but the hurt, wounded me that no one gets to see.
I recognize the "reward" aspect of doing things this way. It's easier. I can blame someone else for my issues...or I can do what I normally do, blame myself then hurry stuff those feelings down with some obsessive behavior and keep on keeping on. I don't have to feel the painful feelings that way. I can keep up the illusion that is that I am the strong one, the person everyone knows has it together. What a crazy world I've created for myself. But perhaps instead of spending lots of energy figuring out how I got here, I should just be "here." Live in the now and stop the damn analyzing. Afterall, for all of my well-laid plans, I am where I am. And I don't mean that in a bad way.
I actually feel really lucky these days. I'm approaching my 34th birthday and I'm finally letting all of my assumptions and presuppositions fall away. What I "should" and "must" do is giving way to a new, renewed sense of life that I can't begin to explain. I woke up this morning. And I was healthy in mind and body. My babies are healthy and happy. I have a job that I am good at, and can earn enough to support myself and my babies. I can laugh. I'm learning to love myself. I mightve taken the long way around, but I'll make it all the same. I feel the Divine in and around me. Last night I talked to my grandmother (dead for 11 years) in my sleep. I know all is well. So, if this is living in the now, I don't want to wake up to the life I knew. I think I'll stay awhile. Even when it hurts. I know I'm alive. Amen.
As I said, I don't totally get him, but I think he has a lot of good points. For instance, instead of just "letting the truth" be. We create stories and myths about the truth to try and describe it.
With the loss of my marriage and much of my security lately, I've been in "mighty deconstruction" mode. I've went back to therapy. I've been trying to figure out how I got here, what happened along the way and what lies ahead. While identifying patterns and how to not repeat them is important, I think that fundamentally that is part of my problem. Rather than just feel the pain, the sadness, the anger over the events of my life (both the ones I could control, and more importantly the ones I could not control), I deconstruct them until they are no longer my life, but someone outside of me. I create an "other" that is me - but the hurt, wounded me that no one gets to see.
I recognize the "reward" aspect of doing things this way. It's easier. I can blame someone else for my issues...or I can do what I normally do, blame myself then hurry stuff those feelings down with some obsessive behavior and keep on keeping on. I don't have to feel the painful feelings that way. I can keep up the illusion that is that I am the strong one, the person everyone knows has it together. What a crazy world I've created for myself. But perhaps instead of spending lots of energy figuring out how I got here, I should just be "here." Live in the now and stop the damn analyzing. Afterall, for all of my well-laid plans, I am where I am. And I don't mean that in a bad way.
I actually feel really lucky these days. I'm approaching my 34th birthday and I'm finally letting all of my assumptions and presuppositions fall away. What I "should" and "must" do is giving way to a new, renewed sense of life that I can't begin to explain. I woke up this morning. And I was healthy in mind and body. My babies are healthy and happy. I have a job that I am good at, and can earn enough to support myself and my babies. I can laugh. I'm learning to love myself. I mightve taken the long way around, but I'll make it all the same. I feel the Divine in and around me. Last night I talked to my grandmother (dead for 11 years) in my sleep. I know all is well. So, if this is living in the now, I don't want to wake up to the life I knew. I think I'll stay awhile. Even when it hurts. I know I'm alive. Amen.
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