• lovedoesnthurtyou

    “Love isn’t a feeling . . . It’s an ability”

    One of the things that is both frustrating and fascinating to me is how bad we tend to be at loving. We really think we love people even when we are destroying them. Or we have very loving feelings towards people who experience us as aloof, uninterested and disapproving. We say that another’s happiness means more to us than our own and then make them miserable by trying to impose our preferences and vision for how they should find happiness on them. Just over and over again, we do things which hurt those we purport to love and then get upset with them should they have the nerve to say, “you’re hurting me!”

    lovedoesnthurtyouI came across a post today on the blog “The Registered Runaway” that I want to share with you. We’ve all heard that love isn’t a feeling, it’s a choice. But this writer starts with an even better idea: love is an ability. IOW, it’s a skill we have to learn and develop. It seems to me that we are so bad at loving in part because of our old issue of not ever wanting to be wrong. We want to think that we know how to love when we’ve never put in the time and effort it takes to unlearn our mistaken ideas about love and learn how to do it well. So in the interest of education, I’d like to share a few choice excerpts from this lovely blog post “Love is an Ability”:

    Most of the time, an ability is not given, it is grown. You have to feed it and nourish it and work like hell to make sure it thrives through each and every season. Love is no different.


    I am convinced that saying you love someone doesn’t count as love. I am also convinced that willing your mind to love someone that you’ve never reached out and touched, doesn’t add up to much. . .

    You cannot love someone until you know someone and there is a clear-cut difference between knowing of someone and really knowing someone. You can put people on pedestals, but you can’t love them until you know them. You can leave the word love as the lasting residue of your rant, but you don’t love the folks you’re talking about, not really. . .

    Love surrenders its shoulders to runny noses. It holds no pre-requisite for its remedies and it does not ask for that which is inappropriate. It comes without strings and is abundant in grace. It just wants to sit, just wants to listen, just wants to nod and stay until you’ve said all you need to say.

    Love doesn’t dip into your past like a paintbrush to create an idea of who you must be today. Love asks questions and honors how far you have come. Love doesn’t whisper about you- it converses with you. The most unloving words can be said in the name of love . . .

    Love dwells. It doesn’t stop by on its own terms and convenience. Love is born into the dumpster of poverty. It snuggles with the shipwrecked instead of rolling with royalty. It goes off the map into dangerous territory because there’s a woman at a well that needs to know something. Love selflessly dies for those indifferent to its sacrifice. It rises three days later, because it never ever fails.

    Love is engagement. It is entering into polar opposite worlds. . .

    Growing in love is messy and exhausting and tedious. But little by little it gets easier. Our jagged edges get sanded down. After all the stumbling and tumbling and screw-ups along the way, it will become an essential part of how we live. We will experience it in one another without thinking or trying. We will live to love. Truly.

    I would encourage you to head over to read the whole thing . . . and leave a word of encouragement to the anonymous writer.

    I think I’m going to make this a thing around here – exploring what love actually looks and acts like. So we can work on developing our skill at doing it*. Perhaps this is part of the real mystery of the Christian faith – that God would take so much time, demand so much devotion, endure so much grief over us. To deal with and get us to finally admit that we don’t really know how to do this most basic of things – love. So maybe if we can finally admit our lack and learn to not just feel love, but do love and live love, then God who is love will truly be with us.

    *(If you have something you think would be good for this, feel free to email it to me at ratrotter73@yahoo.com)

  • black faces 1224_s31

    Stuff I Appreciate About Black Folks

    Hey – want to watch me stick a fork in an electric outlet? ‘Cuz that’s pretty much the same thing as being a white person who talks about black folks, right? Or at least some would have you think so. But I’m going to do it, because African Americans are forever getting dumped on in our society and are rarely called out for all the things that are great about them.

    Now, before I get started, allow me to provide proper cover for myself. For those not in the know, I’m married to a black man. I have 5 mixed race kids and two African American stepsons. So if nothing else, my “I have black friends” creds are actually solid. (I’ve written more about my experience with race here and you can learn more about my $.99 ebook on race in American here.) Of course, there is as much variety among black folks as among any other group of people. I’ve known sweet, shy, reserved black women and loud, sassy, confrontational black women. Macho black men and nerdy black men. And the things I’m going to list here aren’t universal. There are always people who go against the grain. But as a general rule, these are things which I have observed to be common among black folk I have known that are not nearly as prevalent among the white folks I have known.

    Of course, every positive trait has a dark side when pushed to far. My goal isn’t to idealize African Americans, but like I said, we continually dump on black folks and discuss problems in the black community. For this post, I’m just focusing on things which I personally appreciate about black folks I have known. So having properly covered my ass, here goes:

    1. They respond to your problems with grace and understanding.

    Probably because black folks have had to deal with so many really serious, awful problems for so long, they aren’t particularly phased by your problems. Usually they’ve heard or seen it all before – and worse. And if your life is going to hell because you did something wrong, well, the black folks I’ve known probably disapprove of your dumb choices as much as anyone else. But they also know that you’re the one who is going to have to live with the consequences of your dumb choices, so there’s really no point in piling on. Better to help you move forward than waste time berating you much less exacerbate the problem by turning you out. In my experience, if your life goes all to shit, you’re much better off going to your black friends or a black church for support than to your average middle class white person or church.

    2. They tend to be more tolerant and less put off by people’s quirks and oddities.

    It could just be the particular black folks and the particular white folks I’ve known, but I’ve found that black folks seem to be more willing to just accept people as they are without feeling the need to express disapproval or pressure others to change. “That’s just the way he/she is” is a very common sentiment. Not only that, but I’ve seen a real willingness to not simply tolerate, but enjoy people’s oddities and quirks. To laugh without being mean or even be challenged by people’s differences. To understand that sometimes negative traits are the very things which also produce positive abilities (“stubborn’s just the other side of determination”).

    3. They’re often quick to offer praise and encouragement.

    I guess when your chances to shine have been limited by society and the culture at large is only willing to reflect negative messages back at you, you have a greater appreciation for the value of building people up. The world hands black folks enough criticism and critique, so it seems that a lot of black folks have chosen to respond by doing just the opposite and focusing on the positive they see.

    4. Black folks have a willingness to be open and real.

    I have white friends who I have known for years who have almost certainly had terrible things happen to them but would never share them. But most of the black friends I’ve had, once they’ve sized you up and decided that you’re good people, are open books. Which means it’s OK for me to be an open book as well. I don’t have to worry that I’ll share something which leaves me thinking I’ve revealed too much or which is so shocking that it makes the other person uncomfortable (see #1).

    5. Good instincts.

    I was raised, like a lot of white women, not to trust myself. I was taught to discount things that made me uncomfortable as probably making too much of nothing and to think that other people could probably see me better than I could see myself. The black folks I’ve known don’t do that. Instead, they have learned to rely on instincts to stay safe in a hostile and capricious world. And having practiced using their instincts to size up people and situations from childhood up, they tend to have really good instincts. My husband’s family is more than a little bit crazy, but if they tell me that someone is good people or that a person is no good, I trust them.

    6. Comfortable with sexuality.

    Vilifying black sexuality has practically been an American pastime for several centuries now, but this is actually something I really appreciate about the black folks I’ve known. Pretty much every white person I’ve known has joked that their parents had sex exactly once for each child they had. I don’t know any black person who harbored (or even wanted to harbor) any such delusions about their parents. People have sex. Old people, ugly people, fat people, poor people, nice people, mean people, smelly people. It’s just part of life and something we all do. And while I was caught completely off-guard the time my sister in law asked me if I thought my husband was sexy and stammered like an idiot in response, I think that this frank acceptance of sex is a healthy, positive thing.

    7. Creativity with words.

    My husband and the friends he grew up with would do something they called “playing the dozens” which was basically an insult competition with each person engaging in spontaneous wordplay to come up with the most biting and creative insults possible. Which may not be the kindest pastime ever invented, but creating good insults is its own art form. Doing it regularly will teach you to use words creatively far better than any writing course ever could. As a writer myself, I particularly like and enjoy words. And black folks habitually find ways to use language creatively and often unexpectedly. I get comments fairly often on my writing style and part of that comes out of having spent time with African Americans and having absorbed some of the idioms and patterns of speech which I’ve heard there. Plus, my degree is in literature, so I am semi-qualified to declare that the very best literature of the 20th century was written by African Americans.

    8. A spiritualized view of life.

    Black folks are a bit notorious for their tendency to embrace superstition and conspiracy theories. But the other side of this is that many black folks understand their lives and the world in spiritual terms which really resonate with me as a spiritual person. They are more open to recognizing the ways that the Spirit works and moves. Making choices for reasons which aren’t entirely rational, but are spiritually driven is something which is accepted and respected. Whether it’s man-made or God driven or demoniacally empowered, there’s more to life than what’s apparent on the surface and most black folks seem to know and respect that.

    9. The economy of black folks tends to line up fairly closely with God’s economy.

    I’m not so much talking about economy in terms of money here. Rather, I mean the economy of what is valuable, desirable, worthy, etc. God’s economy is rather upside down. The first are last, the last are first. You give up your life to gain it. When you are poor, you are blessed. Rejoice in suffering. Those of us who enjoy living in a system which was created largely by and for us can often avoid being last, losing our lives, being poor and suffering excessively. But African Americans have never had that luxury. Which I think means that they have been in a better position to embrace God’s economy. To accept the upside down nature of God’s ways more deeply than people who can avoid being last if they want to can. They know that being last, being poor, having your life taken from you and suffering don’t necessarily mean that you’re failing at life. And it’s certainly not the final word.

    10. Black folks are usually quite good at understanding how other people are going to perceive them.

    I am terrible at this. I cannot tell you how often I have been caught completely off guard by someone who responds to me in a way that I didn’t anticipate. I’m really good at putting myself into someone else’s shoes right up until it comes to anticipating how they are going to experience dealing with me. Then I’m clueless. I make an observation that I think is neutral or even positive and it gets taken as an insult. I’ll think I’m being nice and trigger the other person’s every insecurity. On the other hand, my husband and most of the other black folks I know are quite aware of and tuned into how other people are going to experience and respond to them. I’m sure it comes from moving around in an often hostile environment and the often heavy price black folks pay for getting it wrong. I sometimes get irritated with my husband for saying it, but as a white person I’ve been able to walk through life being pretty clueless. But the flip side is that my husband is an absolute master at navigating social interactions in a way that I will never be. Some of that’s personality, but some of it really is the difference between being white and black in this country.

    So, there’s my list of stuff I appreciate about black folks. I’m sure I could think of more items to add if I thought about it, but I think this is a pretty good start. Hopefully I haven’t inadvertently insulted anyone.

    Now, I’m not simply sharing these things here to give my white person stamp of approval to beleaguered black folks. Rather, actively seeking, noticing and valuing the gifts which people different from myself bring is part of my job as a functioning part of the body of Christ. It’s no secret that the body of Christ is shockingly divided by race. Scriptures describe the church as a body. Too often, we read that as applying to our own particular congregation and our giftings. As if each one was its own body, having within it all it needs. But really, the body is much bigger than that. And it does have many parts. It has different nationalities and races and classes which make up those parts. As such, learning to integrate the church is going mean learning to appreciate the particular gifts and strengths that these various and differing parts bring with them.

    Too often, we want to homogenize the body – find a way to make black folks more like white folks and Asian Christians more like American Christians. But really what we ought to be doing is looking out for what other parts of the body have to offer that we’re lacking. What bit of truth they have a more solid grasp of than we do. What they know and understand that we’ve been blind to. We need to be actively looking for these things and expecting to find valuable gifts that God has brought forth among all different sorts of people. So take my little list as a starting point.

    But now God has placed the members, each one of them, in the body, just as He desired. If they were all one member, where would the body be? But now there are many members, but one body. And the eye cannot say to the hand, “I have no need of you”; or again the head to the feet, “I have no need of you.” . . . So that there may be no division in the body, but that the members may have the same care for one another.And if one member suffers, all the members suffer with it; if one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it. ~ 1 Corinthians 12:18-21, 25-26

  • reason_faith

    Christianity and Giftedness

    When I was putting together my book The Upside Down World ~ A Book of Wisdom in Progress last summer, I went back and forth and back and forth about including an essay I had originally published here titled “How Being Gifted Means Being Different”. It was one of the most popular posts I had done. And many people had contacted me since I put it up to thank me for writing it. However, it didn’t seem to fit. The book is very grounded in my faith and the post is about being gifted. The two seem incongruent. But every time I went to take it out, there was that little tug that I’ve learned to listen to telling me to leave it be. So I did without really know why it was there. And I’m sure that those who read it wondered what it was doing there as well.

    It wasn’t until some time later that I began to understand why it was there. The fact is that the church as a whole does not do a good job of making room for or embracing those parts of the body which are smarter and more creative than the norm. We see this in those parts of the church which fiercely oppose science and will even claim that those who engage in the work of science are doing the devil’s work. It is present in those who insist that a “plain reading” of scripture is good enough and refuse to consider context, history, translation or any of the other issues which affect the way that we read and understand the text. It shows up in how churches deal with their members who produce art, literature or music. This past fall, I talked with a lot of pastors and uniformly they told me that they have a policy of not supporting the work their creative members produce. (I talked about my frustration with this practice here – The Sheeple Are Leading the Flock.)

    This animosity also floats on a the good number of verses which seem to speak critically of those who are learned or wise over those who are more simple:

    At that very time He [Jesus] rejoiced greatly in the Holy Spirit, and said, “I praise You, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, that You have hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and have revealed them to infants. Yes, Father, for this way was well-pleasing in Your sight.” Luke 10:21

    For the wisdom of this world is foolishness in God’s sight. As it is written: “He catches the wise in their craftiness”; and again, “The Lord knows that the thoughts of the wise are futile.” 1 Corinthians 3:19-20

    For it is written: “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise; the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate.” i Corinthians 1:19

    Personally I have heard texts like this used with absolute arrogance by those who wish to declare themselves superior in the eyes of God for their narrow-minded, anti-intellectual ways. Which right there is probably a pretty good sign of someone whose relationship with God is a long-distance one, but whatever. The reality is that there often is a deep suspicion of those who are particularly smart or creative in the church. And to a certain extent it’s not hard to understand why. There have always been those scientists that like to loudly declare that their discoveries have somehow eliminated God. And creative types do have a tendency to push boundaries until they are broken and shattered on the floor.

    However, God has clearly purposed that there always be a certain number of people who fall outside of the norms. This may seem like a small issue, but scripture tells us that the church is a body. It needs all it’s members and parts to function properly. The presence of those who are unusually smart or creative is part of God’s provision for the body. Those people are put there for a reason. A church that makes itself an unpleasant, constraining and unwelcome place for those with unusually high abilities to be is actively rejecting part of the provision that God is trying to provide it.

    But if you actually listen to those who are high ability, their stories demonstrate that outside of those places where they are surrounded by other high ability people, they experience an enormous amount of rejection, misunderstanding and poor treatment. And the church is often among the worst offenders. People who have looked seriously at the stories of those who leave the Christian faith always note the prevalence of those who are very smart or artistic or creative types among these stories. And the church’s attempts to constrain and limit activities in which their gifts can find their fullest expression along with unwelcoming, suspicious attitudes are often the culprits.

    I quoted some of the scripture verses that people use to justify their anti-intellectual attitudes above. But as an unusually smart person, I have to say that those verses don’t mean the same thing to me as they might to others. I’m glad that God has left things hidden for me to find. He gave me a brain that thrives and finds pleasure in the seeking, the puzzling and the pondering. That was awful kind of him to provide such provision to me. I’m glad that those things that other intelligent or wise people sometimes arrogantly hold out as the final answers are undermined by God. If what other human minds can conceive of represented the limits of what there is to know and understand, that would be awfully disappointing. As someone who has an irrepressible urge to seek out the novel and new, I’m glad that God is telling me that he’ll continually overturn what has already been put into place by the wise and the learned. I’d be very disappointed if what has already been known or thought was so ironclad that there was nothing left to do but just accept it and move on. I’m also glad that others who don’t share my particular set of peculiarities have also been well provisioned on their way as well.

    Not only do those verses not mean the same thing to me as they do to those who like to quote them against the intellectual and creative, but there are so many other verses which let me know that I and my abnormal brain are welcomed by God. Some of them are the sly, don’t make any sense stories of dishonest stewards or daughter-in-laws posing as prostitutes on the side of the road where what is really being praised is crafty, creative thinking. Many of them are verses that tell me straight out the goodness of exercising the gifts and drives that God has purposes in me:

    The heart of him who has understanding seeks knowledge ~ Proverbs 15:14

    “How long, O simple ones, will you love being simple? How long will scoffers delight in their scoffing and fools hate knowledge” ~Proverbs 1:22

    Give your servant therefore an understanding mind to govern your people, that I may discern between good and evil ~ 1 Kings 3:9

    My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge ~ Hosea 4:6

    The bible itself is an amazing gift to someone with an open, inquiring mind. Last summer there were times that I was stuck in my house with no car, television or internet and had read every book in the house. But although I’ve read it more than once, it’s impossible to pick up the bible and not find something new and interesting to explore. I can open it almost anywhere and find something that makes me think, “that doesn’t make sense. Why is it there? What does it mean?” And off I go.

    And then there’s Jesus. He was like me – not properly trained or credentialed. (“How did this man get such learning without having studied?”) He was always going off by himself to a solitary place – a very strong sign of an introverted personality type. (Introversion tends to be the default position of the highly intelligent.) And his approach to the problems of faith and love were brilliant. Most people don’t fully understand how grounded in the scriptures Jesus’ words were. He hardly said anything that didn’t refer back to something written in the OT. But he used the words of scripture in ways that were novel, creative and challenging to those who (much like many people do today) used scriptures mainly as a weapon and set of rules. When someone tried to trap him – “should we pay taxes to Caesar?” – his answer complete with a visual aid was unexpected and brilliant. Or that time they brought him the woman who had committed adultery. Before answering he bent down and doodled in the dirt. Why? To think, I’m sure. To use that brain he had trained in the traditional Hebrew way of meditation (holding two seemingly conflicting ideas together until the connections and solutions become clear) to find a way not to deny the law but to also demonstrate God’s love and forgiveness. To turn the accusers into the repentant. That’s brilliance at work there. But contrary to the assumptions of some who assume that Jesus just magically knew everything, he stooped down to think. Just like I often do. (The thinking, not the stooping part that is!)

    So in the end, I believe that this is why every time I went to pull that essay on giftedness out, that small movement of the spirit held my hand. Because there is a place for me and others like me who fall outside the norm on the high end of things in God’s kingdom. And it doesn’t require denying or minimizing who he has purposed me to be in the least.

    *Originally posted June 2012. Sorry for another repeat! BTW you should go get a copy of my book. It’s really good. And I need glasses. ;)

  • 101193

    It Will Be Alright. Or So I’ve Been Told

    This was where I was a year ago. The details of the circumstances have shifted around a bit, but really, pretty much nothing has changed.

    A friend recently sent a note in which she commented on the lack of “why me?” talk on my blog.  Silly girl – I was raised Catholic.  I can think of at least 100 reasons all of this is my own fault right off the top of my head!  That, plus the fact that life has been handing me inexplicably little help for as long as I can remember means that I let “why me?” go a long time ago.  There are only two answers: “you’re doing it wrong” or “because this is the way you need to go“.   Either I’m screwing something up and should fix it - hence the Catholic guilt - or this is one of those things that will only make sense later.  Frankly, Catholic guilt gets a bad rap – it’s downright empowering in light of the alternative!

    Suck it up, kid. You’ll get a better one in heaven.

    This was a tough week.  It was one of those weeks where an emotional rough patch and a life rough patch collided and made a mess all over the highway of my life.  (I keep telling God he needs to pave the damn thing.)  And just to make sure that all of this doesn’t get to be too routine, my wonderful parents were visiting, so I had an audience.  (My poor parents; I’m glad and grateful that they were here, but I have to remind myself that God must have his reasons for asking them to walk a path which includes me and my mess of a life.)

    If you read my book The Upside Down World ~ A Book of Wisdom in Progress, you will remember that I first met God in a fit of enraged blasphemy.  Which means that I’ve always felt free to itch and moan and be as upset as I want to be in prayer.  Besides, Jesus was said to have prayed with “loud cries and tears” himself.  So by the end of the week, my prayers had devolved into demands: “I can’t do this.  I’m not going to do this.  You need to fix this.  Not just spiritually, but for real.  In the real world.  This isn’t right.  And besides, it’s not just me – I have all these kids.  If it were just me, fine – but it’s not.  You need to fix this right now.  I’m not Joseph – I can’t wait 40 years for you to bring it all together.  You won’t even help me figure out what to do – I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing!  If I’m doing it wrong, just tell me – but that doesn’t mean I can even fix it.  What am I supposed to do?  Why won’t you just help meeeeeeeeee!”  At which point, I’m like an overly dramatic, whiney emo-teen and I have to withdraw to pout a bit while the Spirit intercedes with “groanings too deep for words” before I end up with another tattoo and a facial piercing.  (I have always wanted to get my eyebrow pierced, though. ;p )

    But here’s what always happens; within the next 24 hours God shows me something that renews me.  And inevitably, it’s something spiritual that fixes nothing here in the “real world”.  It’s so irritating; like a spouse you have every reason to be mad at who does just the right thing to make you love him.  Even though you don’t really want to.  Sometimes I practically shout at God (come on – our prayers can have volume levels!): “You haven’t fixed ANYTHING!”  But I’ve been renewed.  God knows I’m going to be OK and so do I.

    It’s almost like a big cosmic joke.  Like I’ve agreed to play a game where I lose myself so completely that I’ve forgetten that it’s just a game.  We’ll all sit around and laugh about it later.  Gallows humor seems to be a genre that God is intimately familiar with, after all.

    Every time God does this and I protest that he hasn’t fixed anything I get pretty much the same reaction – a little bit of God’s laughter and a little spark of joy.  (See?  I told you – irritating!)  It’s not quite like being able to see through that veil between the physical and the spiritual, but it’s like God confirming that it’s there.  It’s just a game.  He’s protecting us from anything we can’t handle, but like all games, making it through isn’t always easy.  It would be a pretty crappy excuse for a game if it was, I suppose.  And so, as irritating and infuriating as it sometimes is, I’m forced to accept that it’s all going to be alright.

    For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor death, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. – Romans 8:38-39

  • hope1

    Wrestling Hope

    “Totally without hope one cannot live. To live without hope is to cease to live. Hell is hopelessness. It is no accident that above the entrance to Dante’s hell is the inscription: ‘Leave behind all hope, you who enter here.’” Jurgen Moltmann

    I’ve wrestled a lot with hope in the last few years. Mostly to try and send it away. “Hope deferred makes a heart sick.” I’ve had enough of being sick. But allowing oneself to venture into hell is a dangerous thing as well. I know – I’ve wandered into hell more than once as of late and couldn’t muster the strength to find my way back out.

    I’ve taken to resisting comfort. I’ve fallen for it too many times before. I’ve read the words of scripture and their promises that God will not abandon me or let me fall. My heart has leapt at them only to find that holding onto comfort is like holding onto water as it slips out between your fingers. And God is no where to be seen but my failure is all around me. Better not to let myself try to grab hold any more.

    I’ve gazed at the cross with its promise of redemption after suffering. But Jesus’ suffering lasted for a weekend and mine is lasting for years. Jesus’ suffering was probably greater than mine, but it’s not a competition. My neighbor’s broken leg doesn’t make my broken heart hurt any less. I’d say I just want my suffering to end, but the damage has already been done. What difference does it make now?

    And then I realize that it is an evil thing I’m fighting with which bids me to remain in hell and refuse comfort as too little too late and far too quickly gone. I’m tired of keeping up the fight. But behind this evil that I’m wresting with are a whole hoard of demons just waiting to rush forward and devour the ones I love. There are generational curses straining mightily to break through. And demons of rejection and abandonment waiting to sink their teeth into young children’s hearts. There’s resentment and confusion that will lead a teen down misshapen paths to no where. There’s weariness and betrayal and anger that never rests looking for unguarded cracks to set up infection in a barely healing soul.

    I resent it – being pinned down by all this evil. Having to keep up this fight rather than allow myself to walk away or be swept up by some worldly comfort until it takes my life with it. Even Jesus got to die in the end.

    And along comes a three year old who drapes herself into my arms, looks up at me and says in her baby way, “you love me mom.”

    Yes I do baby.

    “I love you. I love Noah. Noah loves me. Everyone loves me.”

    Yes they do, baby.

    And then an 8 year old comes in.

    “I just want to be with you for a minute.”

    How come?

    “I dunno. I just feel good when I’m by you.”

    A six year old brings a picture she’s painted.

    “It’s for you. It says ‘joy’! Do you like it?”

    She’s made her J backwards so it really says “Loy”.

    It’s wonderful, pretty girl.

    “Joy” it is.

    I start to find my feet again for the first time in days. The evil’s still there, but I’m not pinned down under the force of it now.

    Later I’m stumbling again and a 17 year year old boy stops to put on a song for me before putting his arms around me. When he was younger he made his own sound effects every where he went. Today, he keeps a sound track going.

    “What you need to remember is that you’ve done good, mom. Even if the rest of the world is to stubborn to admit it to you, you’ve done good.”

    I wanted life to be better for you. I didn’t mean for it to be this hard.

    The thirteen year old chimes in.

    “We’d both be ruined if it weren’t for you. Life is hard. But at least we know that we can handle it. That’s more than most people can say.”

    And finally, finally, the ones I keep up the battle for have gotten me steady enough on my feet to walk away out of hell and away from the evil. I don’t know that I’m ready to hope exactly. But I think it will be a while before I wander back into hell again. And that’s no small thing.

  • cindy meditating

    Just a housewife in Wisconsin

    Let me share a few things about myself which may not be immediately clear just from reading my blog:

    I became a mother at age 21.

    Last year I took my first commercial flight since I was 3.

    I have never been outside of the USA.

    I have done almost no traveling outside of the Midwest.

    I was planning to be a high school English teacher before I became a mother.

    I have 5 kids and two step-children.

    I am entirely self-taught re scripture, religion, philosophy/rhetoric, psychology, ANE culture, and other topics I discuss here.

    I have never been able to learn a foreign language.

    I have been a stay-at-home mom/housewife for the last 12 years.

    At this moment, I am sitting in my bedroom in a house that can be seen from I-94 in far Western Wisconsin ignoring 3 of my children who are bickering and pretending to be hissing cats.

    All of which is to say that from the outside, I hardly seem like anyone special who would be qualified to speak on anything special.  I’m just a housewife in Wisconsin.  It has taken a lot of chutzpa on my part to keep writing here as if I had anything anyone might be interested in reading.

    And it doesn’t help that I come from a family filled with people who have or are doing things that are much more impressive and interesting than anything I’ve ever done.  My dad and all of his siblings all have advanced degrees.  My dad travels the world as an expert in his field, speaking at conferences, testifying at trials and conferring with policy makers in his area of expertise.  My mother has a brother who is a multimillionaire entrepreneur.  Another of her brothers married into the family that founded a large financial company.  Several of my siblings have spent time living overseas in places like Italy, Poland, Turkey and Uganda.  Between all of them, I can think of at least 15 countries my siblings have visited.  They have earned their way to each of those places themselves.  They’ve had odd, interesting jobs like working on a whale-watching cruise ship, working on a pineapple farm in Hawaii and teaching inner-city kids.  They have hiked through Alaskan wilderness.  It can be a bit hard to be a housewife in Wisconsin, surrounded by so many worldly, impressive people.

    But I know a secret that most people never learn; that the landscape of the human heart is as wild and strange and fascinating as anything in all of creation.  And I don’t have to travel the world or make a lot of money or have a fancy education to explore the human heart.  Being a housewife in Wisconsin works just fine for that.

    A few years back, my beautiful sister Cindy and her husband Greg quit their jobs and spent several months traveling around East Africa, Thailand, Nepal and India.  While there Cindy and Greg stayed at a Buddhist retreat center for a week of silence and meditation.  They kept a blog while traveling and wrote one blog post for each leg of their journey.  As I read the entry from this part of their journey, I had to smile.  They were on the other side of the world  learning and  experiencing things not so much different from what I also learned and experienced as a housewife in Wisconsin. As I read my sister’s account of what it had been like to struggle to tame her mind through meditation, how her awareness increased in doing so and the reward for sticking with it, I remembered many of the points on my own, much less condensed journey along that same path.

    I remember how during long car rides driving my husband to work and my boys to their Montessori school back when we only had one car I realized that my head was filled with a chattering, often pointless, mean and critical voice that needed to be tamed.  I wanted to hear God more easily but had to shut that voice up first.

    I remember having to learn to push impatience aside to just be while reading Hop on Pop and Everyone Poops 30 times in a row.

    I remember listening and letting my brain chatter itself out while doing dishes.

    I remember understanding at an emotional level that we are outnumbered by insects while watching ants move their nurseries when I disturbed them as I turned sod over to make my first garden.

    I remember learning to cultivate quiet in my brain while going about the mundane business of driving and cleaning and walking and gardening.  Where once my brain boiled like raging water,  my consciousness became like the still water of a pond early in the morning.  My thoughts became like the ripples caused by a fish nabbing a waterbug on the surface.  Purposeful, directed, sustaining.

    I remember learning to let my brain pull up the scripture verses I had tucked deep within in response to the various questions, topics and problems that would float into my consciousness through the quiet once the chattering had been tamed.

    On her final day of meditation, my sister was able to enter into the joy of the Loving Kindness Meditation.  I felt a certain amount of pride and gratitude as I read her description of creating and expanding love and kindness out from herself and into the world.  Although I am not buddhist and had only heard about the Loving Kindness Meditation in passing, as I read her description, I recognized the experience.  I knew that prayer, that place, that state of being quite well.  I have sat with it often over the years.

    I remember long ago when I first found that place of loving kindness in my parent’s living room as a little girl, spinning in circles with my arms and heart open wide.  I had started to pray, “God bless my mom and dad.  Bless my brothers and sisters.  Bless my next door neighbors.  Bless the people in my neighborhood.  Bless my town.  Bless my aunts and uncles and cousins and grandparents.”  As I prayed (I don’t ever remember saying a real prayer before this one), I brought to mind individuals and skylines and creatures and plants and rocks and maps and continents and oceans and the earth itself with its moon.  I asked God to bless them all as joy rose up in me and I continued to spin in the golden afternoon light.  I asked God to bless the galaxies in all their strangeness and the heavens with all their spirits and all that he had made and all that came before and all that would come after.  And then, when I couldn’t think of what else to ask God to bless, but still feeling the need to extend the love that felt like it was radiating from my chest outwards, I ended: “God bless you.  And God bless me.  Let me be a blessing to you.” and I was satisfied.

    Because you don’t have to travel the world or live in exotic lands to experience great spiritual things.  Being a little girl spinning in circles or a housewife in Wisconsin works just fine.

    *Yeah, this is another repeat from last fall. I’m busy and most of y’all weren’t here last year. I hope you enjoyed it!

  • eternity-spiral

    Playing With Time

    Can you imagine if God had tried explaining to Moses that the Earth is 6 billion years old?  We live in an age where huge numbers get thrown around all the time.  There are 6.5 billion people on the planet.  The gdp of the United States is in the trillions.  The universe we can see is thought to be 16+ billion years old.  Heck, some people have billions of dollars.  We’ve all heard those explanations of how if the history of the earth were crammed into a year, humans wouldn’t show up until a few seconds before midnight.  So when we hear “billions” we have some frame of reference for understanding that amount of time although it remains incomprehensible.  But if God had told Moses that the Earth was 6 billion years old, it would have meant nothing.  A billion.  Eternity.  It would all be the same.

    So what do eternity and time mean to us today?  The best explanation I can think of is to imagine each point in time as a tiny particle.  Now, imagine each of those particles lined up in a line like a string.  Now, imagine taking that string and wrapping it up like a ball of yarn.  Now, imagine that you could enter that giant ball which contains all that has ever been or ever will be here in the physical world, all at once.  Imagine that you could experience it all at once – like a constant hum of movement and emotion and light.  Imagine that you could see the ball of time from the outside and watch what it does – again as a constant pulsing, moving, feeling thing.  Imagine that you could reach out and take hold of one particle that represents one point in time.  Or a section of the time string to watch events unfold.  I imagine that depending on how much detail you looked at, it would be like looking at a picture or a movie or even a poem that captures a sense of place and emotion.  This is all very theoretical and speculative, but when I imagine what it must be like to exist outside of time, this is the idea that helps me to even begin to conceive of such a thing.

    If we could see from the perspective of eternity, we would be able to see how things all hold together and work themselves out.  We could know in a way that right now we can only hope for and believe in that God really “causes all things to work together for good to those who love God” – Roman 8:28.  If we could see the whole ball of twine, so to speak, it would all make sense.

    But the reason that everything can work itself out that way is because we exist inside time rather than outside of time.  In time, things can change, grow, morph, even die.  Outside of time, what is – is.  Outside of time, if tragedy strikes, it just is.  Inside of time, if tragedy strikes, we can fight back, survive, learn and grow from it and allow it to become something beautiful or even just recede so far from memory that it no longer has any sting.  Time is the gift we have been given so that things can work themselves out into a beautiful whole.  Without time, whatever pain, sorrow and suffer we experience would just exist.  It would exist alongside of whatever joy, triumph and pleasure we experience, to be sure.  But it would always be there.  And frankly, that’s not good enough for me.  I don’t believe it’s good enough for God either.

    *Originally published 8/2011

  • cwo_mercy

    Most Christian’s Opinions Aren’t Worth Two Dead Flies – But That Can Change

    I like to say that I grew up in the “Easy Listening” phase of American Roman Catholicism. We sang “On Eagle’s Wings” with a guitar accompanist and hung felt banners around the sanctuary. My cousins attended a church that had alter girls and interpretive dancers. An opera singer who attended our church was sometimes allowed to lead songs and children regularly got smacked in the back of the head for giggling when she stretched to hit really high, screechy notes. Which was better than when her nightclub singer daughter sang and made us all feel like we should go home and shower after watching her squirm around singing about God and love in breathy tones.

    Some of my sisters feel strongly that they were damaged by being forced to attend mass each week at this retro-grade institution. But honestly, my memory is of sermons that could basically be summed up as, “kids, listen to your parents and don’t fight with your siblings. And every one needs to stop trying to run each other over in the parking lot after mass.” For me it was about as benign an introduction to Christianity as you could hope for.

    Which isn’t to say that it was entirely content free. Like all good Catholic kiddies, I attended catechism classes every Wednesday night for an hour all through grade school. I have an amazing capacity to completely tune out anything that doesn’t catch my interest, so I don’t have any idea what we did each week. But what I do recall is having to memorize things. We memorized prayers like the Our Father, the Nicene Creed and the prayer for confession. We memorized the 10 commandments, the beatitudes and the various works of mercy. It is entirely possible that we actually talked about what these things we were memorizing meant, but again, I wasn’t really paying attention.

    The end result was that I couldn’t have told you why Jesus lived and died, but I did know that he told us to love each other and serve those in need. And as much as I love me some good theology, I’d say I got a better religious education than other kids who could explain penal substitution and use “Roman’s Road” to explain (their version of) the gospel. Continue reading »

  • moon

    Pareidolia

    On a clear late summer night, the woman sat on the edge of a field outside of town to watch the moon rise. In another time, she would have been known as a seer among her people. But times have changed and there’s no demand for seers anymore. Instead, she spends her days performing the dull, essential tasks that modern life demands of all of us. She has sought out a place as far from the city’s light pollution as she can get to, but she knows there’s a great deal she cannot see. What she see is a shadow of what it was when she was a child, far from any city, watching the heavens traverse the sky above her.

    When she was young, she had found it a bit spooky to think that the beauty of a heavenly parade had taken place night after night long before there was any human present to appreciate it. And it would continue after humanity was gone. It is hard for a child to imagine a world which existed before their arrival and would continue after they had departed again. But watching those stars as an interloper just passing through helped the woman make peace with the fact that the world was not for her. It has an existence all its own.

    The moon rose full and bright while the woman watched. It climbed higher into the sky and began to illuminate a bank of clouds – the only ones in the sky. When the thin clouds passed directly in front of the moon, the woman caught sight of two angels who appeared to be carrying the bright orb of the moon between them. She watched as one angel became an eagle. And the other eventually morphed into a serpent opposite a lion. For a few moments, an array of creatures made their presence in the cloud known. The woman was so caught up in the display that it came as a surprise when the clouds began drifting away. Soon the sky would be entirely clear.

    She had looked deep into the cloud and been absorbed in the secret life it carried with it. Although she knew she would soon enough forget this one cloud out of many she had looked deeply into, she had loved it for those few moments.

    The woman was no primitive. She knew that this was just a trick a person’s brain played – seeing faces on the moon and angels in the clouds. God wasn’t sitting around shaping clouds to send her messages. She understood this, but she never quite understood why this made the reality of it any less wonderous. That she had a brain which played such a trick. And that something as simple as a cloud could make that happen seemed amazing in and of itself. The fact that sometimes her seer’s heart could find meaning in the convergence between the tricks of her brain and the randomness of a cloud just made it all the more magic to her.

    With her beloved cloud moving and and the chill of the night breeze picking up, the woman packed up her seat to return to the house where her children were sleeping. Soon she would be asleep as well. In another time, her seer’s dreams would have been seen as valuable and sought-after. But we don’t live in those times. Dreams, like the visions in the clouds, are nothing but more tricks of the brain. And what could be the wonder in that?

    *Pareidolia is the technical term for our tendency to see faces or other known things in random things like clouds.

  • Ecstacy of St. Theresa

    Allow Me to Screw Up Your Sex Life a Bit

    “We monks do not try to repress our sexual passions . . . Woe to those monks and nuns, who shovel into their subconscious their sexual passions. . . There is no spirituality in that. What happens, and what we aim at, is the transmutation of erotic energy from earthly attractions to God.” – Father Maximos quoted in The Mountain of Silence: A Search for Orthodox Spirituality by Kyriacos C. Markides

    In the old pagan world, sex and religion were all tied up together. Temple prostitutes and depictions of group sex on ancient Hindu temple walls and all that. Christianity has too often taken the opposite tact – sex as being so unholy that for a while it was considered a sin even in the context of marriage by the Roman church. Which led to possibly the most dysfunctional set-up ever; putatively and sometimes actually celibate priests being told each time a parishioner had sex with their spouse. What could be the problem with that, eh? Although the actual rejection of sex by the Christian church has varied wildly from place to place and time to time, the reality is that a lot of people continue to see sex and God as inevitably belonging in two separate spheres of our lives. To the extent that God and sex intersect, it is in the parsing out of rules for sexual conduct. But when actual sex takes place, well if our guardian angels could please exit the room, that would be great. And surely God has the good manners to turn his head for a few minutes. Wouldn’t want to be caught in flagrante delicto by the creator of the universe. That would be too weird. Continue reading »