Waiting to Exhale

It's like I'm holding my breath (not physically), waiting to see how certain things in my life are going to fall into place.  I believe that's fairly normal. 

However, I also sense that it is not productive.  I mean productive in a sense of proactive.  Yes, I believe things that are in the pike for me fall into place after a lot of work on my part, but also when it is the right time.  My problem has always been waiting for that right time. 

I want to charge ahead and get to doing what I believe I am supposed to be doing with my life NOW.

We live in a society of cliques and clubs and communities.  I separated those for a reason.  Cliques are prone to shaming/blaming/excluding.  Clubs are prone to excluding.  Communities are there for everyone else.  Communities are the workhorses of society.  Those that belong to Communities belong because of their brokenness, their "unfit" nature to belong to either a Club or a Clique.  Broken folks are some of the most hard working people on the face of this Earth. 

I'm a broken folk.  You're a broken folk.  We are all broken folk.  However, some of us are more willing to see that within ourselves. 

Now, what does that have to do with my holding my breath, with my impatience to get on with things?  Well, it's a bit of a rant about how my getting on with things right now is in the control of a Club. 

Am I saying that I am being held back from doing what I am called to do because of a Club?  Yes AND no.  The particular Club I am referring to is one to which I actually belong.  This Club has its expectations for preparation.  I understand that.  However, I realize how all of this fits together into one giant exercise for me in submission.

Yep.  Submission.  I truly can't stand that word -- which is another clue.  Submission is the area in my life where I definitely have growing edges.  (Laughing here.)  Definitely.  Can I say that again?  Definitely.  Yet, growing edges are great! Growing edges are exactly that: opportunities to recognize where I need to work on something and THEN work on it. 

So, this Club, in its exclusionary sort of language, is actually pushing me to do the work I need to do.  I have one word for that:  UFDAH!  No, it is not an acronym for anything.  Ufdah is a Norwegian word of emotional outburst!  Great word.

In the midst of my growth toward better submission, I am also carrying out the ministry to which God has so definitely called me.  Submission makes me a better minister.  Period.  Funny that.

The Spiritual Struggle of Pain

I am struggling with pain today. 

Of all things to happen, while kicking a soccer ball for our dog Scooter, I managed to miss the ball and kick (VERY HARD) an exposed brick.  I broke my big toe!  Add to that the numbing agent wearing off from the surgery I had today to remove a basal cell carcinoma from my nose.

What I have been gifted in this though is a better understanding of how constant, chronic pain affects one's spirituality.  I realize that a lot of folks experience me as steadfast in my faith, and this might come as a surprise -- I was more worried about my brush with skin cancer than I admitted to very many people.  Yes, I prayed for strength and courage; I prayed that the surgeon would be skillful (and he was); I prayed that the surgery would not reveal any deeper growth (and it did not).  So, I am grateful to God for these things.

Yet...yet as bearable as my pain is, it reminds me of other times in my life when I have endured much greater pain with much less grace.  When I cried out to God for relief and found none.  When I was angry with God for not making it better NOW! 

This pain is teaching me compassion and understanding.  This pain will keep me focused on God.  That sounds a bit convoluted to me; however, it's true in a sense.  If I keep focused on what God is showing me, deep in my heart, through this pain, I will learn something important.  I will learn something important to me, my journey, and perhaps something I can share.

Struggling with Self

Experiencing a time of struggling with what I want to do versus what God apparently wants me to do leaves me pulled in two directions.  The whole experience is very disruptive to any sustained spiritual peace.  Yet, spiritual peace is overrated actually.  In my experience, I have grown more deeply and well during times of wrestling, times of disruption -- as uncomfortable as those times are. 

This experience leads me to consider my time sitting with God.  From all accounts, God seems to be asking me for some uninterrupted time with my soul.  I'm considering how best to manage my time so that God gets that uninterrupted time and I don't lose too much sleep.  Of course, perhaps that is part of the cost of admission to God's uninterrupted time.

I ponder the religious vocationals.  The offices have them up at 2am and again at 4am and on it goes.  The Rule of Benedict structures our lives around prayer; yet balances the way our relationship with God is viewed.  Whether one's activity is one's work, one's leisure, or one's prayer -- all is done with glory for God. 

So, how might I better structure my time, balanced and with glory for God, so that my peace is productive?  Perhaps during my uninterrupted time that God seems to be arranging, God will reveal some ideas!

More later...

The next bit...

I've recently found out that I have a very curable sort of skin cancer, in one very small place.  Yet, the mere mentioning of the word cancer has sent me in a spiral of considerations. 

There have been other, more serious surgeries in my past; however, none have contained THAT word.  There is something singularly frightening about cancer.  We hear so many sad and horrible stories.  Yet, there are also survivor stories that are uplifting, inspiring! 

This short side-journey of mine has been illuminating to me as to how my mind works -- how my faith works.  When I initially heard the diagnosis and proprosed treatment, I panicked.  On the inside, of course, not letting it show until I got back home.  Then I sort of fell apart.  I was depressed, worried, confused, and totally didn't know what I was doing!

An important thing to know is how fortunate I am to be married to a man who is steady -- very steady.  As soon as we saw each other, his steady button got punched (rather hard), and he did his thing.  Reassurance, a hug, confident words.  I knew then, and I really always know, that as long as I have him in my life, I will be just fine.

Now, the faith part revolves around what happened next.  After my husband managed to talk me off the precipice of fear I was determined to climb, I realized something.  First of all that God was surrounding me, as usual; that my husband had helped me to calm down enough to realize the Presence was still there. 

Then, I felt my need to have prayers said for me and knew this was another opportunity to share my "stuff" with a new community of faith.  I teetered on a weird edge of being sad because I didn't have my old community of faith to share it with and knowing that I have a new community of faith waiting for me to give them something of mine to pray about.  Now, first of all, I know that I could have called up the prayer person at my previous community of faith and they would have been happy to pray for me; but I didn't want to!  (Just a tinge of toddler-ness in this attitude!)

So, I sent off my email to the prayer ministry coordinator for my new community of faith and almost immediately received  a response that they would be praying for me; I also received another email from one of the ministers letting me know that she was praying for me.

This journey from one place to the next; from home to a new apartment -- has been a journey of bits and pieces.  A journey of realizations; of sharing; of building trust; of letting go; of connecting with.  Initially, I was a bit worried about the transition; yet, I must admit that the transition has been one enabled by a lot of love and care and patience and curiousity.

I tend to think that if most of our journeys could be suffused with the attitudes of love, care, patience, and curiousity, those journeys would be much more enjoyable and enlightening.  We'll see how this journey of mine continues!

Sinking and Fear

I have recently compared my experience of this time of transition in my spiritual journey to that of floating on the water.  When I'm relaxed and capable of just being with the flow, the water, myself, God, I float along just fine.  However, when I tense up, try to control the flow, begin to worry, or want to "know," when my trust falters, I sink. 

Now, we all know what happens to new swimmers when they feel themselves beginning to sink, right?  They flounder, they flail around, grasping for whatever they can hold onto, to once again feel safe.  Over the last week, I have flailed around, grasping for whatever I can find to hold onto, to once again feel safe, secure, wanted, needed, remembered...all of those very human emotions.

This all reached a pinnacle last night.  As I lay in my bed fearful, full of doubt, questioning everything, I was drawn to examen.  I realized then that God was in control and I should allow God to do what God wanted!  As I reviewed my day, I was reminded of so many acts of grace that I experienced, of the grace I received, of the reminders that I am in the hearts of many people.  I was shown that I will not be forgotten. 

I went to sleep reassured.  I woke this morning to a feeling of well-being that has been absent for about a week now.  Nice.  My "work" for this week is to allow God to heal the fear in my heart of being forgotten.  I'll be spending some time on that this week. 

The other word I received is "slow" -- as in slow down, slow process, slow (and deep) work ahead. I see those bright yellow caution signs for road work.  Ah yes.  Road work.  Ufdah.

The Work of Grieving

"Too many times we stand aside and let the waters slip away

             . . . dare to dance the tide."  ~   Anonymous

Why do we grieve?  Why are our hearts so entangled with one another's?  Why must we mourn our losses—large and small—and suffer the consequences when we refuse to do so?

Losses, changes, transitions—good, bad, or indifferent—all bring about grieving.  Some instances of loss, change, or transition affect our relationships because of death, illness, distance, work schedules, and even philosophies.  Our relationships form the bases of our lives.  We were created for community and when that community is disrupted, we grieve.

Grieving, despite its bad reputation, is a necessary part of growth.  Without the work of grieving, we tend to lose ourselves in the tangled emotional webs we weave.  Grieving helps to gently untangle our needs, our fears, and our doubts from the truth of a change. Grieving helps us value and appreciate what went before and look forward to what is in store for us.

A few years ago, I had the privilege of taking a class on the Psalms from Dr. Kathleen O'Connor at Columbia Theological Seminary.  I say privilege because Dr. O'Connor loves the Psalms.  Part of the work we were assigned during the class involved choosing a type of psalm (lament, happy, etc.) and writing one of our own.  The assignment elicited an inward groan from me because I knew immediately what sort of psalm I needed to write: a lament.  The idea of writing a lament was on the surface a simple one; yet underneath, an assignment that would pull from me difficult emotions surrounding my life and my relationship with God.

Yet, I wrote my psalm.  It was indeed a lament.  Now, one thing to know about laments: they are fluid; they move from anger and despair through grace and mercy into joy.  I find psalms of lament the most hopeful psalms.  My psalm dealt with the grief I have experienced throughout my life, my ache for understanding the "why," and the ultimate mercy and solace I found in God's presence with me throughout all of it.

In the stanzas of the psalm, I compared grief to being on the beach. However, I took that comparison a step further and wondered if God was indeed the grief itself.  God is often said to be joy and love—why not grief?  If we began to experience our grief as yet one more way of being present with God, would the work be any easier?  Would we be more in touch with the mercy and solace available to us through God's presence?

             Henri Nouwen writes,  

            Jesus, the Blessed One, mourns.  Jesus mourns when his friend Lazarus dies (see John 11:33-36); he mourns when he overlooks the city of Jerusalem, soon to be destroyed (see Luke 19:41-44).  Jesus mourns over all losses and devastations that fill the human heart with pain.  He grieves with those who grieve and sheds tears with those who cry.

             The violence, greed, lust, and so many other evils that have distorted the face of the earth and its people causes [sic] the Beloved Son of God to mourn.   We too have to mourn if we hope to experience God's consolation. 

When Jesus goes to the Temple in Jerusalem and reads scripture, the scripture he reads is from Isaiah 61, verses 1-3:

 The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,

            because the Lord has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
           to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners;
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor,
            and the day of vengeance of our God;
                        to comfort all who mourn;
to provide for those who mourn in Zion—
            to give them a garland instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
            the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. 
 They will be called oaks of righteousness,
                       the planting of the Lord, to display his glory.

We hear Jesus tell the crowds gathered on the hillside that those who mourn will be comforted (Matthew 5:4). 

We all live our lives in the presence of God/God is always present to the messiness of our lives. Part of what we learn from studying Jesus’ life is that Jesus experienced everything we experience. Jesus lived a human life; was very familiar with the losses and transitions through which we all live.  The reason Jesus' life lessons are so important for us is that they create a sense of familiarity, of understanding, of acceptance—of comfort.  There simply is nothing we can experience with which God has not become intimately acquainted.  God comforts us with presence—just as we comfort those around us with our own presence in times of trouble, in times of grieving. 

Back to grief and the beach—grief is like the waves at the beach, sometimes they roar in from way far out and knock us down, sometimes they sneak in from just a little way out and pull the sand from under our feet, and sometimes what looks like one of those waves that will surely knock us down actually dissipates before it ever reaches us.  If we look at each of these instances of grief and see God as the grief, how does that affect our experience of grief, of God?

Are there times in our journey through grief when we see God coming?  Do we realize our feet are about to be knocked from under us?  How about those times when we think we see God approaching only to feel a certain withdrawal, bringing a sort of disappointment with it.

Through the varying depths and strengths of our experience of grief, God works with us in sorting out our issues, our questions, our needs, our desires.  I have come to accept that God ensures we have what we need to do the work we need to do when we need to do it.  The role we have in this is openness and acceptance.

In looking back at the Psalms class and the practice of writing a lament, I found that the movement from lament through grace into joy was exhilarating.  By writing my own psalm, I realized that I had lived through that movement time and again. In seeing it as such, I saw the hope and comfort which kept me going from a different perspective.  I experienced God as being an active participant and a companion on my journey. 

Indeed, God is the guiding presence in my life which leads me through difficult periods and onto the high beach, safe from the rolling waves, to rest, to be comforted, to heal.  We each have those high beaches in our lives.  God is indeed the power which brings us there.  If God is present with us on those high beaches, then God is also present with us in the waves.

When considering God as actually being the waves of grief at that beach, perhaps we can experience a deeper sense of hope in the midst of our grieving.  When God is so deeply a part of the work we must do, then that work is good work, healing work, growth-inducing work.