just thinking

He called the president a liar in front of God and everybody.

What has gotten into people? Shout outs at town hall meetings, boycotts of a presidential address to schools, and now there's a case before the supreme court where the argument is being made that because money can buy a media blitz it should be considered a right to free speech. Yeah, no.

I think it's all about control. The loss of it. At least it is that to which I attribute the anger, hostility, rudeness and self-righteousness that is so pervasive these days. There is so much uncertainty about jobs, money, whether or not the mortgage payment can be made and a family will be homeless in another month. It is about the cultural ego-slam when a man can't provide for his family. It is about gender bias when a woman is the head of a household and can't keep up. It is about the fear among the elderly whose nest-eggs have been robbed by the greed of a few. Closer to home it is about the concern for Junior when he deploys next in a unit that doesn't have the training and won't have the protection to which he's accustomed.

It's about daily survival, and it takes its toll.

We have concerns about money in our house, too. I'm not worried about the mortgage, but my credit rating is in the tank. That doesn't bode well for the future. There's no telling if it will recover or how long that will take. We have concerns about family estrangements, and the heartbreak tears at our souls a little with each day that goes by without movement toward resolution. Depression sucks air out of the motivation to do more to provide for our needs and recover from our wounds, fiscal and familial.

It's one day at a time, and it takes its toll. There are days when I feel right with the world and I get lots done and the people in my care are well served. There are days when survival barely allows me to spare them a thought. It's not fair to them, and I pray that the efforts of my better days compensate for those when I am merely surviving.

But I am not striking out. I am not disparaging another's character or shouting hateful words. I am not even thinking ill of someone who puts a bad face on the things I care about. In survival mode I am doing what I can to manage my life and use my time in a way that at the least benefits my household and my family, and then serves the needs of others. When we can't control the big things why can't we focus on the little things? Get the family together for a meal, wash a neighbor's car, plant a garden. Say "thank you" to someone every day for something they've done, expected or unexpected. Slap on some lipstick. Look at each day as a gift.

I have some friends who, when they get together for dinner they go around the table and offer up one thing that sucked about their day, and one thing that lifted it above the ordinary. It's a worthy endeavor, to acknowledge the crap and recognize the blessings. It puts life in perspective, shifts the focus away from the dregs and brings into the light at least one aspect of life that can be celebrated.

It's a place to start. And a world better than calling someone a liar.

release, part 2

A further word on the "holding on" stuff from the other day.

My eye has been twitching. At lunch after bible study last week I asked two of my companions, both with medical training, if they knew of anything I could do to relieve the twitching of my eye. I attributed its origin to stress. My medical intuitive friend stopped what she was doing and focused her concentration on my energy. Her read was that I was holding on to something that had to do with someone else's concerns, and her counsel was that I detach myself from the outcome of the scenario in question.

I've known about medical intuition for several years. I learned of it through the work of Carolyn Myss (pronounced mace, for those of you that wonder) while I was in seminary and became fascinated by the notion of reading intuitively a person's energy to discern something of their health and physical well being. According to Myss our biography becomes our biology: what happens to us is stored in our bodies at a cellular level and affects our physiology. The examples she uses to illustrate this are fascinating, and the art/science of this make sense to me. When I learned that one of my bible study participants was a medical intuitive I felt like I had received a double blessing from God. I now had the opportunity to look at life through this different lens.

There are multiple things at work here. When Medical Intuitive friend told me that at issue was someone else's difficultly, I immediately thought of a family situation that reared its head recently. The matter affects Ken very directly, but since what affects him also affects me there is complexity in this. I also have relationships through him, so I am affected by this on several levels: one is my concern for how this impacts and plays out for Ken, one is how the effect of this on him affects our relationship, and one is how my relationship with the person(s) in question is affected.

In terms of the former, I can advise and counsel, but the action is up to Ken. Although I understand the idea of detaching myself from the outcome, especially since it is not "my" outcome, this is truly a challenge, since the outcome will have considerable consequences on our life one way or the other. Yet Medical Intuitive friend suggested that though this matter was involved in what I was "holding" physically, there were other things, too. Things that are not mine. And trust is involved.

This is where it gets dicey for me. The idea of holding someone else's stuff makes sense, and yet is unconscious. I get it, intuitively, but the specifics are not available to me at present. Accessing those specifics is the critical first part. Doing the work of releasing them will involve some intense work of changing my behavior, and in so doing, impacting Ken's behavior. I was totally unaware that I was holding his stuff, but simultaneously it makes sense that this is true. Without betraying the tangled wounds that are Ken's story, my compassion for him and what he has experienced is bound up in the unspoken contract of my commitment to him. And the trust part? The foundation of my relationship with him is my experience of his trustworthiness.

So I have stuff to unpack in the "let's isolate the parts and deal with each one" sense, as well as the shedding of what I have been holding--someone else's baggage--sense. It's intricate and tender and in need of healing. But this is the journey before me, before us. Prayers are coveted, and support desired. It's going to be an interesting road to travel.

when the shoe doesn't fit

Get rid of it! It turns out that Ken's foot pain is the result of wearing the wrong shoe size. He's managed to do this all of his adult life, we think. I know, go figure! The podiatrist diagnosed bone spurs on both feet, a tearing tendon in one, and shortened achilles tendons in both legs. A pair of inserts and orthopedic crocs later, Ken is a new man.

He nearly burst through the door with his enthusiasm running ahead of him when he came home, his pain eased for the first time in weeks. He headed straight for the bedroom with gleeful purpose--purging his shoes. The picture of the chair laden with his discards made me laugh, as well as grab for the camera. By the end of the day the shoes had been delivered to Goodwill and he was still riding high.

The next morning I reached into the closet for something and realized I lacked the right vantage point to get to what I needed. There was a row of shoes in the way! I'm not sure why these shoes and boots continue to occupy space (and tantalize the puppy), but the balloon of my previous laughter felt burst by their presence. Perhaps these aren't the wrong size after all--the test now is whether or not the insert fits into the shoe appropriately. And here I thought I was going to be able to tease him about parting with what so many woomen think of as necessary accessories (and who knows, maybe men, too).

Not Ken, however. Shoes, to him, are about getting the job done, be it a work boot or a dress shoe. There are no duplicates in different colors or styles. He simply wears what he needs. Now his simple need is the correct size.

There are, no doubt, multiple metaphors in this. The one that grabs my attention is about what it costs us to exist in anything that doesn't fit us well. Shoes bring on physical pain. Clothing, discomfort and self-consciousness. Image--now there's something that we could spend hours discussing. And of course there are relationships and vocations, too. If it weren't Sunday morning and I didn't have the need to get to church nipping at my heels, I'd probe all of that a bit. Perhaps it is just as well that I leave the canvas blank for the reader to draw their own conclusions (or paint their own scenarios). I'll simply offer this invitation. Is there a "shoe" in your closet that doesn't fit? Just think of the possibilities if that space opened up for one that does...

Happy trekking.

if the shoe fits...

Today I am wearing many hats. Or perhaps, to be more theologically in sync, I am wearing many shoes.

I am church administrator, putting together bulletins for tonight and tomorrow, and inserts for Sunday's bulletin.

I am vestry clerk, typing minutes from the last meeting to be sent out to members for proofing before distribution.

I am intercessor, lifting up the concerns of a friend for her colleagues whose positions were terminated yesterday at the hospital where they work. An entire department. History.

I am concerned wife, for a husband whose business and financial concerns are affecting his health.

I am priest, seeking to quiet my soul in mindfulness of the service to which I am called and as underscored in tonight's liturgy and ritual of foot-washing. In that same interest I endeavor to model faithfulness and a spirit of openness to the mysteries that draw us deeper into the heart of God.

I am mother, tending to the needs and training of McKinlee.

I am domestic goddess (it's okay, you can laugh), with vacuum, duster, windex and other sundry cleaning accessories ready to tackle the chaos that has overtaken the house.

I am neighbor, making a trip to Goodwill to take clothing and other items that are more than we need in our life, and baking to express kindness to one recovering from illness.

I am disciple, listening to the life and words of the spiritual master I follow

I am blogger, making an attempt to share my life, my thoughts, my interests and concerns with whomever chooses to be part of that sharing.

There are no doubt other shoes into which I will change this day. Tonight I will go barefoot so that my only role is to be the servant of Christ as I wash the feet of his disciples in my midst. In that vein I ought to go barefoot more often. Priests do have uniforms of a sort, but footwear is not among them.

mama and puppy are doing fine

She's a love. And she's keeping me on my toes! She's full of curiosity and wants to check everything out--the emery board on my desk, my iPod ear pieces, the scrap of paper behind the waste basket that missed its target... Right now she's too small to play much with Rigel. He only has two speeds: zero and sixty, and when he's at 60 he can't stop himself from running over her frightening her to death. The saving grace is that when she is up on the couch with me and they can be nose to nose--then they nuzzle and poke at each other like old friends. In a few months when she's a bit bigger and they can play together they will wear each other out. Can't wait! She's also learning to take care of business outside, which is, of course, fabulous.

In other news, we had another intense Bible study session yesterday. We are reading Genesis. I mean really reading it. Line by line, just about, letting the text tell us what it says rather than us telling it what it says. We're noticing all sorts of things and asking lots of questions. For instance:

• Since when are animals shrewd and cunning like the darn snake/serpent (don't be a smart aleck and say "since Genesis"--this contradicts the earlier description of the limitations of animals)?
• And what's in it for him for duping Eve into partaking of the fruit (this one really stumps me)? Furthermore, there is no temptation going on here. Eve hands the fruit to Adam and he eats of his own volition. And by the way, it was to Adam that God gave the "do not eat" instructions in the first place.
• And why are there only two trees of significance (the tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil) tucked into the garden? How are our heroes supposed to come by other knowledge (such as how to treat a bee sting)?
• And why does God care that Adam and Eve might partake of the tree of life and live forever? If he wasn't interested in that possibility then what's the tree doing there?

The God depicted in chapters two and three so clearly reflect an agenda-driven author/editor after the grace of creation in the first chapter. Sort of makes one suspicious...

The grist for my mill, however, is this: if humanity's relationship with the soil is supposed to be about toil and burden forever more (Gen 3:17b), then how is it that some people find their heart's content in "toiling" in the earth? I contend that this reality transcends the curse of God, and if that is the case, then what can also be transcended is the curse that man would be the ruler of woman and restore women to the status of partner according to Gen. 2:20b. Hah! Strike a blow for women against patriarchy!

Back to more mundane things. I REALLY need to spend most of today on taxes. Time is running short and tackling Ken's business records will be an enormous task. There might just be a filing extension in our future!

And on that quasi-cheerful note, have a great day!

desperately seeking discipline

I wonder if it's something that you have or you don't. Discipline, that is. In searching for images for this post the word "discipline" brought up one of three types: the repetition or practice of a skill (as in playing the piano); consequences imposed on a child by a parent in response to the child's behavior; and religious images that reflect discipline as it relates, theologically, to obedience. The discipline I seek pertains to regulating my own behavior, and upon reflection is really a blend of the three. In my experience self-discipline is an elusive beast.

I wonder why it is that I am unable to exert self-discipline, and I am unclear about how motivation factors into the equation. For instance, I am strongly motivated to sell a lot of Pampered Chef for at least three reasons: income (needed badly), the achievement of a particular goal (earn a free trip to Disneyworld), and the satisfaction of doing well. And yet, I just can't get myself to the phone to make calls to schedule shows. There's a discomfort in making those calls, even though I know in my head that there shouldn't be. Some old experience or perception seems to loom so large that motivation shrinks in its presence. I can sometimes manage bursts of discipline when energy and attitude align, but such moments don't last.

The coach of a basketball team that lost a tournament round by a game-ending-buzzer basket commented that her team lost because they hadn't wanted the win badly enough. Bugger-all, what an insult to the team. In any game there will be a winner and at least one loser. There ARE times when a team or an individual doesn't give their all in their performance, and in such cases the loss can't be mourned. Giving our all doesn't guarantee results, and motivation (or the lack thereof) is not necessarily the culpit. I'm not suggesting that I am giving my all (I know I'm not)--just raising the question about how the two are connected.

Am I looking at this the wrong way? My friend Kathy always talked about "completing the transaction," a practice she internalized through her father's mantra. It worked for her, she completed tasks. But as many times as I heard her say it, and even as I hear her voice in my head, the phrase and her example aren't sufficient to affect my behavior. Perhaps she had the discipline gene, and mine is somehow impaired.

What do you think? This inquiring mind wants to know.

taking a second look

I mentioned in one of my posts last week that I learned for the first time that the apostle Luke was not only a physician but an artist, and the first iconographer. That new piece of information broke open another world for me in many ways. One of the things my mind first started to chew on is that the Church doesn't do an adequate job of honoring that aspect of Luke's gift to the Church, nor does it do much to incorporate that gift in the most literal sense.

I am reminded of this again this morning as I get ready for today's Bible study class at church. In response to many statements of "I don't know anything about the Bible," it was clear that beginning at the beginning was not a bad idea. Bible 101, here we come.

For my preparation I am using a commentary from the Jewish Publication Society, a favorite source for study when I was in seminary. And frankly, when studying a book written for the Jewish faith it makes good sense not to complicate its study by using Christian sources whose interpretive lens has a very distinct agenda.

Holy Cow. Literally. There is so much more to Genesis than the fall from grace, pretty rainbows and musical storytelling about Joseph's couture coat. For instance. God created man. The hebrew word (adam, accent on the second syllable) that is translated into man does not refer to gender, it refers to the human race. Let's put that one in our pipe to smoke for a while and see what sorts of implications emerge.

And here's another tidbit. When God is creating the world we don't tend to take notice of what God isn't creating. Like angels. It is to them that the text refers when it says that man is made, "in our image." The Christian faith points to the use of the plural as refering to Jesus. Hmmm. Makes you stop and think, eh? What else is the Church messing with in the story it tells? More than we want to know is my guess.

So what do we do with insights like these? Chew on them. Ask questions. Consider the implications. If in doing so it changes the way we look at the Christian Story, so be it. That is not a bad thing. My early notions of the Story have undergone all sorts of permutations, and rather than push me away revelations like these serve to draw me in. The Story has power because and in spite of the details, and if I have learned anything in the 20 years that I have been on this journey it is that faith doesn't lie in the details--the whole is greater than the sum of its parts. The more I learn the more mysterious it becomes, and I have always loved a mystery.

As I have heard at least one giant in the faith say, the opposite of faith is not doubt, it is certainty. Here's to mystery.

listen up!

Is anybody there? Does anybody care? Does anybody see what I see?

John Adams, 1776 (the musical)

I mentioned back in the fall that I had taken to reading editorials pretty regularly, a practice I have continued. Although I think Maureen Dowd must be on a detox diet of some kind (the toxins are showing up in her writing), I often wonder if the persons or groups to whom some editorials are directed ever pay attention to them.

Not surprisingly, many pieces of late have been on the economy and the stimulus bill. Others tackle the environment, education, health care, the middle east, and sometimes we get a break from political issues for more reflective looks at issues with softer edges.

It's a safe bet that the White House press office is reading all manner of papers (and editorials), but I hope that there are senior staff members, if not the president himself, that do the same. I say this because I find that there are a lot of good, thoughtful ideas generated from a collection of columnists that think proactively (as opposed to some of the rabid reactive columnists), and I live in hope that some of these thoughts and ideas stand a chance of being heard at the top level. Too much is at stake not to pay attention.

It was this editorial in today's Times that got me thinking about this. Again.

~~~~~~~~

And lest you think that my only pleasure found in the Times is cerebral, I share with you my favorite section of the times, the Metropolitan Diary (which, sadly, only appears on Monday). It offers a very human and often humorous view of New York. Read the whole thing. I am still laughing about the last entry.

missing you

This has been a challenging week. At home we are the walking wounded: Ken with his back troubles, and me recovering from my inter costal muscle injury (ribcage). I have felt fatigued, and things that were on my to do list have not gotten done. My retention of details is hit or miss and can't be relied on. Ken is frustrated by his injury, not being able to work and thus not getting paid, and the stress begins to mount. If I were a bath person I would say "Calgon, take me away!"

But I'm not a bath person so other coping methods must be employed. Today I think I will try to get myself out of the house to take care of necessary and postponed errands. The house needs to be cleaned from the disarray caused by Christmas (and now, the absence of Christmas) and in anticipation of guests. This weekend is our diocesan convention and it looks to be rather boring. Time to resurrect a knitting project to keep myself from going stir-crazy during the next two days!

And so I come here to be in touch with another part of my world, the people who I wished lived closer. The ones I would love to meet for coffee, go to the beach with, hang out in their hot tub or simply laugh with. The ones I would walk with (in the snow! that means you, Gail), talk with, scrap with. The ones I love and love me back. I miss you all.

In the meantime I am reveling in Obama, and it feels good to feel good about something that is going right, even if it's baby steps at a time. Stars are aligning in the universe, God is answering prayers and hearts are singing the same song. As Julian of Norwich famously said, "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

Blessings to you all, with love.

When I was in college I took a photography course, and one of the assignments we received was to take a picture at 10 AM and 4 PM. Wherever we were, whatever we were doing, record the event.

I still have the pictures from that assignment. At 10:00 I was checking my mail (the old fashioned kind--you know, stamps, envelopes, handwritten letters?), so I have a picture of the front of my mailbox. Through the glass pane a few pieces of mail are visible. At 4:00 I was at softball practice. I was the team manager (I throw like a girl and can't bat to save my life, so there was no point in trying out to actually play the game). That picture is of the coach preparing to hit a ball to the infield during practice.

Some days it occurs to me to stop and shoot the picture of what I am doing. Sometimes those are the best ones to take, because they actually tell a more significant story about who I am and what my life is like than to pose or arrange a scene (not that those pictures aren't important too). The picture here is just such a picture. It was taken at Melrose on the front porch, but it captures a piece of my daily life--the crossword puzzle, and sudoku.

I really like this picture, and I think I may use it to return to another of my joys--scrapbooking. There are two groups I can join that crop on a regular basis, so the opportunity is open to me to return to those waters. It will also offer some incentive to inventory and organize all my scrapping supplies and paraphernalia (never mind use them!). Gee, I'm glad I posted this today--look where it took me!

And a PS to scrapping friends--I got a Pampered Chef order from Jenni Bowlin!

being american

Years ago when I lived in Connecticut an article appeared on the front page of The Hartford Courant with an accompanying photograph that I've never forgotten. The issue was immigration, and the article reported a protest staged by members of the area's large hispanic population. The photograph showed protesters in front of the state capitol holding a sign over their heads that read "Real Americans didn't come over on the Mayflower."

Oh, really? Perhaps it was a defensive response from my gene pool, which carries markers from passengers aboard that historic ship. Or perhaps it was my tepid disgust for the ignorant and uninformed mindset that crafted that phrase. Whatever jolted me then about the statement, it all comes back now as voices fill the airwaves with accusations of one kind or another about public people being un- or anti-American.

So I got to thinking. What does it mean to be "American?"

As I ponder my own response to that question I quickly discover that any answer is far more complex than the question, or should be! My initial reflection took me immediately to Norman Rockwell's The Four Freedoms. In those paintings he brings to life tangible depictions of the desires of all people to be able to speak freely, worship as they choose, not go hungry, and go to bed at night feeling safe from harm. (It is the latter painting, Freedom from Fear, that is my favorite. )

Rockwell's suggestions offer perhaps obvious reflections of what we say it means to be American, but more and more it sounds as though some people believe it applies to their own choices, and not the choices of others when differences emerge. The notion of difference appears to be very threatening to so many, and that is foundational to the problems we face as a society.

The false rumor spread about Obama being Muslim is a case in point. Colin Powell finally voiced what I have been saying for months. What if Obama were a Muslim (he's not, just in case anyone reading this isn't aware that he is a Christian)? Would that be a bad thing? Do people fear that a Muslim's beliefs might influence how he or she would shape policy? How is that different from how a Christian's views shape their own worldview? Or a Jew's, Hindu's or Budist's? (Remember, our government has branches with distinct responsibilities and powers that are designed to prevent autocracy from ruling our land.)

And let's talk for a moment about Jeremiah Wright, one of those being accused of being Anti-American. Are his views about being attacked on 9/11 any more radical than those of the Christian right who claim that the events of that day were God's judgment against America's sinfulness? Since when is being radical anti-American? Think for a moment about who fought the British in these colonies during the American Revolution, the movement for fair representation that led to the incredible freedoms citizens of this country now enjoy. The architects of the Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights and our Constitution created a government that protected and provided for Americans that at that time came from all over Europe, represented a variety of cultures, spoke multiple languages and practiced divergent forms of religion. I wonder what it meant to them to be part of this country in its foundling years? And what would they say now to the bickering and the maligning?

We each hold our own view about what we value about our country, and we express those views and values in various ways. We may not understand how another arrives at their view, but the first responsibility we have is to learn from each other and to clarify misunderstandings before we assert our right to speak out against our neighbor. Being "American" too often is about freedom, and not often enough about the responsiblities that come with those freedoms.

I feel I'm leaning a bit toward a ramble, so I'll wind this down with a simple invitation to think about this question, and, if you're willing, to share your thoughts. Anyone?

Peace.