Back to the house.

One of the really sweet things about this rebuilding was the fact that I picked paint colors, and someone else did the painting. What a concept. The coordinated colors went together well. They were on the walls for 10 years. But, in many respects and in many parts of the house, like the living room and hall, they were safe, neutral ginger cream off-white. That made things light (good thing), but not very inspiring. The intense color in the kitchen has been my favorite. And, that was the inspiration for the new paint. So, far, we have sage in the formerly pale living room which sets off the leather couches and the furniture (and the shiny white trim) in a way that I find comforting and inspiring. And the hall has more color, albeit something called Sand Motif.

So — how does this get to renewal? My understanding of a sacrament is that it is an outward (physical) sign of an interior grace (change/process). This new color scheme is a sign to me that somehow I have healed and grown and find myself more free to express this in an outward manner. I fussed over the colors. I studied the combination of colors. I got the quote from a long time friend and excellent painter. I was really concerned about how this living room (and other rooms) would look. This is a new wardrobe for my living space.

Yesterday, when I headed out to the gym, the walls were ginger cream. When I got back, the first coat of sage greeted me — and filled me with joy. I love it. I love the way things look. It affirmed that inner feeling in a visible way. Sacrament.

True, a new coat of paint can be just a cosmetic enhancement or it can reveal something that just needed to get out. This color change seems to be a bit like spring with new colors and new growth. In time, it will move to summer and fall and become just another part of the backdrop of life. I will grow accustomed to it and probably not think about it. It will become a part of the house. But for now, I’m enjoying the beginning of something new.

It is still amazing to me that music and words can bring someone to such a place – tears of joy and/or sorrow. No wonder the little phrase “To sing is to pray twice” stays and stays and stays around.

Mery was embarrassed by her tears in front of the congregation. I had to hug her. It was so good to see someone so moved by the Spirit.

Then I think a bit further. I observe in myself and those whom I come in contact with. I observe emotional reactions. Those things which bring out violent or visceral emotional reactions seem to me to fall into a couple of categories — and these probably dissolve into a single category. These reactions are generally associated with hurt or fear. I only experience hurt and/or fear when I am protecting something, it seems. That is, I react most strongly when I am not sure that my borders are not being breached.  That could be protecting a child or a friend. Or it could be just protecting my own ego. I will fight to defend my child or sister/brother, mom, spouse or friend. True. But, I will fight even harder at times to protect my image of myself…

My strongest reaction by far is when someone touches a nerve and moves into that space that might cause me to have to change — or at least evaluate the need to change. Someone, be they friend or foe, makes an observation about me that really makes me angry… My response becomes: Unfair! You have no right! Why are you trying to hurt me! Get away! Leave me alone! You are SO wrong! And then I stop and reflect on my reaction. It is the strongest when I suspect that the observer might be right or might be on to some log in my own eye.

The other side of that coin is when I say something that causes the flash of anger in another person. I must evaluate what is happening: Am I being unjust or wrong? Or did I step into that place that perhaps they already see a problem? Am I doing it to hurt someone (and make myself look better) or did I simply state a truth that was received badly?

And so I reflect on what “conviction” means in the sense of that Christian I referenced in the first sentence. I look in the mirror of God and find that I am in drastic need of change — God/Jesus doesn’t convict me or sentence me. I see the reflection that tells me that this must change. I see Love in the mirror that tells me it can change. I see more Love in the mirror that tells me that I’ll not ride into that change alone.

Scary-wonderful.

I was reminded of a bit of blue-skying I was involved in a while back. The scene involves several folks discussing the job they want. Mind you, most of these folks have high tech/computer/IT jobs currently.

Me — think I’d like to be a carpenter when I grow up. Do something I can touch.

One of the guys I worked with ( a good programmer & manager) wants to cook pancakes at the IHOP. He doesn’t want to eat pancakes, just make them.

There’s the University MIS prof who wants to be the greeter at Walmart.

Or, the internal consultant wizard at Itty Bitty Machines that thinks that driving the bookmobile would be the best job ever.

The list goes on, and on.

But, today, when Ralph Eubanks talked about the Bookmobile, I thought of our “ideal jobs” and the effect they might have. Who knew that driving a bookmobile could have such a powerful influence? And maybe the Walmart greeter is the only smile someone might get all day. A well made pancake, served piping hot with butter and maple syrup can be sheer bliss. And who knows — a carpenter might be just the ticket for helping someone get into the home they want/need.

I smile, and remember all the times when things went wrong with a server or an application and I had to remind myself that that job wasn’t brain surgery — folks might think they will die when things go wrong, but get real – they won’t. But, what a difference the bookmobile driver and the Walmart greeter can make in day to day life.

So — what will you be when you grow up?

I wonder at some things — like what are folks who tend toward certain political stances afraid of? I hear the fear and self-defense of those who support the T-party. It seems that all one, with a different take on things,  has to do is breathe in their presence and all of that emotion (which to me seem to be mostly fear and hatred) belch forth like a geyser.

I’m trying to comprehend a bit of this: A relative recently proclaimed that I wear blinders because I don’t willingly listen/watch Fox News.  The fact that I strongly suspect that this relative hasn’t listened to/watched anything else in years, makes me wonder about the blinders. But, I digress… If I am in the same room with this person, and make the error of mentioning almost anything that could have political overtones, I see the claws and fangs come out. I see the defenses go up. I know, when I see that, that I am about to be called defensive.

Hmmm…. with my daughter, we seem to be able to talk a bit with one another. She actually makes statements and will listen to a response. She can articulate where we might disagree. She is open as well to hear that maybe her perception is a bit off. I find myself able to listen to her, and I think she can hear me. We come to different places, but, at least, with the 2 of us, we can have some sort of dialogue.

Not so, with some others.

And so, I breathe. In and out. Am I here? Now? Breathe. In and out. Let go. Pray for myself. Pray for those that you perceive as persecuting you. Pray for those that seem to think that you want to persecute them. Breathe. In and out. Let God be present. Breathe. In and out. Smile. Know that perhaps, it could be a positive sign — if your presence causes those who would divide instead of unite to put up defenses then you are doing something right. Breathe. In and out. Now.

Had I written about that jigsaw puzzle a week ago, I would have focused on the frustration and difficulty of getting the pieces in the right place, in the right order, despite having the finished image in front of me. So many times, that is how life (physical, spiritual and emotional) strikes me: Even if I have an idea of the image I’m working with, it is still difficult at times to get the pieces in correctly. It takes effort to focus on the piece I’m working with right now. If my image is Jesus (or my image is the Christ within me), I still have to figure out the placement of the pieces and how they go together.

But, I didn’t write last week. Instead, I let it sit. When that happens, the perspective often shifts. The puzzle was completed. Joy! No lost pieces – no lost sheep to seek out. It locked itself together so that I rolled it up and stored it in the box, complete, as it were… and returned it to my brother-in-law’s fiance. And that brings to mind a very different perspective on that ol’ puzzle.

My husband stayed up into the wee hours finishing that puzzle… well, all except for one piece that he couldn’t find. I got up the next morning and saw the puzzle with a missing piece. Aha! there it was on the floor by the table. I experienced the joy of fitting in the last piece. The puzzle was complete! Just as life is complete only when that last piece is put into place. Or, rather, when all of the pieces are in place, there is a whole that is different from the individual pieces. I began to see that all of those pieces — those with leaves of green, those with tiger stripes, those with sky or branches or water — all of those were necessary to the whole picture. With even one part missing, the picture was incomplete.

I may be only one tiny piece in the puzzle and you may be only a piece of the puzzle, but we are both necessary for the entire image to appear. And that is one of the joys of life.

If I am honest, I have to admit that the majority of the time I define myself by how well I follow the rules — my goodness, or lovability is defined by how well I keep the rules. I suspect that I am not alone in this. Br. David always seems to challenge me to look beyond. His call is to reflect on times when I was aware of belonging. He challenges me to live in the now, and to find Me (well, to find “I”). The title of this blog reflects this: Journey to myself.

The problem or discomfort comes, not from the wonderful freedom and joy of belonging (being at one with all of creation), but the fact that the moments and events in my life that allow me to see/be this seem to be the times when I have let go of the rules and forgotten to measure myself by how well I follow the rules. Some of these moments have been when I truly let go of all that I hold to be right and proper and maybe sacred. How do I know how I am doing if I lose the measuring stick?

That seems to be so fundamental — to stop the self-judgment, to be, to love and be loved. And it is often so very difficult. I find that I am torn between the freedom and letting go, and the desire to be in control and measure things out. I desire the freedom and joy, and I’m terrified by the possibility that I might be able to live that way, at least some of the time. Deacon Sam often stresses that we are “human beings” not “human doings.” I want to believe him and understand, and at the same time it frightens me a bit.

I ask myself “Why does this frighten me?”

All I can come up with at this moment is that the letting go is what Jesus describes as dying to self. Yep. Nature is full of it: a seed falls to the ground dies to its existence as a seed — it grows into a plant. A caterpillar spins a cocoon, and ceases to the a caterpillar but emerges as a butterfly. The same DNA, the same being, but different. I know the rules of being a seed or a caterpillar. I may not like it, but it is familiar.

I’ll continue with the book. I’ll continue to work at releasing my grip on what I think I can control. I will breathe. I will rest in the present. I will be what I am. And, then, I will try to remember that it’s not about winning and losing, succeeding and failing, but about being here. Now.

Amen.

The feel of being on the water settles my soul. No words are necessary. As a teenager I could sit by the Tennessee River for long periods of time and become lost in the eternity of the water. Here, on Long Island Sound and the associated rivers, I also find the call to rest and just be. When I come to notice myself from time to time, I am wearing a smile. My insides are quiet.

I am home.

Which is why I was lead to chuckle when we passed another boat on our way home. She was named “Obstacle to Grace.” How funny that seemed to me that the thing that allows me to come so close to resting in God should be called by another an obstacle to grace. Life is a yard sale: one person’s junk is another person’s treasure. A good thing to remember.

This arrogance works against the arrogant in so many ways. With “American” culture, I suspect it is just so much self-righteousness in most cases. Not being humble enough to take the time to look closely at others and understand where they are coming from. Assuming that we know best not only for ourselves but for everyone else. In other non-American cases, say Stalin and the old Soviet Union, this arrogance assumed that entire cultures could be overridden and annihilated by rearranging borders (remember Czechozlovakia – now returned to 2 distinct countries – the Czech Republic and Slovakia).

This brings me back to more local concerns. My daughter and I have had many discussions of late. She thinks that I think a different culture equates automatically with good, and by extrapolation, I suspect, that I equate our own culture as “bad.” From my side, I am fascinated by the differences between the beliefs and practices between a Latino culture and a rural Southern Baptist culture. I am delighted as well to uncover the many faces of the Roman Catholic church as one moves from Europe through the Americas and on the Asia, Africa and the Pacific Rim. We bring our own backgrounds to church, but we remain Catholic Christians. If we are humble in this faith, we can say “I am more comfortable and feel more at home in this part of the spectrum” without saying “they are so [loud |quiet | jubilant|unemotional] – that they can’t possibly understand how to be Catholic.”

Humility is a virtue. It seems that the prayer of St. Francis puts it well (my own paraphrasing): Lord, make me a channel of Your Peace…  let me seek not to much to be understood as to understand, not so much to be loved as to love.

Have a good day – learn much, love much.

I was a preteen and young teenage in the 60′s — I was a bit young to take off for Woodstock, but not too young to revel in it. The first song I learned to play on a stringed instrument was “Charlie and the MTA” by the Kingston Trio. I loved (and still do) Peter, Paul and Mary, the Beatles, the Monkees, Buffalo Springfield, Donovan…

As I listened all the way up the interstate I was struck by a certain innocence in the revolution of the 60′s. There was conflict. There was an outright throwing over of the values of the previous generation. But, as misguided as parts of that revolution might have turned out, there was a real optimism. There seemed to be a real belief that there truly is a new world to be experienced.

I sat and sank into the Seekers singing “I’ll Never Find Another You”

There’s a new world somewhere
They call The Promised Land
And I’ll be there some day
If you will hold my hand
I still need you there beside me
No matter what I do
For I know I’ll never find another you

There is a sense of hope that I find missing today. It seems that if there is a revolution today, it smacks more of the Taliban and rules and negative results. This generation is faced with the BP oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, multiple wars (instead of just Viet Nam) and they don’t appear to be nearly as optimistic that these obstacles can be creatively overcome.

To have hope, it seems that one needs to believe that there is a Promised Land and someone to hold on to on the journey to that Promised Land. There is a need to believe that the Promised Land can be here and now or is here and now and can impact us on our Journey. There is a need to understand that the most important component of the journey is not the material treasure, but the love of the the Companion (in my case, the love of Jesus who takes my hand and is The Way).

I hope that some of the optimism of the 60′s will invade the current generation and lead them to joy.