by Liz | Oct 3, 2012 | main
Last night I was at a talk by the directory of Ignatius House in Atlanta. I’ve known her for many years. We made our Cursillo weekends at the same time. We walked for an hour or so early in the morning for nearly a year. She is a Myers-Briggs extrovert, I an introvert. So, it is fascinating watch and hear this woman who draws energy from talking and interaction and doing speak about how her first silent retreat had such a profound impact on her life because the answers and insights came from within. She just had to be slowed down and made quiet long enough to be able to hear and pay attention.
Then, this morning I was trying to encourage another, older friend to pursue OLLI (Osher Lifelong Learner Institute) classes. I particularly enjoy “Writing Our Lives” — a class that aims to help people write better and in particular, to write memoirs. Me? I use it as a push to journal. I am primarily interested in telling my story to myself so that I can begin to understand and accept this person that lives inside my skin. There are days I really like her, and days when she mystifies me, and days when I really don’t want her around. Writing is personal to me. It helps me to get to know me, and if anyone else is interested, that is fine. (If you are reading this, you are one of the few that might be interested).
Anyway, my friend, not knowing much about OLLI, seemed overwhelmed at the thought of taking classes. I found myself explaining that there is really no homework (unless you want to do something outside of class — like in the Spanish classes I take), and there are no grades. “No tests? No grades?” she asked, suprised. “Then how do you know you are improving?””
I felt myself stop cold. My first, silent, reaction was “What kind of dumb question is that? Can’t you tell when you are improving?” I’ve been mulling it over. I still rather feel that way — I am comfortable with my own evaluation of my progress. It seems a bit sad to think that someone requires another person to pass judgement on whether they are learning anything. Yes, being accountable to someone else can help me move forward and stay on track. But, listening to God within, is the thing that can actually make a difference.
I worked for many years at a job where my bosses and I were seldom on the same page. I think I had to learn to listen to myself and be true to what I believed to be job that needed doing, no matter what they thought. If I had only done what they thought necessary, the results would have been disastrous. I was hired to take care of technology and computer security and I simply had to do what was required despite the often incomprehension of those I worked for. It resulted in learning to listen to myself and try to move beyond the negative feedback from those around me. It wasn’t easy. It added to other issues, and I dare say it contributed to depression. But, in the long run, it has been a lesson worth the anguish. That external validation is good, but it cannot be the rudder that guides the course. That rudder, that compass is between me and the Creator.
And so, I hope my friend can move to the place where she is comfortable with the idea that tests and grades are not the yardstick by which she must measure herself… that will be a joyful day for all.
by Liz | Sep 26, 2012 | main
As I wrote a memoir story yesterday in my Writing Our Lives class, I came to a place where I understood that I was telling the wrong story. The story that needed to be told came at the situation from a very different place…
“Wait, G. Wait on Mémère.”
Genevieve turned on the basement stairs, without holding on. In horrific slow motion I watched helplessly as she tumbled like a doll down the stairs before coming to a halt on the landing. I don’t know if I screamed or cried out. Rushing down the stairs, I carefully lifted her almost 2 year old body into my arms. I didn’t want to move anything that might cause further injury, but I was so scared, I had to hold her close and try to comfort her while I checked things out. I remember asking her “what hurts?” and “Was that really scary?” She snuggled on my shoulder and let me know that her head hurt and it was very scary.
After checking her out for injuries, and after looking deep into her eyes to be sure that they were dialating equally — all those things one learns to do when raising children, I got her Mommy on the phone, talked to the pediatrician’s nurse and finally let her take a nap. By the time we saw the doc in the afternoon it was clear that Dr. Stacy was treating Mémère more than G, and that the physical trauma was minimal.
Flash back 50 plus years.
The front porch was a good 3 or 4 steps up from the ground. Painted concrete, no railings, but wide and a great place to play. My own grandmother, my Nannaw, would come an stay with us on occasion when my parents would go off to see the Crimson Tide play football. (I come from a divided family – WAR EAGLE! — but that is for another day) We listened to football on the radio and learned from Nanaw that “Touch Down Alabama!” was “a good thing.” We used left over pie dough as modeling clay. We played with the cats or kittens and the dog. All of this occurred on the porch.
But, just as the porch was a great thing (just as the basement stairs are a fascination for my granddaughter), that same porch can dredge up a couple of traumatic memories. On one of those football Saturdays, I remember all of us going to the end of the porch — the end which was graced by the presence of a beautiful, but thorny, pyracantha bush. I leaned out around the corner looking for one of the cats. Wham! I tumbled from the porch to the ground — or rather into the thorny pyracantha.
Nannaw must have had a similar reaction to the one I had watching G tumble down the stairs. I remember her helping me up, checking me out, treating scratches, comforting me.
To this day, I am very timid, even fearful, about heights and about jumping across things like low walls or ditches. I make myself do it at times. But, I do think suspect that the tumble into the pyracantha bush still stalks my psyche and tries to scare me. I need so much for my own grandchild to be unafraid of these things. As I held her close at the bottom of the stairs, I not only wanted her to be physically ok, I needed to help her process and remember the event in a way that would not make her afraid for the rest of her life.
I breathe easier when she talks about it and says “I hurt my head. Mémère picked me up.” I hope that the dominant memory will be that of being taken care of rather than the fall itself.
by Liz | Sep 2, 2012 | main
I somehow raised at least one child who falls on the opposite side of the political spectrum from her parents. She is a wonderful young woman, a wonderful Mommy to her daughter, a caring friend, a practicing Catholic. But, she probably would be an ardent Ayn Rand admirer, if she ever read the books. Can you tell I think Ayn Rand was just so wrong on so many levels?
That said, the other night I was staying over with her, and she brought up the current presidential election. I didn’t, she did. That lead to a discussion on approaches to social programs, child rearing and more. But what rather stopped me cold was when she said to me: “The difference between us is that you believe everyone is fundamentally good. I know better.”
The only response I could even think of was one that I had to bite my tongue not to say (because it would not have been said in a very nice tone): “And this is a problem because?” or “Duh! that’s what I’m going for.” She nailed it. She didn’t get my dander up really (even though I did think of some snarky responses). She caused me to pause and think “Thank you. It gives me great joy that you think that I am like that.”
This, I think, might be an instance where God let me know that on occasion, I am a witness to his overwhelming Love. It holds me up as I reflect on today’s second reading, where we are urged not to just hear the Word, but to act on it. Maybe, at times, I am able to do that. Certainly not always, but it must come through on occasion. If I ask Jesus to help me see with his eyes, how can I not be trying to see the good (or potential for good) in everyone around me?
What do I do with this? I’m still not sure, but, I am thankful that for one bright, shining moment, I was assured that I had reflected the God I know.
by Liz | Jun 10, 2012 | main
It seems that being my friend is not good for your health of late. For a second time in less that a month — a friend has died early on a Sunday morning.
Julio was a Spanish priest of the Congregation of the Mission. He was one of my favorite people in the world, despite the fact that we communicated in an odd-ball spanglish language. His english was far better than my spanish, but he was always far more comfortable in spanish. We would meet most often at Maison Mére (the motherhouse for the CM’s) in Paris, although we also had the occasion to work together in New York a couple of times. Julio would come in bearing a sheet of paper, filled with tiny script, and proclaim “I have a few leetle questions!” They were never few, and never little!
We laughed and ate and drank our way through many levels of the web: HTML 1.0 hand coded, all the way to WordPress 3.3.2. With the others that we worked with, we explored parts of Paris and attempted to translate the phrase “Systemic Change” into comprehensible Spanish (a literal or direct translation does not successfully convey the meaning — it probably conveys something totally out of line with the intent).
One evening in New York, the resident New Yorker in the group was occupied with other obligations and ask me to escort Julio and Claude (a french priest and another story altogether!) from Jamaica Queens for a trip to the top of the Empire State Building and dinner in Manhattan. Mind you, I am an Alabama native who had braved Manhattan a couple of times in the firm control of others who knew what they were doing. Oh, and I had to be told how one might hail a taxi and how to know which ones were available! Off we went — we took the photograph at the Empire State Bld., we rode the elevators, we admired the city view from the top of the building and I think we bought a souvenir or two. We wandered toward Times Square and found dinner at Dallas BBQ (or something with a name like that). Not Alabama style BBQ, but still, a pretty good dinner. We walked up to St. Patrick’s, but it was closed up for the night by that time. And, I got us a taxi back out to St. John’s area in Jamaica. Â And I brought home change! Â The 3 of us laughed and spoke a variation of spanglish that incorporated French as well. SpaFranglish? I’ve never been afraid to tackle Manhattan since!
That year, when we left Julio off in Harlem (he was staying overnight with some Spanish priests who lived there) he gave me a hug that I shall not forget. He smiled a smile that is what I see in my mind’s eye when I sing the refrain to “Pescador/Lord You Have Come”
Lord, with your eyes set upon me, gently smiling, you have called my name
The Spanish is more beautiful, but I’ll have to copy it from the music to be sure I spell it correctly
I remember the year my husband (JP) and daughter (Marie) made the trip to Paris with me for the sort of annual meeting. On the first evening in town, a group of us walked up to see Notre Dame at night. Our guide was Juan Julian (another spanish priest) and he and Julio debated whether Notre Dame was best seen by night or by day. They then proceded to argue over who would buy Marie’s gelato for her (all the while, she was trying to pay for it herself. One of the Spaniards won.)
The last time I saw him in person was also in Paris. Due to an unfortunate turn of events, Julio and I were the last 2 left in Paris at the end of the week. I was able to reschedule my flight so that we left within an hour of each other. We both had colds. We enjoyed my favorite lunch – [French] soup a l’onion at a cafe near the motherhouse and shared a taxi out to Charles de Gaul airport. That was the day of trying to sort out the concept of Systemic Change. I’m not sure he every completely bought in to it, but we discussed in spanglish. the cabbie turned out to be a spaniard as well, despite working in Paris and speaking French. All was well until we stopped to drop Julio at his terminal on the way to my terminal. Again, there was the hug, the kiss on both cheeks, the sad parting. I sat in the back of the cab, and the cabbie paused before asking if it was ok to leave. I have no idea what he thought the relationship was. But as I look back, I wonder if I somehow knew that I would not see mi amigo in person ever again.
by Liz | Jun 3, 2012 | main
Jack’s homily today touched heavily on a sequence of orders given in the Gospel reading. It seems that Jesus admonished his followers to 1) go an make disciples of all 2) baptize and finally to 3) teach. Â His observation was that the church seems to have gotten this a bit upside down. We do lots of teaching and put great resources there. We do quite a bit of baptizing — infants and even older folk. We seem to have somehow lost the first priority, which is to make disciples. I can definitely see that there are a large number of well taught baptized [Catholic] Christians. It is more difficult to see that same number of disciples.
I’m trying not to be judgmental. But, if we were all disciples in love with God, I would think that there might be more evidence in the world. I’m sure I would make a bigger impact if I were more of a disciple.
Be that as it may, there was another thing about the Gospel that caught my attention. Jesus tells the disciples to go [back] to Galilee and go to the mountain. Back to Galilee — back to where Jesus himself began his journey and ministry. Go to the mountain: as Jack reminded us, the mountain is always “close to God.” Â If it was good enough for Jesus, I guess it has to be good enough for me.
This week, I think I’ll try to get to Galilee and spend some time trying out that mountain. Maybe it will work, and maybe I won’t know if it worked or not. The “knowing” about whether it works is not so important as the willingness to go there.
Time to get walking. Time to head up the mountain. Time to remember that God beyond all names has filled us with Her Spirit.
