by Liz | Feb 10, 2010 | main
Two weeks ago, I traded in the Miata for a far more practical, roomy Venza. I can now tote both my guitar and a passenger… I can handle more than a single passenger… it’s quiet inside (convertibles are not very quiet)… I can use my iPod in the car. And yet, despite all these good things, and the fact that nobody leaned on me to do it, the day after, I cried.
Breaking up is hard to do. Especially breaking up with a piece of yourself. My inner anguish gave me the chance to ponder: just what was I leaving behind? Why did it hurt? Just what was the problem with trading cars?
I enjoyed the relationship with my little red sports car. A Miata is not a ride that has “MOM” emblazoned down the sides. It lets you feel the road in a good way. It offers a sense of being in touch and controlling the trip. It speaks of a certain Joie de vivre! and freedom from reasonableness that I really need to be in touch with on a regular basis. So much of who I think I am is tied up in what I think others want and expect of me — I’m a wife, a mother and a grandmother, a church musician, a person who held essentially the same job for more than 25 years. My Miata let me break away from some of those expectations.
This is good to know about myself. After 2 weeks, and a day trip to Birmingham in the new ride, I’m really comfortable and pleased with it. It still feels over-large, true. But, now that I’ve had a chance to reflect on why it was so hard to move from the old to the new, I think perhaps I can keep some of myself that I found in the Miata and move on to something new without folding and feeling like I gave in to convention.
And, I no longer have a close up view of the lug nuts on an 18-wheeler as I make my daily rounds.
by Liz | Feb 8, 2010 | main
Yesterday’s readings (5th Sunday of Ordinary Time, Isaiah 6:1-2.3-8, First Corinthians 15:1-11, Luke 5:1-11) reinforced for me the understanding that God takes the first step. Fr. Jack wandered into the memories, for Cradle Catholics, of confession as a child: 7 year old knew they were sinners – Sister told them so. I didn’t have this experience – but as a child in calvinist protestant tradition, I certainly got the message that if you did something wrong, God would get you. It has taken me a whole lot of growth to understand that it is entirely possible to look at someone who is a total mess, who has made a real hash of life, and still feel in the bottom of my heart – ” I love you!” and offer the words, hug and smile to make that understood.
As I listened to the readings, and the homily, I just kept hearing that the characters (Isaiah, Paul, Peter and his buddies) only really understood how far off the mark they were until God/Jesus reached out and touched them first. Especially Isaiah and Paul were fine until they found themselves face to face with the Ultimate Reality. Both pull back — stay away! I’m not good enough! and God says – “I love you. Now, go out and tell the world!”
Br. David Steindl-Rast (Gratefulness.org) would prefer to use the terms “belonging” and “separation” instead of “salvation” and “sin.” I quite agree. When we see perfection, we realize our imperfections – and our separation. Sinfulness. Then, and maybe only then, can we be drawn into belonging and wholeness. It’s a bit like a Twelve Step program: before you even get to step 1, you have to somehow be aware that there is a different way to live.
It’s not enough to stop with the realization that life can be different. It’s easy to be paralyzed by that, true. But, God calls me to accept the Love and myself, and move on – set out on the road – get on with a mission. Use it or lose it!
by Liz | Feb 5, 2010 | main
Yesterday I went home at lunchtime not feeling great. Thought I’d lie down and nap for a few minutes. How did that work? I woke up 3 hours later, still not feeling so great.
As I would wake up briefly at intervals yesterday, I found these words always rolling through my mind (from Bernadette Farrell’s Oh God, You Search Me and You Know Me)
When I walk or lie down You are beside me…
In every moment of life and death You are
Actually very comforting on a rainy, grey afternoon when your whole body is aching and your stomach is doing flip-flops. Perhaps this is a glimpse of praying always. To wake up and realize that in every moment of life and death, God Is.
It’s a glimpse at YAHWEH – or I AM.
Good to remember.
by Liz | Feb 4, 2010 | main, Reading List
I just finished Anne Rice’s Christ the Lord: Out of Egypt a couple of days ago. An interesting read. I’m not sure I would have derived the same story were I writing a fictional recollection of this period of the life of Jesus of Nazareth, but she does a wonderful job of giving insight into what it is like to begin to discover oneself… especially as a child. And especially as a child where people are reticent to give you some of the information.
It’s quite hard to explain — the best thing is to read it yourself and ponder how each of us learns who we are from within and without.
by Liz | Feb 3, 2010 | main
I think I need a new wine skin. As I move through this time of transition (changed cars, change from full-time employee to retiree/self employed, grandmother-to-be again, shifts in friendships) the patches on this old cloak, and this old wine skin are getting rather problematic. The new cloth isn’t matching up to the old.
The only other way to I see to find my way through is some sort of meltdown. This could be good – melt things down, or bring the pot to a slow boil. Then, skim off the scum and keep that good stuff that I can work with. Distillation as it were. Not 100% effective, but a way to visualize letting go of the unnecessary, a way to put down the no longer needed baggage and find the freedom to be recreated.
Put that way, it sounds rather exciting. So, I think I’ll put it that way.
