by Liz | Feb 10, 2016 | main
I never seem to get Lent “right”– failed plans, false starts, barriers I stumble over. This year, it seems that my Lenten intentions have been laid out for me. All I have to do it live it.
I’ve watched a beautiful montage set to music about the Camino de Santiago de Compostela with mixed feelings. Such a rush of remembering, such peace, such frustration because right now I can’t even walk without my scooter or crutches, and I can’t really go out without assistance because I can’t get the scooter in the car by myself. I must rely on my husband or friends to give me a ride here and there. I can’t take the dogs for a walk. I’ve discovered I’m not very graceful at this business of being trapped.
My path seems to be to walk through it. To be present to the frustration. I’m on hold. My fast must be from control, from freedom to move around this town like I want to. This too shall pass (it better!) and so I learn to deal with temporary disability. But it’s not coming easy. I just want to be at the end.
I am gaining empathy for those who must deal with this sort of immobility on a far more permanent basis. I’ve learned to rejoice in ramps and curb cuts and smooth ground to roll on. I’ve experienced people helping me open doors and other acts of assistance and kindness. These are lessons that it is far easier to pay lip service to than to actually internalize because you are living them.
One step at a time. One day at a time… get through the cast stage. Hope for the boot. Hope for being allowed to put weight on my left foot and begin to walk again. Ignore the fact that there will likely be a lot of discomfort as I recover. Breathe. Don’t go postal. Breathe.
Yeah — I’m a little on edge right now.
by Liz | Feb 6, 2016 | main
With my broken ankle/leg, I’ve had an excess of time and space to obsess. That also means I’ve have time to reflect and focus on the graceful side of my life. It all began when I fell…
January 9, near Rainbow Falls, Hilo, Hawaii: When I tripped, slipped, missed my step, whatever happened and I felt myself crashing to the somewhat muddy ground, I distinctly remember my camera (a nice Canon 6D) swinging through the air, and I thought “Crap! I’m going to break my camera!”– when I landed I was pretty sure it was the left leg that had the break, but I wanted someone to check on the camera!
For once in my life, I didn’t say any really bad words as I lay on the ground, pretty much screaming/crying. Gratitude for discovering that what came out of my mouth was more of a prayer and a plea to make it stop hurting rather than cursing the situation. That peaceful spirit I prayed for some many years ago seems to be trying to manifest itself. And, gratitude that I was using my pancake lens and the camera and lens were unharmed in the incident. And, it’s stretching it a bit, but gratitude that when they inspected the scrape/gash across my leg just above the ankle, there was no bone showing. All bones, while broken, stayed in place and I’ve not had to have any surgery.
It’s good to reflect on these things to combat the frustration of being mobility challenged, unable to walk or run, stuck at home unless I have a driver or assistance to get me and my scooter loaded into the car and assistance at my destination to get unloaded. Just getting a shower is a major production number! (I can’t put the cast cover on or off by myself; we’ve installed a temporary grab bar in the shower, especially since you have to step up to get in and our; I have a nice plastic chair in the shower now; I’m terrified of falling.)
I find that I must focus on the gratitude side of the equation and not let the fear and anger side take control. It could be worse, it could be better, but I find that I am learning to rest in where I am. No doubt I’ll come through this with a much more concrete connection with the needs of those in wheelchairs, or on crutches or like me, using a knee scooter. I’m extremely aware of the availability, or lack thereof, of curb cuts and ramps… and of ramps that are too steep. Teaches me compassion.
And still — I am impatient. I want to have mended bones and be back to walking, and even running (I hope!). Learning patience and gratitude are the kind of traits that require lots of practice to master. Aaaarrrgghh!
by Liz | Feb 4, 2016 | main
A few weeks ago I was in a small group sharing, and one person began to share about recent a Bible study session where the subject got around to wrath. What is wrath? Is it okay to be angry? That sort of thing. Some folks of course thought it was ok to be angry and others thought is was sinful.
The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines wrath as extreme anger with the Full Definition of WRATH as:
- strong vengeful anger or indignation
- retributory punishment for an offense or a crime : divine chastisement
I found this whole pattern a bit unsettling. Anger is. And asking if it’s okay to be angry or is it sinful is just the wrong question.
Anger alerts me to the fact that I feel threatened, or hurt or disrespected. Or that I sense that someone or something I love is in danger or hurting or being disrespected. Anger can fire me up to take action. The classic example of that might be Jesus turning over the tables of the money changers in the Temple.
The first step, IMHO, is to step back when I am angry and look deeper. If I accept that I am God’s beloved child, then often the anger begins to subside — after all, what that other person did or said cannot actually kill or harm that part of me that is God’s child. Or, I can move beyond anger to sorrow that someone else is so broken that they would do some of the horrible things that are being done in this world. If I can move beyond anger I might just get to a place where I might actually be able help in righting a wrong, or healing a hurt.
Yes — anger is a big red flag. It is a sign that something is wrong. Might be something wrong inside me, or something wrong in the world around me. But asking if it is a sin? That’s just the wrong question.
by Liz | Sep 20, 2015 | main
There are some things I find I must simply accept without understanding. People who are really touchy about being touched fall into this category. My own preferences and experiences require that I simply accept that some people I come into contact with simply don’t want to be touched. Therefore, “contact” means being in the same room, across a table perhaps, talking or maybe singing or learning something new without physical contact. Failing to accept this reality can be a source of distress.
My own experience of touch makes me inclined to “reach out and touch someone” simply because I have reaped such positive benefits.
How? I remember being in a weights/workout class at the gym. The instructor is giving instruction on proper form. “Shoulders back and down” she says. “When you do this exercise, squeeze your shoulder blades together.” I tried. I tried to do as she said. But, I only figured it out when, in mid-pull, she very lightly touched my back, right between my shoulder blades, and said something like “Here. This is where you squeeze.” The words were useful at this point, but not necessary. My muscles, my body and my brain suddenly understood how to be in the proper form. Touch.
In yoga class there are times when simple, light hands on instruction can make all the difference in the world in alignment or understanding how a pose might feel better. Touch.
How? I generally give lots of hugs. It’s sort of my charism, as it were. There are so many situations where words fail or are just wrong, but a hug seems to be exactly the answer. Many years ago I ran into a former coworker who had retired and was spending her days (and nights) caring for an aging parent. Words could never give her the peace and rest she needed. Even with others to help with the care, she was being worn down. I found myself cautiously reaching out to give her a hug. It was right. She needed to receive the care as a break from giving the care. Touch.
There are times when I have needed to relax and let someone hug me, or let me rest in contact with them. That last part, where I let myself rest in someone else’s arms (hug) is the closest I come to understanding “don’t touch me!” There was a time when I was struggling mightily with a situation and a friend asked “Do you want me to take over and do this?” My “Yes” led to leaning against her, with my head in her lap. All the while fighting with myself because I wanted to get up and run. It was just too intimate, just to much letting go of my walls to not only let her step in and shoulder my burden, but to let myself be touched and healed and loved. At the same time it was wonderful to be able to rest and know that someone cared enough to step in and take on the burden. There was so much healing of my soul in that touch.
Maybe I do understand a little about “don’t touch me.” Probably not.
by Liz | Aug 28, 2015 | main
I have a friend currently on Camino. The same Via Frances that I walked 2 years ago. Okay — so Chris is walking over mostly the same terrain that I walked, but in a different time, a different pace, a slightly different season. I follow his blog over at shookwalkstheway.wordpress.com while looking back through my own journal. I comment on the blog and I use FB Messenger to communicate at times. In my own way I walk with him. But, this is his Camino, not mine, just as my Camino was mine. True, mine was shared heavily with my walking companion, Susan. Even so, we each walked it with different interactions, different experiences and differing memories.
I find myself torn between offering information and suggestions and simply watching Chris’s progress. I want to encourage him on his journey, but I also long to hear the stories from the road which bring in to sharp focus so many stories of my own. How much to say or not say? How to listen and just be?
I’ll continue to follow my friend on his journey/Camino as I reflect once more on my own.
by Liz | Jun 29, 2015 | main
Sunday’s readings included the story from the Gospel of Mark of the woman who had been hemorrhaging for 12 years. She fights her way through the crowd surrounding Jesus, believing that if she can just touch the hem of his clothes, she will be healed. This story is stuck in the middle of the story of Jairus, the temple official who’s daughter will be raised from the dead at the end of the story.
But I digress — I’ve head both of these stories multiple times and this time, the woman’s story jumped out at me in a different way. She manages to touch Jesus’ hem and she knows in her body that she is healed. She’s going to slip away and be happy. But, Jesus stops and recognizes that he has been touched. He demands to know who touched him. I can see his buddies rolling their eyes as they say “What? Of course somebody touched you. You’re in the middle of crowd with all sorts of folks touching you.” But he knows and she knows. And she realizes that she must come forward and acknowledge her healing.
I think what caught me short was that she knew she was healed, even before Jesus stopped, asked who touched him and then proclaimed to the crowd that her faith had healed her. She knew. She didn’t have to have Jesus tell the world that she was healed.
At the same time, she also realized that she had to own the fact that she was healed. She had to acknowledge that touching his hem did it. She had to acknowledge that she believed.
There have been times when I knew that something changed — that a hurt or problem had been healed — long before the public acknowledgement. Sometimes the healing is the easy part. Owning it is more difficult. Folks my laugh or think I’m a bit odd because I believe that somehow Jesus or God has healed me. But I must admit it, to myself and to others.
Share the word.
With my broken ankle/leg, I’ve had an excess of time and space to obsess. That also means I’ve have time to reflect and focus on the graceful side of my life. It all began when I fell…