by Liz | Sep 6, 2009 | main
Football season in the SEC is now officially open. At one level, I see this as so much hooey. But, deep in my bones, it is exciting. As I left work on Friday afternoon, the atmosphere crackled like a festival. The FiJis (over at ‘Bama, those boys might be known as Phi Gams, but here on the Plains, they are Fiji’s) had the couches out on the lawn alongside the monster speakers that blasted us with a serenade somewhere between rock and country. Tailgaters were relaxing at picnic tables and outdoor folding chairs inside their spots that were marked with orange safety tape. Kids sporting football jerseys played on the sidewalk.
When I no longer work at the Library, I think this will be one of those scenes I will miss… it’s hard to explain the simultaneous thrill and peace that I experience on Friday afternoons in the fall, when the Tigers are playing at home. Life is good. All shall be well. The universe is in order.
It might be shallow. There are those who might take my enchantment with this mystery of being as sacreligious or heathen. But, I noticed that in today’s Gospel, Jesus healed a deaf mute, not by standing over him and praying but by touching him – up close and intimate – put his finger in the deaf-mute’s ears, spit and touched his tongue. That is getting close. That is being present in whatever way is necessary for healing. And so, I’ll enjoy my Friday afternoon experiences where I feel touched. I will enjoy the time where the joy and excitement, and sense of belonging to a community are palpable.
Oh, yes… in the South, football is alarmingly like religion.
by Liz | Aug 29, 2009 | main
As a part of my “be still” campaign, I am also practicing paying attention. And, of course trying to enter an attitude of prayer more often.
One of my passtimes is playing a game I found on Facebook – Wordshunt. You can check in from time to time and add letters to your bag. I have many facebook friend who have this app, so I have many racks to browse through when searching for a particular letter. I scroll down the list and see my friend’s little profile pictures and hunt for letters.
Frances is about 2/3 of the way down the list. Frances has been in the hospital for over 2 weeks with a pulmonary (lung/breathing) problem and has been transferred to UAB (Univ. of Alabama at Birmingham – one of the top tier hospitals) where the docs are beginning to get a handle on treating her. Still, there is no understanding of the cause which is both frustrating and a bit frightening. And so, I have found that as I hunt for letters, I scroll down and see Frances. I pause. I remember her to God. I ask for healing. I sit with her in prayer.
It’s not much, I know. But, the Bible (is is Paul?) admonishes us to pray without ceasing. That I don’t do. But, it is good to take notice of things, and take a break to pray.
Frances – my prayers are with you, with your family and with your medical teams. Get well.
by Liz | Aug 27, 2009 | main
My “homework” is once again to practice “being still.”
Ugh! Just the other day I realized that other folks in my office are not privy to the conversations that go on constantly in my head. I have to update them from time to time or my questions seem to come from nowhere. I must practice being still, being present, and listening. It would be easier if they would listen inside my head (when I want them to, and only when I want them to) and then I wouldn’t have to pay attention or explain.
So – I’m back to breathing. Three focused breaths. “Am I breathing?” “Yes”, “Am I still breathing?” “yes”, “Let’s make sure I’m breathing.” “I am!” Or maybe 3 breaths to pray Father, Son, Holy Spirit. And I need to do this at least 27 times a day, it seems. Just to give myself a chance to rest in the Lord. Or simply to rest.
Am I breathing? Yes – and when I focus on it, the world around becomes brighter and more alive. Wow.
Am I breathing? Hear the sound of my breathing. Here the fan on the computer. Here the dog snoring next to me.
Am I breathing? Be still, and know that I AM your God.
Amen.
by Liz | Aug 26, 2009 | main
On my way in to work each morning I pull up to an intersection that causes me to face a line of not so very old trees. These trees were carefully planted a number of years ago and are nicely spaced so as to have plenty of room to grow without interference from neighboring trees. The one that is almost straight ahead is a beautifully shaped specimen — even, symmetrical, tall. Not constrained by other trees.
How unlike the trees in my backyard. The ones I planted from little seedlings and saplings. The white oaks that are too close together because each was an acorn with a leaf attached when planted. And planted a bit close because I wasn’t sure which, if any would survive and also because I didn’t have the vision to see the full grown tree. Same for the maples. And then, there is the McDonald’s pine tree brought home by a thrilled 3 year old and planted in a random spot.
My backyard trees are more like my life: They are lopsided because they crowd each other. They fight for the sunlight and the water and the nutrients. They form a solid cover over part of the yard. If one is removed, it is obvious that something has been taken away and it will take years to fill in the gap. Just like my life. All crammed in with people I love and ideas and responsibilities. When one of these is removed it’s pretty obvious. And it takes time to adapt and fill in the gap.
I’m not that perfect, symmetrical tree at the end of the street. I’m not an island. Some days, I wish I was. But, for today, I think it’s ok to be shaped by those around me — just as long as I can get enough sunlight and water and nutrients to hold up my spot.
by Liz | Aug 17, 2009 | main
I find the Old Testament readings at times a bit confusing… or at times they seem on the surface to reflect a God that is different from my understanding. At these times, I have to go back and read again to see just what jumps out at me.
This morning’s first reading is from the Book of Judges (Judges 2:11-19). And one thing did jump at at me. In the middle of describing the travails and hardships of the Israelites, and how God was offended because they worshiped other gods, etc. I see this: ” Abandoning the LORD, the God of their fathers…” and “Because they had thus abandoned him…” Even in this tale of what happened, they abandoned God, but God did not abandon them. And later I see that “the Lord took pity on them.”
That seems to be the story over and over and over again. Come back to me with all your heart. I will never abandon you.
What joy!
by Liz | Aug 14, 2009 | main
OK – so I lifted this straight out of Creo en Dios! — because Susan’s reflection really rang true.
I never really liked Chutes and Ladders — so arbitrary. Roll the dice. Move forward. Land on a ladder and jump up. Land on a slide (chute) and down you go. No skill. All luck. No safety until you actually reach 100 and finish. No real control.
Rather like life.
Not my favorite aspect of life at all. I want the control. I want to believe that if I follow the rules and work hard, I’ll be guaranteed success. I won’t ever slip backward. Not fair! Makes me mad when I find that I’ve taken a slide — physically, emotionally or spiritually. I thought I had earned my position by doing good. Never mind the unearned boost that comes in the form of a ladder. I worked hard, I should get the boost.
But life doesn’t actually work that way, does it? Some days I plod along. Some days I am gifted with a great boost. And, just when I think the timing is bad, or I jut don’t believe I could get tripped up and backslide – bam! there I go. So, the only thing left to do is pick myself up and start forward again. That’s not easy when the black dog of depression tries to grab at me, or when the day just goes all wrong through no fault of my own. Take a step forward. Hope for those moments of light and joy that come unearned. Take a step forward.
This journey is more about accepting both the chutes and ladders than getting to 100. That’s not how I looked at it as a child. Lots of days I forget that as an adult. But, I am beginning to be able to see it more often than before. That might just be progress.
oops – another chute.
