by Liz | Jun 1, 2008 | main
I love my deck. When we rebuilt the house after a fire 8 years ago, we changed a window in our bedroom into a door to the backyard and added the deck. It’s a good size – 20×20 or so, with benches on two sides, and a sort of table in the corner where St. Francis lives. The trees, a maple, an oak, a pine and some crepe myrtles offer shade as they creep into the space around the edges. In the mornings, especially this time of year, it’s not exactly a quiet peace due to the sounds of birds that inhabit the various trees in our yard and the neighbors. But, it’s a deeply peaceful place.
How lucky I am to have this space to step into. I seem to be the only person who really uses it. I can sit on the bench and listen to creation all around me. I can see the day lilies, the gardenias, the azaleas, the iris and the camelias which all bloom at slightly different times.
My friend John might refer to this spot as my “flee to.” Yeah… everybody needs a “flee to.” A place to go and just get away. A place that calls one to prayer. A place that shouts “Welcome! You belong here!”
I love my deck.
by Liz | May 30, 2008 | main
I was poking around on Susan’s blog rereading her post on an attitude of gratitude – or being grateful for the little things. I’ve tried to cultivate that attitude. And in the past few days I’ve been grateful for some “little things” that aren’t so little. These are the phone calls to check with me about how I’m doing with something that has caused me anxiety. Just quick chats to let me know that somebody cares, that someone is praying, that someone just wants to let me know that they are there.
These things might seem like small things. But when I acknowledge them, and give thanks for them, they grow and they make a change in me. It’s kind of funny – it’s not just the gift, it’s the receiving as well.
Hmmm… now to go out and practice being grateful.
by Liz | May 28, 2008 | main
Several years ago I had my first mammogram. Definitely not a comfortable procedure. And it got more uncomfortable when the nurse called and told me that they thought it would be good for me to come back for a second one in six months. There was an area that was a bit unusual, but not so worrisome. They just wanted to do a second one to be sure that it was all normal for me. So, while that caused a bit of worry, it didn’t seem so awful. At least not until the doctor decided to call me and try to reassure me. I listened to him, and all that I could think was “If it’s so ‘routine’ – if it’s really nothing to worry about, why is he calling?” In a way, his trying to be reassuring backfired. Fortunately, at the 6 month redo, it was decided that all was well. No problems.
I don’t like to wait for these kind of results. Someone close to me is having a lump looked at. I squirm. One side of me says calmly: “It’s probably nothing. There’s not reason to expect this to be bad news. It’s good that this is being looked at. And besides, what good does it do to worry? When the results are in, then we’ll know.” The other side is jumping up and down, coming up with every bad diagnosis on the planet. I;m trying really hard to let calm have the upper hand.
What to do? How to cope with the waiting? Do I believe in prayer? I’m certainly letting God know that this is important to me. I’m certainly asking for this to be OK.
And it comes to me a bit more clearly. Believe. Pray. Ask others to pray with you. Admit the anxiety (it’s there anyway) . I’m back to “I believe! Lord, help me in my unbelief!”
As I write this – as I admit that my faith and my patience are far from perfect, a small voice comes to me. From across the centuries I hear Julian of Norwich telling me the truth: “All shall be well. And all manner of things shall be well.”
Amen.
by Liz | May 27, 2008 | main
It’s stuck with me for over a week now: Mercy. And more than that, the definition of Mercy as something like “womb-love.” (Thanks Jack for that). Mercy is that kind of love and relationship that most mothers have for their off-spring. It’s what makes Mama always believe in you. It’s why, despite all evidence to the contrary, Mama believes you to be worth a second, or third or thirtieth chance. It that way of acting that Hosea speaks of: “Come back to me, with all your heart, don’t let fear keep us apart.”
I often cantor repsonsorial psalms at mass, and so I remember many of them. Phrases like “The Lord is kind and merciful” or “Be merciful oh Lord for we have sinned.” Mercy is all over the scriptures.
Am I merciful? I’d like to think so. And at times, I’m pretty sure I am. But today I had to ask myself once again, “Am I merciful? Can I be merciful in this situation?” It sometimes seems easier to have mercy when I am the one harmed directly than when either my child, or my friend has been hurt. I had to sit and listen as my friend worked through a rough spot. I had to not jump on someone who jumped on my friend. I’m now at the place of beginning to pray for the whole situation. Praying for healing. Praying for honesty. Praying for folks to be able to see in the mirror clearly and work out the difficulty. Praying for the ability to be merciful, let my frustration and anger turn to mercy and compassion.
It’s just not as easy as it would seem.
by Liz | May 26, 2008 | main
I wish I had recorded the homily Saturday night — I keep trying to review it and remember the wonder of the words. The feast of Corpus Christi – the feast of the Body and Blood of Christ. A reflection on just what that means.
As I attempt to comprehend another “body” that I belong to comes to mind…
I am an Auburn grad. I left and came back to work at the University 24 years ago. One could see Auburn as the buildings, the grounds, the town. That’s not what the word means to me. It’s more than the physical plant. We are a body: those of us who are a part of “Auburn” share a piece of our lives with each other and with the whole. On TV, you see football (or baseball or maybe swimming). But that’s not quite it.
My mother used to observe that just saying the word “Auburn” would evoke a faraway look – that there was something special about the place.
We worked and/or studied together. We shared ourselves. We travel all over the world and when we see the telltale signs ( a ball cap or a logo on a t-shirt or a car tag) most of us look at each other and say “War Eagle!” We represent the school in all manner of things and we identify with it. We follow our sports teams. We represent the school in our work, our research and in our trying to convince new, young recruits to join us. We even have a creed. Look around the campus on a Saturday afternoon in the fall and you see folks gathered for tailgating – just to be in the same space with each other (there are far more tailgaters than game attendees – and that’s a lot of folks.)
And how does this relate to Corpus Christi? The Body of Christ is so much more than just the human who walked the earth – more than his bones and muscles and blood. That man is the linchpin, but he commanded us to “take and eat” – to join in this Life. One would never expect a University community to be willing to do anything it took, including death, to show its love for us. But he did. When we celebrate this Body and Blood, we remember that we are a part of his body, that we are his body for all the world to see. We are many parts. We have different gifts. We are a part of his body. Each of us important. We come to the table: caucasian, african, asian, latino (and any combination),wealthy, poor, healthy and infirm, academically gifted and not so great at school and we stand as equals. We know that he is with us and we join him. One can only hope that when we see each other in the world, and see the telltale signs, that we too are called to greet each other with “Peace!” and we are called to show this to the world so as to encourage new recruits to join us.
by Liz | May 23, 2008 | main
My friend Susan posted this morning about Creating the Path by Walking It. And, of course that set me to thinking (her thoughts almost always set me to thinking) about paths, and examples and saints. Sometimes we do create the path by walking it — as uncomfortable as it may be. Other times, we can follow a path that someone else started by walking it herself/himself. I have been shown the path blazed by Vincent de Paul by my association with the Vincentian Father’s and others who are following that path – or parts of it. Saints and those who are in tune with them make good trail blazers.
When someone creates the path by walking it, and others follow, the path becomes a bit more defined. More feet walk it. It becomes wider perhaps. It can be seen from more of a distance. And some will follow the path without ever understanding why it was marked in the first place. There are both blessings and curses in following someone else’s path — the signs may seem more clear and the way is smoother. But, I find that while I might start off on someone else’s path, I always seem to have to diverge at some point and make or follow my own. It might cross the original again and again, and it might even be the same at times. I might find a shortcut or I might be required to wander in the desert for 40 days, learning as I go.
Thanks for those who have created the paths by walking them. And thanks for the responsibility and freedom to become one of them, on my own journey.
