by | Sep 24, 2012 | main
Over the past few weeks, I have been reminded repeatedly that “God is madly in love with you.” The message comes from scripture, from the Cursillo movement, from homilies and if I let it, from prayer. At first blush it is a comforting and exciting message.
Quite frankly, it is a frightening message to me. So often, I don’t want to be loved that much. If God loves me that much, and I accept it, how can that not call me to change? If God loves me that much, and I fall in to it, I must surrender and move forward in complete trust. And if I do that, I will be transformed in ways I don’t even know. Not sure I’m yet willing to do this.
Brother David Stendhl-Rast has suggested that “sin” might better be termed separation or isolation, and “grace” as belonging. In those terms, my “sin” is my unwillingness to be loved in this deep, transforming way. Yes, at times I move toward it — and I can think of once or twice when I believe I actually gave in and fell in to it. And, yes, those were moments where my life and my way of looking at life made some pretty sharp turns. Looking backward, I realize that these turns and changes are really “good things.”
So, why am I fearful? The Unknown and letting go are difficult for me. I can only ask that I be gifted with a call to this Love that is stronger than my own unwillingness to let go of myself and my perceived control. I take baby steps. I try to see through the eyes of Christ in one situation at a time. If I think of each of these situations or relationships as a piece in a 2000 piece jigsaw puzzle, then each time I am able to let go, it’s like finding a piece that fits. You put it into the puzzle, and slowly, piece by piece, the entire picture of God’s love is revealed.
by Liz | Jul 28, 2011 | main
A couple of weeks ago we caught most of an NPR NOW (sirius radio 122) broadcast of “Relaxed Focus” with David Allen (http://humanmedia.org) as we drove down I-81 (through the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia). He had some interesting ideas.
Perhaps I can get better at organizing stuff, deciding what needs to be done with something and then letting go until I am in a place to deal with it. Sounds good. Sounds even better to decide whether I want to keep getting email from certain lists that require my attention or should I just unsubscribe and be done with it. It sounds good to get control of “stuff” that can clog the brain/mind and free up the mind to be present in the moment.
As I listened, I found myself thinking how nice it is when I get things cleaned up, named, organized, and put out of my mind. I thought of the times in my life when I felt overwhelmed and immobilized because I couldn’t even decide what action I wanted to take. My mind would race all night. I would wake up and be unable to quiet my mind. One technique that helped was to drag out rosary beads. As I started a decade, instead of meditating on a prescribed mystery, I would name one of the issues that wouldn’t leave me alone and hand it over to Mary or Jesus or God (depended on how I felt); by the end of a decade, I could often let go of that one thing; then, I repeat the process with the next thought/problem that was racing through my head; over and over until I could sleep for a bit. Using rosary beads freed me up from any kind of counting — just repeat Hail Mary until my fingers told me I was done with the particular thought.
And so, I do understand the joy of organizing things, deciding on an action and relying on a system to tell me when I was done, or ready to move to the next thing. This frees me up to deal with other, larger, issues. But, it’s not just letting go that helps. Naming the problem/issue/desire means that I no longer let it control me. There is a certain release in a “tag and bag” approach to those mundane things that have to be done.
Now, it’s been well over a week since I listened to that radio show and this week I find myself in Nike mode: Just Do It! That applies to little things like sweeping the hall, mopping the foyer, pitching the mail. Not big stuff, but getting it decided on and done certainly helps make room for more serious or intense thought. I think I’ll try to stick with it.
by Liz | Jun 8, 2011 | main
This morning one of the members of my Cursillo reunion group announced that she has to leave the group. Of course, our first reaction was “NOT ALLOWED.” But then we listened to her fill in the blanks… and it was good news and bad.
The bad of course is that one of our close knit group won’t be joining us each week. She feels that she does this just for herself (we aren’t so sure about that, as she is a vital part of the whole and makes wonderful contributions). AAARRGGH! Why?
The Good News is that she has taken the step of acting on a call to serve others. She will be joining the local Vincent de Paul Society and working with them — and they need her at the same time our group meets. She has been wrestling with this… we can tell. I rejoice in her growing to this point. I am glad she has found a call and is willing to follow it.
Change is constant. Change never seems to be easy. Another member is leaving for a month in California because of her mother with Alzheimers. It’s hard to have her gone. Another is in the throes of moving to another state to be closer to family. She has no family left here in town and knows that is is the right decision to move closer to her daughter(s). She is a bit stressed, but seems confident that this is indeed the right move. Another is facing a health challenge. All sorts of changes in my cozy little world.
Lord, let me walk trusting that You are the Way, that You have a plan, that You are with me, and that all shall be well. All manner of things shall be well.
by Liz | Aug 11, 2010 | main
Have you ever heard a “born-again” Christian refer to being “convicted”? I’ve spend some time thinking about that phrasing. So often it is taken to mean that Jesus, as judge and jury has taken someone into a court of law, and tried that person and found that person “guilty.” An unloving, uncharitable, hard-line image, to me.
Then I think a bit further. I observe in myself and those whom I come in contact with. I observe emotional reactions. Those things which bring out violent or visceral emotional reactions seem to me to fall into a couple of categories — and these probably dissolve into a single category. These reactions are generally associated with hurt or fear. I only experience hurt and/or fear when I am protecting something, it seems. That is, I react most strongly when I am not sure that my borders are not being breached. That could be protecting a child or a friend. Or it could be just protecting my own ego. I will fight to defend my child or sister/brother, mom, spouse or friend. True. But, I will fight even harder at times to protect my image of myself…
My strongest reaction by far is when someone touches a nerve and moves into that space that might cause me to have to change — or at least evaluate the need to change. Someone, be they friend or foe, makes an observation about me that really makes me angry… My response becomes: Unfair! You have no right! Why are you trying to hurt me! Get away! Leave me alone! You are SO wrong! And then I stop and reflect on my reaction. It is the strongest when I suspect that the observer might be right or might be on to some log in my own eye.
The other side of that coin is when I say something that causes the flash of anger in another person. I must evaluate what is happening: Am I being unjust or wrong? Or did I step into that place that perhaps they already see a problem? Am I doing it to hurt someone (and make myself look better) or did I simply state a truth that was received badly?
And so I reflect on what “conviction” means in the sense of that Christian I referenced in the first sentence. I look in the mirror of God and find that I am in drastic need of change — God/Jesus doesn’t convict me or sentence me. I see the reflection that tells me that this must change. I see Love in the mirror that tells me it can change. I see more Love in the mirror that tells me that I’ll not ride into that change alone.
Scary-wonderful.
by Liz | Apr 24, 2010 | main
Just because I don’t make myself post here, doesn’t mean I’m not thinking and praying. It is better for me when I do, because it forces me to focus and wrap words around the things that go on in my head and heart. Writing is clarifying. Writing is stepping into where I am and taking a long hard look. But, it is at times difficult. It shows me things that maybe I don’t want to know.
So, what does that have to do with duct tape? Duct tape is like “the Force” – it has a dark side and a light side and it holds the universe together. And that idea of two-edged swords has been on my mind of late as I transition from full-time, 8-5 employment into this place where I work on my own time and have to reset my schedules. This is a good thing. I find that I am enjoying it immensely. I find that I am much more at peace with myself and the world around me. I find that in many ways I am more productive (at least from my point of view). And, I find that I am concerned that maybe I’m not pulling my share of the load financially or that I have to shape up some of my spending habits. I have to rediscover what things I consider most important in my daily life and find the discipline to follow through with it.
All things in this world come with pluses and minuses. Food — required to live, but too much or too little is not healthy. Exercise – lifting weights builds muscle, but it does so by tearing some down and then rebuilding. Prayer — that one is a bit scary at times… because if I truly listen I am called to change, and don’t let anyone kid you – real change is dying and being reborn.
I think of my children and grandchildren. Each one is a separate, wonderful being. The one that has caused the deepest grief is the one who’s excitement and exuberance in living life can also bring the biggest smile. The one who had no friends at 12 has a circle of friends that circles the globe. The one that often baffled me because we learn so differently is now so close to my heart.
I’m back to duct tape — that shiny, slick side and the sticky white side. Very different, but inseparable — and one must accept both before it can do its work.
