by Liz | Nov 14, 2010 | main
A few days ago I set about to photoshop some images that were scanned from slides. The color didn’t seem to be balanced correctly in the scan, so I thought I’d practice color correction and more on this photograph of my father taken at my wedding. I rather like the framing — the Father of the Bride wearing a tux and a look rather like the proverbial cat who ate the canary, with stained glass windows as a part of the background. Problems erupted as I attempted to get the color of the tux correct and leave the face a normal, healthy color.
Face nice = tux all to dull. Tux correct = face ruddy, red and unappealing.
Emotions are funny creatures. As I looked seriously at the image, I realized that getting the color of the tux correct was just going to make me face reality. Anger and hatred stormed into the room. I let them stay for a while. I tried to listen to them. I realized that despite the work I have put in to try to heal my relationship with my father (who died nearly 25 years ago) I had never allowed myself to admit how deep the anger and hate went. That ruddy face, made clear in the image unleashed the storm.
I have worked on my feelings about my father — especially after his death over 20 years ago — and I thought I had made progress in healing the relationship. No, I have made progress. However, life is paradox. The more I am able to accept and forgive, the more open I must become to admitting just how painful some things are, and just how deep the effects run.
Cleaning up old photos seems to be akin to cleaning the mirror and seeing the reflection in bright light with more detail than you might want and still learning to love that reflection. It means that it somehow makes sense to be able to say: “Daddy — I hate your guts. Oh, and I love you.”
by Liz | Aug 2, 2010 | main
Last week I spent a couple of days where I had to just breathe and be in order maintain composure.
I wonder at some things — like what are folks who tend toward certain political stances afraid of? I hear the fear and self-defense of those who support the T-party. It seems that all one, with a different take on things, has to do is breathe in their presence and all of that emotion (which to me seem to be mostly fear and hatred) belch forth like a geyser.
I’m trying to comprehend a bit of this: A relative recently proclaimed that I wear blinders because I don’t willingly listen/watch Fox News. The fact that I strongly suspect that this relative hasn’t listened to/watched anything else in years, makes me wonder about the blinders. But, I digress… If I am in the same room with this person, and make the error of mentioning almost anything that could have political overtones, I see the claws and fangs come out. I see the defenses go up. I know, when I see that, that I am about to be called defensive.
Hmmm…. with my daughter, we seem to be able to talk a bit with one another. She actually makes statements and will listen to a response. She can articulate where we might disagree. She is open as well to hear that maybe her perception is a bit off. I find myself able to listen to her, and I think she can hear me. We come to different places, but, at least, with the 2 of us, we can have some sort of dialogue.
Not so, with some others.
And so, I breathe. In and out. Am I here? Now? Breathe. In and out. Let go. Pray for myself. Pray for those that you perceive as persecuting you. Pray for those that seem to think that you want to persecute them. Breathe. In and out. Let God be present. Breathe. In and out. Smile. Know that perhaps, it could be a positive sign — if your presence causes those who would divide instead of unite to put up defenses then you are doing something right. Breathe. In and out. Now.
by Liz | Jun 17, 2009 | main
Myth, science fiction and fantasy – tales of wizards and magical beings are reflections of real truths. For example – a wizards is very careful about someone actually knowing his true name. To be named is to be controllable. Even the Old Testament God had an unpronounceable name — isn’t that what Yahweh approximates? Trying to pronounce something that is fundamentally unpronounceable?
And so, I’m back at this point in my spiral of journey. Naming things. Identifying things. Grabbing a hold of something so I can let it go. Maybe forever this time. Can’t let go of something when I don’t know what it is. Peel another layer off the onion so I can see more clearly what has a grip on me and wriggle free… or may see more clearly what I am clinging too, and then be able to let go of it.
What do I name? I name those hurts that I carry along. I look deeper to see what the real hurt is. So often, the hurt that makes me start looking is a decoy – a mask – protection from seeing the real truth. Why does it upset me that my spouse can upset me? Why does my voice get shaky at work when I least want to be unsettled? Why does my child’s pain hurt more than my own?
When I am able to name the cause, I have the possiblity of laying it down. It’s the possibility of understanding fully that you can only truly forgive that which you remember. If you can’t really remember, you can’t name it, and then you can’t really completely let go… because you have to know what you are letting go of.
And so, finding myself facing the same things that I thought I had let go of brings me to the realization that I let go of only the part I could see at the time. This time I see a bit deeper, so I can let go of a bit more.
And the spiral continues… Amen.
by Liz | Jan 3, 2009 | main
A few days ago, Susan (Creo en Dios!) posted about forgiveness and made a reference to “The Shack.”
I just knew that this post was coming from “The Shack” – from the first sentence…
…God tries to get him to understand reconciliation. God says, “There has never been a question that what I wanted from the beginning I will get. …Honey, you asked me what Jesus accomplished on the cross; so now listen to me carefully: through his death and resurrection, I am now fully reconciled to the world. … The whole world, Mack. All I’m telling you is that reconciliation is a two way street, and I have done my part, totally, completely, finally.â€
In the referenced interchange between Mack and God there is also a lesson for us about the business of our forgiving others. We are called to forgive, but we are also called to forgive without demanding that the other person acknowledge our forgiveness. Not easy. It doesn’t quite feel completed at this point.
When I finally forgive I really want that other person to acknowledge what [a wonderful thing] I have done. I may not actually desire a full relationship with the other person (another way I fall short of the ultimate example), but, by-golly, I want some credit!
Instead, I find that it must be enough for me to forgive. I believe I have mentioned before a penance I had once that required that when I sang or played in mass that it be offered as a prayer for those I felt were persecuting me (and those folks were very often in the congregation at the time). 7 months I did this. Seven months! Until the day that I listened to one of them (a priest) offer a homily. I listened and was overwhelmed with a sense that he was saying the right words, and utterly clueless about what they might mean. The topic was reconciliation/confession. Instead of being angry with him (my usual response) I had an overwhelming sense of sadness for him and what he was missing. Sorrow. I knew I was done. I knew I had forgiven beyond my human ability.
There is still no reconciliation — and never any acknowledgment that I had anything to forgive. But that is not the issue here. Later in the book, God explains “Forgiveness is not about forgetting, Mack. It’s about letting go of another person’s throat.” And, that is often about as far as I can get.
by Liz | Dec 3, 2008 | main
I know I’m late to the party — I only discovered Shrek this fall, and only then because of my granddaughter. And now, the story has caught my imagination. I watch as Fiona wrestles with the idea that the ogre might be her true form instead of the princess… that Shrek might be her true love. I identify with it.
I want to be beautiful (and slim) and healthy (and full of energy). I want to be honest, trustworthy and always full of praise for God. I want to believe that I can live up to an unrealistic, and probably not healthy ideal. Enter the Inner Ogre. The one that isn’t so perfect in the eyes of the world (or even me). The one who has a thorn in her side. The one who struggles with doing the right thing for the right reason. The one who actually might have some empathy for St. Paul when he cries out that he does what he doesn’t want to do – that he has a thorn in the flesh.
And then, it seems, that Inner Ogre is someone that is Real. Someone that feels pain and joy and sorrow and delight. Someone who is free to be — whatever she is. Not with a perfect body or perfect habits. Someone who can see the warts and green skin and love it all.
Yeah- I can love her. I can accept being her (most of the time).
