by Liz | Oct 3, 2012 | main
Last night I was at a talk by the directory of Ignatius House in Atlanta. I’ve known her for many years. We made our Cursillo weekends at the same time. We walked for an hour or so early in the morning for nearly a year. She is a Myers-Briggs extrovert, I an introvert. So, it is fascinating watch and hear this woman who draws energy from talking and interaction and doing speak about how her first silent retreat had such a profound impact on her life because the answers and insights came from within. She just had to be slowed down and made quiet long enough to be able to hear and pay attention.
Then, this morning I was trying to encourage another, older friend to pursue OLLI (Osher Lifelong Learner Institute) classes. I particularly enjoy “Writing Our Lives” — a class that aims to help people write better and in particular, to write memoirs. Me? I use it as a push to journal. I am primarily interested in telling my story to myself so that I can begin to understand and accept this person that lives inside my skin. There are days I really like her, and days when she mystifies me, and days when I really don’t want her around. Writing is personal to me. It helps me to get to know me, and if anyone else is interested, that is fine. (If you are reading this, you are one of the few that might be interested).
Anyway, my friend, not knowing much about OLLI, seemed overwhelmed at the thought of taking classes. I found myself explaining that there is really no homework (unless you want to do something outside of class — like in the Spanish classes I take), and there are no grades. “No tests? No grades?” she asked, suprised. “Then how do you know you are improving?””
I felt myself stop cold. My first, silent, reaction was “What kind of dumb question is that? Can’t you tell when you are improving?” I’ve been mulling it over. I still rather feel that way — I am comfortable with my own evaluation of my progress. It seems a bit sad to think that someone requires another person to pass judgement on whether they are learning anything. Yes, being accountable to someone else can help me move forward and stay on track. But, listening to God within, is the thing that can actually make a difference.
I worked for many years at a job where my bosses and I were seldom on the same page. I think I had to learn to listen to myself and be true to what I believed to be job that needed doing, no matter what they thought. If I had only done what they thought necessary, the results would have been disastrous. I was hired to take care of technology and computer security and I simply had to do what was required despite the often incomprehension of those I worked for. It resulted in learning to listen to myself and try to move beyond the negative feedback from those around me. It wasn’t easy. It added to other issues, and I dare say it contributed to depression. But, in the long run, it has been a lesson worth the anguish. That external validation is good, but it cannot be the rudder that guides the course. That rudder, that compass is between me and the Creator.
And so, I hope my friend can move to the place where she is comfortable with the idea that tests and grades are not the yardstick by which she must measure herself… that will be a joyful day for all.
by Liz | Jun 3, 2012 | main
Jack’s homily today touched heavily on a sequence of orders given in the Gospel reading. It seems that Jesus admonished his followers to 1) go an make disciples of all 2) baptize and finally to 3) teach. His observation was that the church seems to have gotten this a bit upside down. We do lots of teaching and put great resources there. We do quite a bit of baptizing — infants and even older folk. We seem to have somehow lost the first priority, which is to make disciples. I can definitely see that there are a large number of well taught baptized [Catholic] Christians. It is more difficult to see that same number of disciples.
I’m trying not to be judgmental. But, if we were all disciples in love with God, I would think that there might be more evidence in the world. I’m sure I would make a bigger impact if I were more of a disciple.
Be that as it may, there was another thing about the Gospel that caught my attention. Jesus tells the disciples to go [back] to Galilee and go to the mountain. Back to Galilee — back to where Jesus himself began his journey and ministry. Go to the mountain: as Jack reminded us, the mountain is always “close to God.” If it was good enough for Jesus, I guess it has to be good enough for me.
This week, I think I’ll try to get to Galilee and spend some time trying out that mountain. Maybe it will work, and maybe I won’t know if it worked or not. The “knowing” about whether it works is not so important as the willingness to go there.
Time to get walking. Time to head up the mountain. Time to remember that God beyond all names has filled us with Her Spirit.
by Liz | Apr 21, 2012 | main
I’m taking a class this term with OLLI – “Writing Our Lives.” One of the questions posed in the reference book we use for the class (The Heart and Craft of Lifestory Writing, Sharon M. Lippincott) is “Why are you writing?” Obviously there is no right answer to this question. But, it caused me to struggle a bit as I reflected on the “Why?”
My writing is not to tell my story for my children and grandchildren. If they find my writing interesting, that is wonderful. But, I write to tell my story to myself. I write to sort my memories which are dominated by the emotions of the moment/event instead of objective observances. Often, I can recall how I felt, but not what caused me to laugh or cry. This is strange, since I overtly make decisions by thinking through things. This is not so strange when I recall that big decisions are made based on my gut.
Writing is a way to walk back through a memory and put flesh on it. Writing forces me to not just have an emotional response, but to sit with it and hear what that emotion is telling me. It might be telling me about myself or about another person. If I remember fear, writing about it helps me to sort through what made me afraid [or sad, happy, content] and learn not only what I fear, but why. Writing is helpful because it helps me to name my fears and joys and sorrows. And, if have found that in real life, just as in magic and fantasy and folklore, if you can name something, it loses a lot of it’s control over you.
I suspect that the unpronounceable name of God, YWHW (or whatever those letters were) was affirmation of the fact that we can never truly name or tame God. We can however name and take some control over other things and relationships in our lives. Writing is my way of doing that.
by Liz | Aug 11, 2011 | main
In Alabama, the new school year is starting. In the US, those of us who work in education or are closely related to those who do, are surely aware of No Child Left Behind. Sounds like a good idea on the surface. But, the guidelines seem to reflect Garrison Keillor’s claim about lake Woebegon: “… and all the children are above average.” Something about the concept of average got lost. To have be average means that something is above (higher, better, a bigger number) you and something is below (lower, not as good, smaller number) you… or that everything is exactly the same, with nothing outstanding at all. Not gonna work, if I understand the requirements. If you get everyone up to what was the average when you started, and some move beyond, then average is higher.
Don’t get me wrong here — I want every child to be able to develop to her/his own potential. I do want some recognition that each child’s potential can be quite different.
So, what happens? Too often, teachers find that they must “Teach to the test.” Teach only those things that someone has decreed to be essential, because if any child can’t master this enough to fill in the proper circle on the page, then the entire year is a failure. Leaves little room for preparing those kids to think, to experiment, to learn even more (or less) than the prescribed lesson.
It seems rather like church. I didn’t grow up a Catholic, but even I can start to give a Baltimore Catechism answer to Who is God? Why did God Make Us? It’s true that catechism (Baltimore or New) answers can give a starting point for exploring my own walk in faith. So often, it seems, rote answers are the end of this journey, not the beginning. The proper answer is what is expected. It is the test. The Church teaches to the Test, instead of leading people beyond or pointing people to the Source. I have a strong sense that Jesus wasn’t looking for everyone to be average.
Just thinking… that’s all.
by Liz | Jul 4, 2011 | main
There is a hole in my existence that opens up on occasion and sends me to a deep place. This place often strikes me as dark, but not always.
We drove in to New England a couple of days ago. That empty space opened up in me. It felt something like the way I feel when I cross into the panhandle of Florida. It is there, but less intense when I cross in to Florida not in the panhandle, or when I turn south headed to Gulf Shores. It feels the same when I head in to the mountains. The sea and the mountains seem to open this place up in me.
What I can’t quite decide it what that feeling is beyond longing. Is it my awareness of God? I mean the presence of God in nature. Or is it a longing just to be one with that nature? We had XM radio set to Margaritaville when it hit… Specifically Jimmy was singing the song that starts “Father, Father Ocean…”. It was dedicated to Jacques Cousteau. A great, deep melancholy settled in. Is that a sort of sadness that I am separated from the ocean/mountains? Is it a part of me sad at the awareness that I am separated?
I live inland — where the Piedmont Plateau meets the Coastal Plain. Not coastal, not mountains. Not urban, not country. Often my life is like my geography. I am often complacent about my current status. I know that I am not growing, not being transformed and I like the comfort of the status quo.
This longing for something as I approach the ocean or the mountains seems to call out to me. And I sit with that call and try to listen. I both love and despise this feeling. It is uncomfortable and it feels sad. And at the same time it calls me to open up to live life at its fullest and experience things that are extremely fulfilling, but not so safe and protected.
For a few days I will have the chance to walk by the ocean and feel its power. At the same time I will be surrounded by family. And I will know that it is “a good thing” to be willing to walk into those wild places because I am surrounded by love.
