by Liz | Jan 30, 2010 | main
The other night my husband was watching one of the science channels. The show was about physics. Is light a particle? Or is light a wave? And the answer is “Yes.” I don’t understand the math or the physics beyond the simple idea that relativity and quantum physics are mathematically incompatible. I understand that understanding light fully will require a “third way” – and the candidate is string theory. Something that will make two incompatible explanations work…
Incompatible ideas, dreams and hopes seem to be a part of everyday human existence. Yesterday I saw it in myself again. I sat face to face with a dream or hope that seems so incompatible with my reality and other dreams and hopes I have. To follow one fully seems to require leaving the other behind. And yet, I find I must hold both within in me. Both are precious. I seek a “third way.”
I struggle to understand and to accept that things that I feel are in such conflict. I struggle to find a way through the narrow, twisty maze of passages that is my journey. I find a part of my answer in the second reading for mass this weekend. It’s that passage from i Corinthians 13 on Love that is used so often at weddings. We all know it: love is patient, love is kind… It’s then end of that passage that speaks to me:
Love never fails.
If there are prophecies, they will be brought to nothing;
if tongues, they will cease;
if knowledge, it will be brought to nothing.
For we know partially and we prophesy partially,
but when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away.
When I was a child, I used to talk as a child,
think as a child, reason as a child;
when I became a man, I put aside childish things.
At present we see indistinctly, as in a mirror,
but then face to face.
At present I know partially;
then I shall know fully, as I am fully known.
So faith, hope, love remain, these three;
but the greatest of these is love.
It seems that Love is the glue that binds. Love is the “string theory” of life. Love is the way through the twisty little passages. Love will allow me a way to hold my conflicts within me and know that there is a way to be true to myself and my creator.
Now the mystery becomes Love. How do I begin to grasp that one?
by Liz | Dec 26, 2009 | main
The priest at Christmas Eve mass struck a chord with me. He began by reflecting on the first men on the moon — seeing the earth “as it really is” from a distance. He spoke about them looking back at earth and seeing it as a distant, beautiful blue and green globe. He progressed to Bette Midler’s “From a Distance” with God watching us from a distance. The good in this view is that we can see that we are all so very alike — all so very human. But, he and I agree – Christmas proclaims a very different reality. God is with us. God is not watching from a distance.
God may very well be able to step back and get some distance. We humans all need to do that at times… get some distance. But, the reality is that God is with us. God is in the midst of the messiness of our lives. God is present in birth and death and every experience in between. God is present in the joy of a new child, the frustration of a father who is struggling to make a decent life for that child and in an inn keeper who is out of resources and doesn’t have room. God is so very present that he took on our flesh, walked in our bones, felt all of our emotions, loved up close.
Christmas reminds me of this. If God loves me enough to take on my form of existence and walk with me, then I am called to do the same with others — and not stay at a distance. That’s not really what I think of as easy — I do separate myself. I am unwilling to share all too often even with those I am physically close to.
Little Child — help me to be willing to live not at a distance from You or our brothers and sisters.
Oh – and Merry Christmas!
by Liz | Nov 9, 2009 | main
Last week I had the opportunity to glimpse my 3rd grand child. I was invited along to the doctor visit to see the ultrasound. 10 weeks. About the size of a prune. Little heart beat visible. Itsy waved little arms around. You could pick out arms and the beginnings of fingers. Little legs.
Wonder. That’s the only way to describe my reaction. Wonder! This event went well beyond anything I could have anticipated. The only other time I remember something similar was standing on the south rim of the Grand Canyon and understanding the definition of “breathtaking.”
How seldom we experience real wonder. This is not an emotion that can be called up at will. To me, it’s a gift. In those moments of watching that black and white image on the screen and absorbing the reality that I was seeing a new life — that he was moving around with a beating heart and tiny fingers — I felt that God was standing with me, delighted in all She saw. In the days since, I have been brought back to that place again and again. A line from a song we use at church rolls through me – “For the wonder of who I am, I praise You.” It’s like, well, I begin to comprehend at a deeper level those words that I mouth – “I am loved. We are wonderful creations.” Even – “Jesus died for me.”
The only explanation I have is that this in this moment of wonder, the world was stripped away and I became aware of being in the presence of God. And that changes everything. That is the beginning of prayer.That is the place where my heart can be open and can be changed.
I read back over this and I fear I have babbled. And in some ways, I’m sure I have as there are no words to really wrap around the experience. And so, I’ll just leave the words as a pointer while I return to just be in that place again for a bit.
Amen.
by Liz | Jun 18, 2009 | main
I’m a mother of 3 and a grandmother of 2. There’s a wedding (3rd of 3) before year’s end. My children are adults – but they are still children on some days, and my babies on all days. As such, it becomes difficult at times to stand my ground and not be guilt-ridden when they try to play the “Mom always loved you better” game.
To be honest, they don’t do this very often. It’s often triggered by frustrations in their own lives. I know because I have a Mother and I know the temptation to play the game with my own siblings. And, it happens when we are unsettled in our own lives. “You did this for him – but not me.” or “You spend more time with her children than mine.” or “He/She gets away with murder and I’m always held responsible.”
This game seems to have reared its head recently. This time, I’m not playing. If push comes to shove, I’ll step aside and let them work it out between themselves. I love them all — and I’ve done my best to love each of them the best I can in each situation.
I’m not God, but I’m certainly called to try to understand just a little bit of how God’s love works. God loves me enough to meet my needs. I don’t need to compare what I get to what the next guy gets. Mind you, I said I don’t need to – but, all too often I still do it and that causes me unnecessary pain and suffering. Same lesson my children need to learn with me… I love you each. And that requires something different for each of you.
I’m standing my ground. I know I love each of them. And I won’t be bullied into the comparison game. Each one is special.
by Liz | Mar 19, 2009 | main
I was a teenager in the late 60’s and early 70’s… last of a generation who’s world view was heavily colored by the Viet Nam war and the draft. The guys in my class were the last to face the draft lottery knowing that a low number really meant they were going.
One afternoon, I was riding in the car with my mother… a very proper, lovely woman (OK, as a teenager, maybe I didn’t see that so well); The radio is playing Crosby, Stills and Nash. The words floated through the air and Mama caught them. I still remember her thoughtful comment — “That’s good advice: If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.”
I’m not sure her vision of that was the same as the singers’. But she had a point and it comes to me at various times. There are those that I have a strong connection with, that I love. They live elsewhere. They may indeed love me in return. But, the fact remains that they have a life there and I have one here. So, it becomes my call to “love the one(s) I with.”
I think Jesus did just that — that he is my example. The gospels seem to indicate that he had those that he loved and cared about as any human does. Mary, Martha, Lazarus, John… and yet, in all the stories we see a man who was present in the moment. He was approached by a leper – he loved the one he was with. He felt a woman touch his hem — he stopped, and loved the one he was with. He was present for those he was with at the time.
Not always easy to do — but well worth trying to do.
