What started out as a big, but manageable job — repaint the porch floor — snowballed into a multi-week, all-consuming series of home repairs. All thanks to Dad. He’s the one who gave me the genetic makeup with a tendency toward bouts of the dumps and “tunnel vision.” Sometimes, tunnel vision helps me get out of the dumps. That is, when the tunnel I’m visioning is leading away from my own head and whatever is getting me down. It’s a modus operandi commonly referred to as “the zone.” When I’m in “the zone” all the necessary pistons in my brain are firing in rapid and appropriate sequence (if that’s what pistons do) and I can accomplish significant tasks. Difficult papers and sermons get written, programs are envisioned and developed, furniture is refinished or reupholstered, and gourmet meals are cooked. Unfortunately, anything not connected with the task at hand is tuned out. That’s the part of the syndrome that’s not a good thing. It leads to other things and/or people being neglected. Like this blog. So I thought I’d get back in the swing of blogging by taking a break from my Bob Villa/Martha Stewart Tunnel and share some pictures of my work.
This big project all started as a gesture to help Gregg out with one of “his” projects. He said the porch floor had to be painted before the wet, cold months ahead. I thought I’d lend a hand by getting it started and take a break from worrying about my lack of income-producing work. Plus, I wanted to pick out the color if we decided to make a change. Plus, I liked peeling the flaking paint off with my fingers. Something about the destructiveness of pulling off a long strip of latex is deeply satisfying. I like to remove fingernail polish that way too. Maybe it’s about power or about being in control. I couldn’t wait to plug in the belt sander and watch the ugly, cracked and alligatored paint disappear. The first day was spent cleaning the floor with TSP. That stuff makes me happy. It dissolves everything from gecko scat to bubble gum. It will also remove epidermis so it is wise to wear chemical gloves. Several days of immensely satisfying sanding followed. Finally, it was time for the paint. Applying it was as easy as mopping the kitchen floor. I wasn’t that crazy about the color, though. I had chosen a caramel brown to trim the boring ivory of the siding. In the shade it was difficult to tell the two colors apart. But I knew I needed to see it how it looked with the whole floor, fully saturated with the color, against the wall. Three coats later, I still wasn’t convinced that the caramel was enough contrast.
The third coat was needed because I let two labrador retrievers (for a total of forty claws) reclaim their high throne of the neighborhood too soon. Next time, I won’t be such a sucker for their forlorn expressions. Every morning and every evening, Sadie and Lucy keep watch from this post over the comings and goings of Jester Estates. The first month we lived here, Sadie vaulted through the posts, sticking her landing with the athleticism of an Olympic gymnast. She has since decided that queens should not attempt to fly from second story balconies and that her subjects would have to be satisfied with her enthusiastic barking instead. Although the queens were quite content with their new, smooth, clean, and very weather-protected throne, I was underwhelmed. I needed a bigger payoff.
Characteristic of the way this house was not maintained by the previous owners, the porch swing was an eye-sore. They had attempted to cover-up and stop the mildew growing on the swing with a sloppy coat of primer. It didn’t work. And although painting furniture was beyond the scope of my plan, I knew that a fresh coat of accent paint would give me the wow factor I felt I had earned. My goal was to match the existing forest green of the shutters because they did not need to be repainted. And I didn’t want to add any unnecessary home work to my extremely long list. Days later, I could no longer convince myself that this color matched the shutters at all. I hung the swing anyway; deciding that it would be far enough away from the shutters to avoid clashing. But as I stared to analyze whether I was right about the clash saving distance I realized that I LOVED this new color. It was tranquil and peaceful and calming. I figured that I might as well paint over the existing shutters with a color that made me this happy.
Of course, I couldn’t very well paint only the shutters when the window needed to be trimmed out with the new caramel color of the floor. And, all this fresh paint made the annoying overspray on the aluminum window frame from the previous owner’s substandard work stand out all the more glaring. And, I couldn’t very well leave trimless the two sets of french doors (each with attaching screen doors) that are on either side of the shuttered window. At this juncture, I became traumatized by door hinges. I still can’t even talk about it. Suffice it to say, not only were the hinges previously PAINTED OVER but all the screws were stripped and the bolts were rusted solidly stuck. If you’re thinking that I could have chosen to paint these doors and frames while they were attached then you’re not sufficiently imagining how badly they needed thorough repair and cleaning. If I had gone that route, I’m sure it would have ruined the entire aesthetic.
For example, the brass thresholds had been completely covered with paint. Both inside and outside. If hell freezes over and I ever move again, I don’t want the next owner to think it was me who didn’t know any better. Almost every fixture and hardware in this house, from the light switches to the electrical outlets had been painted! Grrrr! I know I keep going on and on about this but apparently bad paint jobs are a pet peeve of mine. The thing about bad paint jobs is that they haunt you on a daily basis, or at least on those occasions you try to clean the house. Anyway, so many, many days were spent working on these problem spots and obsessing all the while on the importance of taking good care of one’s home that I realized that I was majoring in the minors and neglecting other areas that were more critical than cosmetic surgery. The only way I could assuage my guilt over wasting time on such minutia as boiling hook and eyes to remove decades of crud was to paint something that really mattered. That was a matter of life or death.
This was post #50. It broke off in my hand during the floor painting phase. It could have killed me. But there was too much work left to be done. I had come too far and too long to slop paint over the 49 posts that were cracked and alligatored and vulnerable to the destructive side of water. If you’ve not had the opportunity to sand carved wooden posts let me recommend the dreamy Dremel. It can sand off, grind off, polish off, cut off almost any imaginable problem. After these past few weeks, I now enter a Zen-like state just holding the Dremel in my hand. When I come across one more thing that needs repair in this house, I just laugh. Because there’s not much that can intimidate me as long as I have my two dogs and a Dremel. Except maybe Gregg, who made an innocent (?) remark the other day about how much easier the under-remodeled kitchen would be to bear if the tile grout was five different shades of dirt.
Archive for the 'Self' Category
In my last post I introduced my experience of feeling disconnected to the church. I have received many responses from others who have had similar struggles. Many of these comments came from lay persons. What I am hearing in these comments is that the feeling of alienation from Mother Church is not a condition unique to the ordained. I hope those of you, lay or ordained, church or unchurched, who have a story of disconnection or alienation will share it with me and others on this blog. I welcome you as a guest writer. Please send me an email letting me know of your interest. If you would like be published anonymously, that is fine with me. Sometimes, especially in the church, it is wise to be discreet. I only hope one would make anonymity an exception rather than the rule. After all, ‘we’re only as sick as our secrets.’ As for me, I am going to continue to share my personal experiences of alienation from my own perspective; one that I have found some understanding of it through the “setting apart” that occurs with ordination.
As I stated in “Houston, We Have A Problem,” I believe that the status quo of traditional communication does not enable deep or consistent connections. The irony, of course, is that the extraordinary way that the Episcopal Church, with her liturgies and sacraments, had sustained my connection to God, was one of the main reasons I accepted the call to ordained ministry. When my family and I left home for seminary, we became enveloped in a new but temporary community — that of the student body. But forces were in play that would inevitably alter my connectedness to a local community of faith.
Seminarians typically feel alienated from their home parishes and dioceses because they are geographically estranged for the three years they are attending divinity school. They often experience theological estrangement because they are being exposed to a level of critical thinking that shatters previously held worldviews. Most have had to sever the financial security of former careers. And as anyone who has left behind a former professional role to return to school as a student knows, all too well, one easily loses a sense of one’s own competence and “sense of adulthood.”
My diocese recognized parts of this pattern and attempted to alleviate the problem by developing programs and policies to stay connected and supportive to their “ordinands.” None of them worked. For example, we were assigned to one of the three bishops so we could have a point of contact with a “chief pastor” of the diocese. Even though I was lucky enough to be assigned to the warmest, friendliest bishop I have ever known, the late Leo Alard, I only saw him on an informal, personal basis a few times. At some point, the Commission on Ministry (a group of people who charged to evaluate and then recommend to the bishop whether a person should continue to the next stage of the ordination process) decided they needed to stay more closely connected to the candidates. So the commission assigned one of its members to be a “special buddy” to every student. There were lots of reasons this connection was ineffective. One, most didn’t take the time to develop authentic trusting relationships with their ‘protege.’ Second, the foundation of the relationship was based on evaluation and, ultimately, judgment. It was a power relationship that did not endear the seminarian to be forth-coming with much.
At another point, the Standing Committee (a totally separate group of people from the Commission on Ministry, but also charged with evaluating and making judgment on ordination) decided that they too needed to be more connected to each individual “in their care.” I was told of my new “friend” via a form letter. Needless to say, this didn’t alleviate any sense of disconnection from my standpoint as a seminarian. In fact, by this point, I started to wonder if it was better for me to feel disconnected to ‘Mother‘ and stay as far away from her dangerously clueless ways. So I became determined to stick out this time of free-falling alone, under the radar of base camp.
Finally, graduation arrived and soon to follow, the day of ordination. I was looking forward to reconnecting with my faith family of origin. I imagined a return to the hearth, reuniting to the mutuality of former relations, to the community where I could trust the connections to be strong, safe and supportive. Little did I know, that the evaluation process was not over by any stretch of the imagination. Thus the power differential with representatives of the diocese would continue to create uneasy connections. And my connections with my former faith family — well there’s no such thing as going home.
Blog Wordle
A friend of mine is a small business owner; she designs and creates jewelry, mostly spiritual. It is more than just a “job” that produces income, it is her vocation. She is an artist and her art/work reflects her spiritual life. She asked me recently if she should start a blog. She is very busy and doesn’t have time for another “hobby” or a burdensome commitment that doesn’t have substantial personal or economic benefit. And she already writes about faith and art so she doesn’t need to blog for the purpose of a spiritual discipline. So, how shall I answer her? First, I would say she needs to spend time listening online to see what others are saying about the art of religious jewelry. Are there any good examples of jewelry artists who are finding blogs as a means toward profit? I suggest she go to http://technorati.com/ the “mother lode” of blog directories.
First, she should check out her own name and company and see if anyone is talking about her. If so, I’d say she has the only reason she needs right there to begin blogging. If people are talking about you, you want to be in that conversation! She should also search for her products and her competitors. Then, she needs to search keywords for her industry (”jewelry,” “artist,” “religious” no quotes) and see if there are other business owners/artist blogging about that niche. She will find an extensive list to search through since Technorati currently searches through 22 million sites and over a billion links. But she can narrow her search by only sorting those with “a lot of authority.” High authority (like a “grade” given by Technorati) means the site is very popular. I didn’t find anything when I searched using these three tags: jewelry artist religious and clicked it to narrow the search to “with a lot of authority” (opportunity, Nancy!) So I took off “religious” and searched “with any authority.” I found three appealing blogs right off the bat, at the very top of the list. They weren’t high on the list because of their authority rank; they were listed on top because these three writers had recently published posts. Tip: fresh content is uber important!
Let’s check them out and see what we think: First up is Make Me, a blog at blog.simonewalsh.com. Immediately, I feel attracted to Simone and her weblog because her latest post is filled with bright colorful pictures of the flowerbed in her front yard and I usually like people who garden. Then I am surprised to see she’s from Australia and I think “Holy Dooley! What’s that sheila from down under doing trying to make a quid right here in my living room? Good onya!” Scanning just a bit more I find out I also like her jewelry, just not as much as my friend’s! Next, I check out http://www.roseofsharonjewelry.com/blog/ because the title of her blog is fantastic. But upon clicking, I’m almost knocked over by how “lavender” everything is and I imagine her to be old and passe and smell of moth balls. I’m not encouraged when I see she’s talking about broken ankles and sprained body parts in her first post. but I have to smile when I read further on and she tells herself to give up the roller derby. That’s my kind of sense of humor so I decide to scroll down a bit more. But, oh my(!) … her jewelry, like her lavender and lacey web design is too fussy for my taste. I take my exit and go to my third site The Magpie’s Treasure and once again, I find myself drawn to the artist/business owner because of her most recent post. The artist, Jodi, tells us she’s listening to an audio book of Sue Monk Kidd on her IPod while she works in her studio and I heart Sue Monk Kidd! Jodi and I have a lot in common, I imagine. Her previous post has a picture of her sketches and she describes a bit of her creative process.
This is very fascinating but I’ve run out of time and I can’t even check out her jewelry. But I see she has lots of other social media accounts so I assume she must be very friendly and amenable. I click on her RSS feed button because I know I won’t remember to go back and check out her blog so I’ll let her RSS bring her blog to my Google Reader every time she updates! Great; good session I’ve imagined having with my friend. But before she leaves the Technorati site, I’d also she suggest she search my blog: sarahgbennett.com/MyWonderings and click that little heart icon that says favorite it! if for no other reason than out of pity that my blog has such low authority. Favoriting will help increase my authority at Technorati. And, btw, I have substantially helped out the authority status of Simone, Sharon and Jodi because I have given them unreciprocated ”inbound links” in this blog — that’s very valuable currency in the blogosphere! I would so be your BFF if you ever gave me some link love.
Nancy Denmark 14k Ring with Diamond
If I were F2F (that’s ‘face-to-face, Mom!) with my artist friend, we’d probably take a latte break right now because I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy in friendship fever. Then I’d suggest she continue to look for possible competitors friends by doing the same type of searches at http://blogsearch.google.com/ and http://search.twitter.com. While I was surfing to see other “must search” sites, I came across this article in the Search Engine Journal and I started feeling guilty that I have neglected my own blog so much! She should probably check out this list, too; I know I am. Anyway, back to Nancy, that’s my artist friend. Nancy and I met too many years ago to politely admit (I think we staffed a Happening together) but then lost touch when I lost touch with … well, anyway. We recently reconnected on Facebook and have developed a very nice, significant relationship.
If I were in the market for a piece of a religious jewelry, prior to this reconnection, I probably would have headed over to one of the malls in Austin and grabbed something from James Avery. I wouldn’t have even thought of Nancy because I didn’t have her in my brain’s RAM. But now, because of our social networking, I wouldn’t consider going to another jeweler. Because unlike generic jewelry, religious jewelry is bought to be an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace. To have the opportunity to add an even richer level of meaning to that investment by actually knowing the artist and knowing what she was thinking while she was creating it — well, that would make the piece even more precious than I could have imagined. And that, at the end of the day, is why I think Nancy should have a blog, for the personal connection; to connect to people online like she has me.
In today’s market, one needs to be online. One needs to have a personal brand and a business brand online and needs to engage in online conversations. I think the extraordinary personal nature that is now so popular with social media sites is due, in part, to society’s knee-jerk reaction to the business ethos of the previous decades. As the Mom and Pop Shops got run out of business, the commercial world became so “professional” and starched. It became distant, impersonal and corporate. Any concern over market aloofness was exacerbated as more and more of the marketplace disappeared into cyberspace. You couldn’t even talk to a person on the phone; it was all automated! But recently, the internet has moved into a second stage of life, called “2.0,” and smart technology tools are enabling easy and comfortable conversations (many in real-time) for those of us who aren’t that technologically smart. And that is changing expectations. We expect to see the human face of the marketplace because we can! Many, many people are slow to see the tectonic shift that is occurring. And that is to Nancy’s advantage. Because the early adopter gets the worm. Fortunately, there are some who have already adopted this new media way; so there are many people out there on whom to “eavesdrop.” We need to lurk around these sites. We need to hear what’s being said, and read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest what others are doing so right.
Oh, by the way, don’t tell my mother how rude I was not to introduce Nancy to you properly at the very beginning of our conversation. Everyone, this is Nancy. This is her Facebook Page. Let me get Nancy to tell us about her work and (I copied it off her Facebook Page info):
I am an artist with a primary interest in creating jewelry to help the wearer communicate the love of God. I received a BFA with a specialization in Jewelry and Metalsmithing, from the University of Houston in 1976. I started my own business in 1980 and have since been designing and crafting jewelry as a full time vocation. I mainly work in precious metals, sterling, and 14K gold and often incorporate gemstones. I am a one person business. “I am the company and the company is me!”
In the late 80’s, after hearing a stewardship sermon, I felt called to communicate the love of God through my jewelry work. I understood it to be my responsibility, as a good steward of my artistic gifts, to create a body of work for the Glory of God. Through the years, I have continued to add to that original body of work, which is now over 60 designs strong. My ministry is sharing the love and glory of God through my design work, offering the wearer a “love story” to visibly wear and verbally share.
I also make many other things besides fine jewelry. I create jewelry beads, wall and hand crosses with polymer clay. One of my newer creative expressions is knitting scarves and belts (not yet on the website) (sarah’s edit: because it got uploaded a few days ago!). I consider my fine jewelry making my 40 hour work week and the rest is fun art therapy to keep my creative juices flowing and fresh. All my extra avenues of creative expression seem to be an endless play and experimentation with color and texture.
Don’t you just love her? I knew you would. And I’m so glad you got to know her today! Come back anytime and meet some other friends of mine. Oh, and by the way, see that RSS feed button up at the top right? Click it and I’ll bring my blog to your reader in case you forget to check in for a while. If you don’t know what a reader is, I’ll tell you in another post. In the meantime, see that email form right below the RSS feed? Fill out your email and I’ll send you my blog updates right to your inbox! Love chatting with you all and I really enjoyed the latte!
facebook icon that religious guy
Recently, a facebook friend sent me a funny blog post, Needing Some Closure, about a contest for the “holiest” email closing. Rather than ending with a secular “Sincerely,” they use In Him or Because of His Grace or one novel notation used In His Grip. The post cracked me up; in part because I get annoyed by these public service announcements. But another part of me laughed because, back when I was pretty green-under-the-collar, I really used to worry about how I should sign my notes! I didn’t want to come across as overly pious but I also didn’t want to offend the overly pious by not being very pious. And then there was the whole plus sign problem. Sometimes I saw it in front of people’s names, sometimes, after. I wonder how many times I did it wrong before it was pointed out to me that Bishops put the + in front of their names and the rest of us clergy add our addition at the end. Anyway, to make a very short story long, all this is to lead up to my point (and I’m sure you’ve all followed my logical train of thought that led me here): there should be rules for the religious on Facebook. I couldn’t find a list on Google, so I decided to create my own. Feel free to add, amend or delete as you see fit.
- Script Your Scripture: Don’t post random, stand-alone scripture verses as status updates. If you have a personal response to a scripture verse, then by all means, share it. If its true what they say that “Content is King” in social media, then “Content in Context is King of Kings,” brothers and sisters!
- Shade Your Sonshine: Gratitude is great; but too much of it, all the time, just comes across as fake and disingenuous. Some of you might want to pepper your updates with a “Golly gee, I’m sure struggling to find an attitude of gratitude after I was mugged and abducted by aliens.”
- Lay Off the Lament: Don’t go to the other extreme and be a Whiny Baby either. I love Eeyore, but I don’t want him as my facebook friend.
- Police Your Piece: If you’re going to represent the Supreme Representer, you might want to consider being political correct. I know a lot of people think they are Truth-Telling when they bash the concept of p.c., but really, its a matter of being sensitive to others’ feelings, not ignoring reality.
- Mute the Mic: Speaking of politics; there’s a lot of it on Facebook. Sometimes I’d like my very political friends to get off their soapboxes just long enough to tell me something else that’s going on in their life. The same can be said for my religious friends. Every once in a while, post something sordidly secular.
- Fav Your Flock: If you’re clergy, don’t post that you don’t have time for Facebook. Because that’s the same as saying you don’t have time for the people in your church that are on Facebook. Besides, you sound like you’re way more important than we know you to be.
- Halt the Haughty: You don’t have to spend a lot of time on Facebook and no one expects you to read everyone’s updates. But its nice, its polite, and it just may be the exercise in humility that you need, to comment every so often on someone else’s posts. Listening can be your friend.
- Cheer Your Child: Do LOL. I’m not saying you have to LMAO (or LYAO) or other extreme bursts of humor. But many religious folk tend to take themselves way too seriously. Lighten up! Enjoy a bit of silly and playful and Will Ferrell.
- Face Your Facts: Use a real picture of yourself. Fill out a full profile, favorite books, movies, and all. Share yourself! That’s the point.
- Hug the Humanity: Just be yourself. Accept your human condition. And don’t worry so much what others will think of you. It’s not like there’s anyone’s passing judgment and creating a set of rules!
What have I missed? What annoys you about the really religious on Facebook? Have you got any good examples of over-the-top status updates? No names, please, let’s protect the innocent (those in their faith community!).
On the Wings of He Who Soars Above and Takes Me Along For the Ride,
Sarah(plus)
p.s. Please don’t assume that my general criticism of others is, in any way, shape, or form, an invitation to criticize my own, delightful and charming status updates.
Angst of Ember Season
It’s that time again! Today, Holy Cross Day, begins another week of Ember Days. I’m aware of this because several of my networked friends are in the ordination process and posting laments (good liturgical word) about the need to write their Bishops this week. Just reading their posts made my stomach start overproducing acid and my Catholic-guilt and worry start to rear its ugly head. That last effect is particularly annoying to me because I have never been a Roman Catholic. But I am so good at this Catholic rite that I’m pretty sure Peter’s going to count me as one of his own when I meet him at the Pearly Gates.
For my non-liturgical or low-church or unchurched friends, let me explain the issue. According to ancient tradition, there are four times a year (Ember Days) during which an aspirant/postulant/candidate/ordinand (one who is in the ordination process) is to write a letter to their Bishop. Here’s a link to a pretty decent explanation of the tradition on Wikipedia. Even though I had been an Episcopalian all my life and worked in the Episcopal Church since I was in my early 20s, I had never heard of this tradition before I became an aspirant/postulant/etc.. So that gives you a little hint about just how important this tradition is to the average pew-sitter. They’re on the level of Rogation Days (I bet most readers have to google that too,) merely step-children of the Liturgical Calendar. But we’ve all met those phariseedual types (I just coined that word, so please give me all attribution rights) that are quite legalistic and rigid about, well, everything. My diocese leaned toward that Phariseedic side.
Some of my friends came from more libertarian diocese where the Bishop didn’t care about getting Ember Day letters. But as my luck tends to run, my diocese was one of those that saw this tradition as an opportunity for an ordination fitness litmus test. I was told that my ember letters better be on the desk of my bishop before the last day of the week or there would be dire, dire consequences. It was a thinly veiled threat that one could be booted out of the process for failure to comply and that any so-called ‘emergency’ such as accidental decapitation, house fire, alien abduction would not constitute sufficient cause for posting your letter late. It would only prove that you did not adequately prepare for the unexpected and therefore you obviously couldn’t be counted on to provide leadership in an institution (the Church) where preparedness is kind of a big deal (that whole 2nd coming, apocalypse part).
It wasn’t that I was a procrastinator or unaware of the liturgical calendar. I’m rarely late for anything. But I never knew “what” I was suppose to write. We were told to let the Bishop know how you were doing, how you were coming along, in the whole ” priestly formation” thing. But, really, you couldn’t do that, not honestly. I mean, we’re talking a serious Catch 22 here! If you said, “I am really coming along, feeling myself more and more formed into a priest every day” one might interpret you as too confident, arrogant, and not introspective. But if you said, “I am coming to realize just how unworthy and unprepared I am to ever step foot in a pulpit and proclaim the gospel” one might interpret you as too insecure, neurotic, and pitiful. You wouldn’t want to admit that the seminary experiencing is all-consuming and is proving to be quite a stressor on your family life. But it almost always is. The Bishop knows the Church will be even harder stress on your family. You wouldn’t want to admit that the higher-level of critical theological thinking is wrecking havoc with your faith and you aren’t sure what, if anything, you believe anymore. But it almost always does. The Bishop knows that the Church will be even more destructive to your idealism and child-like innocence.
So, I would fret over these stupid letters ad-nauseum. I would have paid good money if someone would just write the darn thing for me. That’s why, this morning, upon reading my friends’ ember posts, I had this brilliant, genius of an idea to ’sell’ automated, computer-generated Ember Day Letters that could be tailored to individuals through the client providing a few custom words (nouns, adjectives, and an adverb or two.) Like a Mad Lib. The fancy name is I would utilize a phrasal template word game program. I do have one small problem. That is, I never could figure out how to write an ember day letter so I have no idea what to put in my template. I need your help; consider it your christian duty. If you will provide a sentence or two in the comments below this post, I will share a percentage of my Mad LibEmbers royalties with you. Thank you for your participation!
One of the most heart-wrenching, gut-wrenching aspects of hospital chaplaincy is watching the panic-stricken face of an elderly person who suddenly and unexpectedly loses their spouse of, say, fifty some-odd years. There is a moment in that early stage of the grief process that the survivor realizes that they don’t know how to live without their companion or even if they want to live. I don’t mean in the sense that the pain is so great that life is unbearable. That is a horror shared by many different types of survivors in sudden death situations. I’m talking about a realization that dawn on widows who have lived so long and so richly at the side of a life-partner, that their entire world-view is dependent upon their mutual perspective. I’m not talking about when a survivor becomes aware that there are certain life functions that they now have to learn, such as balancing the checkbook or doing the laundry. Though, that is a real and difficult aspect of loss. I’m talking about a dawning realization that one no longer knows how to be without the other. I’m talking about something on the level of breathing; of involuntary biological systems.
When I first became aware of this dynamic I was awe-struck by the power of a love that is so pervasive and long-lasting. I was awed by the psychological defenses that are necessarily built up to protect one from ever imagining life without their lover at their side. These widows were all smart, grounded, psychologically healthy people. They knew that no one lived for ever. They had watched their friends die and their friends survive. But they didn’t know what they didn’t know. It is an impossible knowing in a love this profound. When I first became aware of this dynamic I was afraid to look at it, afraid to be in its presence; because I, too, could not imagine for them a future. I was afraid I would fall to pieces and add to their pain. But I could no more leave them alone or pretend I didn’t notice what I saw. I just had to take a leap of faith and go over the edge. And when I did step into that scary, frightening free-fall space with them, I stepped in to the Kingdom of God.
I stepped into that absolute future, the sphere of the impossible, terra incognita. This is the realm that God beckons us to join her; where you must leave all your known resources at the door. In this kingdom, there is only room for faith, hope and love. None of our past experiences or knowledge can help us here; for each time we enter, we must go empty handed. For we cannot truly know hope if we have not known hopelessness; we cannot recognize love if we have never known utter disregard; we cannot know faith if we’ve never known doubt. It is in this absolute future where the wild things are. It is in this land of unlikeness where Beauty falls in love with the Beast, where things that were cast down are being raised up, and things which had grown old are being made new. It is where the Impossible becomes possible. It is where the lion lays down with the lamb.
Have you ever had to walk into this Impossible Future? When? What happened? What did you find there?
What other images (songs, photos, art, literature, poetry) can you share that helps us to understand this Absolute Future from the foreseeable kind of future?
“In the world the powerful lord it over the others. This must not happen among you” (Luke 22:25-26).
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When I was growing up, the Sunday school children who were celebrating their birthdays in the upcoming week knelt at the altar rail for a special blessing by the priest. The priest would lay his warm, big hands on my head and ask God to “bless and guide me as my days increase; to strengthen me when I stand; comfort me when discouraged or sorrowful and raise me up when I fall.” What an amazing request: that God would pick me up if I fell down. Boy, that would help matters! I was so hopeful that God really would pick me up if I fell down. I hoped my brother and sisters would be there when it happened so they could see how much God loved me. I hoped I’d remember to say “Thank You” afterward and to be charming and memorable when we finally met.
Then I wondered why God hadn’t picked me up off the ground up to this point in my life if that’s what gods were supposed to do. I wondered if I had to fall in a terrible manner before God would take time out of (his) busy day to help me to my feet. Maybe I had to fall down a cliff and get snagged in a crag or something equally dramatic dramatic to warrant such extraordinary divine attention. After all, I had seen the picture of God’s son taking care of that lamb. I wondered if lambs were more worthy of God’s help than little girls like me who usually fell down because I was doing something stupid. Like running around the pool deck when I had been told many times that it was dangerous. Or falling out of a tree because I grabbed a limb that only a novice tree-climber would think could hold them. Or I was reading a library book while walking in line back to homeroom and tripped over a break in the sidewalk. I figured little girls fell and hurt their knee, elbows, and bottoms or their pride because they weren’t good girls. Lambs, on the other hand, seemed like innocent victims of circumstance. They just put their heads down and focused obediently on the task of munching grass when the ground suddenly disappeared beneath them. In my understanding, the lamb was in this precarious position because the shepherd had been negligent and not adequately supervised snack-time. God chose to intervene then because it was a matter of justice; a matter of restoring the balance. 
God never did pick me up like I wanted. And I fell a lot. Although mostly, other than scraped skin, the only thing that got hurt was my pride. That got bruised a lot. The only thing that helped my bruised pride was time and that didn’t work all the time. I still feel my face get warm remembering when I rode my bicycle straight into the back bumper of a car parked on the street curb. I had been looking intently to to the side at the tennis courts of the Pierremont Oaks to see if the love of my childhood was teaching a class. Unfortunately, he was. And my stomach still gets tight when I drive over the Horace Wilkinson Bridge to Baton Rouge. That’s the location of my first big-girl fall.
I had to drop out of college in October of my junior year because of clinical depression. For weeks I had been able to do nothing but lie in my bed and cry while my friends looked on in confusion and frustration. Eventually, the school authorities called my mother who had to drive the four hours from Shreveport to get me and my stuff and to help me officially withdraw from the university due to medical disability – sub-categorized “mental health issues.” I was told I wouldn’t be able to return within a certain time frame without a psychiatric evaluation. As Mom and I were driving over that bridge, the shame of it all filled my stomach. I was crazy! I was certifiable! I was a loser! I had failed. And everyone would now know that I couldn’t manage what was expected. Where the hell was God now I wondered? Surely God could expend a little divine energy to set things right for me. Because, frankly, it did seem to me a matter of justice.
Prior to this depression I had become a fanatic of (His) Son. I had prayed the prayer of salvation. I had been re-baptized to get the immersion experience. I had prayed the Prayer of Salvation and followed the Roman Road. I had studied the Four Spiritual Laws and led numerous people to Christ. And now, when I’m in this much pain, couldn’t God bother to show up and pick me up? Really? What more did I have to do or be to be considered worth His time? 
I am so human. And I hate that. But, I’m trying to learn to manage that disappointment. I’ve been trying to learn that since that day driving over the Horace Wilkinson bridge. The day I exposed my human-ness to my sorority sisters. It’s been over twenty-five years now. A lot more people have found out I am human. When I’m not trying to keep that a secret, I feel free. Free to be me. I eventually went back to college and did real well. I think I made A’s in part because I was free to fail since I knew I could survive it. God still hasn’t ever picked me up like I’ve always wanted — but I do get up. It just isn’t with ease or with grace or very quick. Have you ever seen a middle-aged, out-of-shape, never-ever snow skier try to right herself on a slope for the first time? Then you get the picture. It’s not a divine look if you’ll pardon the saying. Next time you have an opportunity, watch the adult never-evers on a bunny slope. And then ponder this: “God came down and was incarnate and made man” – just like that flailing fool in the powder blue parka. That makes me ROTFLMAO.
I feel free to laugh with my foibles because I take my freedom to be me very seriously. I take my freedom from depression with tremendous gratitude. I don’t always love my process but it is my process. It is a process that has taken me to where faith was not an experienced reality; to a place where I could do nothing but wait to see if God would pick me up. 
“Free To Be Me,” Francesca Battistelli
Reflection based on Center for Action and Contemplation series “Freedom”
- How has grace brought me freedom?
- How does one trust God’s process?
- What is free will to me?
- What experiences of love have set you free?
Solipsistic – soh lip SIS tik
self-involved, as though no other feelings, thoughts or attitudes exist or are important but one’s own: from solipsism (Latin, the self alone), the philosophical theory that nothing exists but one’s own consciousness
I loved finding this word as I was digging around trying to find something to name this blog. For one, I’m not sure why I would want to publish my own random thoughts and opinions. I don’t have any purpose or targeted audience. I’m not trying to create any grand movement. I’m just curious about this blogging thing. My blog serves no other purpose than to hear myself talk, so to speak … or so to write. I’m not even sure that I will blog.
When I was a little girl, I always fancied that I would keep a journal. It seemed that everyone who ever became somebody when they grew up kept fantastic journals that were later used to analyze how they became so special and unique. Certain that I, too, would be famous, I would buy precious bound journals. But after a few postings, I bored myself and quit. I wonder if that is some terrible foreshadowing?
Throughout the years, as an English major in college, as a divinity student/priest, as a person in recovery, I have been encouraged to journal. Never would. Something too scary, too inflexible, about seeing my thoughts incarnate on paper. If I was forced to journal by an educator or a director, I did so with great resentment. I suppose I felt that If I didn’t trust myself to like what I thought, I certainly wasn’t going to trust anyone else.
But I hope this blog will be the beginning of a new way for me. I hope this will become an outward and visible sign that I no longer care whether anyone likes what I think or not and that eventually, I will come to really like what I think.
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