We're pretty rich. I've mentioned before, my outrageous superfluity, almost excess, of amazing friends. I am astounded by it often actually. And of course, we're regular rich - one of the top 0.72% richest people in the world (next time you're feeling broke, check your income here - it's quite sobering). We have enough money to pay for more than adequate housing, above-average medical care, food & drink and footwear. We drive a safe car and can always put fuel in it. And we holiday in amazing spots (14 days....) and have a frikkin' boat. We are regular rich.
Sometimes of course, we forget. Most days actually. Much like the friend thing whereby even though I have so many amazing friends, I still feel lonely with surprising regularity, when it comes to our richness, we usually feel broke and poor. So broke and poor do we feel that we become blind to the perks of our other-worldly affluence, which I'm pretty sure makes Jesus so mad he wants to drink gin out of the cat dish (did I get that quote right? I know Ms. Lamott mixes Jesus and gin with aplomb but I can't bring myself to actually look it up to make sure I have it right).
For the last week or so, Nate has been chewing on his hands and pointing to his teeth anytime he's asked what hurts. Very teething-ish, except for the part where he has all his teeth. When he wouldn't sleep last night, Scott wondered aloud how much discomfort I would need to see before I called the dentist. I had been putting it off because I was afraid that an abscess would ruin our upcoming glamorous holiday. But I sucked it up and phoned this morning. Sandra the kind phone-answerer slotted us in for 11:45, assuring me that it was exactly the right thing to do to get it checked out. At the appointed time, we found ourselves in Dr. Gerry's Happiest Place On Earth dental office where said Dr told me that in fact young Nate hadn't finished with his last molars and that this was really just teething with a bit of gum inflammation at the site that would require a bit more diligent brushing while the tooth finished erupting (I LOVE that word for teething. Yes. It. Is. Erupting). Relieved, if not feeling a bit foolish, we found our way back through the ocean wonderland to the reception area where Sandra waved me out - "Don't worry about it. See you next time."
Now let it be said that I hadn't really worried about it to begin with. Well, maybe a little, in that I figured I wouldn't get reimbursed by the insurance people for at least a week and maybe that would be a drag. But now I really, truly didn't have to worry about it at all.
And this is the part where I realized how ludicrously rich we are. Because I used to live in a community where children didn't see dentists, ever. Or if they did, it was in a crappy public clinic where they got crappy care and because they hadn't had decent care ever before, they required major intervention and so it was terrible and crappily-provided. And if they did ever have to pay for it, it wasn't an inconvenience for a few days, it was a grocery bill or maybe a rental payment.
And now here was me just taking my kid into the happiest place on earth to have his teeth checked for free because I was kind of worried about ruining my exotic holiday. I didn't think twice about calling, about how to get there, about whether they would be kind to me, or respectful. I didn't think about who I would call to borrow money from if it turned out to be something serious, or how I would explain to my husband that he would have to double-shift all month so that the kid wouldn't be in pain, or loose a tooth.
That's what makes us rich. Not just the balance in black in our bank account. Or even the boat and exotic holiday. It's the social ease, the not-worrying moments that work out because we in the top 1% and the world is set up to take care of us. It's that part.
Jesus didn't have a lot of patience for the rich and that always makes me nervous. I worry about showing up and having the Lord say, "I don't know you." I'm not sure what to do about it. I feel a lot like the rich man who wanted to follow Jesus but just couldn't bring himself to sell all his possessions. It's not so much that I can't let go of the boat, but more that I can't let go of the privilege. And if my time in Camden taught me anything, it's that even when I'm poor, I can't shake the things that make me rich, so deeply sewn into me are they.
So then I guess I just get to hope that knowing the depth of the poverty of my own soul, or at least the shallow parts of the abyss that is me, will be enough for Jesus to look a second time and say, "Oh wait... no, I think I do remember you. We met once. Well, come on in and let's see if we can get this figured out."
Thursday, January 06, 2011
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
Another Downside
I'm actually not sure that these two things are related, but I think they may be. The first being the fact that I'm a Universalist. The second being that I'm am now on the brink of deep depression following Team Canada's loss in the World Juniors' gold medal hockey game this afternoon.
To be clear, I am not ruined by Canada's first-place-loser status in hockey. Our national supremacy in all things pucked is not central to my well-being. I am a Canucks fan - we lose things. I can handle it.
But sometimes I can't. Not specifically the hockey loss though. Just the presence of losing in the world in general I think. Like at the beginning of the Olympics last year, when it didn't snow and then the luger died and then the arm didn't go up in the opening ceremony and then Jennifer Heil didn't win gold... it nearly wrecked me. Knowing that John Furlong was somewhere in the city despairing, embarassed, considering how to live with what was shaping up to be an epic fail.... I was beside myself. But then Alexandre Bilodeau won and there was hope for the world and by the end of the Games, I thought I would be happy forever.
But now those little Canadian boys have lost in a terribly terrible way and I am pretty sure the entire world sucks. Just knowing they have to be disappointed and feel bleak and like they want to quit everything - it makes me bleak too.
But here's the kicker - I'm not blue about hockey. I'm suddenly blue about ME!
Our house is too dirty, my kids are too poorly raised, probably I'm unemployable and not one person truly likes me. I have a terrible wardrobe, we'll never have enough money and I'm too lazy to ever achieve anything. And I don't have any dreams. Because I have no passion.
Seriously. It's like there's an I Suck channel in my brain and somehow believing that others may be tuned into their own I Suck channel makes me switch over to mine. It's ludicrous. To say nothing of annoying. There isn't enough counselling in the world for my brand of crazy.
On the upside, the Canucks are winning... Maybe I'll be okay after all.
To be clear, I am not ruined by Canada's first-place-loser status in hockey. Our national supremacy in all things pucked is not central to my well-being. I am a Canucks fan - we lose things. I can handle it.
But sometimes I can't. Not specifically the hockey loss though. Just the presence of losing in the world in general I think. Like at the beginning of the Olympics last year, when it didn't snow and then the luger died and then the arm didn't go up in the opening ceremony and then Jennifer Heil didn't win gold... it nearly wrecked me. Knowing that John Furlong was somewhere in the city despairing, embarassed, considering how to live with what was shaping up to be an epic fail.... I was beside myself. But then Alexandre Bilodeau won and there was hope for the world and by the end of the Games, I thought I would be happy forever.
But now those little Canadian boys have lost in a terribly terrible way and I am pretty sure the entire world sucks. Just knowing they have to be disappointed and feel bleak and like they want to quit everything - it makes me bleak too.
But here's the kicker - I'm not blue about hockey. I'm suddenly blue about ME!
Our house is too dirty, my kids are too poorly raised, probably I'm unemployable and not one person truly likes me. I have a terrible wardrobe, we'll never have enough money and I'm too lazy to ever achieve anything. And I don't have any dreams. Because I have no passion.
Seriously. It's like there's an I Suck channel in my brain and somehow believing that others may be tuned into their own I Suck channel makes me switch over to mine. It's ludicrous. To say nothing of annoying. There isn't enough counselling in the world for my brand of crazy.
On the upside, the Canucks are winning... Maybe I'll be okay after all.
Monday, January 03, 2011
Worth
I bought goats' milk at Thrifty's yesterday. I got home and went to put it away and realized the expiry date was the next day, today. Argh.
Tonight, I got in the car and drove all the way down and took my milk to the customer service desk, where three employees stood talking. As soon as I approached, they all turned to face me and the elder said, "How can we help you?" I explained my dilemma and asked if I could perhaps exchange for a fresher container. "Of course. That shouldn't have been on the shelf" said the first. "Can I go get you another?" said the next, and off he went to fetch fresh dairy.
What?
I expect that it will be exchanged because really, that's the right thing to do. But I also expect that it will be difficult and annoying and that someone will imply that I'm a moron with unusually high expectations of a store.
Thrifty's is probably 15% more expensive than ye olde Superstore where I most often shop. But man, I'm pretty sure it's worth it to me to be surprised. At least on the weeks I feel rich, it is.
Of course, this whole post also makes me feel about 78.
Tonight, I got in the car and drove all the way down and took my milk to the customer service desk, where three employees stood talking. As soon as I approached, they all turned to face me and the elder said, "How can we help you?" I explained my dilemma and asked if I could perhaps exchange for a fresher container. "Of course. That shouldn't have been on the shelf" said the first. "Can I go get you another?" said the next, and off he went to fetch fresh dairy.
What?
I expect that it will be exchanged because really, that's the right thing to do. But I also expect that it will be difficult and annoying and that someone will imply that I'm a moron with unusually high expectations of a store.
Thrifty's is probably 15% more expensive than ye olde Superstore where I most often shop. But man, I'm pretty sure it's worth it to me to be surprised. At least on the weeks I feel rich, it is.
Of course, this whole post also makes me feel about 78.
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Consolation & Desolation (aka, Crap Theology)
Okay, that may be a bit strong. Probably the trained pastor-types who lead at our place of worship have done some thinking about the idea here, but I will tell you that in the execution, there was some Crap Theology this morning.
To explain, the first Sunday of the year at our church is the community's opportunity to share Desolations and Consolations. This morning, this was explained variously as "What you are most and least thankful for", "What has been most life-giving and what has been most life-sucking", "What you have needed that you received, what you are still waiting for..."
The beauty of this service is of course, a community agreeing that God is Loving and Good through all manner of circumstance. Remembering together that many have been given much, and grieving together with those who have lost much is the heart of community, is what Being The Church is best at I think.
But here is the crap for me: The process affirms a world view wherein all good things are God-given and all bad things are just opportunities for God to substitute in a Good Thing that we can thank Him for - it turns the Creator of All into a candy dispenser that you sometimes have to smack around to get what you want delivered.
To explain, the first Sunday of the year at our church is the community's opportunity to share Desolations and Consolations. This morning, this was explained variously as "What you are most and least thankful for", "What has been most life-giving and what has been most life-sucking", "What you have needed that you received, what you are still waiting for..."
The beauty of this service is of course, a community agreeing that God is Loving and Good through all manner of circumstance. Remembering together that many have been given much, and grieving together with those who have lost much is the heart of community, is what Being The Church is best at I think.
But here is the crap for me: The process affirms a world view wherein all good things are God-given and all bad things are just opportunities for God to substitute in a Good Thing that we can thank Him for - it turns the Creator of All into a candy dispenser that you sometimes have to smack around to get what you want delivered.
Friends were over a few weeks ago, and showed us a clip of Jerry Seinfeld doing stand-up on David Letterman. It's a long clip and for our purposes today, the relevant parts start around a minute twenty and then pick up again around the five minute mark. He says this: "The greatest lesson you can learn in life is that sucks and great are pretty close.... [Actually] sucks and great are the exact same thing."
And this is why this morning's exercise ends up being crap theology: we see through a glass darkly and we can not know what is Great and what Sucks from God's point of view. All we've got is how we feel about it with our limited understanding. When we start giving God credit for what at this moment feels Great, we end up in a dilemma about what to do with the things that Sucks. It's how we end up with poems like "Footprints" (my favourite response to which is found here in The Onion). And it's futile because I think Jerry's probably right - sucks and great are the exact same thing.
Probably I am just judgy and a bad congregant for being irked by this. It seems a bit harsh to be down on people standing up to acknowledge their gratitude for Jesus' faithfulness through their baby's near-death, their unsafe living situations or their on-going loneliness since their wife's death. I want to hear people tell of their experience of God Coming Near, and was heartened to know that indeed God has been With Us so faithfully through the year that has past.
I guess I'm objecting to what I think we used to call a false dichotomy in a class I took one time. Or maybe what I mean is that I don't think God is either Great, or just Sucks. I think God just Is and how we feel about our world at any given moment probably isn't a supergood measure of how well God is doing.
Ugh. This isn't coming together. I think this may be a Blog Fail. Sometimes I just want to be Anglican.
Saturday, January 01, 2011
New Day, New Year
I like startings overs. Redo's are one of my favourite parenting options, sometimes even for the kids. I do enough things wrong in a given day to be glad to try again, at least once or twice.
The New Year is our culture's most storied Do Over. Baby New Year, clean slates, fresh starts, a brand new Life To Do List cleverly marketed as Resolutions... all these ways to take on Starting Again.
But alas, there is no Starting Again in this life. There's just pressing on, moving forward, picking up, going a few more steps. I find this liberating, suprising for a girl who loves her redo's.
The upside to learning that the new year isn't just another chance to Get It Right is that there is no pressure do so. Praise be! While there is no erasing of yesterday's errors, neither is there any expectation of foiling tomorrow's foibles and failures.
Instead, the first day of this next trip around the sun (oh Jimmy, you do have a way with words) is just the first of day of the next trip around the sun. A repeating of the rhythms of our planet, that's about it. A chance to maybe improve, I guess if you're motivated that way. But even then, circumstances are such that you can't really assume that you'll have the same material to work with, so even hoping for improvement might prove unwise.
So I'm just stepping into the year ahead thinking that maybe I'll try for endurance. Or actually, no. I'm hoping for willingness. Willingness. Oh, it's coming together: a friend posted on FB a quote, "For all that has been, thanks. For all that will be, Yes!" (Fr. Richard Rohr). That's what I want to take into 2011 - Yes.
As I did what I call prayer through my Advent Turmoil, wherein I aim my self-absorbed thinking heavenwards and hope that the Lord overhears and does something about me, I did find myself thinking a new thing. When this happens, I call it God Answering, believing as I do that it would require the supernatural to change my mind about anything. This new thing I started thinking about That Person was that the best I could hope to get to in my heart was a willingness to be changed. Hoping to be healed wasn't going to get me anywhere as long as I not-so-secretly preferred to be ill in this particular direction. But maybe hoping to be willing to be healed would be possible.
And so when there is no longer a need for me to make a list of activities to be crossed off a list, or ways to improve, there is all this energy free to say Yes! to be willing to live the life that comes in the year ahead.
I can SO do that. Happy New Year!
The New Year is our culture's most storied Do Over. Baby New Year, clean slates, fresh starts, a brand new Life To Do List cleverly marketed as Resolutions... all these ways to take on Starting Again.
But alas, there is no Starting Again in this life. There's just pressing on, moving forward, picking up, going a few more steps. I find this liberating, suprising for a girl who loves her redo's.
The upside to learning that the new year isn't just another chance to Get It Right is that there is no pressure do so. Praise be! While there is no erasing of yesterday's errors, neither is there any expectation of foiling tomorrow's foibles and failures.
Instead, the first day of this next trip around the sun (oh Jimmy, you do have a way with words) is just the first of day of the next trip around the sun. A repeating of the rhythms of our planet, that's about it. A chance to maybe improve, I guess if you're motivated that way. But even then, circumstances are such that you can't really assume that you'll have the same material to work with, so even hoping for improvement might prove unwise.
So I'm just stepping into the year ahead thinking that maybe I'll try for endurance. Or actually, no. I'm hoping for willingness. Willingness. Oh, it's coming together: a friend posted on FB a quote, "For all that has been, thanks. For all that will be, Yes!" (Fr. Richard Rohr). That's what I want to take into 2011 - Yes.
As I did what I call prayer through my Advent Turmoil, wherein I aim my self-absorbed thinking heavenwards and hope that the Lord overhears and does something about me, I did find myself thinking a new thing. When this happens, I call it God Answering, believing as I do that it would require the supernatural to change my mind about anything. This new thing I started thinking about That Person was that the best I could hope to get to in my heart was a willingness to be changed. Hoping to be healed wasn't going to get me anywhere as long as I not-so-secretly preferred to be ill in this particular direction. But maybe hoping to be willing to be healed would be possible.
And so when there is no longer a need for me to make a list of activities to be crossed off a list, or ways to improve, there is all this energy free to say Yes! to be willing to live the life that comes in the year ahead.
I can SO do that. Happy New Year!
Friday, December 31, 2010
It Goes
I am sneaking in a quick year-end post instead of folding laundry because I suspect I will not have opportunity to do so again today, and I do want at least a note of conclusion to this sweet year. In no particular order, things I am thinking about at the close of 2010 and the verge of 2011:
1) I got to have so many great adventures this year. My roadtrip with Katie was a sweet wonderful and the best kind of sisterly connecting. That space in time feels a bit sacred and I deeply thankful that I got to be with her and spend that week of transition with her. Our Caldwell Family trip to Tofino that followed - so good. Several boat trips, including our ten-day excursion - we can do it! We're doing it! We're sailors! My journey east to visit with Shannon & Shiaheem and then up to Ontario for a retreat with Heidi - again, the kind of gift that makes me think God's favourite thing is making me feel loved.
2) My kids are getting awesomer all the time. We are turning into a family I really like and I'm so thankful for that.
3) Scott is a really good man. I'm lucky to be married to him. We survived the baby years and that feels like a miracle, but mostly it feels like fresh air might be able to be breathed into our little marriage now. There's some space that wasn't there before. Praise be.
4) It is ridiculous how many friends I have. Good friends, the kind of women (some men, but really, they're just the guys who wisely married my clever women friends) who make me a better person just by virtue of knowing them. To be in this life feeling known is a most wondrous gift. To be allowed to know another, also so. I know, deep in my heart, that this wealth of mine isn't every person's and so I am all the more grateful.
5) Writing. I can't tell you how much writing has fed me this year. This silly little blog full of silly little thoughts dressed up as my biggest ideas... it has fed my soul. I am very appreciative for those who take the time to read and affirm and participate and bless and respond. I look forward to deepening this discipline in the year to come.
6) Health. It sounds so trite to my own self, but as people we love wrestle with bodies that do not what the soul demands, I realize that emerging from the year sound in mind and in body is its own miracle. May we use our strength for what is required as long as it is ours.
7) We have a home. A house that is big enough with great friends all around in a safe neighbourhood with space to play and live and grow. We are thankful to Andrew who made our life here possible by sharing this house with us. So thankful.
There is so much more, but my sweet girl has awoken all refreshed and ready to fold laundry. Or at least have her mother's divided attention a tiny bit less divided.
My love to each of you. Especially you.
1) I got to have so many great adventures this year. My roadtrip with Katie was a sweet wonderful and the best kind of sisterly connecting. That space in time feels a bit sacred and I deeply thankful that I got to be with her and spend that week of transition with her. Our Caldwell Family trip to Tofino that followed - so good. Several boat trips, including our ten-day excursion - we can do it! We're doing it! We're sailors! My journey east to visit with Shannon & Shiaheem and then up to Ontario for a retreat with Heidi - again, the kind of gift that makes me think God's favourite thing is making me feel loved.
2) My kids are getting awesomer all the time. We are turning into a family I really like and I'm so thankful for that.
3) Scott is a really good man. I'm lucky to be married to him. We survived the baby years and that feels like a miracle, but mostly it feels like fresh air might be able to be breathed into our little marriage now. There's some space that wasn't there before. Praise be.
4) It is ridiculous how many friends I have. Good friends, the kind of women (some men, but really, they're just the guys who wisely married my clever women friends) who make me a better person just by virtue of knowing them. To be in this life feeling known is a most wondrous gift. To be allowed to know another, also so. I know, deep in my heart, that this wealth of mine isn't every person's and so I am all the more grateful.
5) Writing. I can't tell you how much writing has fed me this year. This silly little blog full of silly little thoughts dressed up as my biggest ideas... it has fed my soul. I am very appreciative for those who take the time to read and affirm and participate and bless and respond. I look forward to deepening this discipline in the year to come.
6) Health. It sounds so trite to my own self, but as people we love wrestle with bodies that do not what the soul demands, I realize that emerging from the year sound in mind and in body is its own miracle. May we use our strength for what is required as long as it is ours.
7) We have a home. A house that is big enough with great friends all around in a safe neighbourhood with space to play and live and grow. We are thankful to Andrew who made our life here possible by sharing this house with us. So thankful.
There is so much more, but my sweet girl has awoken all refreshed and ready to fold laundry. Or at least have her mother's divided attention a tiny bit less divided.
My love to each of you. Especially you.
Saturday, December 25, 2010
And So...
We rest. Two small people tucked in, one big person hopefully also tucked in at a firehall and one contented other full of quiet gratitude for the grace of goodness in these last twenty-four hours.
I forgot the part where the one thing we are really good at, SJ and I, is carving out a space that is only ours. Because of his schedule, the timing changes from year to year, but every year since we were married, we've found a space that is sweetly ours alone, and it girds us for the rest. This year, it was all of Christmas Eve day. This day has always been "ours" so it comes full of rebellious freedom sewn into its edges. Some years have had more space than others though, and this year had extra lovely because there was no work at either end for the boy.
This year it started with a quick trip to the mall for a liquor store run and last minute remembered things at a store or two. Our children were cute and happy and easy to be with and so of course we had to go out for lunch. We wandered over to a favourite spot, The Tomahawk where our children remained of the dreamy variety, pleased and happy and cheery with all. Nate even asked the server for more juice, an accomplished feat for a child who can't speak a language any of us understand.
After long naps for these small people, Uncle Andy came upstairs and we spent the afternoon drinking tea and icing cookies for Santa and watching Christmas movies and then sipping rum & eggnogs and then ordering Chinese food for dinner and then watching more Christmas movies. Once tiny bodies were tucked into bed (an epic endeavour), it was a wrapping extravaganza. Stockings were stuffed by the chimney with care and even mommy kind of hoped Santa soon would be there. And then at eleven, mommy taped the last edge and scooted down to St. Agnes, our local Anglican church, and celebrated midnight mass in that lovely space.
To repeat the words of faith, confess with the Body, commune with the saints was what my soul needed to seal the sweetness of the day. That God provides a collection of people to Be With and taste the wonder of God With Us through their presence - it is a miracle worthy of our celebration. And my soul was glad to celebrate through the Eucharist, moving in its personal-ness and comforting in its universal anonymity.
Armed by our With Each Other, the fullness of Christmas day was so possible. A quiet easy morning with Grandma and Poppa was dreamy and light, with Auntie Katie keeping an eye on us thanks to the miracle of Skype. Over the rest of the day, more family became more of everything else and still, there was a quiet gratitude in my heart that I had already received the Grace.
And now, here we are, mostly tucked in (although at 10:36, someone keeps getting up to check on the fish - thanks Grandma C.) and mostly tidied and mostly still at rest.
It really is Good News.
I forgot the part where the one thing we are really good at, SJ and I, is carving out a space that is only ours. Because of his schedule, the timing changes from year to year, but every year since we were married, we've found a space that is sweetly ours alone, and it girds us for the rest. This year, it was all of Christmas Eve day. This day has always been "ours" so it comes full of rebellious freedom sewn into its edges. Some years have had more space than others though, and this year had extra lovely because there was no work at either end for the boy.
This year it started with a quick trip to the mall for a liquor store run and last minute remembered things at a store or two. Our children were cute and happy and easy to be with and so of course we had to go out for lunch. We wandered over to a favourite spot, The Tomahawk where our children remained of the dreamy variety, pleased and happy and cheery with all. Nate even asked the server for more juice, an accomplished feat for a child who can't speak a language any of us understand.
After long naps for these small people, Uncle Andy came upstairs and we spent the afternoon drinking tea and icing cookies for Santa and watching Christmas movies and then sipping rum & eggnogs and then ordering Chinese food for dinner and then watching more Christmas movies. Once tiny bodies were tucked into bed (an epic endeavour), it was a wrapping extravaganza. Stockings were stuffed by the chimney with care and even mommy kind of hoped Santa soon would be there. And then at eleven, mommy taped the last edge and scooted down to St. Agnes, our local Anglican church, and celebrated midnight mass in that lovely space.
To repeat the words of faith, confess with the Body, commune with the saints was what my soul needed to seal the sweetness of the day. That God provides a collection of people to Be With and taste the wonder of God With Us through their presence - it is a miracle worthy of our celebration. And my soul was glad to celebrate through the Eucharist, moving in its personal-ness and comforting in its universal anonymity.
Armed by our With Each Other, the fullness of Christmas day was so possible. A quiet easy morning with Grandma and Poppa was dreamy and light, with Auntie Katie keeping an eye on us thanks to the miracle of Skype. Over the rest of the day, more family became more of everything else and still, there was a quiet gratitude in my heart that I had already received the Grace.
And now, here we are, mostly tucked in (although at 10:36, someone keeps getting up to check on the fish - thanks Grandma C.) and mostly tidied and mostly still at rest.
It really is Good News.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
My Bad
I have some recurring issues. You don't have to speak with me for too long to figure out what they are, and you might even get bored of hearing about them, given my intense pleasure in relating them, over and over and over again.
Tonight I decided to do a little research to see if there is a cure for what currently ails me. So of course, I looked up the ailment. And as I read about the best ways to fix this, I was forced to admit that the only cure is a cure of me, not a cure of The Other Involved. And in fact, probably no cure is available, maybe just some maintenance treatments that take the edge off. I hate that.
I only want solutions that let TOI know that they are Wrong and I am Right. Ideally TOI would confess their Wrongness publicly and then be transformed into another person who relishes my Rightness and enjoys only telling others about said Rightness.
But even as I type this, I realize that this solution would not be sufficient for a cure. Because I would still be me and would still need to be Righter Than Her. I would find another object for my scorn and derision and at the end of the day, would still have to face my black heart with all its Wrongness.
I think Paul said something about a thorn in his side, right? He asked God to deal with it, but God said back, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” And then Paul said, "Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."
I don't know what I think of Paul really, but I suspect that probably this thorn in my side (namely, my mean-ness and impatience and Need To Be Right) won't go away anytime soon, so maybe I could consider a more pauline nature and trying to delight in this weakness and difficulty, knowing that it is probably True that God's power is made perfect in weakness. I mean, I think I would like to know what it's like to have Christ's power rest on me. I think.
Oh Life. So full of goodness, even in the darkness.
Tonight I decided to do a little research to see if there is a cure for what currently ails me. So of course, I looked up the ailment. And as I read about the best ways to fix this, I was forced to admit that the only cure is a cure of me, not a cure of The Other Involved. And in fact, probably no cure is available, maybe just some maintenance treatments that take the edge off. I hate that.
I only want solutions that let TOI know that they are Wrong and I am Right. Ideally TOI would confess their Wrongness publicly and then be transformed into another person who relishes my Rightness and enjoys only telling others about said Rightness.
But even as I type this, I realize that this solution would not be sufficient for a cure. Because I would still be me and would still need to be Righter Than Her. I would find another object for my scorn and derision and at the end of the day, would still have to face my black heart with all its Wrongness.
I think Paul said something about a thorn in his side, right? He asked God to deal with it, but God said back, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” And then Paul said, "Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."
I don't know what I think of Paul really, but I suspect that probably this thorn in my side (namely, my mean-ness and impatience and Need To Be Right) won't go away anytime soon, so maybe I could consider a more pauline nature and trying to delight in this weakness and difficulty, knowing that it is probably True that God's power is made perfect in weakness. I mean, I think I would like to know what it's like to have Christ's power rest on me. I think.
Oh Life. So full of goodness, even in the darkness.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Touching Sadness
Today Paul Carson died.
Just a few hours ago actually, just down the street from me in our little hospital.
I don't know him from Adam. Probably saw him on TV sometime in the '80s, certainly listen to his radio station often enough. But in no way can I say that I know him.
And yet, all afternoon, driving around, I listened to the various broadcasters on the Team1040 processing their own grief, knowing as they did that he was dying. Grown-up, successful, sports-all-day-thinking men crying on the radio because a friend, the man who had launched many of their careers, a guy they knew... he was dying and it was sad and I was so sad too. Even though I didn't know him.
So tonight when I see on my facebook page that indeed he has died and I know that there is this anonymous, not-mine grief out there, I wonder about why I want to creep so close to it, taste it a bit and maybe sit under it for a while.
I think that my grief lives in one of the many rooms in my brain (remember all those empty rooms from a few months ago? down the hall from there...) and when I hear these stories, it's like knocking on the door of the room, maybe even cracking the door a bit, and trying all the different griefs I've left lying around in there. And maybe it has a hint of innoculation about it too - if I let myself enjoy this lovely anonymous-not-mine grief, it will somehow protect me from having to face some kind of future HOLY SHIT I CAN'T DO THIS grief later on.
I don't know. I do know that tonight a family is sad, and a bunch of sports guys are sad and while I'm not truly sad, the part of me that is sad for the sad is a bit sad too. I guess that's how it works.
Just a few hours ago actually, just down the street from me in our little hospital.
I don't know him from Adam. Probably saw him on TV sometime in the '80s, certainly listen to his radio station often enough. But in no way can I say that I know him.
And yet, all afternoon, driving around, I listened to the various broadcasters on the Team1040 processing their own grief, knowing as they did that he was dying. Grown-up, successful, sports-all-day-thinking men crying on the radio because a friend, the man who had launched many of their careers, a guy they knew... he was dying and it was sad and I was so sad too. Even though I didn't know him.
So tonight when I see on my facebook page that indeed he has died and I know that there is this anonymous, not-mine grief out there, I wonder about why I want to creep so close to it, taste it a bit and maybe sit under it for a while.
I think that my grief lives in one of the many rooms in my brain (remember all those empty rooms from a few months ago? down the hall from there...) and when I hear these stories, it's like knocking on the door of the room, maybe even cracking the door a bit, and trying all the different griefs I've left lying around in there. And maybe it has a hint of innoculation about it too - if I let myself enjoy this lovely anonymous-not-mine grief, it will somehow protect me from having to face some kind of future HOLY SHIT I CAN'T DO THIS grief later on.
I don't know. I do know that tonight a family is sad, and a bunch of sports guys are sad and while I'm not truly sad, the part of me that is sad for the sad is a bit sad too. I guess that's how it works.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Nate!
My sweet boy is two.
He is relentlessly handsome, a face that makes me double-take at its cuteness often.
He is strong and takes great pleasure in moving and lifting big things.
He is clever and quick with moving pieces and enjoys figuring out how things work. He likes to pull things apart and put them together. Buttons, plugs, screws and caps - these are a few of his favourite things.
He is funny and has a laugh worth hearing. He likes fooling and hiding and pretending. He likes tickles and being thrown about and tossed like a sack of potatoes around the house.
He has big hands, wide across the knuckles, as he's had since birth and they are just like his dad's. They make me love him, just like his dad's hands make me glad.
He is easy-going and mellow, a word I used to describe him in utero. Not prone to big moments in any direction, he is steady and I think will be someone's rock, just like his dad. But he is also sure and committed to his own self and glad to persist in the way he should go. Perhaps a quality in a 21-year-old man, less appealing in a 2-year-old.
He is most often kind and happy with his sister, sweet and playful together they are. Although each other's greatest frustration, they are also each other's favourite playmate and spend many happy hours together through the course of a week.
He is a cuddler and hugger, famous for his pats on the back as he's cuddled up. He likes to sing and is a fine dancer! He runs to daddy whenever he sees him, and likes mummy best in a crowd. He doesn't speak too clearly yet, but he speaks a lot and has found ways to be a clear communicator nonetheless.
We love this boy so much and go to bed most nights exchanging stories of wonder at our good fortune to have him with us. Before he arrived, we couldn't imagine how we'd have a second wonder-full one, a second one to thrill at as we had with our first. And yet, two years in and we are still surprised to discover that we really, truly got the two best ones. Gift from God indeed.
He is relentlessly handsome, a face that makes me double-take at its cuteness often.
He is strong and takes great pleasure in moving and lifting big things.
He is clever and quick with moving pieces and enjoys figuring out how things work. He likes to pull things apart and put them together. Buttons, plugs, screws and caps - these are a few of his favourite things.
He is funny and has a laugh worth hearing. He likes fooling and hiding and pretending. He likes tickles and being thrown about and tossed like a sack of potatoes around the house.
He has big hands, wide across the knuckles, as he's had since birth and they are just like his dad's. They make me love him, just like his dad's hands make me glad.
He is easy-going and mellow, a word I used to describe him in utero. Not prone to big moments in any direction, he is steady and I think will be someone's rock, just like his dad. But he is also sure and committed to his own self and glad to persist in the way he should go. Perhaps a quality in a 21-year-old man, less appealing in a 2-year-old.
He is most often kind and happy with his sister, sweet and playful together they are. Although each other's greatest frustration, they are also each other's favourite playmate and spend many happy hours together through the course of a week.
He is a cuddler and hugger, famous for his pats on the back as he's cuddled up. He likes to sing and is a fine dancer! He runs to daddy whenever he sees him, and likes mummy best in a crowd. He doesn't speak too clearly yet, but he speaks a lot and has found ways to be a clear communicator nonetheless.
We love this boy so much and go to bed most nights exchanging stories of wonder at our good fortune to have him with us. Before he arrived, we couldn't imagine how we'd have a second wonder-full one, a second one to thrill at as we had with our first. And yet, two years in and we are still surprised to discover that we really, truly got the two best ones. Gift from God indeed.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Why?
I was reading Luci Shaw's entry for this week in God With Us, and realized that it's not my fault that my Advent has had more than an acceptable level of Not Well.
She had written about the waiting we are asked to do through Advent and through Lent and how they echo each other. As I read, I realized that in the blending of Christian lore and pagan ritual, a terrible error had been made. How is it that with all the birth and life that comes with Spring, we Christians wait for the Death (yes, and resurrection, but Death, first there is the Death) and in the dark of winter, when all is dark and dead, we wait for the Birth?
You see the crazy, right?
I mean, I can see how someone thought it would work - the resurrection bit really does make it complicated, and I can see the appeal of focusing on Life in the midst of the lifeless winter. But my soul, my soul has to work too hard to accommodate this one.
The worry, the sadness, the pain and the ick of December and "celebrating" Christmas seem much more suited to the melancholy of preparing for that sad sacrifice, that great grief when the Father and the Son were inexplicably not One in those dark hours on the cross. To live in that for a few days, and then be reminded that Life! is the victor just three days later would be a lovely exercise in the middle of this long winter.
And then to Advent, to prepare our hearts for the arrival of Hope, Joy, Peace and Love in the weeks that bring us new green tendrils and the nosing out of what in a few short months will be our daily bread - who didn't see that? Hint of life at every turn, pointing to the Life Eternal that is about to be birthed into our broken world - to know that our own souls will be thawed by that First Birth even as the soul beneath our feet is thawed; the symbolism is so comfortingly clear, isn't it?
This seems glaringly obvious to me. I'm not sure how it could have been missed. I wonder who I write to request a change to the church calendar...
She had written about the waiting we are asked to do through Advent and through Lent and how they echo each other. As I read, I realized that in the blending of Christian lore and pagan ritual, a terrible error had been made. How is it that with all the birth and life that comes with Spring, we Christians wait for the Death (yes, and resurrection, but Death, first there is the Death) and in the dark of winter, when all is dark and dead, we wait for the Birth?
You see the crazy, right?
I mean, I can see how someone thought it would work - the resurrection bit really does make it complicated, and I can see the appeal of focusing on Life in the midst of the lifeless winter. But my soul, my soul has to work too hard to accommodate this one.
The worry, the sadness, the pain and the ick of December and "celebrating" Christmas seem much more suited to the melancholy of preparing for that sad sacrifice, that great grief when the Father and the Son were inexplicably not One in those dark hours on the cross. To live in that for a few days, and then be reminded that Life! is the victor just three days later would be a lovely exercise in the middle of this long winter.
And then to Advent, to prepare our hearts for the arrival of Hope, Joy, Peace and Love in the weeks that bring us new green tendrils and the nosing out of what in a few short months will be our daily bread - who didn't see that? Hint of life at every turn, pointing to the Life Eternal that is about to be birthed into our broken world - to know that our own souls will be thawed by that First Birth even as the soul beneath our feet is thawed; the symbolism is so comfortingly clear, isn't it?
This seems glaringly obvious to me. I'm not sure how it could have been missed. I wonder who I write to request a change to the church calendar...
Monday, December 13, 2010
What Was Missing!
I figured it out! What was missing from my Advent, why it was so depressing and bleak and difficult...
Holiday Romatic Comedies!!
I am currently eating Scott's cheesecake while watching Four Christmases with Reese Witherspoon & Vince Vaughn. I feel all jolly and hopeful and ... willing.
Good grief. I hardly dare hope what could happen next.
Holiday Romatic Comedies!!
I am currently eating Scott's cheesecake while watching Four Christmases with Reese Witherspoon & Vince Vaughn. I feel all jolly and hopeful and ... willing.
Good grief. I hardly dare hope what could happen next.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
An Easing
By about 10am this morning, I think we conceded that we had officially let everyone down. There was not a single person in our immediate world who had not had an expectation dashed, a hope thwarted by the 14th Street Johnsons.
We both felt badly for a while. Kind of sick-to-our-stomach, hopeless, maybe-we-should-just-quit terrible. That we were exhausted and cranky having been up all night with a food-poisoned second born did us little good. We sipped our coffee and wondered about any others we should crush or disappoint while on this hot streak but realized we had been pretty thorough.
We fed our children a terrible lunch and put them to bed, and then climbed into bed ourselves for our own nap. I don't know how long my beloved slept for but an hour-and-a-half later I made myself get up, knowing that our home was bereft of dinner-making options. I didn't notice it right away in my post-nap groggery, but somewhere along the freeway on my way home from the grocery store, I realized that I hadn't been clenching my jaw. I noticed that my stomach seemed a tincy bit less knotted. I was actually paying attention to the voices on the radio instead of the voices in my head.
I have lived with my own self long enough to know that the ebb and flow of crazy is unpredictable, yet certain. It may return with tomorrow's oatmeal, but on the other hand, it may continue to dissolve away, making room for Light and Hope.
It's possible that our letting down of The World is unrelated to the easing in my heart, but I suspect that there is some rest that comes when you realize you have spread your dis-ease as far and wide as is possible for the moment.
Whatever the recipe, I am tired but thankful at night's end. That I have shared the last 24 hours with that sweet boy I married who is chosen by his ailing children over their mother in their own dis-ease, who cleans up vomit and does all the laundry and is kind to the one who has kept him awake all night... well, that I have eyes and heart to be thankful for him too seems like a separate and wonderful grace.
We may yet get back to the Box O' Advent! After all, tomorrow is Christmas with the Crawfords!
We both felt badly for a while. Kind of sick-to-our-stomach, hopeless, maybe-we-should-just-quit terrible. That we were exhausted and cranky having been up all night with a food-poisoned second born did us little good. We sipped our coffee and wondered about any others we should crush or disappoint while on this hot streak but realized we had been pretty thorough.
We fed our children a terrible lunch and put them to bed, and then climbed into bed ourselves for our own nap. I don't know how long my beloved slept for but an hour-and-a-half later I made myself get up, knowing that our home was bereft of dinner-making options. I didn't notice it right away in my post-nap groggery, but somewhere along the freeway on my way home from the grocery store, I realized that I hadn't been clenching my jaw. I noticed that my stomach seemed a tincy bit less knotted. I was actually paying attention to the voices on the radio instead of the voices in my head.
I have lived with my own self long enough to know that the ebb and flow of crazy is unpredictable, yet certain. It may return with tomorrow's oatmeal, but on the other hand, it may continue to dissolve away, making room for Light and Hope.
It's possible that our letting down of The World is unrelated to the easing in my heart, but I suspect that there is some rest that comes when you realize you have spread your dis-ease as far and wide as is possible for the moment.
Whatever the recipe, I am tired but thankful at night's end. That I have shared the last 24 hours with that sweet boy I married who is chosen by his ailing children over their mother in their own dis-ease, who cleans up vomit and does all the laundry and is kind to the one who has kept him awake all night... well, that I have eyes and heart to be thankful for him too seems like a separate and wonderful grace.
We may yet get back to the Box O' Advent! After all, tomorrow is Christmas with the Crawfords!
Thursday, December 09, 2010
I'm a People Person!
Sometimes I forget the basics.
According to just about every who-are-you test known to man, I am an Extrovert. I am one who derives energy from connecting with people. I know many (most?) of my favourite people are Introverts who oddly, derive most of their energy from alone-time. How we manage to find each other is one of life's great mysteries, but what this means is that I get all better being with them, while managing to wear them out. Weird huh?
So, not surprisingly, the last 10 days or so have worn me out. I was in fairly full-blown depression and anxiety and could not figure out how I could have plummeted so quickly and without any obvious trigger, you know, like a bad thing happening.
Then tonight I got the invitation to JOh's for some mom talk and tea and my soul leapt! and off I went to sit and be with people! And I was healed. How did I forget that part? Where being home with just my people for almost seven days straight is really, really bad for me? Lord, that sounds terrible. But it is just terribly true - my self needs other selves. Oh bliss! Oh wonder! Oh... people.
I should be honest, and confess that I am not all the way healed. There is much anxiety still lingering but it feels appropriate and probably necessary given what life is bringing. But I remembered that part of the cure is connecting and that reminded me of the other things that help and so tonight, there is Light.
Praise be. Again.
According to just about every who-are-you test known to man, I am an Extrovert. I am one who derives energy from connecting with people. I know many (most?) of my favourite people are Introverts who oddly, derive most of their energy from alone-time. How we manage to find each other is one of life's great mysteries, but what this means is that I get all better being with them, while managing to wear them out. Weird huh?
So, not surprisingly, the last 10 days or so have worn me out. I was in fairly full-blown depression and anxiety and could not figure out how I could have plummeted so quickly and without any obvious trigger, you know, like a bad thing happening.
Then tonight I got the invitation to JOh's for some mom talk and tea and my soul leapt! and off I went to sit and be with people! And I was healed. How did I forget that part? Where being home with just my people for almost seven days straight is really, really bad for me? Lord, that sounds terrible. But it is just terribly true - my self needs other selves. Oh bliss! Oh wonder! Oh... people.
I should be honest, and confess that I am not all the way healed. There is much anxiety still lingering but it feels appropriate and probably necessary given what life is bringing. But I remembered that part of the cure is connecting and that reminded me of the other things that help and so tonight, there is Light.
Praise be. Again.
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