Rent Sandwich

 *Spoiler Alert: La Boheme and Rent*

 

I made a Rent sandwich this weekend.

 

On Friday night, I attended La Boheme, the opera on which Rent was based.

On Saturday afternoon, I attended Rent.

On Sunday afternoon, I attended La Boheme again.

 

By the end of the weekend, I was La Boheme’d out.

 

I’m glad I made the sandwich, though. It was interesting to compare the two shows in real time. And the comparison left me with a challenge that I will share with you now.

 

In Rent, the character of Mimi is sick with AIDS. Toward the end of her life, her love interest, Roger, realizes how sick she is, professes his love for her, and speaks everything he needs her to hear.

 

In La Boheme, the character of Mimi is sick with Tuberculosis. Toward the end of her life, her love interest, Marcello, refuses to realize how sick she is, says, “I hold out hope. Do you think it’s serious?” and does not tell Mimi everything he needs her to hear. She dies. The show ends. The curtain falls. That’s it.

 

While I realize the ending of Rent is not very realistic--most people do not die and then come back to life like Mimi—I think that Rent gets the better ending because Jonathan Larson allows Roger (and Mimi) to resolve their issues and say good-bye. The librettists of La Boheme do not. Instead, they let the curtain fall on loads of unresolved grief.

 

On Friday night, when the opera ended, I was surprised. I had no idea that it ended like that—so sadly and abruptly.  

 

On Sunday afternoon, when the opera ended, I was still surprised…because I’d realized that the ending had spoken an important to message to me:

 

Don’t live life in denial of heartache and grief and don’t leave words of love unspoken…even when love is hard…especially when love is hard.

 

Dear God: None of us want to face death. None of us want to deal with dying. But when it’s looking us in the face and we know that it might come, help us to say what we need to say and boldly be able to let go, trusting You, because we can’t. Help us to never leave words of love unsaid, unspoken. Help us, instead, to live life with arms wide open. “There’s only us, there’s only this. Forget regret, or life is yours to miss. No other road, no other way. No day but today.” Amen.

 

And amen.  

Anticipatory Grief

 I have a friend whose best friend, Mary, died from cancer last week.

 

Mary had been showing signs of decline for the past few weeks, so my friend knew that the time was coming when Mary would pass.

 

My friend began grieving Mary’s loss as soon as she found out that she was dying.

 

She has been sad for months.

 

More recently, she became so anxious that she made herself sick.

 

Every phone call. Every text. Every e-mail. She dreaded and lived in fear of the moment when she would find out that Mary was gone.

 

Then it happened.

 

Mary’s husband called my friend and told her that Mary had passed.

 

Ever since that moment, my friend has felt a sense of relief.

 

The fear and anxiety have left her body and a different stage of grief has begun.

 

It’s hard. She’s very sad. But she feels like a weight has been lifted because she’s not living in the uncertain waiting anymore.

 

The uncertain waiting is a hard place to be.

 

Yet I have a feeling that it’s where so many of us are right now—not necessarily with death and dying, but with life.

 

So take courage, friend. You are not alone.

 

I cannot predict how your story will end, but I know that your uncertain waiting will one day be over and that you will make it to the other side—whatever that other side may be.

 

Dear God: Fear and anxiety have a way of controlling us when we are in periods of uncertain waiting. Help us through those fears and worries by providing us with moments of strength and peace to sustain us. You have promised to be with us always, even in the waiting—maybe especially in the waiting. Thank you. Amen. 

Riding the Waves

 I got a call from a friend early Saturday morning.

 

I had written her an e-mail the night before sharing some thoughts on a documentary she had recommended.

 

I thought she was calling in response to my e-mail.

 

Instead, she was calling to share some news.

 

Her husband is dying of cancer and her son needs a kidney transplant.

 

She’s known about her husband since the beginning of October. She found out about her son last month.

 

She has friends walking the journey with her, and she has a therapist helping her along the way.

 

But she wanted me to know so that I could bear witness to the grief and keep her and her family in my prayers.

 

As we talked, she admitted that the next few months were going to be hard and that the outcome was uncertain.

 

She said that there was no use in pretending that there wouldn’t be shitty days.

 

“Some days are going to overwhelm me,” she said, “but I’m going to do my best to ride the waves instead of trying to fight them. If I try to stand up to them with boxing gloves, then they’re going to overtake me and pull me under. But if I ride them, then at least I’ll be prepared for the movement, even when I don’t know exactly where it’s going to take me.”

 

She also said, “I think of life right now as a mountain that’s too big to climb. I can’t see the top. But I prepare as best as I can with ropes and water and proper climbing gear. And then I begin climbing, step by step. Sometimes I land on a ledge with a rattle snake ready to strike. Sometimes I land on a ledge with water. Sometimes I land on a ledge that’s open for rest. And then I rest because I can. Then I start moving again, one step at a time. And, somehow, I climb the mountain. Somehow, I get through it.”

 

Friends: Many of you are climbing mountains too big to climb. Many of you are standing in the waves, trying to decide whether to fight or ride them. Today, may you be encouraged to keep climbing, one step at a time, and lean into the pain even when it seems unbearable. May you be encouraged to ride the waves instead of fighting them, and may you embrace the knowledge that even when you don’t know where you’re going, you will get through.

 

Oh God: May you be strength when our strength fails. And may you be with us as we climb mountains and face storms. Grant love, light, and courage today and all days. Amen.

Different Perspectives

 As many of you know, I’ve been writing black-out poetry since June 4, 2021.

 

What you may not know, though, is that I’ve been writing alongside a good friend. We each take the same page of text and create something new from it. Every once in awhile, we will choose some of the same words and phrases, but most of the time, our poems are completely different—not only in meaning but in style.

 

Take these poems, for example.

 

One of my poems simply states: “You are enough.” I accompany the poem with a graphic image.

 

Her poem from the same page is much more complicated and states: “Desire denied. No one to have but I lay bear a tender heart.” She uses her favorite winding bubble technique in this poem.

 

In another example, my poem simply states: “I trust God in the searching.” I use a straight-forward bubble style here.

 

Her poem from the same page, again, is more complicated: “All gathered round the bed. She was sleeping soundly. Saying prayers. God was there.” She uses the more traditional black-out poetry style on this poem, and her marker strokes are somewhat random, going from left to right and from top to bottom. When I do the traditional black-out style, my marker strokes are very deliberate, going from left to right in straight lines.  

 

Currently, I am learning to believe that I am enough without being too much, while she is recovering from a broken heart.

 

Currently, I find myself with a lot of questions about God, while she finds herself bearing witness to her best friend’s dying and the heartaches and fears that go along with death.

 

Same pages of text. Completely different poems.  

 

Same pages of text. Viewed through the eyes of two different souls.

 

We are the culmination of all of life’s experiences and what we “see” is colored by those experiences—both past and present.

 

May we be a people who remember that, truly, the same situations can be viewed in completely different ways and may we learn to listen to other people’s stories before deeming them wrong.

 

Neither my friend nor I are wrong in what we see on the page. Instead, we are uniquely ourselves and we cheer one another on.

 

May we be a people who cheer one another on…even in our differences…always in our differences…

 

Amen.  

Joy

 Sometimes my dad monologues at the breakfast table. He starts talking and moves from subject to subject, oftentimes through tears.

 

Yesterday morning’s monologue started with an interview question for me: What brings you joy?

 

I gave my answer, and then he answered. He said, “What brings me joy is getting to live each day. I think that a lot of people don’t find joy in living, but I am so thankful for life.”

 

Then he continued talking, and thirty minutes later, he stopped.

 

I think that the question he began with is an interesting question: What brings you joy? It’s a good question to reflect upon in times where it is easy to be overwhelmed by the dementors. And so I ask YOU today: What brings you joy?

 

For me, joy comes from a variety of things: cultivating friendships, spending time with my family, taking naps, creating black-out poetry, listening to music, playing with Annie the Cat, writing these notes, discovering new thoughts in scripture, singing in the choir, going to church, using the Oxford comma, and more.

 

For example: During this week’s worship service, I discovered that Jesus himself experienced joy in many of the same ways as me. He went to a wedding to celebrate friends and spend time with family. When the wine stopped flowing and his mom was concerned that the celebration would end early, he chose to give his first sign—he chose to provide wine in abundance as  expected for celebration. Celebration brings joy, and Jesus wanted those around him to feel joy.

 

So I ask you again today: What brings you joy?

 

Oh God: You are a God of joy, and joy abounds. Help us to receive your joy today. Amen.  

A Frustrated Thank You

 When I got home from work on Tuesday afternoon, my garage door wouldn’t work. Even with manual release, the door wouldn’t go up. My dad and I fiddled with it for awhile but couldn’t get it lifted, but later that night the door opened right up. Since it was so cold, my dad strongly suggested that I put the car in the garage. I was concerned that doing so would result in my car being stuck on Wednesday morning. I wasn’t convinced that the door had magically fixed itself.

 

I was right. My car got stuck in the garage yesterday morning. Thankfully, my dad let me drive his car.

 

When I got to school, the internet wasn’t working correctly in my building. I didn’t realize this fact until I was trying to teach a class of squirrely Kindergarteners. With the internet going in and out, I precariously made my way through my first two classes until the internet finally started working properly for my third. Thankfully, our IT guy was on campus and able to reset the router.

 

Meanwhile, my personal computer downloaded an update that basically crashed the computer.  I couldn’t open my lesson plans or class roll sheet for third period. Thankfully, Microsoft Office straightened up and I was able to open documents for the rest of the day, but I wasn’t able to do anything online because my web browser never recovered from the update. It is still running dreadfully slow. Thankfully, I have ordered a new computer and I am praying that the new computer will treat me better than the one I currently have.

 

Strangely enough, 4^th and 5^th periods went off without a hitch. But during last period, toward the end of class, my nose started bleeding. Thankfully, I was having my students dance so most of them didn’t notice that I was standing there with tissues pressed against my face. The nosebleed lasted for a solid five minutes. I was glad when class was over.

 

After school ended, I received a phone call from a disgruntled parent. She was upset that her daughter lost a fidget in my classroom. I didn’t see the fidget. I didn’t know that the fidget was missing until the end of class when said nosebleed was occurring. The mom wanted to know if I did a search of the students in the class. I did not. Thankfully, our receptionist fielded that call.

 

To say that yesterday was a frustrating day is accurate. And yet, through it all, by grace much bigger than myself, I was able to remain calm and not fly into a tantrum. Maybe that grace was being weary and not having the energy to fly into a tantrum. Or maybe that grace came through being thankful every time something went right.

 

There is so much hurt in the world right now. So much grief. So much loss. So much pain. I want to fix it. But I don’t know how to fix it. I can’t fix it. I couldn’t fix everything that went wrong yesterday. But I could drudge through it, trying to keep the best attitude possible, trying to find the good, and trying to be honest when people asked how I was doing. “Frustrated,” I would say. And somehow, that truth lightened the load just a bit.

 

Oh God, on good days and bad, You Are, so help us to find grace in all the ways it manifests itself. We are a weary people. A tired people. A frustrated people. And yet goodness abounds. Help us to find that goodness and to let its truth be our reality. Somehow. Through grace. Amen.  

Antonio

 

**Spoiler Alert: Encanto**

 

“I just watched Encanto. I know it’s crazy, but something about the main character made me think of you the whole time.”

 

Such was the text that I received from a friend last week…along with three other recommendations that I watch Encanto because it’s such a good movie.

 

And it IS a good movie.

 

Before watching, not only had I received the recommendations and comparisons, but I had also read an article on one of the movie’s characters, Luisa, whose gift was strength. It was a beautiful article on how many of us try to be strong in an effort to prove ourselves and be of worth to other people, when inside we are tired, afraid, weak, and breaking.

 

And so I went into the movie expecting to connect to Maribel, the main character, or Luisa, whose story I can relate to. As the movie began and other gifts unfolded, I thought maybe I’d connect to Isabela, who felt the need to always be perfect, or Bruno, who we’re not supposed to talk about, but who left the family because he couldn’t handle his gift.

 

But the connections didn’t happen.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t find fault in the characters, especially in Maribel. I admired her ability to see things as they were, to do things on her own, to listen to the hearts of people, to accept responsibility for her family, to speak truth, to extend forgiveness, and to stay positive and believe in herself even when she hadn’t been given a gift. She is a solid character. And I like her.

 

But I didn’t connect with her or any of the expected characters on a gut-wrenchingly deep level or become obsessed with any of them to the point of researching them after the movie—which is often what happens when I see a movie—except for…Antonio, the five-year-old, who I think may be the cutest character that Disney has ever created.

 

The beginning of the movie centered around Antonio receiving his gift. Nervous that he wouldn’t receive a gift like Maribel, he was extremely anxious about the gift ceremony. On the day of the ceremony, he hid under the bed in the nursery that he shared with Maribel, and he only came out after Maribel encouraged him, snuggled with him, and gave him a stuffed jaguar for courage. On the night of the ceremony, he wouldn’t approach his door without Maribel beside him. He looked at her, held out his hand, and said, “I need you.”

 

Antonio’s fervent plea touched me. At five-years-old, he knew that he didn’t have the strength to face what scared him. He didn’t try to put on a brave face and go at it alone. Instead, he reached for help from the one person he believed in most.

 

Yes. Maribel was that person. Yes. She was brave, steadfast, and true. And I am honored that someone thinks of me that way. But Antonio is the one who asked for help…and for some reason…right now…Antonio is the one who resonates with me most.

 

What about you? Who do you resonate with most?  

 

Dear God: When we are scared and feel alone, give us the wisdom to see the truth of those around us—the truth that our people love us—and grant us the humility and courage to ask for help. Amen.  

Epiphany

 

In the liturgical calendar of the universal church, today marks Epiphany. According to the dictionary, Epiphany is “the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles as represented by the Magi.” It is also “a moment of sudden revelation or insight.” Today, on this Epiphany, I want to share an epiphany that I had many weeks ago in therapy.

 

I don’t know how to share this epiphany without just saying it: I have an image of Jesus that is Sulley from Monster’s, Inc.

 

I know. This sounds weird. But it’s true.

 

One night during therapy, I was doing an exercise where I was letting my mind wander into the different parts of myself. After my session, I wrote:

 

“Tonight, we engaged three parts of me. One is an overworking, hyper-vigilant, exhausted girl who tries to protect me from grief. One is a green monster who tries to shame and discipline me back into line. And one is a big furry creature, like Sulley, who morphed into Jesus, who represents care and compassion and love and peace…

 

For one brief moment, I was hugging the big furry creature, but he was too big for me to see all of him…Yet I saw myself hugging him, burying myself into his fur, and being hugged in return. This is when he turned into the representation of Jesus.”

 

Care.

Compassion.

Love.

Peace.

 

A big furry creature. Blue. Soft. Holding me. Just as Sulley held Boo…

 

I have a Jesus wall in my room. Various images of Jesus hang over my bed and surround me as I sleep. I’ve got Footprints Jesus, Laughing Jesus, Jesus in the womb, Jesus from my grandmother’s house, Jesus as interpreted by a friend, Jesus made from the faces of many.

 

Now I have Jesus as Sulley with Boo. Zoom in on the picture. He’s hanging brightly.

 

A strange epiphany, yes. But an epiphany nonetheless.

 

What epiphanies have you had lately?

 

Oh God: You are God of Jew and Gentile, man and woman, monster and saint, and everything in between. Help us each to find images of you in which we receive comfort, and grant us little epiphanies throughout the year, as you have come today and will continue to come each day for all eternity. Amen.

Someone With Skin

 

In her sermon yesterday, my pastor told of a little girl who was very afraid of a thunderstorm. After going to her mother for comfort three times, each time her mother telling her not to be afraid because God would take care of her, the little girl said, “Yes. But sometimes I just need someone with skin.”

 

…

 

After yesterday’s service, I stopped for lunch. As I drove into the restaurant parking lot, I noticed two things: a car sitting in a weird spot and a woman begging. I quickly passed judgment on the situation and determined that the car was waiting for the woman—that the person inside the car was a handler of sorts and that the woman was just playing the system.

 

I was very wrong. [God forgive my rash judgment.]

 

The car had broken down and inside was an elderly African American couple. They were waiting for someone to come jump the car.

 

When he got there, that someone began the process of opening car hoods and attaching jumper cables. There was one problem, though: The car hoods wouldn’t stay up. The man’s task was impossible because neither member of the elderly couple could stand long enough to help.

 

Then came someone with skin.

 

Two Hispanic teenagers emerged from the restaurant and walked purposefully over to the broken-down car. Each boy held open a hood while the man jumped the car.

 

Thinking that the problem had been solved, the boys went back into the restaurant. A few minutes later, when the car still hadn’t moved, the boys went back out and began to help again—this time tinkering with something in the engine.

 

When I drove away, the boys, the man, and the elderly couple were all still there.

 

Jesus was there, too, in two Hispanic boys with skin.

 

…

 

Simultaneously, I saw someone else roll down his window, talk to the woman beggar, give her a soda, and drive away. A few minutes later, a man came from the direction of the beggar, walked across the parking lot, went to a gas station, and emerged with a case of beer. After he returned, I didn’t see the woman again.

 

I wonder where Jesus was or where he will be in this story. Addicts need Jesus, too.

 

…

 

Oh God: Help us to be the “someone with skin” to the broken world around us. You were, you are, and you forever will be. Help us to be today. Amen.