Bananagrams

 

My parents and I went to visit my sister on Saturday night. After a lovely dinner of minestrone soup and salad, we all played a few rounds of Bananagrams. I dreadfully lost all rounds of the game except for the last. I actually won the last, beating my sister in a hair-splitting exclamation of “Bananagrams!”

 

In case you don’t know how Bananagrams works, it’s fairly simple: Use your tiles to a make word puzzle, crossword puzzle style. When you have finished making your puzzle, you yell “Peel!” At that point, everyone in the game draws a new tile from the center pot and continues working on their puzzles. If you don’t like a particular tile that you draw, then you can exchange it by yelling “Dump” and placing the tile back in the middle. The penalty is that you have to retrieve three new tiles in its place. You continue this cycle until all tiles are gone and one person successfully uses all of his/her tiles to complete a puzzle. He/she then yells “Bananagrams!” and the round is over.

 

Sometimes the tiles are kind to you. Sometimes they are not. Sometimes a “dump” or “peel” helps you on your quest but sometimes they throw you a major curveball. Sometimes you can continue with the puzzle you are making, but sometimes you have to completely start over.

 

I don’t have to spell out the metaphor here.

 

We set goals for ourselves and set out to accomplish them, only to have them enhanced or challenged by circumstances along the way.

 

May today’s “dumps” and “peels” be kind to you, friend…and when they are not, may you have the strength, stamina, and creativity to rearrange until you find a way to make things fit.

 

Amen.

The Next Right Thing

 

To be honest, puzzling overwhelms me. I see the shapes and colors of 1000 pieces and shut down. After sorting the pieces and doing the edges, I don’t know where to begin and so I just stand there, wringing my hands, feeling overwhelmed.

 

It’s my mom who gives me direction. She either starts working on the puzzle and leaves small spaces for me to fill or she tells me what pieces to find to help her in her quest. With a clearly defined purpose, I feel less overwhelmed and able to help.

 

But even my mom gets overwhelmed sometimes. She works and works and works until sometimes she can’t work anymore. The pieces just don’t fit and the work just isn’t going anywhere. Yet even then, she continues to work by neatly arranging the pieces on the puzzle trays.

 

Sometimes she simply straightens up what is already there. Sometimes she completely moves or rearranges the pieces, depending on what we need for the puzzle. Sometimes she even counts the remaining pieces, which makes us feel like we can reach the finish line. But always, she’s working—moving toward the goal…

 

This morning, on my way to work, I listened to, “The Next Right Thing” from Frozen II. As I listened, these lyrics spoke to me:

 

“I won't look too far ahead. It's too much for me to take. But break it down to this next breath. This next step. This next choice is one that I can make…”

 

Not only did the lyrics connect to my puzzling heart, but they also connected to my theological heart. If I’m honest, then I must admit that I’ve had a lot of theological questions over the past couple of years. I’ve questioned the nature and character of God. I’ve questioned issues of separation of church and state. I’ve grieved God’s name being used to promote thoughts and ideas far from my understanding of God. I’ve grieved the politics of the church. I’ve been deeply distressed by the hatred I’ve seen displayed by “God’s people” and the “us against them” mindset that has become characteristic of Christianity.

 

If I try to understand it all, then it’s too much for me to take. Yet when I break it down to the next breath—the next step—the next choice—then it’s one that I can make. I choose Love. How that love is manifest may take different forms on different days. Justice Love. Tough Love. Forgiving Love. Lovingkindness. Love as fighting. Love as letting go. But if I trust the God whom I believe IS love, then I can organize my thoughts and beliefs to always be moving toward the goal…which is…Love.

 

Oh God, when we’re overwhelmed, when we don’t know what to do next, help us to do something—anything—that will organize our lives toward Love. Amen.   

Proust Phenomenon

 

It never fails. When I smell Coconut Lime Verbena, I am transported to 2005, to my best friend’s new house, to sitting on the arm of her couch, just after washing my hands with the newest fragrance of soap from Bath and Body Works.

 

Or when I smell blue Lysol, I am transported to 2016, to Kay’s house, to cleaning up her apartment, just after her untimely death.

 

Or when I smell clear Soft Soap, I am transported to 1999, to a Kindergarten classroom at Anderson Creek Elementary School, to watching a student whom I remember as T playing with soap on the sink counter, because that was the only thing that kept him from disrupting the rest of class.

 

Smell is such a powerful sense.

 

In fact, of all the senses, smell inspires the most vivid memories and emotions. This is because smell bypasses the thalamus in the brain (the part of the brain that relays sensory information) and works directly on the hippocampus and amygdala (the parts of the brain that deal with emotional memory). Smell memories, or olfactory memories, then, are very deep and complex. They are sometimes hard to put into words but they are intensely powerful.

 

Between 1913 and 1927, a Frenchman by the name of Marcel Proust wrote seven volumes of a work that, to some, are a milestone in literature. What’s important for us is that the work’s most famous passage deals with scent and memory. He writes of how the experience of eating a small, shell-shaped sponge cake transports him in memory to childhood. This type of memory has since been coined a Proustian memory, or, as others call it, the Proust phenomenon.

 

According to the American Psychological Association’s dictionary, the Proust phenomenon is “the sudden, involuntary evocation of an autobiographical memory, including a range of related sensory and emotional expressions.”

 

As evidenced by the opening of this note, I experience the Proust phenomenon quite frequently.

 

What about you? What are some of your Proustian memories? I would love to hear.

Bowling

 

I went bowling last Friday night.

It had been so long since I’d bowled that I’d forgotten my marks.

Did you know that the boards in a bowling alley are not randomly placed?

Instead, they’re placed in a certain arrangement that allows you to use them to know where to roll your ball, depending on your stroke—straight or curved, from the left or right, fast or slow?

Did you know that it took me an entire game to find the boards that are my marks?

 

The first game I rolled was bad.

I didn’t break 100.

My rolls went everywhere.

I couldn’t find a consistent stroke.

I didn’t strike the whole game.

I was not pleased.

 

The second game was much better.

After finding my mark, I rolling consistently.

I picked up every spare of the game except for two,

And I even got two strikes.

I scored an uncharacteristic 175.

My average is 124.

 

The third game’s score was similar to the first,

Only my stroke was consistent.

Unlike the first game when I left any number of pins in the frame,

I only left 1 pin most frames.

My problem was no longer my stroke,

My problem was that I was missing my spares by inches.

 

Did you know that for the average person,

Bowling is a game of spares?

Yes, strikes are the goal.

But for most of us, throwing a strike ball every frame just isn’t possible.

And so bowling becomes a game of spares—

It becomes a game of second chances.

 

When our first attempt doesn’t accomplish the goal,

We try again.

And truthfully, the second attempt often takes more skill than the first.

I’ve seen many bowlers who only know how to throw strike balls and are therefore at a disadvantage when their effort fails them.

But it’s the second attempt that offers redemption—

It’s the second attempt that often allows us to accomplish our goal.

 

Friends: May we be a people who learn how to throw spare balls.

And if you’re someone who throws a gutter ball more often than a strike or spare,

Then don’t worry.  

Just give yourself time, practice, patience, and

Someone to help you find your mark.

Then let me know, and we’ll join a bowling league together!

😊

Shame

 

My dad is old school. He still reads the newspaper cover to cover. Yesterday, he found an article that he wanted me to read: “The High Price of Money Shame.”

 

Someone who carries money shame is someone who feels that he/she is fundamentally flawed and unworthy because of his/her financial problems or successes. Persons can be ashamed of their debts, or they can be ashamed of their wealth. In a culture where money tends to be our worth, money shame is become increasingly more prevalent.

 

Shame moves beyond guilt. We feel guilt when we’ve DONE something bad or wrong. We feel shame when we believe that we ARE bad and wrong. Shame is a deep, dark feeling. Shame leads one to believe that he/she is unworthy of being loved and that he/she doesn’t deserve to be connected to others. Shame leads to isolation. Shame leads to feeling alone.

 

A few years ago, I realized that I struggle with shame. One night, in the middle of a dark night when I couldn’t sleep, I wrote a poem in response to this shame. I wrote in response to what I was feeling for myself and I wrote in response to what I was feeling for those around me. I was beginning to realize that shame was a damning force that many people were struggling against…and I’m realizing now that shame is still a damning force that people are struggling against. After all, it made the paper yesterday. After all, I saw it in black and white.

 

I’m going to close this note with that poem now. May these words speak to you or to someone you know in a very real way. You are loved, friend. For who you are. Rich. Poor. Black. White. Gay. Straight. Minister. Lay person. Teacher. Business person. Male. Female. Struggling. In a place of peace. Whoever, wherever you are. You are loved. Period.

 

-----

 

I think that we each just want to be loved for who we are.

Period.

Not the idea of who we could be.

Or the roles in which we function.

Or the services, gifts, and talents that we offer.

But who we are.

Good, bad, ugly.

I think we each need to know that
we are honored and adored not by virtue of
performance and perfection but by the triumph of waking
up each day, breathing, and giving life a try.
When we are uncertain of our value, though.

When we question and doubt the inherent beauty of existence.

When we feel used, or reduced to function and performance,

or we fear failure and disappointment.
When we're forced into a mold that was not
ours to live, paralyzed by discomfort, lost.

When our spirits are not nurtured and allowed the freedom to soar—

to explore the world and discover the depths of creation,

the places where we fit,

the points at which we flourish—

we slowly begin to die:
our bodies exhausted, our hearts wounded, our minds numb,
our spirits suffocated and…

Then what?

I suppose we pick up the pieces and begin to live again.
I suppose we apologize for reducing people to ideas and roles and function,

for identifying individuals by what they do rather than who they are—

what they like, how they love, when they dream—

for not celebrating unique personality but honoring the status-quo.

I suppose we vow never to let anyone feel as if she is not loved for who she is. Period.
I suppose we fill the gaping hole called needy beast

with the unfathomable love of God, manifest both
in God's still small, unexplainable voice and the loud
voice of tangible community, and let that love transform
the very core of our being.

I suppose we allow ourselves to feel again,

to experience and release emotion, however raw and difficult,

however many tears it brings, and give it permission to

bridge the gap between knowledge and understanding.

We are all loved for who we are.

We are all created to be who we are.

But I think we each just need to be reminded of that fact

through words and deeds and actions and gifts and time—

that we each need to know that we are loved for who we are.

Period.

Over and over and over and over and over again.

Skee Ball and Piano Keys

 

Skee Ball has always been my favorite,

Until last Thursday when I found Piano Keys

And it took my Arcade Heart.

 

The games are different.

Skee Ball is slow and steady.

Piano Keys is fast and wild.

 

But the games are the same.

The harder you try,

The more you mess up.

 

In Skee Ball, if I roll the ball too fast,

It becomes wild and out of control.

 

In Piano Keys, if I get too far ahead on the screen,

My hands become wild and out of control.

 

Instead, each game requires precision and rhythm.

Skee Ball a gently placed roll,

Piano Keys a firmly placed hand.

 

Skee ball is soothing.

Piano Keys is exhilarating.

Both are simple games of skill,

And both, to me, are life-giving fun.

 

When is the last time you did something

Just for fun?

What did you do?

 

And when was the last time you tried too hard at something

And it caused you to mess up?

How did you handle it?

 

Oh God, thank you for moments of life-giving fun.

Thank you for opportunities to slow down and

Thank you for opportunities to let the adrenaline flow.

Thank you for what we can learn from even the simplest games and

Thank you for reminding us that sometimes we don’t have to try so hard to succeed.

Help us to know when to be slow and steady and when to be fast and wild.

And help us always to use the skills you give us to succeed.

Thanks again, God. We can never thank you enough.

Amen.  

Time and Sleep

On Wednesday afternoon, she jumped into the pool with a swim vest.

By Wednesday evening, she was swimming without the vest.

On Thursday morning, she kept swimming without the vest,

And suddenly she was able to do flips in the water.

By Thursday evening, she was doing three front flips in a row,

Along with a back flip and a twist.

By Friday morning, she was able to touch the bottom of the shallow end with her hands

And she was swimming the entire length of the pool alone

(With a chaperone along the way).

 

Yes, she’s a strong, determined, kinesthetically gifted 5-year-old,

But she’s also a product of two of the most important gifts we will ever receive:

Time and sleep.

 

She practiced her flips on Wednesday, but she couldn’t get them.

Her brain needed time to synthesize its practice and learning and

It did just that with a good night’s sleep.

 

She practiced touching the bottom with her hands on Thursday, but she couldn’t do it.

Her brain needed time to synthesize its practice and learning and

It did just that with a good night’s sleep.

 

Time and sleep are so important to learning and decision-making, friends.

“Sleeping on it” isn’t just a nice cliché.

 

So the next time you’re stuck.

The next time you can’t do something.

The next time you have a tough decision to make.

Give yourself time and sleep on it.

 

I can’t guarantee that your results will be as quick as a 5-year-old’s,

But I can guarantee that your brain will thank you for giving it the space it needs to

Synthesize its thinking, practicing, and learning.

 

Oh God: Thank you for time and sleep. May we never take them for granted but instead honor them for the transformative and healing powers that they have. Amen.

Simon of Cyrene

Luke 23:26

As they led Jesus away, they grabbed Simon, a man from

Cyrene, who was coming in from the countryside.

They put the cross on his back and made him carry it

behind Jesus.

 

 

Jesus began carrying his cross alone, but he couldn’t make it to Golgotha on his own. He needed help.

 

Sometimes, we need help, too. Sometimes, we need help from those we know and love. Other times, we need help from those we don’t know—from people forced upon our lives by time and circumstance—like Simon from Cyrene.

 

Who are the people in your life who have helped carry your cross—people who are close to you and people who have helped you by virtue of profession? Think of those people and say and prayer of thanksgiving for them now.

 

Oh God, you provide the people I need at exactly the moment I need them. Thank you. Amen.