I had a wonderful weekend--attending a Michael W. Smith concert at the Biltmore, eating delicious meals, treating myself to both the Architecture and Butler's Tours at the Biltmore, walking across the swinging bridge on Grandfather Mountain, and going gem mining. I highly recommend all of those activities! I also recommend coming to the mountains for a few days, and walking in a stream, and fishing (if fishing is your thing). Even so, I went to an Alzheimer's Nursing Home Facility on Tuesday, and I've been reading the book Same Kind of Different As Me this week. And, well, my brain has been doing what it does: thinking. Here are some of my thoughts (started on Tuesday night):
If I'm not careful, then I could become fatalistic in my thoughts tonight...wondering the point of it all and such. Like…
I really don't feel like much has changed in history. Humans are humans, wanting the same things from generation to generation. Always thinking that life is busier than ever before, always thinking that things are worse than ever before, always waiting for an end.
Always a gap between rich and poor, always stereotypes and judgments, always bickering and fighting, always some who look after the well-being of others, always some who don't.
I think about the Vanderbilts. George was a nice rich fellow. Thoughtful. Giving. Truly amazing in so many ways. But there were and are so many more not nice ones.
Slavery has always existed. It still does. The forms of things have changed, but the root issues have not.
If we're supposed to be working toward the redemption of the world, then why does it seem like we're getting no closer?
I think…no amount of work that I do. No amount of records or trainings or keeping words or anything has a point in the end.
I’ve had such a good time on vacation—especially over the weekend. It was fun to live in the moment. To be happy. To experience life. But soon it’ll be over and I look around and think of everything that I should be doing. Calendaring and writing and sorting and keeping records and such...and it feels so heavy. Like. I want to go back on vacation. I want to live in the moment--well--as much as this brain allows me to.
I don’t want to always feel behind or like I should be doing something when I want to do nothing but be. Yet…if I didn’t have things to do, then life would be boring. I get that.
I’m not trying to complain. I'm just saying that I wonder what the point of life is. Many people say that life on this earth is just a passing time, that true life is eternal. But shouldn’t there be a point to this passing time? Living it only to see if we pass a test that guarantees us eternal life seems…I don’t even know the word.
Many people say the point of life is to enjoy it. And I guess in the end, that's all there is. Isn’t that what the writer of Ecclesiastes concluded? Might as well live the life God has given us, huh? Rather than lagging behind…
Do you ever have thoughts like these? If so, how do you manage them?
Also…what’s something that you’ve done recently that you have truly enjoyed? What’s something that has made you grateful to be alive (regardless of the point of it)?
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
I Love Gem Mining!
The first time I did it was in 1998. I was on a summer mission team in the southwest mountains of NC. On our days off, we drove around and did touristy things. We visited local stores and ice cream shops and Gold City. We went to Santa’s Land and Cherokee and Dollywood. We went to Nashville and Bryson City and tubed down the French Broad River. We did a lot of really cool things! But my very favorite thing was gem mining. I loved it! And to this day, I still do.
I love the dirt and grit and literal connection with nature. I love the water that runs to clean the dirt and grit off of the rocks/gems and my hands. I love the mountain smells and breezes that accompany the experience. I love the reality of an ugly rock being transformed into a beautiful gem only by being cut and chiseled and shaped by a master gem cutter—not by remaining in its raw form. In fact, a few years ago, I wrote:
Gem mining is one of the most pleasurable experiences that anyone can have. Take a bucket of “special dirt,” a sifting pan, a gentle stream of water, some old clothes and a lot of patience, and there’s no telling what you will find. And it’s easy! Simply wash away the dirt and watch the rocks—the gems—appear.
Sometimes I think that we’re all just buckets of dirt. On our own we don’t look like anything special, but when we surrender ourselves into someone else’s hands we find that we are full of precious gems—precious gifts and talents that are vital to this world. These hands, of course, are Jesus’ hands—hands that have the power to wash away all of the dirt—all of the hurt and pain and suffering—that covers up our beauty.
So the next time you hold a gem, remember that you are precious. Just like the gem, however, in order to be manifest into your full beauty you have to be willing to be broken, cut up, and polished. Being found is easy—just let Jesus hold you. But being made into the most beautiful self you can be is difficult. When God finishes working with you, though, you will be the most precious gem in the world—the gem that you were created to be.
No need to write anything new tonight. I think that says it all.
I love the dirt and grit and literal connection with nature. I love the water that runs to clean the dirt and grit off of the rocks/gems and my hands. I love the mountain smells and breezes that accompany the experience. I love the reality of an ugly rock being transformed into a beautiful gem only by being cut and chiseled and shaped by a master gem cutter—not by remaining in its raw form. In fact, a few years ago, I wrote:
Gem mining is one of the most pleasurable experiences that anyone can have. Take a bucket of “special dirt,” a sifting pan, a gentle stream of water, some old clothes and a lot of patience, and there’s no telling what you will find. And it’s easy! Simply wash away the dirt and watch the rocks—the gems—appear.
Sometimes I think that we’re all just buckets of dirt. On our own we don’t look like anything special, but when we surrender ourselves into someone else’s hands we find that we are full of precious gems—precious gifts and talents that are vital to this world. These hands, of course, are Jesus’ hands—hands that have the power to wash away all of the dirt—all of the hurt and pain and suffering—that covers up our beauty.
So the next time you hold a gem, remember that you are precious. Just like the gem, however, in order to be manifest into your full beauty you have to be willing to be broken, cut up, and polished. Being found is easy—just let Jesus hold you. But being made into the most beautiful self you can be is difficult. When God finishes working with you, though, you will be the most precious gem in the world—the gem that you were created to be.
No need to write anything new tonight. I think that says it all.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
At Just The Right Time
I don’t like meetings. So I usually don’t remember meetings. Yet there are a few meetings that I remember very well—one of which a staff planning day at my apartment a couple of months ago.
What I remember about the meeting was being excited to have company—making coffee, tea, snacks, and dessert—and cleaning everything very deeply before everyone’s arrival. I remember where everyone sat and I remember the things we discussed. I remember becoming emotional as we talked about the Human Exploitation Symposium and I realized just how closely pornography had impacted my life. I remember feeling drained after everyone left. And I remember the sunset that I watched and documented on Facebook in the hour that followed.
I never turned on the lights that night. I didn’t eat supper. I didn’t watch TV. I didn’t get online. After the sun set and night fell, I simply sat in the darkness and let the quiet surround me. I fell asleep in the stillness that night and awoke with the conviction and courage to write a note that has received more responses than anything else I’ve posted…
A dear friend of mine has treated Wednesday as her Sabbath for the past few months. A minister and thus busy on most weekends, she decided to make Wednesdays her days of rest and personal renewal—sleeping, cooking, baking, cleaning, and doing whatever else nourishes her soul…
Remembering that Wednesday night after staff planning day and following my friend’s cue, I’ve decided to make Wednesdays my Sabbath as well. Granted, I can’t work from home every Wednesday, and sometimes work or church or other activities will put me getting home later than others. But I want to try it—this break from media, electricity, the world’s rhythms, and outside noise—and I want to sit quietly with God—praying, reading, writing, making my own music, and doing whatever else nourishes my soul. I want to go to sleep when nature goes to sleep instead of prolonging my day with the demands of life. I want to rest in Christ and allow the Holy Spirit to soften the edges and heal the hurts. I want to practice being over doing and breathe in life-giving breath. I want to give it a try and see what happens…because I have a feeling that it will be something beautiful—like the sunset I watched last night too...
I suppose I shouldn’t expect abnormal Thursdays after each Sabbath, yet last night’s Sabbath was followed by more powerful words that likely will not receive as many comments as my note from a few months back but that spoke to my spirit in a much needed way. From a belated birthday card in my mailbox, I read:
Today, I’m celebrating you…you and your generous heart. I can’t count how many times you’ve lightened my mood and lifted my spirit just by being your warm, accepting, wonderful self. You never judge, which is the most amazing thing. And of all your great quality, the non-judging thing is one of my favorites. That takes a huge amount of generosity and wisdom on your part. No wonder I find it so easy to relax around you, to say what I really think, to just be myself. So thank you for another year of being you. I hope your birthday brings a whole lot of good feelings back to you.
and)
Thanks for being a fabulous friend.
and)
From a message in my inbox, I heard these lyrics: Love don’t run, love don’t hide, it won’t turn away or back down from a fight… love’s too tough, it don’t give up…love don’t run.
And…well…at that point I wept…
And I realized that the love that I try to live and show through words and actions is noticed by the people around me…and…for that moment, for that one brief moment, my soul was at rest.
Thank you, God, for Sabbath moments. And thank you, too, for speaking to and ministering to us, your children, at just the right time. Amen.
What I remember about the meeting was being excited to have company—making coffee, tea, snacks, and dessert—and cleaning everything very deeply before everyone’s arrival. I remember where everyone sat and I remember the things we discussed. I remember becoming emotional as we talked about the Human Exploitation Symposium and I realized just how closely pornography had impacted my life. I remember feeling drained after everyone left. And I remember the sunset that I watched and documented on Facebook in the hour that followed.
I never turned on the lights that night. I didn’t eat supper. I didn’t watch TV. I didn’t get online. After the sun set and night fell, I simply sat in the darkness and let the quiet surround me. I fell asleep in the stillness that night and awoke with the conviction and courage to write a note that has received more responses than anything else I’ve posted…
A dear friend of mine has treated Wednesday as her Sabbath for the past few months. A minister and thus busy on most weekends, she decided to make Wednesdays her days of rest and personal renewal—sleeping, cooking, baking, cleaning, and doing whatever else nourishes her soul…
Remembering that Wednesday night after staff planning day and following my friend’s cue, I’ve decided to make Wednesdays my Sabbath as well. Granted, I can’t work from home every Wednesday, and sometimes work or church or other activities will put me getting home later than others. But I want to try it—this break from media, electricity, the world’s rhythms, and outside noise—and I want to sit quietly with God—praying, reading, writing, making my own music, and doing whatever else nourishes my soul. I want to go to sleep when nature goes to sleep instead of prolonging my day with the demands of life. I want to rest in Christ and allow the Holy Spirit to soften the edges and heal the hurts. I want to practice being over doing and breathe in life-giving breath. I want to give it a try and see what happens…because I have a feeling that it will be something beautiful—like the sunset I watched last night too...
I suppose I shouldn’t expect abnormal Thursdays after each Sabbath, yet last night’s Sabbath was followed by more powerful words that likely will not receive as many comments as my note from a few months back but that spoke to my spirit in a much needed way. From a belated birthday card in my mailbox, I read:
Today, I’m celebrating you…you and your generous heart. I can’t count how many times you’ve lightened my mood and lifted my spirit just by being your warm, accepting, wonderful self. You never judge, which is the most amazing thing. And of all your great quality, the non-judging thing is one of my favorites. That takes a huge amount of generosity and wisdom on your part. No wonder I find it so easy to relax around you, to say what I really think, to just be myself. So thank you for another year of being you. I hope your birthday brings a whole lot of good feelings back to you.
and)
Thanks for being a fabulous friend.
and)
From a message in my inbox, I heard these lyrics: Love don’t run, love don’t hide, it won’t turn away or back down from a fight… love’s too tough, it don’t give up…love don’t run.
And…well…at that point I wept…
And I realized that the love that I try to live and show through words and actions is noticed by the people around me…and…for that moment, for that one brief moment, my soul was at rest.
Thank you, God, for Sabbath moments. And thank you, too, for speaking to and ministering to us, your children, at just the right time. Amen.
Monday, July 25, 2011
What's In A Name?
I woke up this morning knowing that today was note day. As I walked around my apartment (well, my room) and got ready, I prayed a simple prayer for God to show me what to write.
It’s almost 5pm and I’m not feeling compelled to write much. I haven’t had a stellar day. I don’t know exactly why. I had an enormous birthday cookie waiting on my desk when I got here. And there was a cute monkey looking at me, waiting for a hug. But maybe the gloomy weather affected my mood? Or maybe I’m just tired…although I feel like that’s a lame excuse? I don’t know.
I just know that ever so often, I’ve busted out laughing today. I’ve thought about my dad’s inability to use his car’s built-in GPS, and I’ve thought about how impressed he was that I figured it out. I’ve thought about my naming the GPS Mildred but my mom’s objecting to the name because Mildred is not an alliteration. I’ve remembered my mom saying, “How about Gilda?” and me saying, “Gilda. I like that. Gilda Mildred, GPS.” I’ve remembered how we laughed at the absurdity of such an official name for a GPS—how it sounds like we gave the GPS not only a personality, but also a degree. And I’ve laughed at how, when my parents left for NC on Saturday morning, my mom texted me and said: “We are on our way home under the direction of Gilda Mildred, GPS :-D.”
I know. It’s silly. And it’s probably not that funny to the rest of the world. But to me, on this gloomy day, it’s brought a bit of joy.
And…in remembering Gilda Mildred…I find myself remembering Molly the Dolly, our office’s new dolly—purchased and named by Boss…with no guidance from me. She said she’d been around me too long :-).
And I remember another friend who named her I-Pad Mabel. And I think about Fish Ball and Bourbon and Gigi The White Ant and Pencil and Eraser Deaton and Willard and Earl and Cassie May and Thomas and Mary and all of the other objects I’ve named and loved and…well…I find myself wondering:
Do you name things?
To name gives identity and to give identity gives meaning and to give meaning declares value and to declare value is important to life…
You name things, right? Come on, confess: What’s the name of your GPS?
It’s almost 5pm and I’m not feeling compelled to write much. I haven’t had a stellar day. I don’t know exactly why. I had an enormous birthday cookie waiting on my desk when I got here. And there was a cute monkey looking at me, waiting for a hug. But maybe the gloomy weather affected my mood? Or maybe I’m just tired…although I feel like that’s a lame excuse? I don’t know.
I just know that ever so often, I’ve busted out laughing today. I’ve thought about my dad’s inability to use his car’s built-in GPS, and I’ve thought about how impressed he was that I figured it out. I’ve thought about my naming the GPS Mildred but my mom’s objecting to the name because Mildred is not an alliteration. I’ve remembered my mom saying, “How about Gilda?” and me saying, “Gilda. I like that. Gilda Mildred, GPS.” I’ve remembered how we laughed at the absurdity of such an official name for a GPS—how it sounds like we gave the GPS not only a personality, but also a degree. And I’ve laughed at how, when my parents left for NC on Saturday morning, my mom texted me and said: “We are on our way home under the direction of Gilda Mildred, GPS :-D.”
I know. It’s silly. And it’s probably not that funny to the rest of the world. But to me, on this gloomy day, it’s brought a bit of joy.
And…in remembering Gilda Mildred…I find myself remembering Molly the Dolly, our office’s new dolly—purchased and named by Boss…with no guidance from me. She said she’d been around me too long :-).
And I remember another friend who named her I-Pad Mabel. And I think about Fish Ball and Bourbon and Gigi The White Ant and Pencil and Eraser Deaton and Willard and Earl and Cassie May and Thomas and Mary and all of the other objects I’ve named and loved and…well…I find myself wondering:
Do you name things?
To name gives identity and to give identity gives meaning and to give meaning declares value and to declare value is important to life…
You name things, right? Come on, confess: What’s the name of your GPS?
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Good Listener
I love learning.
Lately I’ve been learning a lot about the brain, relationships, human exploitation, ethics, listening…and myself.
While I’ve been fascinated by the content I’ve learned, I’ve been humbled to realize just how much room for growth my life holds. I’ve been humbled to realize just how prideful I am—how judgmental—arrogant—insecure—selfish—and impatient I am…even as God and I work hard not be.
My latest realization occurred on my way to and from work yesterday. I’ve been listening to “The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People” on and off for about a year now. When I popped the tape in yesterday—yes, a tape --Covey was talking about being a good listener.
Here is what I jotted down and/or remembered:
It is hard truly to listen—to hear what people are saying rather than filtering their words and emotions through your own story.
Seek first to understand. Then to be understood...
We tend to read our own home movies into other peoples life. Listening makes up vulnerable.
Five Types of Listening:
• Selective listening.
• Attentive listening.
• Empathic listening. See how they see and feel.
• Ignoring.
• Pretend listening
The deepest need of humanity is to be affirmed. To be heard. Being heard breathes life into a person’s soul.
You matter. I affirm you as a person.
We listen out of our own autobiography. This is well meaning but a barrier. We:
• Evaluate through agreement or disagreement.
• Probe from our own values.
• Advise from our own story.
• Interpret and diagnose though own experience.
We must work to listen empathetically. To understand what is being said rather than what we want to be said and heard. We must work to reflect feeling and meaning more than content.
Listen with your eyes. Not your ears. Become a sounding board for feeling rather than content.
Probing is good for information gathering, when the talk is situational and sane. But so often, problems are emotional and this shuts down.
Ultimately the skill of listening is less important than the attitude of empathy that should accompany the action.
As I listened to Covey’s teaching, I felt like a bad listener. But I don’t know that I am. At least not always. Sometimes I’m a good, empathetic listener. But sometimes I feel so deeply about what I’m hearing that I interject my own story and advice without it being asked for.
I suppose that, like so many other things, knowing how to listen is something that must be discerned by God’s spirit…and so I think I’ll be seeking God’s spirit more and more…with this listening thing…and humility and grace and strength…and…
Are you a good listener?
Lately I’ve been learning a lot about the brain, relationships, human exploitation, ethics, listening…and myself.
While I’ve been fascinated by the content I’ve learned, I’ve been humbled to realize just how much room for growth my life holds. I’ve been humbled to realize just how prideful I am—how judgmental—arrogant—insecure—selfish—and impatient I am…even as God and I work hard not be.
My latest realization occurred on my way to and from work yesterday. I’ve been listening to “The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People” on and off for about a year now. When I popped the tape in yesterday—yes, a tape --Covey was talking about being a good listener.
Here is what I jotted down and/or remembered:
It is hard truly to listen—to hear what people are saying rather than filtering their words and emotions through your own story.
Seek first to understand. Then to be understood...
We tend to read our own home movies into other peoples life. Listening makes up vulnerable.
Five Types of Listening:
• Selective listening.
• Attentive listening.
• Empathic listening. See how they see and feel.
• Ignoring.
• Pretend listening
The deepest need of humanity is to be affirmed. To be heard. Being heard breathes life into a person’s soul.
You matter. I affirm you as a person.
We listen out of our own autobiography. This is well meaning but a barrier. We:
• Evaluate through agreement or disagreement.
• Probe from our own values.
• Advise from our own story.
• Interpret and diagnose though own experience.
We must work to listen empathetically. To understand what is being said rather than what we want to be said and heard. We must work to reflect feeling and meaning more than content.
Listen with your eyes. Not your ears. Become a sounding board for feeling rather than content.
Probing is good for information gathering, when the talk is situational and sane. But so often, problems are emotional and this shuts down.
Ultimately the skill of listening is less important than the attitude of empathy that should accompany the action.
As I listened to Covey’s teaching, I felt like a bad listener. But I don’t know that I am. At least not always. Sometimes I’m a good, empathetic listener. But sometimes I feel so deeply about what I’m hearing that I interject my own story and advice without it being asked for.
I suppose that, like so many other things, knowing how to listen is something that must be discerned by God’s spirit…and so I think I’ll be seeking God’s spirit more and more…with this listening thing…and humility and grace and strength…and…
Are you a good listener?
Monday, July 18, 2011
Some Thoughts From This Female Brain
I wrote this last Monday but didn't have time to post it before leaving the office for a conference for work. I think it's funny, so I'm going to post it here :-):
I picked up a rental car this morning. This time it’s a black Dodge Charger. Evidently, my boss’s niece is so excited for me that she screamed.
I had never before gone to Enterprise to pick up a car. They’ve always delivered it to the office. So I didn’t know how long the process could take—even with a reservation.
I walked in to chaos. There were twenty people in the office, three of whom worked there, all guys. Initially, no one greeted me. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, so I stood and waited. More people came in and did the same.
After waiting for over 20 minutes, someone asked for my license. After a few more minutes, one of the workers asked who was next but no one knew. So I stood to claim my car. The paperwork had been sitting there all along. I signed. Waited for a few more minutes. Then walked outside to pick up the black Dodge Charger.
The whole process took around 45 minutes. I’m thinking it shouldn’t have taken that long. I’m also thinking that if there had been a woman in the office, then the process would have been a little more organized.
I’m thinking that last part because I’ve been doing brain research all weekend. I’ve been reading about the spiritual brain, the teenage brain, the male brain, the female brain, the brain brain…and now my brain hurts from all of the brain research.
I’ll be leaving in a few minutes to drive to Florida for Blume (National Acteens Convention). I’ve been working to get ready for Blume for a solid two weeks but I’m still not fully prepared. I’m in charge of our South Carolina booth. This morning, I brought in donuts to say thank you to everyone who helped get it ready. I’m in charge of a conference on the teen brain, hence the brain research. And I’m in charge of a Bible study with high school seniors. I like high school seniors. I’m glad I got assigned to them.
I have directions, instructions, papers, banners, videos, Willard the Computer, a projector, Gladys the GPS, bamboo, crafting hemp, craft supplies, a suitcase full of clothes, Stanley, and a black Dodge Charger ready to go. I do not, however, have internet access once I leave, so this Monday note will be my one note for the week. I know. It makes you sad. It makes me sad, too. Thankfully, I can post status updates and Stanley pictures via my smart phone. Not my super intelligent phone. Just my smart phone.
I’m nervous about driving to Disney in the black Dodge Charger. I’m somewhat anxious about my conference on the teen brain. Remember that my brain hurts from all of the information. And when the brain hurts, it tends to shut down to protect itself rather than kicking into gear to design a conference. I have no idea what to expect from Blume. I’ve never been. And I have no idea what to expect from staying at Disney. I’ve never done that either.
But I’m breathing. And trying to let the stress pass through my body rather than sitting with it like I sat with it at the rental place this morning. And I’m glad I’ll see my grandmother on the way. And I’m glad for the opportunity to travel with my job. And I’m glad that I’ll see some of my Acteens and their leaders at the conference. And I’m glad I’m going to Disney. And that I have a female brain.
Yes. I’m glad that I have a female brain.
I picked up a rental car this morning. This time it’s a black Dodge Charger. Evidently, my boss’s niece is so excited for me that she screamed.
I had never before gone to Enterprise to pick up a car. They’ve always delivered it to the office. So I didn’t know how long the process could take—even with a reservation.
I walked in to chaos. There were twenty people in the office, three of whom worked there, all guys. Initially, no one greeted me. I had no idea what I was supposed to do, so I stood and waited. More people came in and did the same.
After waiting for over 20 minutes, someone asked for my license. After a few more minutes, one of the workers asked who was next but no one knew. So I stood to claim my car. The paperwork had been sitting there all along. I signed. Waited for a few more minutes. Then walked outside to pick up the black Dodge Charger.
The whole process took around 45 minutes. I’m thinking it shouldn’t have taken that long. I’m also thinking that if there had been a woman in the office, then the process would have been a little more organized.
I’m thinking that last part because I’ve been doing brain research all weekend. I’ve been reading about the spiritual brain, the teenage brain, the male brain, the female brain, the brain brain…and now my brain hurts from all of the brain research.
I’ll be leaving in a few minutes to drive to Florida for Blume (National Acteens Convention). I’ve been working to get ready for Blume for a solid two weeks but I’m still not fully prepared. I’m in charge of our South Carolina booth. This morning, I brought in donuts to say thank you to everyone who helped get it ready. I’m in charge of a conference on the teen brain, hence the brain research. And I’m in charge of a Bible study with high school seniors. I like high school seniors. I’m glad I got assigned to them.
I have directions, instructions, papers, banners, videos, Willard the Computer, a projector, Gladys the GPS, bamboo, crafting hemp, craft supplies, a suitcase full of clothes, Stanley, and a black Dodge Charger ready to go. I do not, however, have internet access once I leave, so this Monday note will be my one note for the week. I know. It makes you sad. It makes me sad, too. Thankfully, I can post status updates and Stanley pictures via my smart phone. Not my super intelligent phone. Just my smart phone.
I’m nervous about driving to Disney in the black Dodge Charger. I’m somewhat anxious about my conference on the teen brain. Remember that my brain hurts from all of the information. And when the brain hurts, it tends to shut down to protect itself rather than kicking into gear to design a conference. I have no idea what to expect from Blume. I’ve never been. And I have no idea what to expect from staying at Disney. I’ve never done that either.
But I’m breathing. And trying to let the stress pass through my body rather than sitting with it like I sat with it at the rental place this morning. And I’m glad I’ll see my grandmother on the way. And I’m glad for the opportunity to travel with my job. And I’m glad that I’ll see some of my Acteens and their leaders at the conference. And I’m glad I’m going to Disney. And that I have a female brain.
Yes. I’m glad that I have a female brain.
The Morning After The Night Before
A couple of years ago, my mom and her sisters undertook the task of sorting through my grandmother’s pictures and making scrapbooks of them. Understand: this was years and years and years of pictures. My grandmother is 89-years-old. I’m not sure how far they made it in their task, but I do know that one lovely book exists that includes pictures of G-mama and her friends and family through her college years.
I looked through the book yesterday as I sat with G-mama in her room at the assisted living place where she is staying for awhile. When I got to the picture entitled "The Morning After The Night Before," I asked G-mama what “the night before” had been. After looking at the picture for a moment, she said, "Oh!" and then she blushed, "That was the morning after June [my grandfather] kissed me for the first time." She kept smiling and explained how scandalous they had been in their actions and how they were afraid of getting expelled! [G-mama and G-daddy met at Campbell College—later to become Campbell University :-).] It was really a lovely moment and I am glad that I could experience it!
I love the title she gave the picture. I love the concept of the morning after. I love that there is a new day after each night—that bad nights can turn to good days, that good days can live on as good, and even that good days can cycle to bad days even though bad days are hard. I love the cycle and journey of life. I think it’s a really beautiful thing.
I wrote this poem a few years ago. I updated it a bit today. I didn’t change the title though. I like it just fine…and I think my grandmother might be proud (despite this poem holding a different tone than her smile and blush :-)):
THE MORNING AFTER
By D. Deaton
"May what breaks my heart
Break, also, the heart of God.”
No trivial hurts but deep, passionate pains—sites of injustice.
Seeing God’s children caught in endless cycles of guilt
Shatters this feeble heart.
“And after you’ve suffered a little while
Your joy will be made complete.”
Discipline hurts.
But without pain there is no growth
And without the sting of truth there is no love.
“God created man in God’s own image—
In the image of God created he them…”
We, as humans, have the tremendous capacity to feel emotion.
But how much more must God feel emotion since God created us in God’s own image
And we are only a minute fraction of all that God is!
“Sorrow may last through the night
But joy comes in the morning.”
God created the sun to rise just as God designed the moon to set.
God, therefore, must desire for us to experience joy
Since darkness does not and cannot last forever.
“May what breaks my heart
Break, also, the heart of God.”
No trivial hurts but deep, passionate pains—sites of injustice.
Seeing God’s children caught in endless cycles of poverty and shame
Shatters this feeble heart.
I looked through the book yesterday as I sat with G-mama in her room at the assisted living place where she is staying for awhile. When I got to the picture entitled "The Morning After The Night Before," I asked G-mama what “the night before” had been. After looking at the picture for a moment, she said, "Oh!" and then she blushed, "That was the morning after June [my grandfather] kissed me for the first time." She kept smiling and explained how scandalous they had been in their actions and how they were afraid of getting expelled! [G-mama and G-daddy met at Campbell College—later to become Campbell University :-).] It was really a lovely moment and I am glad that I could experience it!
I love the title she gave the picture. I love the concept of the morning after. I love that there is a new day after each night—that bad nights can turn to good days, that good days can live on as good, and even that good days can cycle to bad days even though bad days are hard. I love the cycle and journey of life. I think it’s a really beautiful thing.
I wrote this poem a few years ago. I updated it a bit today. I didn’t change the title though. I like it just fine…and I think my grandmother might be proud (despite this poem holding a different tone than her smile and blush :-)):
THE MORNING AFTER
By D. Deaton
"May what breaks my heart
Break, also, the heart of God.”
No trivial hurts but deep, passionate pains—sites of injustice.
Seeing God’s children caught in endless cycles of guilt
Shatters this feeble heart.
“And after you’ve suffered a little while
Your joy will be made complete.”
Discipline hurts.
But without pain there is no growth
And without the sting of truth there is no love.
“God created man in God’s own image—
In the image of God created he them…”
We, as humans, have the tremendous capacity to feel emotion.
But how much more must God feel emotion since God created us in God’s own image
And we are only a minute fraction of all that God is!
“Sorrow may last through the night
But joy comes in the morning.”
God created the sun to rise just as God designed the moon to set.
God, therefore, must desire for us to experience joy
Since darkness does not and cannot last forever.
“May what breaks my heart
Break, also, the heart of God.”
No trivial hurts but deep, passionate pains—sites of injustice.
Seeing God’s children caught in endless cycles of poverty and shame
Shatters this feeble heart.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Safe Place
It always seems to happen like this. When I think I know what I’m going to write, something happens and trumps my original plan. Here’s what trumped today’s plan:
“What’s your definition of a safe place?”
If you’re around me enough, then you know that I like the term “safe place.” I believe that everyone should have one…whether it be a literal space or a person to whom you can talk or both. Personally, I was introduced to the term when I began counseling a few years ago. My counselor, Jenny, about whom I’ve written before, explained that she wanted our sessions to be a safe place for me. She wanted her office to be a place that could contain my life and stories—that could hold my joy and pain and provide the space to work through heartache, grief, anger, confusion, celebrations, milestones, and more. She wanted her presence to be steady and calming and the décor in the room to provide warm, peaceful, consistency so that if nothing else in my life stayed the same then our sessions would be the security that I needed. And they were. And Jenny was. And the office held me. And in that room, I found a safe place.
It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen Jenny, yet I will always think of her and that office as a safe place that breathed life into parts of me that were dying. The memories of the work that we did in that space—the laughter and tears and conversations that occurred—often still ground me when I feel things starting to spin out of control. I think of her presence in the rocking chair, yellow pad of paper and pen in hand, glasses around neck, gentle smile on face, and I hear her say, “It’s good to see you, Deanna,” and I know that I am going to be okay.
But it’s not just those memories that are safe space anymore. It’s current relationships, experiences, and places where I know I can be fully myself—the good, bad, and ugly. It’s being loved and trusted; accepted and not condemned. It’s being vulnerable and real; steady but expanding. It’s being seen and heard. It’s breathing comfort and silence and laughter and tears. It’s understanding and life-giving. Actually, it’s kind of like the theme song to “Cheers” now that I think about it:
Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got. Taking a break from all your worries sure would help a lot. Wouldn’t you like to get away? Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name. And they’re always glad you came. You want to be where you can see, troubles are all the same. You wanna be where everybody knows your name. You wanna go where people know, people are all the same. You wanna go where everybody knows your name.
What about you? What does “safe place” mean to you? And do you have a safe place in your life?
(And for the record…I was going to write about swimming last night at 10:45pm. Half of the sky was cloudy from earlier storms. Half was covered with stars. Before I knew it, the clouds had moved away and other stars had appeared. I totally wasn’t expecting it. And it was beautiful. And the exact opposite of my song, “Fireflies.” :-))
“What’s your definition of a safe place?”
If you’re around me enough, then you know that I like the term “safe place.” I believe that everyone should have one…whether it be a literal space or a person to whom you can talk or both. Personally, I was introduced to the term when I began counseling a few years ago. My counselor, Jenny, about whom I’ve written before, explained that she wanted our sessions to be a safe place for me. She wanted her office to be a place that could contain my life and stories—that could hold my joy and pain and provide the space to work through heartache, grief, anger, confusion, celebrations, milestones, and more. She wanted her presence to be steady and calming and the décor in the room to provide warm, peaceful, consistency so that if nothing else in my life stayed the same then our sessions would be the security that I needed. And they were. And Jenny was. And the office held me. And in that room, I found a safe place.
It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen Jenny, yet I will always think of her and that office as a safe place that breathed life into parts of me that were dying. The memories of the work that we did in that space—the laughter and tears and conversations that occurred—often still ground me when I feel things starting to spin out of control. I think of her presence in the rocking chair, yellow pad of paper and pen in hand, glasses around neck, gentle smile on face, and I hear her say, “It’s good to see you, Deanna,” and I know that I am going to be okay.
But it’s not just those memories that are safe space anymore. It’s current relationships, experiences, and places where I know I can be fully myself—the good, bad, and ugly. It’s being loved and trusted; accepted and not condemned. It’s being vulnerable and real; steady but expanding. It’s being seen and heard. It’s breathing comfort and silence and laughter and tears. It’s understanding and life-giving. Actually, it’s kind of like the theme song to “Cheers” now that I think about it:
Making your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got. Taking a break from all your worries sure would help a lot. Wouldn’t you like to get away? Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name. And they’re always glad you came. You want to be where you can see, troubles are all the same. You wanna be where everybody knows your name. You wanna go where people know, people are all the same. You wanna go where everybody knows your name.
What about you? What does “safe place” mean to you? And do you have a safe place in your life?
(And for the record…I was going to write about swimming last night at 10:45pm. Half of the sky was cloudy from earlier storms. Half was covered with stars. Before I knew it, the clouds had moved away and other stars had appeared. I totally wasn’t expecting it. And it was beautiful. And the exact opposite of my song, “Fireflies.” :-))
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
An Independence Day Reflection
My best friend Angela is really good at teaching math. She’s good at everything else she teaches too, but she’s particularly good at teaching math because math is something she once had trouble understanding. She doesn’t remember learning to read. She doesn’t remember learning to spell or write. I don’t either. And I don’t really remember learning basic math (though I do remember learning calculus). But Angela remembers basic math…because it was a struggle.
I think that’s how it is with a lot of things in life: we tend to vividly remember the things that we’ve learned through struggle while simply accepting the things that come naturally. I don’t think that this is a bad thing. I think it’s just part of life.
Take, for instance, faith. I grew up going to church almost every time the church doors opened. I learned about God and accepted Jesus very early in life. It was part of who I am before I even knew what it was. Yet when I began to question and struggle through things that I didn’t understand, my faith became my own. My faith is still becoming my own. I recognize that fact and remember the struggle.
And today…today I think about freedom. Freedom is one of the things that I sometimes take for granted because it’s there—like my faith and my ability to read and write and do arithmetic. Though I realize that many people have and daily do fight and struggle for it—and for them I am grateful—I, personally, I haven’t had to struggle to receive freedom. I was born into this country where I am free. I am free to go to school and work and worship and to go to a day-spa and ride on a boat and shop for things that I need (and sometimes just want) and swim in my landlord’s swimming pool and lay in a hammock by the lake and sit in my apartment and type on my computer and live a life of luxury that, ultimately, I did very little to deserve.
This holiday weekend, I am so blessed. And fortunate. And so very grateful for the freedom that I find myself in and I recognize it and honor it and remember it rather than simply accepting it…today.
I think that’s how it is with a lot of things in life: we tend to vividly remember the things that we’ve learned through struggle while simply accepting the things that come naturally. I don’t think that this is a bad thing. I think it’s just part of life.
Take, for instance, faith. I grew up going to church almost every time the church doors opened. I learned about God and accepted Jesus very early in life. It was part of who I am before I even knew what it was. Yet when I began to question and struggle through things that I didn’t understand, my faith became my own. My faith is still becoming my own. I recognize that fact and remember the struggle.
And today…today I think about freedom. Freedom is one of the things that I sometimes take for granted because it’s there—like my faith and my ability to read and write and do arithmetic. Though I realize that many people have and daily do fight and struggle for it—and for them I am grateful—I, personally, I haven’t had to struggle to receive freedom. I was born into this country where I am free. I am free to go to school and work and worship and to go to a day-spa and ride on a boat and shop for things that I need (and sometimes just want) and swim in my landlord’s swimming pool and lay in a hammock by the lake and sit in my apartment and type on my computer and live a life of luxury that, ultimately, I did very little to deserve.
This holiday weekend, I am so blessed. And fortunate. And so very grateful for the freedom that I find myself in and I recognize it and honor it and remember it rather than simply accepting it…today.
Friday, July 1, 2011
After The "Let Us Pray"
At the end of the message on Sunday morning, I said, "Let us pray."
For a moment, we sat in holy silence.
For a moment, we let God's voice penetrate our hearts and settle into our minds. We let the stillness do the work that God's still-yet-fully-alive-and-moving-spirit alone can do.
And then, I sang this prayer:
You say we are to love you, Lord
With all our hearts and minds
And souls and strength
And that we are to love our neighbors as our ourselves
But how are we to love you, Lord
And love them, too, with our whole selves
When we don't even know who we are
Or how to love ourselves
Help us, Lord
Help us, Lord
And then the congregation stood and sang with me:
Imagine you,
Imagine me,
Imagine us walking through this land
Giving love,
Receiving love,
Living love as we take God's hand
Imagine all of the people
Whose lives would be changed
If we would listen and show God's grace
Imagine that.
Do you know how humbling it is to hear a church full of people praying your prayer with you--singing your song? Do you sense the vision of imagination? Of learning to love and accept ourselves so that we can fully live in community--in the larger body that we call Christ? Do you know how beautiful it is to see two boys publically acknowledging that they have chosen to be part of this body?
What a beautiful moment after the "Let us pray..."
Have you ever had a moment like that?
For a moment, we sat in holy silence.
For a moment, we let God's voice penetrate our hearts and settle into our minds. We let the stillness do the work that God's still-yet-fully-alive-and-moving-spirit alone can do.
And then, I sang this prayer:
You say we are to love you, Lord
With all our hearts and minds
And souls and strength
And that we are to love our neighbors as our ourselves
But how are we to love you, Lord
And love them, too, with our whole selves
When we don't even know who we are
Or how to love ourselves
Help us, Lord
Help us, Lord
And then the congregation stood and sang with me:
Imagine you,
Imagine me,
Imagine us walking through this land
Giving love,
Receiving love,
Living love as we take God's hand
Imagine all of the people
Whose lives would be changed
If we would listen and show God's grace
Imagine that.
Do you know how humbling it is to hear a church full of people praying your prayer with you--singing your song? Do you sense the vision of imagination? Of learning to love and accept ourselves so that we can fully live in community--in the larger body that we call Christ? Do you know how beautiful it is to see two boys publically acknowledging that they have chosen to be part of this body?
What a beautiful moment after the "Let us pray..."
Have you ever had a moment like that?
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