Sleepy Pigs

The night drags on
Darkness looms
Clocks mock
I am awake

To sleep, perchance to dream
Not tonight as
Mind flits and
Thoughts stalk
The silence

I wish I could
Sleep like a pig
And smile as I
Remember
The sunlight

You are here Lord
But fuzzy in the
Swirl of images
And heaviness

Dazzler of the dark
Sharpen the vision
Of my heart
As I wait
For light

Change of Heart

Lent: Ashes. Repentance. Self sacrifice. Ugh - another opportunity to wallow in self recrimination and abasement; another year to play at "giving up" a treat in hopes of impressing God or ourselves with our self control.
                                     OR
Lent: Renewal. Self Awareness. Metanoia or deep down change of heart. Another opportunity to examine our actions and move closer to God's vision of who we should be.

Whichever is our real motivation, these are the 40 days in which what we do is less important than the attitude we have when doing it.

I've got mixed emotions about this season of purple vestments and darkened churches. They don't mesh with my belief in God's delight in us, God's bounty and willingness to share it and God's insistence that in His love, we are all born anew and capable of accomplishing great things. It's taken me a long time to accept that forgiveness is ours when we ask for it and not try to earn it.

However, the statement of St. Paul in 1Cor 13 puts all of this in an important perspective:

If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. 2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. 3 If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,but do not have love, I gain nothing.

What amazes me in these lines is that we can do these extraordinary things at all. The gifts of God are truly irrevocable, even if we don't use them in the way that God intended. It is the way in which we use them that makes them a Christian witness or not, not the acts themselves. Whatever we do must be rooted in a love for others and not out of an ego-directed motive.

Each of us has the capacity to perform admirably, but where is our heart? Deep down, what do we think of those whom we are serving with our gifts? I had to stop watching some of the reality shows on TV because I was too tempted to feel superior to the people who seemed to be messing up their lives. That isn't loving and I was full of judgment about the people and not just their behavior. I was being a "noisy gong."

As I write this, I am looking at at a "Ty Beanie Babies" that sits on my desk. It's a white bear with the dove of peace embroidered on its chest. It's a reminder to me that this is the call of all of us: to walk through our days bringing reconciliation and healing and the olive branch of forgiveness. For me, it's a better reminder of what Lent is all about than the ashes and purple cloth.

Phone call

The phone rang at 3am this morning. My heart didn't quite stop as it used to when my mother-in-law was alive and a middle of the night phone call meant that she had fallen or worse, but I was instantly wide awake.

"This is Maureen," I answered. The voice at the other end had the far away quality of a guy on a speaker phone and this guy was also pretty far gone himself. "This is James in the bar and I want to ride in your car," he sang out cheerily.

Paul, who had picked up an extension, noted the Caller ID: "Private Out of Area." We hung up. Our drunken caller pushed Redial and we hung up again. We waited expectantly for a third try, but it never came. Apparently the thrill of the surprise was gone and he went on to annoy other sleepyheads with his nonsensical chatter. To his credit, he was a happy drunk...it could have been worse.

I've been wondering, however, why people get a kick out of disturbing the peace of others, whether it's prank phone calls or media blaring in the neighborhood. Maybe it's because they can; maybe it's because they are low in empathy or maybe it's because they are high in a need for power. Regardless of the cause, some people have a larger footprint than others as we navigate the journey of life and we must learn to live together. The question is, how do we do that?

There's a world of difference, of course, between being inconsiderate and breaking the law, between engaging in high jinks and harassing a neighbor. How we respond to any of it, however, depends on our own vision of what constitutes the "other" on this shared planet. Is that "someone else" a person who is ahead or behind us in the marathon of life or someone who is striding alongside us in one long horizontal line that stretches around the globe?

If others are companions on the journey, then those on either side can reach out to the faltering ones and help them through the tough times. If they are merely other entities who happen to support or impede our progress, then their failings have an effect on us and we have a right to get upset and make them pay when they stumble. Our reaction to the failings of others is rooted in either a belief in a vision of our own extrordinary nature or a belief that we share that extrodinary nature with everyone else.

Jesus made it clear which was his choice. He said "judge not, lest you be judged." His prayer to the Father asks that we be forgiven as we forgive others. The gospel accounts show Jesus refusing to join in the pointing fingers of others. In that spirit, our self absorbed 3am caller deserved at least a mental prayer for his safety in getting home from the bar last night and maybe at least a "God bless you" before we hung up. Who knows the effect that might have had?

The psalmist tells us that God is "the lifter of my head." That means when we are bowed low by shame and discouragement, it is God who reaches out and says, "Chin up, my beloved."

Let's pass it on.

Moving On

Paul and I watched Toy Story 3 the other night, expecting a light, upbeat film about Andy and his stalwart toy friends facing obstacles together and conquering in the end. Instead, we wound up teary and philosophical about the reality of change and the nature of love.

Andy, you see, is going off to college and all of his toy team can't make the trip. Who gets packed in the suitcase? Who goes in the attic? Who goes to day care and who gets put in the trash? Parting is definitely NOT sweet sorrow. Not to spoil it for you, but it doesn't end as one would think.

Throughout the story, the toys must face the fact that Andy doesn't want to play with them anymore. The relationship they had has changed. The future is not yet clear and all that is left are the memories and the heartache. What they do have, however, is each other and staying together becomes their overriding concern. When they finally recognize that Andy must move on, they are able to help him do what he cannot do himself.

Perhaps the real message here is the one from Ecclesiastes: "To everything there is a season...". Pain only comes when we hold tightly to the present that the future is trying to wrest from our grasp. If we can let it go, the transition becomes much easier. Nothing is permanent except the love of our God and the love that we choose to give; everything else is out of our control - including the reaction to the love we choose to give - and subject to change.

"Turn! Turn! Turn" was Pete Seegar's plea when he wrote the folk song (later covered by The Birds) based on the Ecclesiastes verses. I take that to mean that we can't stay glued in place, but must continue to turn to face what is coming next or it may hit us in the back of the head.

Andy, Woody, Buzz Lightyear and the rest of the playroom gang had to turn to find the sunrise from the sunset of Andy's childhood. There was new life for everyone because they did. As we all walk with God each day, we'd better be prepared to turn some corners, too.

Windfall

This is a wonderful guest post written by my husband, Paul.

Last Summer was a time of many losses for me. In the midst of all that was going on, a big windstorm broke a large bough on one of the “century plus” oak trees on our property. This broken bough stayed stuck in the tree. High up. Out of reach. A large problem waiting to arrive in the future. So I worried, of course.


Last week, another gusty windstorm delivered a literal windfall. The dead bough dropped to our driveway, fortunately with no damage. But it was large enough to block the driveway and difficult to move. But I could push it out of the way to deal with later.

Monday a neighbor helped me cut it down into short pieces. It was a good time for us to talk. We usually just pass by on our errands rather than talk for a while. Shared labor gave us a time to interact.

The dead branch appeared so large before. 25 feet long. 6 inches in diameter. But after a short time of sawing, what was left wasn’t all that large.

This morning as I looked out at the small pile of logs, I realized that God was reminding me that large, seemingly intractable, future problems can be resolved one piece at a time. As a business management consultant, I have reminded clients: “How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.” But for my problems, I want the immediate, quick solution.

As I move to retirement, I worry about the large, intractable problem of resources. (Or, “What do I eat? What do I wear?” from Sunday’s Gospel reading.) This week, there have been some small windfalls into our bank account. God is clearly reminding me that together we can address large, intractable problems through a series of small steps and windfalls.

Usually, I prefer the calm sunshine to blustery weather. But now, I look forward to the next windfall.