albatross or sparrow

Sometimes there are things that just don't matter. And sometimes there are things that really matter a great deal. And sometimes it's hard to tell where the line is. And then there are the times when one wonders how to tell when crossing that line, or even traveling close to it, is more important than any promises made.
What's particularly difficult is when the persons who might normally have been the obvious choices for hashing out the answers are integral parts of the question.
And then there's the unfortunate fact of 'timing.'
Here I am, working at balancing responsibilities, growing in faith and love, and changing the way I look at myself (all quite related), and suddenly finding myself trying to decide if this is an albatross or a sparrow on my shoulder. Frankly, I'm a little afraid to look, and as a result, in not knowing, the albatross wins. The question is, what to do? The subsequent question (and at least as important) is, does it really need to be recognized? Part of me figures that for my own peace of mind, yes, and look it in the eye. Another part of me says that it'll fly the coop on its own if I just let it go. But my heart wonders if I can count on that - or if facing it is worth whatever the price may be.
Lord, how I need you.

rest my bones

I'm tired. I slept less than I should have last night, and should really just crawl into bed now (or, really, about a half hour ago) and go to sleep. I'm fighting it. Why? I'd welcome guesses. Mostly because I don't want to admit to myself that I might have some ideas.

First of all, I have a small project I could be working on. It's a draft of a letter that I won't even be sending, but that we decided I should help with. I sent one draft already -- not a great one, but I knew that if I didn't start it yesterday when I had a few minutes, I would put it off until Sunday sometime, and I really didn't like that idea. Or how that would make me feel like I looked. (And that's a funny thing, actually, because I'm far less concerned with how the first version makes me look than how a little procrastination might look. I judge myself kinda harshly. We're working on that...)

Next, husband and most of the kids are not home. Three of those four that are not home are more than capable of getting themselves back home, into bed, and off to dreamland with no intervention from me whatsoever. I know that full well. I miss them all, though, even though they've only been gone a few hours. I'm a bit of a sap when it comes to the Team. (We're not working on that. No problem there.) I'll never make it until all of them are home, but a girl can dream while she's awake.

And that's likely the real reason I don't want to face or think about. A few weeks ago, a friend and I were talking, and working out a problem in dreams came up. I mentioned that I hadn't dreamed in months, which is unusual because I normally remember that I've had dreams, even when I can't remember any of the content. There was an aspect of prayer as an element in that conversation, and a suggestion that praying for guidance in my dreams might be helpful. Since that day, I've had a couple of dreams -- but here's the thing: usually when I realize I haven't dreamed in a while, or when I've had a particularly strange dream, I work at avoiding them. How do I do that? I stay awake and make myself overtired in an effort to eventually fall too deeply asleep to dream. I've made a few daylight connections in the past couple of days, and might be avoiding any other connections getting worked out in my sleep. (This is a weird area, because on one side of my life, I have someone who is fascinated by dreams and what they reveal, and on the other, I have an opposing view: dreams are just dreams. They are a playground for daytime thoughts. It doesn't seem we're working on that....)

As a result of just these three things, I found myself nearly dozing while listening to the end of tonight's lesson on my computer, my eyes are really heavy, and I'm wanting a snack. I think it's time to dish up a scoop or two of ice cream, and get ready to turn in. But before I turn off the light, as I say my evening prayers, I will try to remember to apologize for avoiding sleep, and ask for the grace to accept rest when I need it. I push myself too hard, which, when combined with my tendency to judge myself harshly, can become a rather ugly combination.

Good night, all.

at your feet

There are two pumpkin pies in the oven. Last week in our CSA share, we found a pie pumpkin, and I determined I was going to give this a go. They smell fantastic, but I am nervously checking on the crust periodically. God did not gift me with crust crimping skills, or with much luck when it comes to one crust pies not burning. We'll see, but I am pretty excited about them. Baking them has been an all day process, interspersed with some other food preparation -- including cooling time after roasting the pumpkin.

When I went to bed last night, my plan for the day was all laid out. But I woke this morning with a scratchy throat and a drippy nose. Not terrible, but enough to make me happy that I hadn't planned on going in to work and wondering if the cooking and baking would get done. I kept the day to just those activities, foregoing other errands I had been adding to my list. At lunchtime, I made some tea, intending to rest up a bit  by praying and doing some scripture homework before continuing with the pie. Before I could even begin, our youngest came home for lunch. A quick visit later, I wondered if I should just get the pies in the oven before I went up to finish what I hadn't even started. "No," I told myself, "sit down and rest a bit."

Of all the stories in the Bible that strike a chord with me, there is one in particular that for a long time gave me more discomfort than comfort. It took me a really long time -- most of my life so far, actually -- to even begin to consider why. Today I wrote in my Sacred Space, "How fitting that I spent the morning 'doing' and almost let myself get distracted by more doing when I decided to sit, read, and pray! ...." Mary and Martha have been duking it out in my heart for years. At times I've wondered why Jesus was so hard on Martha, or so easy on Mary, or even paid any attention to either of them. I've wondered why Martha addressed her problem to Jesus, instead of to Mary directly. I've wondered why Mary doesn't even speak. A year or so ago, the debate came up again: in different places over the course of an entire week, I came across some mention of Mary and Martha and Jesus. Having no idea why the series of mentions, I kept it all in my pondering place. Weeks later, after an experience that clarified Mary's place in the story to me, I began to utter a promise each day. "I will sit at your feet and listen."

Although I say it every day, I know I am not very good at actually doing it. I sit sometimes. I listen sometimes. I don't always make a point of just sitting and listening with the intention of hearing the story, of sharing the moment, of being right there, of being. Many times, I sit to listen, to hear. Mary was doing more than that. Martha could possibly have heard what Jesus was saying while she went about her chores. Perhaps that was part of her frustration: Mary would have been able to hear as she walked about, doing while the sound of His voice carried through the house. What Martha missed was the experience of hearing. The subtle nuances of facial expression and body language that enhance or change the meaning of the words, even ever so slightly. The occasional eye contact that emphasizes a point. The silent shake of the head that signals another thought flitting through the speaker's mind. The responses of the others there listening as well. Martha may well have been able to hear the words, but Mary was there to experience the story. When I make a point to do more than simply listen, to focus on where I am and what I might hear, or say, I find that I often feel more. I pick up on little things I might have otherwise missed. When I make a point to listen, to experience in prayer, I find that I listen better and experience more in my life, with my family and my friends. I'm less distracted, less likely to find some thing to do.

I will. I will sit at your feet, and listen to your stories, to your voice, to you."

ask why

When I was in high school, I had a boyfriend I thought was all that. After dating him for about three months, I invited him to a New Year's Eve party that my parents were taking us to. I knew there would be very few kids our age there, and really didn't want to spend the evening with just my sister to keep me company. Did I "forget" to mention to him that there would be Mass at midnight? Probably--which means, of course I did! In my own awkward and unpracticed way, I was trying to invite him into something our family did together without it being weird. Did I realize that less weird for me might be more weird for him? Did I care enough to wonder? No way. I was 15--I was concerned more about me, and how I felt.

Everything was going great--we were hanging out with my sister, maybe we watched TV or played cards. The thing I remember most about that night was Mass. The adults started filing downstairs to the basement where we had been all evening, and that was his first clue that something was going on. I tried to play it off as something I saw all the time. In truth, I was a little freaked out at them coming downstairs--Mass in a basement with no windows is weird. And there is a ridiculous amount of discomfort associated with the realization that you purposely yet unwittingly tricked someone into being trapped in a basement with no escape. I tried to ignore the daggers he shot at me, until, about halfway through, he leaned over and asked, "Why do Catholics do that? Why do they sway like that? It's weird." I turned my head and saw what he saw: everyone swaying--not side to side as one would do when holding a baby, or dancing to music--forward and back. And so was I.

I answered him honestly. "I don't know. I never really noticed before." But it was the last time I did. For months afterward, focusing on not swaying occupied all my attention. Then it became habit to stand stock still. Save for the days (years!) when I baby-swayed, I haven't moved at church. I sit, stand and kneel, but no swaying.

At the time, I had all the answers. I had all A's in school, read a lot, and felt like I knew everything. That question that stumped me was hard to take. It made me doubt myself, my gifts, even, for reasons I may never understand, my faith. Up to that point, I had thought of faith as a given, but with one question, I was thrown. For one simple reason: I didn't know who I could ask. Even then, I figured it had something to do with equilibrium and some other physiological factors, but at church was the only place I ever saw it. I was never told I was supposed to, or that people do for various reasons, nothing. It was a void, a black hole.

Black holes suck in the stuff around them, and this one sucked in quite a bit of goodness. It sucked in just about all the faith that I had. I started asking some questions, but without a clear idea of who to ask, I wasn't really looking for answers. Instead, I was asking questions to point out what I didn't like, the quirks, the stuff I didn't understand--all in such a way that I really was making fun of what I didn't know. And it got to the point that I thought asking questions was a bad thing. If I didn't know, there must be something wrong with me. Funny thing is, though, I only felt that way about questions related to faith and its practice.

Fast forward. I met a great guy. We got married. Had kids. Went to church. Got busy. Time passed. Life was crazy, but good. We were showing our kids faith. They weren't asking too many questions. Nobody had to know what I didn't know--not even me. It was good. Or so I thought.

When Dad died, I started to realize there was something missing in my faith. It wasn't a given. I did a lot of taking in the days, months and years that followed. In many ways, I was still that 15-year-old girl, at least as far as my faith is concerned. Had I considered that might be a legitimate question to ask, had I had someone to go to, high school, for me, may have been very different. All that taking and selfishness turned me more and more inward. I still went to church, I still did the things I thought faith-filled people did, and eventually I hit a wall. And I kept hitting my head against it.

Fortunately, that was mistaken for knocking, and a door was opened. I was having a miserable time, feeling like everything was falling apart, and someone I didn't even know very well told me that if I wanted or needed to, I could call. Just the invitation opened another door: the one in my heart. Soon after, I offered to take Mom to Faith Matters at church, and, lo and behold! Within a couple of weeks, I heard that questions are good. Ask them. Look for answers. And don't stop until you understand. It didn't take long for me to realize that was my nature; in my "real life," I asked questions all the time. Relentlessly, sometimes!

I still don't know about that swaying, but I have had many questions answered--most of which lead to more questions. (I'm in heaven!) And my kids have been asking questions, which makes me so proud of them, especially when they humble me by asking one I can't answer. I love telling them we'll find out together, or to direct them to someone who might know. I've gotten to know the person who offered that invitation, and although I have never called, I have emailed, texted and messaged--a LOT!

And I am forever grateful. My heart dances.

not just a question

What's changed?

On the surface, if just reading the words, the question is simple. Further contemplation brought me to the simple answer, "Everything, it seems." I started making a list.

1. I haven't done any yoga in what seems like forever. (probably about a month)
2. I've been cranky at work, for a number of reasons (none of which really are my problem, incidentally)
3. Working at soccer games means that I have missed Adoration for a while.
4. I reprimanded myself for asking questions--for being who I am, for reasons I cannot even identify fully. (this was the most disturbing one, in all honesty)
5. I realized I was actively avoiding writing anything down. No blogging, no quotes, no notes. Nothing. (when I hit this one, I stopped. Something clearly was wrong.)

Looking at the list, my first realization was that I had been blaming outside stimuli for all of these things--too busy to exercise, others' issues, scheduling I had little control over, a book I wasn't prepared to read, a sluggish laptop--instead of looking at what in me was leaving me stranded.

So I turned inward.

And I realized I had allowed, for some reason, a kernel of doubt to settle in. Like a popcorn skin stuck between molars, that little kernel of doubt irritated and discomfited, until even the good stuff was not getting past to my heart. The doubt was not in any Big Ideas; it was my old arch nemesis, self-doubt.

I realized that I had been worrying more about stuff I didn't know, and that didn't matter in any Grand Scheme, or even (in all honesty) to me. In lieu of self-examination, I was frantically looking for answers I didn't even need. My fixes were treatment of symptoms, rather than looking for a cure. And my fixes were many. Mostly they involved more and more, until I was working myself into a frantic mess.

Then a question. And I'm finding Trust again. And Hope. And Love.

pen and paper

Often, lately, I find myself faced with a blank sheet of paper. I know what question has led me to it, but I keep wondering what answer it holds. I found myself actively seeking the answer, pushing myself to understand its meaning, questioning my ability to understand or even recognize the answer when it comes. When I realized what I was doing, I made the decision to stop trying so hard, and to just look at the paper when it appeared in my mind's eye. Passive thinking--Pondering (which I have found to be a far more effective tool of faith for me!)--led me to the conclusion that the paper was waiting for dictation. [Which made perfect sense, as that was a reminder of the question in the first place! Why am I surprised by that? Why am I surprised by anything?]

Then I realized there is no pen.

This caused a fleeting panic, but fortunately I caught it before it ran away with my mind and heart. Then I laughed! There is no pen! Why? Because I don't need it yet. Things need to happen first, events need to unfold, hearts need to listen, and souls to speak.

None of these realizations came quickly, and yet they did. There was a late night "conversation" or two that reminded me of the importance of waiting. Not just patience, but waiting. Waiting and the relative passage of time. God's time is transcendent, while ours is relative. In my prayer life, I have been experiencing the joys of that transcendence, but--yet again!--have been having a difficult time translating it to my secular life. In actuality, I should be working on not separating the two; conditioning that will take [relative] time, patience and practice, the likes of which I have not yet seen, I'd bet! I keep telling myself that I believe that I am prepared, but I also know (now) that telling myself amounts to stalling [I'm getting to know myself, day by day] and that I should admit that I either need to jump forward, or get pushed.

With regard to the missing pen: I find peace in my mind when I write. At times, words bump and rush through my head, and I find myself frustrated that I have no time to write them down, or that I don't have access to my keyboard to let them flow out. However, at times when I have questions, I recognize the danger that I might try to make answers as I write, rather than allow them to come in their own time (in God's time, in this case). I'm guessing that has something to do with the missing pen. So many words have bustled around my brain, but instead of trying to get them onto 'paper,' I have let them run freely. Some have continued to spin and swirl, but others have made themselves known, then run through the rocks that filter my skull. What has remained is a calming beauty; an atmosphere more conducive to further pondering.

And a feeling of being beside, neither in front nor behind. I've run from myself for a long time. It's only recently that I have had faith enough in myself to lose myself in my Faith. I have work to do, and steps to take, and things come to terms with, and so very much to learn. But the learning!! There is such beauty in the learning! When I look behind me, I see such a long road I have traveled, and when I look before me, I see even more. And although I keep trying to run that road, I must remind myself that I am, in fact, taking baby steps: wonderfully slow and steady baby steps, and I have never been alone.

what to do

How am I preparing for Hurricane Sandy? Other than the usual, I'm making granola. And I'm printing directions for craft projects I've found on Pinterest and would like to try. Guy has the Weather Channel on, and is flipping to any storm coverage he can find--I'm trying to avoid watching and listening; preferring to look out the windows for now. I know at some point, I will long for the information flow, as there are predictions of up to 10 days without power. There's no way any batteries will last that long in this house! A dear friend has offered to be our evacuation site, if necessary, but we'll reserve that for emergency, as there are the five of us, plus two (rather big) dogs and Mom. We'll see. Next, I will probably hard boil the eggs, since at least two of us like them that way. Then I'll make soup for lunch.

The combination of dire storm warnings, full moon and the actual air pressure, I have this strong desire to curl into a ball and cry until the whole thing is over. Three days of tears would not only make me look rather lovely for the next week (puffy face, burned eyes and enlarged nose), but will also leave me with a strong desire to sleep for the next two days after that. Too much to deal with, so I'm resisting....

There's also the other Sandy I'm thinking about. Almost 20 years ago, Guy and I lost a baby, that we then named Sandy; an ambiguous name for a baby we never saw, and a baby whose very existence was questioned by the same doctor who confirmed the pregnancy. I've credited Sandy for being a good part of the reason I am the Mom that I am; for helping me through the tough (read: lonely) days of bed rest at the end of my pregnancy with Jonathan. Frequently, I find Sandy in the back of my mind, but the pain is just a faint memory. Occasionally, I wonder what Sandy would be doing now, but then I realize that our family would not be what it is today--at all. None of the combination of personalities would be what I know as our loving home. Not that I think it would be worse, or better, but different is different, and cannot ever be seen, in this case.

So, back to the granola, then eggs....followed by caramel apples, soup, and anything else that will keep me as busy as possible while the TV is on, maybe even some yoga. When (if) the power is out, at some point we will get tired of each other, I'm sure, but in the meantime, the older boys (including the extra "son" we had for the night) are still fast asleep, and the younger two are being as lazy as possible. Guy's moving the cars, and I'm wondering what the dogs will do later today (they don't like getting wet in the rain), and why there are so many cars driving past our house. And trying not to think about our niece at Hofstra and Jonathan at Ithaca. All while praying that we keep our sense of humor, if nothing else.

The laundry and porch paint-prep are done. Must remember to run the dishwasher soon.....

insignificant distractions

We all have them. Those things that take our attention away from where it should be focused, and sometimes keep us confounded despite our best intentions. Some distractions are quite profound: blowing bubbles or jumping in a puddle with a toddler; stopping to pick dandelions on a spring day; getting stuck under an awning with a stranger in a sudden downpour. These distractions often serve to make us think of what we have been missing in our often hectic day-to-day. Frequently, we promise ourselves we will make more time for that toddler, on spring days, to allow our day to be brightened by a friendly word. These distractions are significant--much more significant than we give them credit to be. They remind us, at a very deep level, who we are, who we mean one day to be, who we admire.

Other distractions may get more attention because they seem more flashy, more showy, more exciting to talk about--or hide. While they may last longer -- less than half a year, or even almost 15 years or more -- they are not significant. Why? If a distraction can last that long, wouldn't it be quite significant? No; not if they are only serving to remind you of who you are not. Once the distraction is shaken, each day without it becomes more beautiful, clearer, and more crisp. Each day without the distraction becomes hopeful, promising, REAL. Life in general is better. Insignificant distractions may make a temporary impact on the being, but ultimately, every insignificant distraction proves the honesty and intensity of a soul bound for better things.

In The five people you meet in Heaven, Mitch Albom wrote, "In order to move on, you must understand why you felt what you did and why you no longer need to feel it." This applies to  insignificant distractions, which are sometimes hard to explain, but, in the end, can be seen objectively as teaching moments; moments that may have lasted longer than a simple kiss, but mean far, far less, because they had no depth. Insignificant distractions, even when long-lasting, are superficial, at best; meeting only our most ignoble needs.

Moving forward from significant distractions--babies, babbling brooks, a clear and star-filled sky--the kind that show you the power of God and His love--is somehow much easier to understand and learn from; and, therefore, we are able to walk away feeling empowered, blessed, and somehow 'more.' They carry depth; they reach into our very core.

Happily ever after is real. It just requires copious amounts of hard work. Insignificant distractions cannot dismantle a strong foundation. In fact, insignificant distractions rather fortify the edifice. Oh, yes, focus can be lost, but when we realize our mistakes, we can prove to ourselves just how powerful our true selves can be.