For many many years I searched for him. When he wants attention he sticks his finger up my nose or in my ear and then in my mouth and it is times like these why God allowed me to be teased mercilessly by junior high boys on the bus in middle school: it was to prepare me for my fabulous life with my lovely and bizarre husband. I pet his beard until it is fluffy and pokey and he flattens it back down and gives me a look of fake contempt. I listen to his heart beat against my ear and think about how this is the man that God promised me so many years ago when I would cry out for an earthly husband. That this man with whom I share a house and a bed and a life was formed for me from the foundations of the earth. He is the one that God promised me many years ago. One whom I spent thousands of dollars in self-help books and seminars and tapes and therapy for so I could be ready for him when he arrived. But i wasn't quite ready when he arrived and he had to be very patient as I tried very hard to push him away and convince him he could never love a girl like me.
He is my Samuel with Daniel like qualities, a Daniel because he is a handsome, wise and learned man who has a heart for justice and an aptitude for learning. One who is willing to stand up to the authorities and provide counsel and proclaim injustice. He is a Samuel because every year I would bring my sacrifices to the altar and weep like Hannah to give me a husband and eventually a child that I promised I would dedicate both to the Lord in a life of service and sacrifice.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Party at the Odd Duck Pond
I went to a conference about building Christian Community this weekend in Haight Ashbury that rocked my freakin world. I was rather unexcited about going to earlier in the week. I thought I was going to be forced to be social when all of my relational energy had been sucked dry by the 6th graders in my life. My friend John was afraid it was going to be a bit cultish and weird and that everyone was going to try to convince him to live in a big commune. I told him we were having pot pies and Kool-Aid for lunch and he almost walked out the door. That made me feel a little better. The weekend was filled with new friends and fascinating humans. One of the most interesting people I met was Rick the Zen Buddhist priest. He was part of the Jesus movement during the 70's and got burned out and became Jewish and then switched over to Buddhism. He said that in the past year God has had other ideas, and that he has had a growing hunger to learn to love like Jesus loves. He knows his scripture too. I found him very humble and thoughtful. He asked us who was the king of 100 rivers as he sat on the ground looking up at us. He said the sea, because it lies below them. Likewise if we are to be the greatest we must humble ourselves to become lower than those we serve. When I talked he really listened. He was completely present with me and cared about what I had to say and to be honest it freaked me out.
A lot of the people surrounding me in this huge mansion on the corner of Fell and Lyon are members of an intentional community called Seven. There are people in the community that are artists and writers and musicians. Devoted to creating beauty in a sometimes very ugly world. There are people that use their degrees and education to create and promote social justice. They free modern day slaves and get amnesty for immigrants that have been displaced by tribal massacres. They are all about serving and loving and living like Jesus. A lovely British woman just washed my feet. I t felt strangely normal and wonderful. She implored me to sit next to her because she said she hadn't shaved her legs in a while and didn't want a guy to be her partner. She obviously doesn't know much about west Sonoma county. Or my roommates for example. Hairy legs are not foreign concept to me.
I am surrounded by like minded people that are all in pursuit of creating intentional community in the way of Jesus. This is very important because I feel safe and at home here. No one will think I am weird, which is a rather uncommon occurence in my life. I am starting to realize that maybe it's not that I am weird, it's just that I am swimming in the pond with a different species of ducks. Today I am with other odd ducks. It is nice to be with people who are like me.
Everyone is very trendy and educated and use big words like orthopraxy. Sarah is planning to set up a sting in SFO to stop trafficking of humans in a modern day slave trade. She calls herself an abolitionist. There is a also a girl called Trendy Amy. She shares my name and certain aspects of my personality including my sometimes manic extroversion. For a vacation she wants to go to the poverty centers of the world and work with the people there and help them make their lives better. Not to tell them how much smarter and better the American way is, but to serve them within their culture and traditions. To honor the beauty that lies within the way their people live and move and have their being.
Listening to Mark talk about the need to have healthy people in your community really dialed up a lot of my stuff. They talked about how sometimes in stages of healing we have to go through processes of deconstruction followed by reconstruction. The tearing down of the old and the building up of the new. The pure, the right, what we were meant to be and how we were meant to live and interact with other children of God. I started to wonder if my deconstruction is a drain on my community. I had to go upstairs and think for a while and God had to yell in my ear. The lies that I thought were gone for good have been sneaking back and whispering to me lately. God told me I am in a stage of rebuilding right now. The deconstruction has past. He said that I have infinite value and intrinsic worth that any community would be blessed by. I am loved. I am strong. I am a gift. My story is one of the power of reconciliation and healing. I must have no shame about my past. That I am the daughter of a king.
Mark says that leadership requires a healthy sense of your own value, and the courage to do the next thing that follows the way of Jesus. They say that you can only give to others what you already have. This dude James decided not to eat out for 40 days. Another girl didn't buy clothes for a year. Sarah didn't wear makeup or jewelry for 2 months to help her realize that her beauty and worth does not come from outward adornment but through her worth in Christ Jesus. I really want to do that too. She said it brings freedom. I am afraid but I am committed. I know it will be hard for me and I don't know why. I guess I have always been the pretty girl and if I am not pretty than what am I? Where does true beauty come from? I know where but I am not willing to acknowledge it at this time. I wonder who will still think I am pretty when I am not all painted. Will boys still hug me and tell me I am beautiful? Emily went to India to free prostitutes and help them live like normal women. She said in India only prostitutes wear makeup. She found it troubling that these women adorned themselves to be sold to men, and how she now sees that American women do the same. The currency is just different. And we resort to much more drastic, painful, and silicone measures to sell ourselves.
Traffic and ambulances drown out the shares and struggles of the leader and the people here. These are people like me. People whose prayers sometimes consist of just the F word and are devoted to being in the middle of the battlefields of the world. They teach cooking classes in the Tenderloin and eat with their hands out of habit from living in West Africa for so long. They are beautiful and raw and real and revolutionaries in emergent Christianity. They talk about the fact that there are 1000 steps to leadership, that leadership is wrought and born out of a beingness that transcends from within and flows out to those around you. It starts with washing feet and leaning in when someone is telling a story. Staying present with people. Living for others rather than self. Leading like Jesus. Adam says that leadership is something that is granted to you from the community. We talked earlier today about woundedness and deconstruction and reconstruction and who is healthy to have in your intentional community. I started to think about my woundedness and whether or not I was taking away from my community. What I have damaged and how important it is to protect my village. To be samurai. A class of warrior devoted to protecting what is most dear. James points out that everyone wants the cool sexy parts of leadership. Not the getting your heart ripped out by people you love part. Not the foot washing part. Because let's face it, feet gross me out. But I washed British Elaine's feet and it was awesome. I want to spend my life washing feet.
A lot of the people surrounding me in this huge mansion on the corner of Fell and Lyon are members of an intentional community called Seven. There are people in the community that are artists and writers and musicians. Devoted to creating beauty in a sometimes very ugly world. There are people that use their degrees and education to create and promote social justice. They free modern day slaves and get amnesty for immigrants that have been displaced by tribal massacres. They are all about serving and loving and living like Jesus. A lovely British woman just washed my feet. I t felt strangely normal and wonderful. She implored me to sit next to her because she said she hadn't shaved her legs in a while and didn't want a guy to be her partner. She obviously doesn't know much about west Sonoma county. Or my roommates for example. Hairy legs are not foreign concept to me.
I am surrounded by like minded people that are all in pursuit of creating intentional community in the way of Jesus. This is very important because I feel safe and at home here. No one will think I am weird, which is a rather uncommon occurence in my life. I am starting to realize that maybe it's not that I am weird, it's just that I am swimming in the pond with a different species of ducks. Today I am with other odd ducks. It is nice to be with people who are like me.
Everyone is very trendy and educated and use big words like orthopraxy. Sarah is planning to set up a sting in SFO to stop trafficking of humans in a modern day slave trade. She calls herself an abolitionist. There is a also a girl called Trendy Amy. She shares my name and certain aspects of my personality including my sometimes manic extroversion. For a vacation she wants to go to the poverty centers of the world and work with the people there and help them make their lives better. Not to tell them how much smarter and better the American way is, but to serve them within their culture and traditions. To honor the beauty that lies within the way their people live and move and have their being.
Listening to Mark talk about the need to have healthy people in your community really dialed up a lot of my stuff. They talked about how sometimes in stages of healing we have to go through processes of deconstruction followed by reconstruction. The tearing down of the old and the building up of the new. The pure, the right, what we were meant to be and how we were meant to live and interact with other children of God. I started to wonder if my deconstruction is a drain on my community. I had to go upstairs and think for a while and God had to yell in my ear. The lies that I thought were gone for good have been sneaking back and whispering to me lately. God told me I am in a stage of rebuilding right now. The deconstruction has past. He said that I have infinite value and intrinsic worth that any community would be blessed by. I am loved. I am strong. I am a gift. My story is one of the power of reconciliation and healing. I must have no shame about my past. That I am the daughter of a king.
Mark says that leadership requires a healthy sense of your own value, and the courage to do the next thing that follows the way of Jesus. They say that you can only give to others what you already have. This dude James decided not to eat out for 40 days. Another girl didn't buy clothes for a year. Sarah didn't wear makeup or jewelry for 2 months to help her realize that her beauty and worth does not come from outward adornment but through her worth in Christ Jesus. I really want to do that too. She said it brings freedom. I am afraid but I am committed. I know it will be hard for me and I don't know why. I guess I have always been the pretty girl and if I am not pretty than what am I? Where does true beauty come from? I know where but I am not willing to acknowledge it at this time. I wonder who will still think I am pretty when I am not all painted. Will boys still hug me and tell me I am beautiful? Emily went to India to free prostitutes and help them live like normal women. She said in India only prostitutes wear makeup. She found it troubling that these women adorned themselves to be sold to men, and how she now sees that American women do the same. The currency is just different. And we resort to much more drastic, painful, and silicone measures to sell ourselves.
Traffic and ambulances drown out the shares and struggles of the leader and the people here. These are people like me. People whose prayers sometimes consist of just the F word and are devoted to being in the middle of the battlefields of the world. They teach cooking classes in the Tenderloin and eat with their hands out of habit from living in West Africa for so long. They are beautiful and raw and real and revolutionaries in emergent Christianity. They talk about the fact that there are 1000 steps to leadership, that leadership is wrought and born out of a beingness that transcends from within and flows out to those around you. It starts with washing feet and leaning in when someone is telling a story. Staying present with people. Living for others rather than self. Leading like Jesus. Adam says that leadership is something that is granted to you from the community. We talked earlier today about woundedness and deconstruction and reconstruction and who is healthy to have in your intentional community. I started to think about my woundedness and whether or not I was taking away from my community. What I have damaged and how important it is to protect my village. To be samurai. A class of warrior devoted to protecting what is most dear. James points out that everyone wants the cool sexy parts of leadership. Not the getting your heart ripped out by people you love part. Not the foot washing part. Because let's face it, feet gross me out. But I washed British Elaine's feet and it was awesome. I want to spend my life washing feet.
Orchids and Leviathans
It is early in the weekend and I am done with all of my chores and projects. My molest-me shirts have all been ironed. My circus tent dresses have all been taken in. And the natives are restless. I am alone in our room with nothing but the babbling of Dutch Bill in the background and my thoughts. Donald Miller and memoirs of his Nazi death march to the bottom of the Grand Canyon sit next to me in the chair. Noah Calhoun sits on top of Donald, largely being ignored because I am just not that into him right now.
I have felt rather far from God as of late. Anxious and fearful and under attack. I have been trying to do things on my own again. This usually doesn't go for very long anymore though which is good. It shows growth. Growth I have been very grateful for. During Bible roulette this afternoon I was given 1 Corinthians 3:14 by the divine revelation of the Holy Spirit. It says if the work survives, that builder will receive a reward. It is talking about not building a house out of crappy material, so that when the fire (testing) comes it won't burn up in the flames. I think it has something to do with building our foundation on Christ and not the flimsy $1.99 plywood on the World's clearance rack. It goes onto say that even if you do build your house out of crappy material the builder will survive, but he will have to leap through the flames and probably not come out with his eyebrows and arm hair intact. I think this round of roulette applies to the testing I am going through right now. And whether or not I can really hold out for my own Agent Michael Scarn. As C.S. Lewis wrote, "Often we are content to make mudpies when we are being offered a vacation by the sea." Interesting how I have to remind myself that I do not want a Unitarian mudpie when I can have the church of Christ mansion in Malibu.
I am doing Mary's make-up tonight for a party she's going to at Nicolette's. She is so beautiful. She doesn't know how beautiful she is yet. One day she will. One day.
As I have found being the pretty girl isn't always what it's cracked up to be. Sometimes it is used against you. It can attract things and people and lagoon dwellers that one could do without. It can be exploited. Taken apart. Used for evil instead of for good. Sometimes stolen. For many years I cursed the way God made me because of many of the things it brought. I did everything I could to hide His creation from the world.
A month ago I found a severed Calypso Orchid up at the ropes course. It is the most rare and beautiful flower here at camp. It only grows in certain soil because the pH has to be neutralized by a specific fungus.
I held the broken flower on my mitten as we drove down the mountain and wondered why anyone would dare destroy something so beautiful. And God started to speak to me about His creation and that flower and how even though it had been broken and crushed it was still beautiful and still His handiwork. He created it for His pleasure and as a gift to everyone that would see it, that people would glorify Him because of it. That it was His work and artistry and He would make beautiful what He pleases. At that moment I started to feel a little bit like Job. Like God was asking if I knew where He stored the hail or the lightning bolts or if I knew where the boundaries of the universe were or anything about the leviathan for that matter. I don't know the first thing about leviathans. And then I realized that beauty is one of those gifts that God gives to whom He pleases. That like the rain, it falls on both the good and the wicked. And that it is not for me to curse the beauty of the Creation, myself included.
I'm but a breath
I'm just a vapor
I am just a grain of sand in your clay
Lord help me understand the depths to who I am in You
You are God and all that I want.
-Vapor, Lystra's Silence
I have felt rather far from God as of late. Anxious and fearful and under attack. I have been trying to do things on my own again. This usually doesn't go for very long anymore though which is good. It shows growth. Growth I have been very grateful for. During Bible roulette this afternoon I was given 1 Corinthians 3:14 by the divine revelation of the Holy Spirit. It says if the work survives, that builder will receive a reward. It is talking about not building a house out of crappy material, so that when the fire (testing) comes it won't burn up in the flames. I think it has something to do with building our foundation on Christ and not the flimsy $1.99 plywood on the World's clearance rack. It goes onto say that even if you do build your house out of crappy material the builder will survive, but he will have to leap through the flames and probably not come out with his eyebrows and arm hair intact. I think this round of roulette applies to the testing I am going through right now. And whether or not I can really hold out for my own Agent Michael Scarn. As C.S. Lewis wrote, "Often we are content to make mudpies when we are being offered a vacation by the sea." Interesting how I have to remind myself that I do not want a Unitarian mudpie when I can have the church of Christ mansion in Malibu.
I am doing Mary's make-up tonight for a party she's going to at Nicolette's. She is so beautiful. She doesn't know how beautiful she is yet. One day she will. One day.
As I have found being the pretty girl isn't always what it's cracked up to be. Sometimes it is used against you. It can attract things and people and lagoon dwellers that one could do without. It can be exploited. Taken apart. Used for evil instead of for good. Sometimes stolen. For many years I cursed the way God made me because of many of the things it brought. I did everything I could to hide His creation from the world.
A month ago I found a severed Calypso Orchid up at the ropes course. It is the most rare and beautiful flower here at camp. It only grows in certain soil because the pH has to be neutralized by a specific fungus.
I held the broken flower on my mitten as we drove down the mountain and wondered why anyone would dare destroy something so beautiful. And God started to speak to me about His creation and that flower and how even though it had been broken and crushed it was still beautiful and still His handiwork. He created it for His pleasure and as a gift to everyone that would see it, that people would glorify Him because of it. That it was His work and artistry and He would make beautiful what He pleases. At that moment I started to feel a little bit like Job. Like God was asking if I knew where He stored the hail or the lightning bolts or if I knew where the boundaries of the universe were or anything about the leviathan for that matter. I don't know the first thing about leviathans. And then I realized that beauty is one of those gifts that God gives to whom He pleases. That like the rain, it falls on both the good and the wicked. And that it is not for me to curse the beauty of the Creation, myself included.
I'm but a breath
I'm just a vapor
I am just a grain of sand in your clay
Lord help me understand the depths to who I am in You
You are God and all that I want.
-Vapor, Lystra's Silence
Who shrunk the linen closet?
At the top of the stairs in my house growing up was a linen closet. A 2' x 3' space where, among other things, my Snow White blanket and My Little Pony sheets were kept. This closet was a very important place for me, it was my sanctuary from the emotional hurricane that enveloped my home. When things got especially bad and I had been banned from the neighbors house for whatever reason, usually because one of my art projects had made it's way onto the carpet or drapes, I hid in the closet. I could still hear the screams of my parents coming from downstairs, sometimes right outside the door of my cave. My mother threatening to pack her bags and leave and my dad telling her to keep it down because the Broncos were playing. And there I hid, sometimes for hours at a time, rubbing my hand on the corner of the satin binding of my Snow White blanket and wishing my sister would come home already from her stupid boyfriend's house. Then I could hide in her room and we could listen to Cyndi Lauper on her record player and pretend we couldn't hear the threats of murder and divorce coming from downstairs.
Instead of a linen closet at the Glen Iris Becky and I have a body closet in our room. It is scary and dark and has spiders and does not afford a comfortable place for me to avoid conflict and run away from my problems and the screaming that has on occasion been known to happen. We call it the body closet because we surmise that that is the only thing it is good for had we ever any need to hide any bodies. But I am 26 years old and a grown ass woman and shouldn't have any occasion to hide in linen closets anymore should I? I have this book on my shelf in my rather large self help section called Play to Win: Choosing Growth Over Fear in Work and in Life. I realized today as I was lying curled up on my bed clinging to Babar and eyeing the body closet that I have been choosing fear a lot lately in life. I especially choose fear when it comes to confrontation and conflict with people that I love the most. I have a tendency to stuff things down and let them affect the choices that I make. One of my mentors once told me that when we let our fears overtake us they begin to make our decisions for us to. Decisions like the person we will marry, the kind of neighborhood we live in, the school that our children will attend. The depth and honesty of the friendships we have. Jesus tells us to not fear anyone that can harm the body but cannot harm the soul. The soul is what is most important. And no one can steal my soul.
My friend Robbie once told me that when it comes to life we should set our eyes not on things temporary but on things eternal. Don't worry so much about the fact that the lady at the DMV was mean to you, think about the fact that the lady at the DMV could be one step away from losing her soul. Those are the only things that we should be worrying about. But that is not why I want to hide in the closet tonight. Perhaps I should rethink my illegitimate fears. And man-up and spend my energy on the real problems in the world. Like the fact the today a whole football stadium full of people starved to death. Or that little Bernadene's mom is pregnant and doing drugs. Or that tomorrow Priscilla may not have enough food to feed her house full of orphans. But then again, does God need my help fixing all the world's problems? I think He's big enough to take care of it all. So I will give all my worries to the one who gives me peace and sustains me, and not worry about tomorrow for tomorrow will have cares of its own. I will be available to be God's hands and feet and mend anything that He will give me the strength to.
Instead of a linen closet at the Glen Iris Becky and I have a body closet in our room. It is scary and dark and has spiders and does not afford a comfortable place for me to avoid conflict and run away from my problems and the screaming that has on occasion been known to happen. We call it the body closet because we surmise that that is the only thing it is good for had we ever any need to hide any bodies. But I am 26 years old and a grown ass woman and shouldn't have any occasion to hide in linen closets anymore should I? I have this book on my shelf in my rather large self help section called Play to Win: Choosing Growth Over Fear in Work and in Life. I realized today as I was lying curled up on my bed clinging to Babar and eyeing the body closet that I have been choosing fear a lot lately in life. I especially choose fear when it comes to confrontation and conflict with people that I love the most. I have a tendency to stuff things down and let them affect the choices that I make. One of my mentors once told me that when we let our fears overtake us they begin to make our decisions for us to. Decisions like the person we will marry, the kind of neighborhood we live in, the school that our children will attend. The depth and honesty of the friendships we have. Jesus tells us to not fear anyone that can harm the body but cannot harm the soul. The soul is what is most important. And no one can steal my soul.
My friend Robbie once told me that when it comes to life we should set our eyes not on things temporary but on things eternal. Don't worry so much about the fact that the lady at the DMV was mean to you, think about the fact that the lady at the DMV could be one step away from losing her soul. Those are the only things that we should be worrying about. But that is not why I want to hide in the closet tonight. Perhaps I should rethink my illegitimate fears. And man-up and spend my energy on the real problems in the world. Like the fact the today a whole football stadium full of people starved to death. Or that little Bernadene's mom is pregnant and doing drugs. Or that tomorrow Priscilla may not have enough food to feed her house full of orphans. But then again, does God need my help fixing all the world's problems? I think He's big enough to take care of it all. So I will give all my worries to the one who gives me peace and sustains me, and not worry about tomorrow for tomorrow will have cares of its own. I will be available to be God's hands and feet and mend anything that He will give me the strength to.
Zelda and Socrates walk into a bar...
Lately I feel as though I am walking through a dream. That place in between sleep and awake where you aren't sure if the events that you have been participating in are real or imagined. Whether the surreal events that have surrounded you for the past minutes or hours or weeks were something you created or something that is really happening, but you just don't want to acknowledge them. Maybe both?
It's a place where time isn't constant. Waking life has a very different sense of knowingness to it. Sometimes it's that wading through the murk of hardship and heartache that makes you feel like you are trying to play football underwater. Things just aren't going the way you had hoped. I do however feel a strange sense of peace and joy that comes and goes like a wave with some regularity. Like God is near me, holding my hand through this whole ordeal. Whispering in my ear that I am worth something more than everything that has happened in my past and that He has something better for me just around the corner. Sometimes I can feel Him sitting next to me. Holding me. Telling me that this isn't the life He has for me, that there is something much bigger and better I will be called to soon; fighting the powers of spiritual darkness for the kingdom deep in the jungles of 'Nam or something equally cool. Sometimes I feel like I have been stuck in the airport of life waiting for my plane of destiny to arrive due to bad weather and mechanical problems in Chicago. And I am getting sick of the fact that all there is for me to do there is read US Weekly and eat Panda Express from the food court while I wait for what seems like an eternity.
Anne Lamott says that when she first felt the Lord's presence when she was in her strungout alcoholic cocaine phase, she described God as a cat following her around her houseboat. She didn't want to let God in because we all know what happens when you feed a cat and let it in the house. I, however, would never blaspheme the Lord in such a way as to compare Him to a cat.
I cannot live with strife or anger in my environment. I need everyone and everything to be peaceful and happy. I cannot have chaos or disorder in my life. I think this is why I am such an organized neat freak. If everything isn't where it needs to go I feel a sense of instability. I prefer to be in the eye of the hurricane even if that means I have to poke it out myself. And I am also not the most patient person in the world. Even when I am the reason there is no peace (and lets face it I like to stir up the pot once in a while) I feel like I try my best to right the wrongs and make everything whole again as quickly as possible. Lately the peace I have tried to make has a very short shelf life. I want the shelf life of a Twinkie and I am getting the shelf life of brown bananas from the dining hall. I know this is probably because I am trying to make the peace myself rather than let God do it for me. I like to "help" God out sometimes. Like when I was little and would "help" my mom make cookies by dumping flour and a gallon of cooking oil all over the kitchen floor. Sometimes in the back of my mind I wait for God to freak out and tell me to go watch Sesame Street and get the H out of the kitchen.
The thing is that I am a talker. The way I work things out is by talking them out, even if it means talking in circles. It makes me feel better to talk in circles which may seem ridiculous to most people. But there are many things other people do to cope that I think are rather ridiculous. Like playing Zelda for 18 hours straight or watching bowling on TV. The problem comes when I am so ashamed of my feelings and my anger and my illogical and irrational emotions that I don't want anyone to know anything that is going on in my brain and yet everyone knows because you suck at hiding things....everyone knows your hurt and your pain because it is written all over your face. It's times like these I wish I had hung out more with the Drama Club kids in highschool rather than peppering them with punk rock misunderstood artist disdain and limericks that rhymed with thespians. Zelda cannot offer advice when you don't have the strength anymore to bless those that curse you. And the source of your current problems stares you in the face in the morning while you brush your teeth and it becomes too much to take. When it hurts too much to talk about the painful situations that follow you even into your bedroom and watch over you as you sleep at night. I haved lived through so much. I have made peace with death itself, and yet I cannot find the strength to look past the seemingly petty offenses taking place in my world. Things threatening to destroy forever that which is dearest to me.
The story goes that Plato and Socrates were having a conversation about the cycle of life. Socrates said that all things go through a stage of growth, followed by a stage of stability, and finally decay. But Plato said that stability is a myth. He said that living things can only grow or decay. We are either growing or decaying. Donald Miller writes that "everybody has to change or they expire. Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons. I want to keep my soul fertile for changes, so things keep getting born in me, so things keep dying when it is time for things to die. I want to keep walking away from the person I was a moment ago, because a mind was made to figure things out, not to read the same page recurrently." Amen brother.
It's a place where time isn't constant. Waking life has a very different sense of knowingness to it. Sometimes it's that wading through the murk of hardship and heartache that makes you feel like you are trying to play football underwater. Things just aren't going the way you had hoped. I do however feel a strange sense of peace and joy that comes and goes like a wave with some regularity. Like God is near me, holding my hand through this whole ordeal. Whispering in my ear that I am worth something more than everything that has happened in my past and that He has something better for me just around the corner. Sometimes I can feel Him sitting next to me. Holding me. Telling me that this isn't the life He has for me, that there is something much bigger and better I will be called to soon; fighting the powers of spiritual darkness for the kingdom deep in the jungles of 'Nam or something equally cool. Sometimes I feel like I have been stuck in the airport of life waiting for my plane of destiny to arrive due to bad weather and mechanical problems in Chicago. And I am getting sick of the fact that all there is for me to do there is read US Weekly and eat Panda Express from the food court while I wait for what seems like an eternity.
Anne Lamott says that when she first felt the Lord's presence when she was in her strungout alcoholic cocaine phase, she described God as a cat following her around her houseboat. She didn't want to let God in because we all know what happens when you feed a cat and let it in the house. I, however, would never blaspheme the Lord in such a way as to compare Him to a cat.
I cannot live with strife or anger in my environment. I need everyone and everything to be peaceful and happy. I cannot have chaos or disorder in my life. I think this is why I am such an organized neat freak. If everything isn't where it needs to go I feel a sense of instability. I prefer to be in the eye of the hurricane even if that means I have to poke it out myself. And I am also not the most patient person in the world. Even when I am the reason there is no peace (and lets face it I like to stir up the pot once in a while) I feel like I try my best to right the wrongs and make everything whole again as quickly as possible. Lately the peace I have tried to make has a very short shelf life. I want the shelf life of a Twinkie and I am getting the shelf life of brown bananas from the dining hall. I know this is probably because I am trying to make the peace myself rather than let God do it for me. I like to "help" God out sometimes. Like when I was little and would "help" my mom make cookies by dumping flour and a gallon of cooking oil all over the kitchen floor. Sometimes in the back of my mind I wait for God to freak out and tell me to go watch Sesame Street and get the H out of the kitchen.
The thing is that I am a talker. The way I work things out is by talking them out, even if it means talking in circles. It makes me feel better to talk in circles which may seem ridiculous to most people. But there are many things other people do to cope that I think are rather ridiculous. Like playing Zelda for 18 hours straight or watching bowling on TV. The problem comes when I am so ashamed of my feelings and my anger and my illogical and irrational emotions that I don't want anyone to know anything that is going on in my brain and yet everyone knows because you suck at hiding things....everyone knows your hurt and your pain because it is written all over your face. It's times like these I wish I had hung out more with the Drama Club kids in highschool rather than peppering them with punk rock misunderstood artist disdain and limericks that rhymed with thespians. Zelda cannot offer advice when you don't have the strength anymore to bless those that curse you. And the source of your current problems stares you in the face in the morning while you brush your teeth and it becomes too much to take. When it hurts too much to talk about the painful situations that follow you even into your bedroom and watch over you as you sleep at night. I haved lived through so much. I have made peace with death itself, and yet I cannot find the strength to look past the seemingly petty offenses taking place in my world. Things threatening to destroy forever that which is dearest to me.
The story goes that Plato and Socrates were having a conversation about the cycle of life. Socrates said that all things go through a stage of growth, followed by a stage of stability, and finally decay. But Plato said that stability is a myth. He said that living things can only grow or decay. We are either growing or decaying. Donald Miller writes that "everybody has to change or they expire. Everybody has to leave, everybody has to leave their home and come back so they can love it again for all new reasons. I want to keep my soul fertile for changes, so things keep getting born in me, so things keep dying when it is time for things to die. I want to keep walking away from the person I was a moment ago, because a mind was made to figure things out, not to read the same page recurrently." Amen brother.
Pet Donkeys
The first time I met Yanji he was walking his donkeys down the road. I have never seen anyone walk a donkey and I have seen few people love something more than that man loves these two animals. (This is of course other than Skye Humphries who loves swing so much that he dances so hard he throws up).
Yanji is a simple man. Kind of one of those toked out blue collar hippies that is really into permaculture and lives in the middle of a vineyard and dreams of one day living in a solar powered yurt. He spends his days dreaming of the wonders of mycoremediation (which is actually kind of fascinating) and devotes himself to the love of two mules that apparently he inherited from a friend and fell in love with. He couldnt bear to let them go. I learned a lot about donkeys that day. First of all they don't really bray or hee-haw like you see on TV. Its more like a grunt or a bark. Apparently donkeys have very heavy heads and they love it when you hold their heads up for them. It isnt good to have just one donkey either. They rest their heads on each others back in a kind of yin-yang circle of donkey love and affection. The completely wholesome kind of course (dont go see Clerks 2).
Another interesting factoid is that donkeys, much like myself, dont respond well to being yelled at or told what to do. Yanji can only whisper to them and suggest where to go and hope that his boys will eventually decide to join Team Yanji and everyone gets where they need to be.Yanji also pointed out some rather striking similarities between people and donkeys. Murphy and Murray are really very sweet and affectionate except when food is around. Then its like their flesh wakes up and they become these ravenous greedy beasts who knock each other over to get their fair share. In his blue collar hippie vernacular Yanji discourses the likenesses of humans when the corporate carrot of more, better, and different is dangled in front of any of us:
"It's crazy, man. They are all sweet and loving and shit until you pull out the granola and then they don't care anymore, man. It's just like people who work for like, Microsoft or something man."
Deep. Very deep. I guess in the end we are all just a bunch of jackasses.
(I'm sorry I had to.)
Yanji is a simple man. Kind of one of those toked out blue collar hippies that is really into permaculture and lives in the middle of a vineyard and dreams of one day living in a solar powered yurt. He spends his days dreaming of the wonders of mycoremediation (which is actually kind of fascinating) and devotes himself to the love of two mules that apparently he inherited from a friend and fell in love with. He couldnt bear to let them go. I learned a lot about donkeys that day. First of all they don't really bray or hee-haw like you see on TV. Its more like a grunt or a bark. Apparently donkeys have very heavy heads and they love it when you hold their heads up for them. It isnt good to have just one donkey either. They rest their heads on each others back in a kind of yin-yang circle of donkey love and affection. The completely wholesome kind of course (dont go see Clerks 2).
Another interesting factoid is that donkeys, much like myself, dont respond well to being yelled at or told what to do. Yanji can only whisper to them and suggest where to go and hope that his boys will eventually decide to join Team Yanji and everyone gets where they need to be.Yanji also pointed out some rather striking similarities between people and donkeys. Murphy and Murray are really very sweet and affectionate except when food is around. Then its like their flesh wakes up and they become these ravenous greedy beasts who knock each other over to get their fair share. In his blue collar hippie vernacular Yanji discourses the likenesses of humans when the corporate carrot of more, better, and different is dangled in front of any of us:
"It's crazy, man. They are all sweet and loving and shit until you pull out the granola and then they don't care anymore, man. It's just like people who work for like, Microsoft or something man."
Deep. Very deep. I guess in the end we are all just a bunch of jackasses.
(I'm sorry I had to.)
Belly Dancing Grannies
This guy that I work with has a stepmother that is a professional belly dancer. The best part about this is that she is in her late sixties. I've been thinking lately about how I can't wait to be a crazy old lady. Perhaps I will join a burlesque troupe. I don't necessarily want to be senile as I want to be cognoscente of the inappropriate things I am saying to the 19 year old bag boy at Whole Foods. Although I suppose being senile wouldn't be that bad, all the senile people I know seem to be having a lot of fun. Other people feel sorry for you but you don't really know or care why. All you know is that running around the grocery store with your pants around your ankles and showing up to Sunday brunch with blue eyebrows because you can't tell the difference in your eye pencils anymore seems to be a fantastic idea.
My Granny Grace showed me this as she slipped more and more into the sea of dementia that finally engulfed her. The fiery Texan red head who loved to watch professional wrestling and "her stories" now sat in her recliner rocking a baby doll that my mom had brought her. She looked down at the empty eyes of a child's toy and told it that she knew it wasn't real but that she would hold it and rock it and love it just the same. I once heard it said that as we progress nearer to the end of this life we begin to regress back to our youth once again. I think it is God's way of giving us a second chance to be a kid again just in case we missed the first time.
My Granny Grace showed me this as she slipped more and more into the sea of dementia that finally engulfed her. The fiery Texan red head who loved to watch professional wrestling and "her stories" now sat in her recliner rocking a baby doll that my mom had brought her. She looked down at the empty eyes of a child's toy and told it that she knew it wasn't real but that she would hold it and rock it and love it just the same. I once heard it said that as we progress nearer to the end of this life we begin to regress back to our youth once again. I think it is God's way of giving us a second chance to be a kid again just in case we missed the first time.
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