Tiny Tim

So I've started writing my blogs now in response to whatever word or little phrase is floating around in my head that day.  It's interesting because the titles have always come after the body of the blog in the past, until yesterday.  And since some anonymous someone tells me that that was one of my best, I decided to go with my stream of consciousness for a while.  However, when "Tiny Tim" came floating into consciousness today, I just about decided to chuck the idea, but that didn't seem quite fair.  So here I am. 

"God Bless us Everyone" is the phrase that arrives in my head after thinking about "Tiny Tim." His ability to love the unloveable Scrooge, and to forgive the creep for his circumstances gets to the old miser.  It is love which transforms that angry, greedy, coldhearted old man.  The ghosts throw in some doses of fears to be sure, but ultimately, it is love which changes Scrooge and gives him a new heart of flesh; new eyes to see the world; new ears to hear the story of others. 

Why in the world a Christmas character is in my thoughts today I am not certain, but the thing of which I am certain, is that we are called to forgive our enemies, and that is one of the most difficult things imaginable.  It is our inability, and/or our unwillingness to even contemplate forgiveness which keeps the world in such a disastrous mess. 

We all have our enemies, and the biggest emotion that accompanies our thoughts about such ones, is FEAR.  We get scared.  We are scared beyond reason at times.  And then the scare of course evolves into anger and hatred and sometimes even rage.  The thing that most of us keep in mind, is that anger, hatred and rage are feelings...emotions...and though they are valid, they do not need to define us. 

The writer of John's epistle tells us "Perfect Love casts out all fear."  The writer of that epistle has plenty to say on forgiveness and hating one's brother means we're not loving God.  Ouch...that one feels a bit like a knife sticking into vulnerable flesh and then someone turning it.  I love God.  I do.  And yet the epistle tells us it is impossible to love God and yet hate one's brother. 

Over the past several years I have been working with a ritual which comes from the Aborigine people in Australia.  It's quite a process.  And the thing about it, is that it works. Maybe I'll tell you more about it tomorrow.  Forgiving those who cause us the most pain is an essential thing.  It's not about them.  It's about us.  When we continue to harbor so much ill will, we end up hurting ourselves.  We know this.  We've been told it many times.  And yet...

Perhaps it is in finding Tiny Tim within our own psyches that will give us the grace to forgive others.  It's finding the one inside of us who is a vulnerable child and a child who is open hearted, even in the face of cruelty that may grant us the means of grace to release our longheld resentments, our deepest fears, and reach out to the ones who wish us ill.

Creating and Loving One, who calls us to do the impossible, give us the strength, the courage and the willingness to release the pain of the past, so we may open our hearts to the future.

  

The Last Dance

Are you one of those folks who eats dessert first?  Or do you save the best for last?  A couple of Sundays ago Jesus turned water into wine and it turned out to be the very BEST wine imaginable.  Not usually saved for the last because people don't necessarily appreciate it when they've had a lot to drink already and they're snockered.

Every time the Eucharist is celebrated, the wine tastes like the very best to me. 

Last things are sometimes so precious they move us to tears.  Other times we feel weary of them and barely pay attention:  like the last snowfall off the season, when you've been shoveling several feet of it every month for 4 months...say, in upstate New York.  They had 19 inches in Nebraska recently.  Wow.  Happily the snow is up in the hills and not right outside my window.  It makes the view beautiful, without all the hard work!

The baby of the family often gets special treatment and the other kids feel she or he is spoiled.  But that last child and all of that child's milestones must take on such poignant significance when parents know they will have no more children. 

On Sunday a couple stood up for a blessing at church.  They've been married for 44 years!!!  How many things they've faced together.  How many celebrations.  How much love.  May they know how deeply they are loved and held by God, always!

Now take me...yes, I'm finally getting to the point.  I've fallen deeply and with God's help, irrevocably in love.  I've been in love before.  And each relationship has been special.  And in each relationship I've learned and grown and loved and changed and become more of my real self.  But this I believe is the last time I will be in love.  This one is for keeps.  There's a quality to the love; a mutuality; a great delight that speaks of the Eternal to me.  And the Eternal is the central focus of my life.  There are issues, and this early in our relationship, we still get scared at times.  I've never noticed how close to "sacred", "scared" is.  Fear can drive wedges and pull us apart.  But if we can be tender both with ourselves and each other in that scared place, it transforms into a sacred place.  Whoosh!  Magical thinking?  No, I think not.  We are careful to be honest and do the hard work of honoring both our feelings and our good common sense.  We are careful to keep the other person's best interests in mind, and in so doing, decisions that are in both of our best interests, end up delighting God.  And God comes to us, meets us there when we're willing to be vulnerable, and to protect each other's vulnerability.

I've never really learned to dance.  I sometimes dream about it.  But that last, slow dance on the dance floor seems so romantic.  It is quiet; consists of few steps; sometimes almost just a gentle rocking to the music and usually, the partner chosen for that last dance, is the really special one, the one that fits us, the one who knows us.  The one who loves us. 

"Save the Last Dance for me!"  Spirit whispers.  The music starts, the stars themselves are singing:  And then She Herself appears within the other and captures your heart.  And it all makes sense in that last dance.

Early Morning

Most mornings, I wake before 5 am to rise and write "morning pages."  Then I meditate for a while before taking the dog for a walk, making my oatmeal and when this body agrees, I attend morning prayer at 7:15 am.  There is something so wonderful about gathering with these others who are familiar to me now, and for whom I feel affection.  Not because we've shared in deep conversations, but because we gather around the scriptures there before the altar.  We pray, incense rising, plainsong flowing as outside the church building, the sun rises over the mountains.   There is something very good about the praise which comes out of our mouths, the first thing of the day.

Did I ever tell you about the time in my life when I visited a convent frequently?  The time I "almost" became an Episcopal nun.  I always wanted to wear a habit.  But of course there was far more to it than that.  Going to morning prayer reminds me of that time in my life, a time when I frequented the convent for retreat, and saw such a deep peace in the lives of many of the sisters there.  There was some squabbling, as is bound to happen when a community of people live in such close proximity.  But most of the time the drama was kept to a minimum.  Of course there were exceptions...

Before the noon service, the priest would often hear confession in the confessional which was right off the chapel. One day I arrived early, and was sitting in my pew, sorting out my prayer book, which was still a bit of a mystery to me. There were others gathering for the service as well, and we all tried to look properly pious. But it was difficult that particular day. You see, Sister "Anthony", an 85 year old sister, who was mostly deaf, was in the confessional. She was speaking quite loudly and her words came clearly through the door and into the chapel where they seemed to be echoing off the walls. "Forgive me Father for I have sinned. I have been absolutely furious with Sister "Ignatious" who burned a hole in my best habit. Her ironing is just terrible Father. Forgive me, but someone else should work in the laundry. Best keep Ignatious out of the kitchen as well! Don't let her near the candles on the altar either, or give her the opportunity to burn the communion wafers in the work room. Maybe she could scrub floors or shelve books in the library. It's just my opnion, but this habit I'm wearing is a very old one and if you look closely you can see the stains from the time Sister James tripped and spilled the beets all over me. Sister Thomas did a fine job in the laundry and got most of it out, but you know how beets are Father, they are very stubborn...their stains, like us sinners I guess"

Sister Ignatious sat in the choir, gazing at the floor and turning 50 shades of pink, and I hurried out and down the hall where I slipp  ed into the bathroom and nearly choked on the tissues I stuffed into my mouth to keep my guffaws from bursting forth. How did Mother Matthew sit so still, not even the flicker of a smile on her face? I still haven't mastered it.  Maybe that means I would have made a terrible nun.  I don't know.  But the incident still brings a smile.  Not because I am laughing at poor Sister Anthony or Sister Ignatious.  It's because the whole thing was so beautiful and human and dear.  I never failed to squeeze Sister Anthony's hand when I passed her in the hallway.  I hope she is smiling down on me as I write.  Oh heavens, she's probably laughing about one of my less than perfect moments...perhaps even my most recent confession!  We humans must keep God endlessly amused!

Looking forward to saying Compline this evening with my soul friend, Susan, and then rising early for another session of Morning Prayer.  I have found such comfort and such power here in these familiar and ancient rites and spiritual disciplines. 







    

Like a Tree...

Some years ago I wrote a song based on the first Psalm.  The words are as follows:

Like a tree that is planted at the water's edge,
As we trust in you we grow,
Oh the seasons

Chance

Starting the Artist's Way again.  Funny how much this book has influenced my thinking and being.  It has been the single biggest influence in my life aside from my relationship with God and the Bible. 

Today the word "chance" came to to mind.  Julia Cameron calls it syncronity.  Some of us who are Christians might say "All things work together for those who love God."   You know the kind of thing I mean, right?  Like the things that perhaps one's enemies mean for harm and destruction and hurt, God actually takes and turns around and uses it for good.  And when we are centered in God and our life's purpose, there is often an easy flow, where surprising things happen and they fit in so sweetly and smoothly with the direction we are headed. 

I am definitely NOT a proponent for "Everything happens for a reason..."  Like someone is directing the flow of traffic, and someone being raped and brutalized in a back alley, creates some reality in some other place that makes the world a better place.  Poppycock!  I am however, a proponent for God's presence being with the person who is being raped, and I do believe that those terrible things in a person's life can end up changing a person's life in ways that heal and bring healing and hope to others.  But it isn't magic.  There's no magic wand that heals the terrible wounds left on a victim's psyche.  It takes years of hard work, and even then there are scars and places which will never be the same. 

A friend and I were recently wishing we had a magic wand to "fix" some hard stuff in our lives.  Wouldn't it be grand?  Sigh.  I guess we'll have to work through it the old fashioned way.  But of one thing I am sure, if we ask for help, it arrives.  Not always in the form we expect, or sometimes even want, but it does arrive and with it comes a power for change and growth, helping us to become the person we are meant to be. 

If you're in Southern Oregon, enjoy the sunshine.  And if you are in other parts of the world, enjoy the beauty of this day, whatever the weather.  Life is a gift.  May you open it with wonder today.

ADOPT BLACK DOGS!

Meet Joy...if you haven't already.  She is a rescue dog from Texas. She's MY Joy! 

I wept all the way through that Texas shelter looking for the right dog.  There were so many I wanted to take home, including a new puppy who couldn't stop shaking, she was so scared, and a beautiful husky whose looks reminded me of my old dog Bart, but whose temperament was much more agressive.  Couldn't handle that.  I saw Joy in the first room.  I bravely went through all the rooms, weeping as I walked, but wound up back in front of her cage where she lay in feces and urine.  I cried some more, and through my tears asked to meet this one.  Her name was Jada at the time.  A popular name I later learned, but a name to which Joy never responded.  I added Joy to the Jada, but it still didn't work.  Joy was the name she wanted.  It seemed so unreasonable to give such a name to a dog who was so sad and so sick (she had heartworm and parasites and fleas), she had allergies.  But Joy she became. 

When I was unhappy with her I would sigh:  "Oh Joy..."  And she would hang her head.  I would call to her at the dog park:  "Joy, Joy!  Joy!"   She didn't play the first three months I had her.  She had all she could contend with just staying alive.  But after she was treated for the heartworm, and after we stayed in one place for very long, she became her name.  I cried again the first time she played.

I got Joy at a discount because Thursdays in that particular shelter are the days they take 50% off black dogs because no one wants to adopt them.  I was a bit taken aback by such a thing.  Then thought, well, it's the south, maybe its prejudice.  But I later learned that no, black dogs are not the first to be picked.  Everyone wants light colored dogs. 

Well, I just want to say:  Black Dogs are just as WONDERFUL as any other dog!  Joy is the finest, sweetest most loving dog I could have asked for. 

Think about it if you're in the market for a dog.  Get a rescue.  And if there's a nice black dog waiting to be adopted, take him or her home and let them love you.  It's just NOT fair that they are much more often euthanized.  What difference does color make?  I guess it still does to some.  But for heavens sake, GET OVER IT!  They'll give you far more than you ever invest in them. 

That word again...

Innocently sitting down to read The Waiting Heart by Sue Monk Kidd, through which this reader has been moving slowly, what word comes gently, if not too subtley, floating out into the realm of syncronicity?  HESYCHIA!  "For heaven's sake" I exclaim to the Infinite One who seemed to be giggling at me, or maybe, and this is more likely, She was weeping over my slow-to-grasp-the-important, brain.

The day yesterday was spent in some angst about a disagreement...really about not getting my way. Maybe God was saying "For heaven's sake!" if this slow witted servant had been listening, instead of rolling around in the muddy dregs of her own needs and wants and FEARS.  Temper tantrums are not especially pretty when 4 year olds engage in them, and they are far less pretty when almost 53 year olds engage. 

So the reader trudged upstairs and into her sacred space to "rest in God."  After fidgeting, aware of the pain in her back and hip and feet from a forced march up a very steep hill earlier that afternoon, Spirit whispered in her rebellious and tired ear:  "Go lie down and get comfortable.  It's okay.  Let me do the praying."

"You know, it really isn't helpful when people who are supposed to be my best friend tell me I'm broken"  She whines.

Spirit sighs.  "Oh my dear, aren't you the one who said you were broken?"

"Yes, but she sure didn't have to agree with me!"

"Shhhh....rest."

And the rebellious, out of sorts, whiney servant heard the words "In repentence and REST you shall be saved.  In quietness and trust is your strength." 

The servant has a hard time keeping her mouth closed, and is awfully fond of having the last word, as it were.  Quietness isn't always something she willingly chooses.

But slowly, the arguments fade away, the outrageous pain in her heart begins to throb a little less indignantly.  Slowly love comes into the room and sooths the soul, the heart and yes, even the body.

In the end "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well." 

And as the hero in a fairly popular and recent movie might add to Julian of Norwich's words:  "And if all is not well, it's not the end yet."  Well, perhaps that doesn't quite fit when speaking of the Eternal.  "All shall be well" is already and not yet.  Sigh.

But there's something to this Hesychia thing.  One's soul and perhaps even one's mind and body enters the realm of the already, while the "not yet" is left outside for a while.

Hesychia

 

Hesychia: the word means "rest."  Hesychastic prayer leads us to rest in God said Henri Nouwen in his book Lifesigns.  He goes on to talk about how the only way that wounded human beings can truly live in community is through such prayer.  We are needy...yes, even the most seemingly self sufficient of us are needy.  Every single one of us are wounded in ways we cannot always understand ourselves.  So the only way to live in community, the only way to make a home is to rest in God...to bring all that need, all of our broken places, all of the wounds to the Healer who can touch those parts of us that others cannot always understand, or don't have the energy to meet because of their own wounds. 

In the past few months my life has been taking root here in this place, and about a month ago I started dating someone who is an extraordinary human being.  New relationships always bring out the neurotic stuff.  It is uncomfortable, sometimes embarrassing to have someone see this mess that is oneself.  We put on a certain face to the world if we're lucky, but when someone comes to know us well and romance begins, we sometimes long to run and hide, when the thing that is most needed is transparency--honesty--truth telling.  But even when we are able to tell the truth about ourselves, it is often so very difficult to believe that someone could love us as we are.  We find it hard to see what they see in us.  Or we think that perhaps that person just doesn't quite understand the depth of the wounds. 

They don't of course.  But God does. 

And lately, from a place of contemplation, from a quiet heart, it is becoming obvious to me that God meets us there in our weaknesses, and it is in God that we can meet each other without fear, trusting the Eternal One to fill in the empty, aching, hurting places with Her grace.

May you find that quiet place when the emptiness in you cries out for human touch and attention.  God will fill those places with peace, and very often with a human love in community as well.

You are beloved my friends.   WE are beloved and held in that eternal and compassionate heart which is God.