Greetings!
Spring has come. Birds are singing outside our bedroom window in ways that make it very hard to get up. I just want to snuggle back down and listen. They make rotten alarm clocks.
I think about things...usually at 3:00 in the morning... fun things that I bat back and forth in my head until I arrive at the comforting conclusion that I don't have to understand everything about God and the universe and go gracefully back into that good night.
What! You don't have these early morning conversations with yourself! I forget that I am a 5 on the Enneagram scale. If you don't like nocturnal musings of a paradoxical nature you may want to leave this posting now...don't say I didn't warn you.
Here it is.
On the wall in the chapel where I receive spiritual direction is a sign. "Bidden, or not bidden, God is present." Jung popularized the saying, but it was discovered among the Latin writings of Erasmus. "Vocatus atque non vocatus, Deus aderit."
I find great solace in that sign for many reasons. It reminds me that God is sovereign, "above all praise", whose omniscience and omnipotence reach to the farthest imaginable recesses of this world. Those are good Calvinist words.
In response, all I can do is "come as I am," for it is I who need to be summoned. I need the grace to prepare and open my heart for the God who is already present because of the work of Jesus' death and resurrection. I am the one who needs to come close to celebrate his presence and to receive all he has for me, and ask for the grace to bring down barriers that block his presence from my life.
And yet, so often in church I sense we are waiting for God to "show up." How can that be? When we call on God, what happens? When we wait on God, what is it we do? I can feel so forlorn in those situations when we are singing, clapping, waiting for some movement from God. I look around me. Everyone seems to be trying so hard to bring God. Ernest, sincere people, hungry for God. Every week is the same. Desperate for God to come. And every week, I wonder who is summoning whom. (or is it "who.")
What if He is already there waiting for us...even before we begin to sing? What if all we needed to do is open our hearts to the loving Presence that is already waiting for us? Ready to bless, instruct, convict, heal...
Whom exactly are we calling to worship?
“Lord I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.”
Obviously, I need to think about this some more - realizing that it might just be semantics that I have become sensitized to or perhaps one of those paradoxes that I will have to accept - probably at 3:00 some morning.
Love you,
Mary
Monday, March 23, 2009
Sunday, February 22, 2009
The New Bed
Cal and I have become stars in our own info commercial.
We wear the glazed look of converts as we say things like "amazing", "incredible", "I never dreamed...," "isn't this wonderful?"
Yep, you've got it right. We have a new mattress. Not only do we have a new mattress, but it's one of those new fangled memory foam thingabobs. We haven't danced on the mattress balanced with a glass of Cal's latest homemade wine come - of - age. At least not yet. But we are inspired and who knows where that will lead.
Memory form is not for everyone. My sister-in-law Faith wonders what will happen when it loses its memory and turns into Alzhiemers foam. We'd heard many stories of people returning them to the manufacturers unable to get used to the sinking feeling of being trapped in foam. Cal and I tried them out in showrooms and noticed that turning over DID take extra effort as there is no spring in the mattress to help bounce you over. It kind of feels like fighting your way out of a snow drift. So we wondered if memory foam would be for us....
This is our first queen sized mattress. (What was good enough for our parents was good enough for us, right?) So now we can luxuriate in an extra foot or so of wiggle room. Not to mention that I bought a puffy pillow mattress cover and Egyptian cotton sheets that feel like silk....and a platform bed frame and new bedspread...and new window treatments... in honor of the new mattress. So our investment was substantial. We were rightfully nervous.
All is well. Two nights in our new bed have made believers of us. We are memory foam kind of people. Our money was well spent. Our dreams of support and comfort realized. We threw caution to the wind and gambled in the high stakes world of bedding and won.
Ah-h-h-h-h.
See you on late night cable.
We wear the glazed look of converts as we say things like "amazing", "incredible", "I never dreamed...," "isn't this wonderful?"
Yep, you've got it right. We have a new mattress. Not only do we have a new mattress, but it's one of those new fangled memory foam thingabobs. We haven't danced on the mattress balanced with a glass of Cal's latest homemade wine come - of - age. At least not yet. But we are inspired and who knows where that will lead.
Memory form is not for everyone. My sister-in-law Faith wonders what will happen when it loses its memory and turns into Alzhiemers foam. We'd heard many stories of people returning them to the manufacturers unable to get used to the sinking feeling of being trapped in foam. Cal and I tried them out in showrooms and noticed that turning over DID take extra effort as there is no spring in the mattress to help bounce you over. It kind of feels like fighting your way out of a snow drift. So we wondered if memory foam would be for us....
This is our first queen sized mattress. (What was good enough for our parents was good enough for us, right?) So now we can luxuriate in an extra foot or so of wiggle room. Not to mention that I bought a puffy pillow mattress cover and Egyptian cotton sheets that feel like silk....and a platform bed frame and new bedspread...and new window treatments... in honor of the new mattress. So our investment was substantial. We were rightfully nervous.
All is well. Two nights in our new bed have made believers of us. We are memory foam kind of people. Our money was well spent. Our dreams of support and comfort realized. We threw caution to the wind and gambled in the high stakes world of bedding and won.
Ah-h-h-h-h.
See you on late night cable.
Friday, February 20, 2009
The One Thing
I think one of the things I enjoyed most about being on the road last summer was that all of life seemed to be part of a whole. Everything was geared to "the Ride." Ronald Rolheiser writes about that kind of focus in his book "The Holy Longing." He writes that Mother Theresa's incredible focus on the "one thing" made her a very powerful and compelling woman. That's how saints are made.
Curly in "City Slickers" agrees. The secret to life is "one thing." That's why we write vision statements and goals. To try to keep us focused on the "one thing."
Modern life doesn't allow us the luxury of living for one thing. (Unless we live in a monastery and even then!) Multi tasking is prized. Opportunities are rampant. Needs are clammering. The temptation is to do everything - or nothing. To be frantic or overwhelmed. Or both. I recognize the condition. I recognize how fragmented I live. And I don't have an answer.
I started receiving spiritual direction again. It is good to gather all my fragments under God's umbrella again for mending and sorting and being made again into a whole. As Christ Followers, the Bible asks us to return to our first love. (That image doesn't work for me. I found first love to be very fragmenting! Maybe I'm getting too old to enjoy the thought!) But to return to the "one thing." Yes. I get that. I need to redirect my heart to the "One Thing." And I'm finding that it takes an act of Will and Choice. Prayer keeps me focused on the "One thing" and slowly all the other things find their place. Duty to myself, duties to others, duties to God all slowly take their place. Did I say slowly?
But Gosh, I fight that. There must be some fun in being fragmented. Being pulled apart. Or the deception of it - that we are needed. Wanted. Important. Free. Immediate.
Lent starts next week. I wish you all a season of returning to the "One Thing."
Love,
Mary
Curly in "City Slickers" agrees. The secret to life is "one thing." That's why we write vision statements and goals. To try to keep us focused on the "one thing."
Modern life doesn't allow us the luxury of living for one thing. (Unless we live in a monastery and even then!) Multi tasking is prized. Opportunities are rampant. Needs are clammering. The temptation is to do everything - or nothing. To be frantic or overwhelmed. Or both. I recognize the condition. I recognize how fragmented I live. And I don't have an answer.
I started receiving spiritual direction again. It is good to gather all my fragments under God's umbrella again for mending and sorting and being made again into a whole. As Christ Followers, the Bible asks us to return to our first love. (That image doesn't work for me. I found first love to be very fragmenting! Maybe I'm getting too old to enjoy the thought!) But to return to the "one thing." Yes. I get that. I need to redirect my heart to the "One Thing." And I'm finding that it takes an act of Will and Choice. Prayer keeps me focused on the "One thing" and slowly all the other things find their place. Duty to myself, duties to others, duties to God all slowly take their place. Did I say slowly?
But Gosh, I fight that. There must be some fun in being fragmented. Being pulled apart. Or the deception of it - that we are needed. Wanted. Important. Free. Immediate.
Lent starts next week. I wish you all a season of returning to the "One Thing."
Love,
Mary
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Routine
In response to my daughter, Rae...no pressure. I love you all. I just have to remember to write what's in my head apart from what you might like to hear.
I miss being on the road and writing about each day's adventure because my life is really quite routine....although, I did read a book about a guy who walked across Spain on a pilgrimage...that gets my blood flowing again!
Hope you all are having adventures today, wherever you are.
Love,
Mary
I miss being on the road and writing about each day's adventure because my life is really quite routine....although, I did read a book about a guy who walked across Spain on a pilgrimage...that gets my blood flowing again!
Hope you all are having adventures today, wherever you are.
Love,
Mary
Monday, February 2, 2009
RSL
Good Morning, Everyone! I like to pretend no one is out there when I write, but since I know Cher and Gretchen are keeping tabs, I greet you all.
And I do mean GOOD Morning! I wish you all the goodness this morning can hold.
Last week I started taking meds for restless leg syndrome which I knew I had, but had no idea of how much it was effecting my sleep. I knew I was a restless sleeper (and reader. Cal teases me about how I flop from one side to the other every time I turn a page... KerTHUMP) but I didn't realize that I wasn't sleeping like I should. I often marked the hours in bed and sometimes I would try to guess how long ago it was that I had last looked at a clock. If it was more than two hours, I would figure that I must have slept or "passed the time in a semi-unconscious state" - my definition of sleep. I count it a good night if I remembered only waking two or three times.
About 8:00 at night, my legs would start moving. I would swing them, kick them, jump from chair to couch, wiggle my feet, stretch my legs and rub them. Antsy. People who have this syndrome try to describe the sensation in all kinds of ways - tugging, tightening, crawling... the legs want to move to alleviate the sensation.
I remember the all night plane ride to Europe was hell. Since I couldn't move in those tiny seats, I became claustrophobic and I had to breathe deep and talk myself out of panic. Movie theaters are another place that occasionally become torture. I remember "Titanic" was especially unbearable. I never did like that movie - probably because they could move (even through they were drowning) and I couldn't. Other places, too...sometimes at the computer, in church, in the car....Cal can tell. He turns to me with a knowing look. "Restless Legs?"
It's so nice to finally be able to sit and lay quietly in one place without needing to dance around.
And to SLEEP.
I will never be a morning person, but when I am awake now, I really am awake. There's lots to be said for that.
Not only can I say "Good Morning" and mean it, I can also say "Good Night."
Love,
Mary
And I do mean GOOD Morning! I wish you all the goodness this morning can hold.
Last week I started taking meds for restless leg syndrome which I knew I had, but had no idea of how much it was effecting my sleep. I knew I was a restless sleeper (and reader. Cal teases me about how I flop from one side to the other every time I turn a page... KerTHUMP) but I didn't realize that I wasn't sleeping like I should. I often marked the hours in bed and sometimes I would try to guess how long ago it was that I had last looked at a clock. If it was more than two hours, I would figure that I must have slept or "passed the time in a semi-unconscious state" - my definition of sleep. I count it a good night if I remembered only waking two or three times.
About 8:00 at night, my legs would start moving. I would swing them, kick them, jump from chair to couch, wiggle my feet, stretch my legs and rub them. Antsy. People who have this syndrome try to describe the sensation in all kinds of ways - tugging, tightening, crawling... the legs want to move to alleviate the sensation.
I remember the all night plane ride to Europe was hell. Since I couldn't move in those tiny seats, I became claustrophobic and I had to breathe deep and talk myself out of panic. Movie theaters are another place that occasionally become torture. I remember "Titanic" was especially unbearable. I never did like that movie - probably because they could move (even through they were drowning) and I couldn't. Other places, too...sometimes at the computer, in church, in the car....Cal can tell. He turns to me with a knowing look. "Restless Legs?"
It's so nice to finally be able to sit and lay quietly in one place without needing to dance around.
And to SLEEP.
I will never be a morning person, but when I am awake now, I really am awake. There's lots to be said for that.
Not only can I say "Good Morning" and mean it, I can also say "Good Night."
Love,
Mary
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
January Grumbles
Today it's official. Winter may leave ANYTIME.
The frost has permeated my bones, creeping ever deeper into my very being. My body is tense with cold. I am loath to take off my coat when I am indoors. I swaddle my head with scarves that I bought in Italy like a mamamoushka, and suddenly Islamic women do not look strange to me...they look warm. I cradle my hands in my sleeves like a monk and shiver.
The cold runs deep into the insulation of the house and furnace works furiously to warm the air chilled by the walls. Fruitlessly, it seems to me. I'll keep my coat on, thank you. It will be mid summer before the walls (and I) warm up again and then the air conditioner will take its turn.
Even the fire from my beloved fireplace has nothing to spare for me- as if all its energy is needed to keep itself burning. Instead of flickering, I think the fire is shivering.
I look at the calendar and groan. As always, January has stalled.
Today I went to a sleep specialist. I've never been a good sleeper, but right now I diognosed the problem. I was made to hibernate until spring.
And good bear skin coat would be just the thing
for me to hibernate in 'til spring.
Just need to find me a cave.
The frost has permeated my bones, creeping ever deeper into my very being. My body is tense with cold. I am loath to take off my coat when I am indoors. I swaddle my head with scarves that I bought in Italy like a mamamoushka, and suddenly Islamic women do not look strange to me...they look warm. I cradle my hands in my sleeves like a monk and shiver.
The cold runs deep into the insulation of the house and furnace works furiously to warm the air chilled by the walls. Fruitlessly, it seems to me. I'll keep my coat on, thank you. It will be mid summer before the walls (and I) warm up again and then the air conditioner will take its turn.
Even the fire from my beloved fireplace has nothing to spare for me- as if all its energy is needed to keep itself burning. Instead of flickering, I think the fire is shivering.
I look at the calendar and groan. As always, January has stalled.
Today I went to a sleep specialist. I've never been a good sleeper, but right now I diognosed the problem. I was made to hibernate until spring.
And good bear skin coat would be just the thing
for me to hibernate in 'til spring.
Just need to find me a cave.
Monday, January 12, 2009
My Barber Experience
Today my hair was cut by a barber.
"Trim er up"?
In my quest for a modest and basic life style, never had I expected this. I gulped.
"Sure."
I knew she was a barber because the last time at this walk-in hair establishment they had explained the difference to me. And I was charmed. What an interesting bit of trivia I knew!
Now my usual walk-in stylist was not there and I was stuck with "the barber" and I was not so charmed.
There was no small talk. She began spraying and combing through my hair with a frown.
"Are you checking the curl?" I asked hopefully.
"Nope. I always cut wet. Uncross your legs."
She carefully divided my hair into four textbook sections and began to snip. No questions. No comments about my hair color or the weather. Nothing. Snip. snip.
"Have you been slow this morning because of the snow?" It was snowing beautifully. A perfect January day if you liked snow.
"I hate snow."
"Do you have to travel?"
"Grinnell."
More methodical snipping. She never glanced at the mirror, or pushed a curl playfully to see what it would do. Conversation was obviously not her forte. It wasn't mine either, but I always tried to keep my stylist entertained. I got better haircuts that way. I suddenly missed my expensive stylist who just wanted me to be happy. And if you look good, they teach you in cosmetology school, you FEEL good. Obviously that is not part of the curriculum in barber school. This woman could care less if I felt good or not. I tried once more.
"If you could live somewhere warmer- where would it be?"
She didn't even entertain the thought. "I have no clue."
"Oh, come on...Atlanta?"
"Too hot."
I gave up and let her cut. Snip. Snip.
"There. All done. Look OK?"
I ran my fingers through my hair. Now this is where I usually reassure my stylist that it's really fine. EXACTLY what I wanted. I will really enjoy this haircut. It's changed my life! And she's happy that I'm happy and we all feel good.
"Sure." I said.
I gave her a big tip. Anyone as unhappy as she seemed to be needed a boost. And it was snowing.
Actually, it was a pretty good haircut too.
"Trim er up"?
In my quest for a modest and basic life style, never had I expected this. I gulped.
"Sure."
I knew she was a barber because the last time at this walk-in hair establishment they had explained the difference to me. And I was charmed. What an interesting bit of trivia I knew!
Now my usual walk-in stylist was not there and I was stuck with "the barber" and I was not so charmed.
There was no small talk. She began spraying and combing through my hair with a frown.
"Are you checking the curl?" I asked hopefully.
"Nope. I always cut wet. Uncross your legs."
She carefully divided my hair into four textbook sections and began to snip. No questions. No comments about my hair color or the weather. Nothing. Snip. snip.
"Have you been slow this morning because of the snow?" It was snowing beautifully. A perfect January day if you liked snow.
"I hate snow."
"Do you have to travel?"
"Grinnell."
More methodical snipping. She never glanced at the mirror, or pushed a curl playfully to see what it would do. Conversation was obviously not her forte. It wasn't mine either, but I always tried to keep my stylist entertained. I got better haircuts that way. I suddenly missed my expensive stylist who just wanted me to be happy. And if you look good, they teach you in cosmetology school, you FEEL good. Obviously that is not part of the curriculum in barber school. This woman could care less if I felt good or not. I tried once more.
"If you could live somewhere warmer- where would it be?"
She didn't even entertain the thought. "I have no clue."
"Oh, come on...Atlanta?"
"Too hot."
I gave up and let her cut. Snip. Snip.
"There. All done. Look OK?"
I ran my fingers through my hair. Now this is where I usually reassure my stylist that it's really fine. EXACTLY what I wanted. I will really enjoy this haircut. It's changed my life! And she's happy that I'm happy and we all feel good.
"Sure." I said.
I gave her a big tip. Anyone as unhappy as she seemed to be needed a boost. And it was snowing.
Actually, it was a pretty good haircut too.
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