We stopped in Rockaway, New Jersey at 14:10 yesterday, Saturday, May 29, 2010. It was our first stop after packing the van full of my belongings and leaving my beloved Union, my beloved NYC, the life I had fought to make for myself, a life I love. I feel as though I am starting all over, building something new. A new life that I will come to love in time, I am sure.
In the meantime, I put my right hand in my pocket, and realized it was empty. I no longer had keys to a home. I mentioned to my parents that my pocket was sad, that my pants felt homeless. It was a moment later, following my father's response, that I realized I wasn't really joking about my pants. I was talking about myself.
My dad pulled a rock out of his pocket and gave it to me. "That's a loan." I was touched that he would give me anything to put in my pocket, but his adamant declaration that he was going to get it back was a little disconcerting. Then, he explained to me that the rock came from a Lenten service this year. "That represents the cornerstone of the church."
"Oh! Jesus is the cornerstone. This rock is Jesus!" I exclaimed. Suddenly, the gesture meant the world to me. My pants aren't homeless--they have Jesus in them!
Terrified of the unknown future, especially the immediate stay in Iowa, I am trying to focus on my next steps, hoping for California, trusting God, but still afraid. The stone reminded me that I am not homeless--I have Jesus in my heart. I'll be okay.
Dad tries to so hard sometimes his efforts can feel inauthentic to me. This gesture was effortlessly, thoughtlessly compassionate. And it connected with me. It spoke my language.
This reminded me powerfully of the way that Willy Wonka loved people--effortlessly, just by being himself. By giving what he had. He didn't try to love people. He just loved them. And it connected for so many people--McGiffert 1, UTS, my friend Tom at the park, Lawrence the guy who works in the parking garage. Pretty much everyone who ever saw him. Not all of them, but most.
Like Jesus. Something in people connected to him, too. He spoke their language. And he loved them--effortlessly, by being his genuine self.
I sometimes try so hard. It often seems the more I try, the less effective I become. Something about this seems very wrong to me. In reality, not everyone is going to accept me or my gestures. (They did not all accept Jesus, or Willy Wonka. And God know I struggle at times to accept my dad and his gestures). By and large, if I'm working that hard and being that ineffective, something in the relationship needs to be addressed, either interpersonally or internally, because it means I do not feel safe to be my genuine self.
I want to be like Jesus. When I remember Willy Wonka and how he loved people I hope I remember that he loved people the way Jesus loved people--that Willy Wonka is an example from my contemporary context which I can emulate.
And I hope my dad lets me keep his rock--or finds one for me that I can keep as a reminder that sometimes, I want to be more like my dad, who was his genuine self, effortlessly compassionate and in so doing, spoke Jesus's love to me. And I'm pretty sure he didn't even know it.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Surprised by Love
I had always planned to return to Union to finish my M.Div. I did not want to return. I no longer felt called to ministry, I hated God, and felt New York City and Union were the least desirable places in the world to be. I came back to finish my degree because I feel a deep need to finish what I start; to complete the tasks I have undertaken; to do so, when possible, in the place where I began.
So it was that I returned to Union with the intention of spending nine months in slavery to my obsessive need to finish, certain I would be miserable the whole time, fearful at the outset, determined to "get through it," believing that the sense of accomplishment at the end would be worth the pain I was sure to experience in the process. I returned to a place I feared, to be surrounded by people I did not know, to finish a degree I no longer felt passion for, that was supposed to prepare me for a vocation I no longer felt called to, because I was no longer on speaking terms with the God who had called me in the first place, and I hated the Jesus of Mark 5.
Recently, I have been blessed by others. This surprised me. It was surprising because it was so unexpected. The most I expect from others is to be treated with dignity and respect. Anything more profoundly touches me.
What's even more surprising is that I have come to feel a deep love for others.
People have told me that I'm a loving individual. This may be true.
I delight in blessing people. There is little in life that gives me such joy as being able to bless another. It delights me.
Perhaps my motives are profoundly selfish--blessing others because I delight in the process. I often choose to bless others, in word or deed, simply because I love to do it, and not because I have any particular feelings of love for the other person. This is the case with dinners. I love cooking, and I adore being able to share my gifts in the kitchen with others, so I hold dinner parties and feed my friends; or I make a batch of fudge to bless our facilities office because I appreciate they care they take in maintaining our living space; or making May baskets for friends and neighbors because I like making chocolates, and life is always brighter when you share.
Or telling my friends how beautiful they are, or how gentle their spirits, or what a blessing they are because they've spoken Truth to me... I do this because I have a deep conviction that people need to hear that they are appreciated and to know how their actions have affected others; because blessing someone by telling them a truth about themselves, and seeing their response, delights me.
Some people have told me that I'm the most complimentary person they know, and that I come across as totally genuine when I do compliment others. This may be true, in the first, and is certainly true in the second. Spend enough time with me, and people begin to realize that while I may be effusive with my praise for some, I never give an insincere compliments to anyone. (There are some people I see regularly whom I have never complimented; I'm hoping to change this, as I believe everyone has some praiseworthy quality. They are, after all, made in the image of God).
Much as it surprises me when others bless me (because I experience being well-loved by them), what has surprised me most is realizing that I have come to love others.
I tend to see myself as lacking in essential love-feelings. It takes me awhile to warm up to people. I like most everyone I've ever met. Even those toward whom I feel nothing more than apathy or the few whom I outright dislike, I seek to treat them with dignity and respect in the interactions we do have. But most people, well most people I like just fine, and I enjoy spending time with them. I enjoy finding ways to bless them. Somehow, I'm often surprised to find that I my efforts have been effective or that my very presence has had an impact. I tend not to see myself as particularly adept at blessing others. I try, but often feel as though I've failed.
I see this sense of failure as being linked to my failure to experience feelings of love for others. (I sometimes wonder if I'm defective, if I've had experiences that have permanently interrupted my ability to experience feelings of love, despite the healing I have received). I think to myself, "If only I could make the leap from liking this person to loving them, then, surely, I would be able to bless them well." Somewhere deep inside, I doubt people when they tell me that I've blessed them.
I was surprised by love.
It turns out I love a whole lot of people in my life. I feel a deep sense of compassionate love for those around me. At some point in the past nine months, all those friends that I liked an awful lot, became friends that I love and deeply cherish. All those people I wanted to bless because I delight in blessing others became people I want to bless because I delight in them.
So it is that the place I was dreading returning to have become a place I do not want to leave. The place I feared has become a haven, a place that feels safe, a place that I love full of people I love. Strangers I did not know have become friends I want to know for the rest of my life. An experience I felt sure would be naught but misery was an experience in which I was able to be my whole and best self. The degree I no longer felt passion for became a degree I was desperate to have, because the call I no longer felt came back with a vengeance, as the God from whom I was estranged became an intimate friend once more. The Jesus I hated became a Jesus with whom I am head-over-heels, butt-crazy in love with; a desperate for more of, can't get enough of, want to spend my life with Jesus who blesses me every single day. The Jesus I was sure had abandoned me became the Jesus who rescued me, again, and again, and again; has loved me more deeply, intimately, passionately, genuinely than can I give words to; has walked with me every step of the journey, even if I can't always see it. Everything I feared returning to has become a thing I am hesitant to leave.
I felt sure I was incapable of loving people. I was determined to bless them, though, because it delights me. Who knew that I would discover and learn draw from a well so deep inside of me I never knew it existed.
I have been surprised by love.
So it was that I returned to Union with the intention of spending nine months in slavery to my obsessive need to finish, certain I would be miserable the whole time, fearful at the outset, determined to "get through it," believing that the sense of accomplishment at the end would be worth the pain I was sure to experience in the process. I returned to a place I feared, to be surrounded by people I did not know, to finish a degree I no longer felt passion for, that was supposed to prepare me for a vocation I no longer felt called to, because I was no longer on speaking terms with the God who had called me in the first place, and I hated the Jesus of Mark 5.
Recently, I have been blessed by others. This surprised me. It was surprising because it was so unexpected. The most I expect from others is to be treated with dignity and respect. Anything more profoundly touches me.
What's even more surprising is that I have come to feel a deep love for others.
People have told me that I'm a loving individual. This may be true.
I delight in blessing people. There is little in life that gives me such joy as being able to bless another. It delights me.
Perhaps my motives are profoundly selfish--blessing others because I delight in the process. I often choose to bless others, in word or deed, simply because I love to do it, and not because I have any particular feelings of love for the other person. This is the case with dinners. I love cooking, and I adore being able to share my gifts in the kitchen with others, so I hold dinner parties and feed my friends; or I make a batch of fudge to bless our facilities office because I appreciate they care they take in maintaining our living space; or making May baskets for friends and neighbors because I like making chocolates, and life is always brighter when you share.
Or telling my friends how beautiful they are, or how gentle their spirits, or what a blessing they are because they've spoken Truth to me... I do this because I have a deep conviction that people need to hear that they are appreciated and to know how their actions have affected others; because blessing someone by telling them a truth about themselves, and seeing their response, delights me.
Some people have told me that I'm the most complimentary person they know, and that I come across as totally genuine when I do compliment others. This may be true, in the first, and is certainly true in the second. Spend enough time with me, and people begin to realize that while I may be effusive with my praise for some, I never give an insincere compliments to anyone. (There are some people I see regularly whom I have never complimented; I'm hoping to change this, as I believe everyone has some praiseworthy quality. They are, after all, made in the image of God).
Much as it surprises me when others bless me (because I experience being well-loved by them), what has surprised me most is realizing that I have come to love others.
I tend to see myself as lacking in essential love-feelings. It takes me awhile to warm up to people. I like most everyone I've ever met. Even those toward whom I feel nothing more than apathy or the few whom I outright dislike, I seek to treat them with dignity and respect in the interactions we do have. But most people, well most people I like just fine, and I enjoy spending time with them. I enjoy finding ways to bless them. Somehow, I'm often surprised to find that I my efforts have been effective or that my very presence has had an impact. I tend not to see myself as particularly adept at blessing others. I try, but often feel as though I've failed.
I see this sense of failure as being linked to my failure to experience feelings of love for others. (I sometimes wonder if I'm defective, if I've had experiences that have permanently interrupted my ability to experience feelings of love, despite the healing I have received). I think to myself, "If only I could make the leap from liking this person to loving them, then, surely, I would be able to bless them well." Somewhere deep inside, I doubt people when they tell me that I've blessed them.
I was surprised by love.
It turns out I love a whole lot of people in my life. I feel a deep sense of compassionate love for those around me. At some point in the past nine months, all those friends that I liked an awful lot, became friends that I love and deeply cherish. All those people I wanted to bless because I delight in blessing others became people I want to bless because I delight in them.
So it is that the place I was dreading returning to have become a place I do not want to leave. The place I feared has become a haven, a place that feels safe, a place that I love full of people I love. Strangers I did not know have become friends I want to know for the rest of my life. An experience I felt sure would be naught but misery was an experience in which I was able to be my whole and best self. The degree I no longer felt passion for became a degree I was desperate to have, because the call I no longer felt came back with a vengeance, as the God from whom I was estranged became an intimate friend once more. The Jesus I hated became a Jesus with whom I am head-over-heels, butt-crazy in love with; a desperate for more of, can't get enough of, want to spend my life with Jesus who blesses me every single day. The Jesus I was sure had abandoned me became the Jesus who rescued me, again, and again, and again; has loved me more deeply, intimately, passionately, genuinely than can I give words to; has walked with me every step of the journey, even if I can't always see it. Everything I feared returning to has become a thing I am hesitant to leave.
I felt sure I was incapable of loving people. I was determined to bless them, though, because it delights me. Who knew that I would discover and learn draw from a well so deep inside of me I never knew it existed.
I have been surprised by love.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Bigger Salad Bowls
It was the summer of 2006. I remember that I had had a fabulous day. I was in an upbeat mood, and was at a church function that night. Suddenly, and for no discernible reason, I felt emptied of most of my joy. Depressed and confused, I headed home, and I prayed on my way.
A vivid picture immediately came to me. Two bowls, one a small salad bowl was filled to the brim with lettuce, the other a much larger serving bowl had only a small amount of lettuce in the bottom of it. I was standing there, looking at these bowls, when I realized that Jesus was beside me. "Which of these bowls has more lettuce in it?" Jesus asked me.
Looking carefully, I realized something. "They both have the same amount," I replied.
"That's right," he said smiling. "But the little bowl is full. It can't hold any more. The large bowl may look like it only has a little in it, but it doesn't. It's the same amount. What it does have is room to hold more." Jesus looked me in the eye and said, "Your joy didn't go away. I just upgraded your salad bowl. You had become so full, I couldn't fit anymore in. And I want to give you more. So, I gave you a bigger bowl."
*****
Last night, Mr. M. Roger Holland, II blessed me. It was Union Theological Seminary's annual Gospel Choir Concert, and Roger sang a solo. It was a song he learned for me; it was a song he sang to me. It is my Jesus song--the song Jesus uses to love me, to tell me who I am and what His love entails. It is the song Jesus gifted to me after I made some pretty significant mistakes at one point in my life. East to West, by Casting Crowns.
Roger told the story of learning, last semester, about my struggle to enjoy music. Ok--he actually learned how much I hated music at that particular time, but how there was one song that I sort of liked, maybe just a little, and to which I listened every six months or so. When I told Roger this story back in September/October, he determined then and there to learn this song and serenade me (anonymously) at the concert. He recruited Chantilly Mers for guitar and back-up vocals and Emily McNeill for cello. It was divinely beautiful.
One of the best parts of this is that on Wednesday this week, I had considered listening to East to West and heard Jesus say, "Not today. Now isn't the time." I had no idea the time would come just two days later--and in such a profound way.
Roger sang Jesus to me. Last night, Roger breathed, played, sang, lived Jesus to me. Last night, Jesus' heart and love for me was made manifest in Roger's gift. It was one of the greatest gifts I have ever received. I am exceptionally well-loved. God has been so very good to me.
I have been so blessed to be here at UTS. My education here (very little of which was received in the classroom) has been transformative--changing my understanding of who God is, what God's heart is, who Jesus is, and who I am in Christ. My education has come in the Pit, the refectory, on the rooftop, at Broadway plays, in Ellen's Stardust Diner, in the embrace of my mentor, the loving arms of my friends, the conversations and creation of communal meals, the kitchens and the Quad, and in James Chapel--in the voice of a friend, serenading me. It was the voice of Jesus, singing to my heart.
*****
This, more than anything, is how I know it's time to move on: My salad bowl is full. It is positively overflowing! I have been blessed more richly than I could ever have imagined, and have received more blessings than I can carry in my current bowl. I don't know where Jesus will take me next. I know that transitions are difficult for me--that I often feel as though my once overflowing bowl is now only half-full. But it's okay. I know what's going on. I've still got all of my blessings--I just have a much bigger bowl. Jesus wants to keep adding, and I need a bigger bowl to hold it all. Jesus is about to upgrade my salad bowl--I can feel it. And I can't wait!
A vivid picture immediately came to me. Two bowls, one a small salad bowl was filled to the brim with lettuce, the other a much larger serving bowl had only a small amount of lettuce in the bottom of it. I was standing there, looking at these bowls, when I realized that Jesus was beside me. "Which of these bowls has more lettuce in it?" Jesus asked me.
Looking carefully, I realized something. "They both have the same amount," I replied.
"That's right," he said smiling. "But the little bowl is full. It can't hold any more. The large bowl may look like it only has a little in it, but it doesn't. It's the same amount. What it does have is room to hold more." Jesus looked me in the eye and said, "Your joy didn't go away. I just upgraded your salad bowl. You had become so full, I couldn't fit anymore in. And I want to give you more. So, I gave you a bigger bowl."
*****
Last night, Mr. M. Roger Holland, II blessed me. It was Union Theological Seminary's annual Gospel Choir Concert, and Roger sang a solo. It was a song he learned for me; it was a song he sang to me. It is my Jesus song--the song Jesus uses to love me, to tell me who I am and what His love entails. It is the song Jesus gifted to me after I made some pretty significant mistakes at one point in my life. East to West, by Casting Crowns.
Roger told the story of learning, last semester, about my struggle to enjoy music. Ok--he actually learned how much I hated music at that particular time, but how there was one song that I sort of liked, maybe just a little, and to which I listened every six months or so. When I told Roger this story back in September/October, he determined then and there to learn this song and serenade me (anonymously) at the concert. He recruited Chantilly Mers for guitar and back-up vocals and Emily McNeill for cello. It was divinely beautiful.
One of the best parts of this is that on Wednesday this week, I had considered listening to East to West and heard Jesus say, "Not today. Now isn't the time." I had no idea the time would come just two days later--and in such a profound way.
Roger sang Jesus to me. Last night, Roger breathed, played, sang, lived Jesus to me. Last night, Jesus' heart and love for me was made manifest in Roger's gift. It was one of the greatest gifts I have ever received. I am exceptionally well-loved. God has been so very good to me.
I have been so blessed to be here at UTS. My education here (very little of which was received in the classroom) has been transformative--changing my understanding of who God is, what God's heart is, who Jesus is, and who I am in Christ. My education has come in the Pit, the refectory, on the rooftop, at Broadway plays, in Ellen's Stardust Diner, in the embrace of my mentor, the loving arms of my friends, the conversations and creation of communal meals, the kitchens and the Quad, and in James Chapel--in the voice of a friend, serenading me. It was the voice of Jesus, singing to my heart.
*****
This, more than anything, is how I know it's time to move on: My salad bowl is full. It is positively overflowing! I have been blessed more richly than I could ever have imagined, and have received more blessings than I can carry in my current bowl. I don't know where Jesus will take me next. I know that transitions are difficult for me--that I often feel as though my once overflowing bowl is now only half-full. But it's okay. I know what's going on. I've still got all of my blessings--I just have a much bigger bowl. Jesus wants to keep adding, and I need a bigger bowl to hold it all. Jesus is about to upgrade my salad bowl--I can feel it. And I can't wait!
Monday, April 26, 2010
On Service and Sadness
This past Saturday I had the wonderful opportunity to serve in my church's food pantry. It was, in many ways, a very good experience. It was also an experience that left me sad.
I have this desire to invest myself wherever I am. As I am relatively new to the church I attend, I haven't had the opportunity to do much with the church. I was delighted to learn that they have a food pantry that serves the local community. Equally delightful was the fact that while it's open only one Saturday a month, it is open on a Saturday, and I have the time and freedom to volunteer.
And so, this past Saturday, I made my way down the brownstone next to my church, and I sat in a small room with two other women, and handed brown paper sacks of non-perishable groceries to people who came seeking a little help. It was wonderful to chat, if only for a moment, with so many people, to offer them a genuine smile and warm greeting, and to say a prayer as they walked away.
What saddened me on this morning was how my co-laborers spoke about the people who came to the pantry. They spoke of the half-way house across the street--where the majority of those who were coming for the first time reside--in hushed tones of disapproval. "He just got out of prison," one of them said with something akin to judgment of a man with multiple tattoos, crudely done by hand. They spoke about the methadone clinic "around the corner" from which at least two of the women come after their morning session, and who they strongly suspect (or perhaps have even witnessed) of selling the food from the pantry in order to buy drugs.
The things that made me saddest, however, where the comments about 1) handcuffs (that it's incredibly shameful, and who could possibly live with that experience) and 2) those who came in with the smell of alcohol on their breath (because couldn't these people even for one morning consider their personal hygiene).
My father is a recovering alcoholic and drug addict. All three of my siblings are alcoholics and drug addicts. Though two of them have overcome their addiction to methamphetamine, the third still, to my knowledge, uses "heavy" drugs; all of them continue to drink and smoke marijuana.
I cannot remember a time, growing up, when my father didn't smell of alcohol. Once my mother began to work outside of the home, my father was at home during bedtime. I remember waking him from his drunken stupor every night to get a hug and kiss before going to bed. He, I am sure, does not remember this at all.
Three members of my immediate family have been arrested--carted away in handcuffs. Two of them have spent time in jail. One is dealing with, or recently dealt with, the court system on drug charges.
As someone who self-mutilated for seven years, I am myself acquainted with addictive behaviors.
I sat in this food pantry this past Saturday, hoping that my presence and willingness to serve would bless those around me; hoping that my service would be understood as an act of love for those less fortunate than I. I was saddened by the way others spoke about those we were serving. Saddened because they were speaking, by extension, about people I know and love deeply. Frightened to say anything, because it so easily could have been me picking up a bag of food, smelling of alcohol or stopping by after getting my treatment at the methadone clinic around the corner.
God has been very good to me.
God delivered me from a dysfunctional family in which drug and alcohol abuse are prevalent.
God delivered me from my own addiction to self-injury.
God healed me of years of sexual abuse by a member of my immediate family.
God healed me from the trauma of rape and sexual assault.
God delivered me from the deepest valleys of despair and placed my feet on higher ground; the solid ground of His love.
God transformed my identity from one of "cutter" and "victim" to "Child of God," "Daughter of the Most High," "Heir to the Kingdom," "Co-creator with the Almighty."
God has been very good to me.
The reality is there is nothing about me that is more unique or special than anyone else. There is nothing about me that makes me more deserving of His incredible grace. I cannot tell you why He chose to be so very good to me. I can only tell you that He has been, and continues to be. I am daily overwhelmed by the love He shows me in all the small things that make me smile, the ridiculous things that make me laugh out loud, the delightful things that set me to giggling, the big things that bring tears of joy and gratitude to my eyes.
I deserve none of this any more or less than anyone else. I know how fortunate I am. I know that God has been very good to me. I am convinced that I do not know even a fraction of how good God has been to me.
As I sat there in that room this past Saturday, I wished that these women could, for one moment, see what I saw in those who came to receive a bag of food--God's children, broken and hurting, needing more than food, needing compassion and a blessing.
I truly hope that none of the people who came through this past Saturday heard or interpreted these women's comments as judgmental or condemning. But if they did, I hope my presence made a difference to them. I only wish I had done more, said something, shared part of my own story, encouraged understanding and compassion. I wish I had been less afraid of their words being directed at me. I wish I had been less afraid that their comments would be directed at those I love and deeply cherish. In the end, in many ways, my greatest love was for my own comfort and safety, for my own desire to be accepted and not judged.
I had a wonderful opportunity this past Saturday to serve. I was saddened by the judgmental comments of others.
I was even more deeply saddened, perhaps even a bit ashamed, by my own failure to speak up in defense of those I love and of those God loves even more.
I have this desire to invest myself wherever I am. As I am relatively new to the church I attend, I haven't had the opportunity to do much with the church. I was delighted to learn that they have a food pantry that serves the local community. Equally delightful was the fact that while it's open only one Saturday a month, it is open on a Saturday, and I have the time and freedom to volunteer.
And so, this past Saturday, I made my way down the brownstone next to my church, and I sat in a small room with two other women, and handed brown paper sacks of non-perishable groceries to people who came seeking a little help. It was wonderful to chat, if only for a moment, with so many people, to offer them a genuine smile and warm greeting, and to say a prayer as they walked away.
What saddened me on this morning was how my co-laborers spoke about the people who came to the pantry. They spoke of the half-way house across the street--where the majority of those who were coming for the first time reside--in hushed tones of disapproval. "He just got out of prison," one of them said with something akin to judgment of a man with multiple tattoos, crudely done by hand. They spoke about the methadone clinic "around the corner" from which at least two of the women come after their morning session, and who they strongly suspect (or perhaps have even witnessed) of selling the food from the pantry in order to buy drugs.
The things that made me saddest, however, where the comments about 1) handcuffs (that it's incredibly shameful, and who could possibly live with that experience) and 2) those who came in with the smell of alcohol on their breath (because couldn't these people even for one morning consider their personal hygiene).
My father is a recovering alcoholic and drug addict. All three of my siblings are alcoholics and drug addicts. Though two of them have overcome their addiction to methamphetamine, the third still, to my knowledge, uses "heavy" drugs; all of them continue to drink and smoke marijuana.
I cannot remember a time, growing up, when my father didn't smell of alcohol. Once my mother began to work outside of the home, my father was at home during bedtime. I remember waking him from his drunken stupor every night to get a hug and kiss before going to bed. He, I am sure, does not remember this at all.
Three members of my immediate family have been arrested--carted away in handcuffs. Two of them have spent time in jail. One is dealing with, or recently dealt with, the court system on drug charges.
As someone who self-mutilated for seven years, I am myself acquainted with addictive behaviors.
I sat in this food pantry this past Saturday, hoping that my presence and willingness to serve would bless those around me; hoping that my service would be understood as an act of love for those less fortunate than I. I was saddened by the way others spoke about those we were serving. Saddened because they were speaking, by extension, about people I know and love deeply. Frightened to say anything, because it so easily could have been me picking up a bag of food, smelling of alcohol or stopping by after getting my treatment at the methadone clinic around the corner.
God has been very good to me.
God delivered me from a dysfunctional family in which drug and alcohol abuse are prevalent.
God delivered me from my own addiction to self-injury.
God healed me of years of sexual abuse by a member of my immediate family.
God healed me from the trauma of rape and sexual assault.
God delivered me from the deepest valleys of despair and placed my feet on higher ground; the solid ground of His love.
God transformed my identity from one of "cutter" and "victim" to "Child of God," "Daughter of the Most High," "Heir to the Kingdom," "Co-creator with the Almighty."
God has been very good to me.
The reality is there is nothing about me that is more unique or special than anyone else. There is nothing about me that makes me more deserving of His incredible grace. I cannot tell you why He chose to be so very good to me. I can only tell you that He has been, and continues to be. I am daily overwhelmed by the love He shows me in all the small things that make me smile, the ridiculous things that make me laugh out loud, the delightful things that set me to giggling, the big things that bring tears of joy and gratitude to my eyes.
I deserve none of this any more or less than anyone else. I know how fortunate I am. I know that God has been very good to me. I am convinced that I do not know even a fraction of how good God has been to me.
As I sat there in that room this past Saturday, I wished that these women could, for one moment, see what I saw in those who came to receive a bag of food--God's children, broken and hurting, needing more than food, needing compassion and a blessing.
I truly hope that none of the people who came through this past Saturday heard or interpreted these women's comments as judgmental or condemning. But if they did, I hope my presence made a difference to them. I only wish I had done more, said something, shared part of my own story, encouraged understanding and compassion. I wish I had been less afraid of their words being directed at me. I wish I had been less afraid that their comments would be directed at those I love and deeply cherish. In the end, in many ways, my greatest love was for my own comfort and safety, for my own desire to be accepted and not judged.
I had a wonderful opportunity this past Saturday to serve. I was saddened by the judgmental comments of others.
I was even more deeply saddened, perhaps even a bit ashamed, by my own failure to speak up in defense of those I love and of those God loves even more.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Poetry and Dreams
I had an interesting dream last night.
A very dear friend of mine has been struggling lately, having made a significant life change, and finding himself in a place much different than he anticipated, and not sure where to go from here.
In my dream, the poet Rumi came to me and gave me a poem to pass on to my friend. I did so joyfully. SB, I hope your pain is fruitful.
Pain
Pain comes from seeing how arrogant you've been, and
pain brings you out of this
conceit. A child cannot be born until the mother has pain.
You are pregnant with real
trust. The words of the prophets and saints are midwives
that help, but first you must feel
pain. To be without pain is to use the first person wrongly.
"I" am this. "I" am that.
"I" am God, like al-Hallaj, who waited till that was true to
say it. "I" at the wrong
time brings a curse. "I" at the right time gives a blessing.
If a rooster crows early,
when it's still dark, he must have his head cut off. What is
this beheading? As one might
extract a scorpion's sting to save it, or a snake's venom to
keep it from being stoned,
headlessness comes from your cleansing connection to
a teacher. Hold to
a true sheikh. Strength will come. Your strength is his
gathering you closer. Soul
of the soul of the soul, moment to moment, hope to draw breath
from that one. No matter
how long you've been apart. That presence has no separation
in it. Do you want to understand
more about friendship? Read the sura called Daybreak.
A very dear friend of mine has been struggling lately, having made a significant life change, and finding himself in a place much different than he anticipated, and not sure where to go from here.
In my dream, the poet Rumi came to me and gave me a poem to pass on to my friend. I did so joyfully. SB, I hope your pain is fruitful.
Pain
Pain comes from seeing how arrogant you've been, and
pain brings you out of this
conceit. A child cannot be born until the mother has pain.
You are pregnant with real
trust. The words of the prophets and saints are midwives
that help, but first you must feel
pain. To be without pain is to use the first person wrongly.
"I" am this. "I" am that.
"I" am God, like al-Hallaj, who waited till that was true to
say it. "I" at the wrong
time brings a curse. "I" at the right time gives a blessing.
If a rooster crows early,
when it's still dark, he must have his head cut off. What is
this beheading? As one might
extract a scorpion's sting to save it, or a snake's venom to
keep it from being stoned,
headlessness comes from your cleansing connection to
a teacher. Hold to
a true sheikh. Strength will come. Your strength is his
gathering you closer. Soul
of the soul of the soul, moment to moment, hope to draw breath
from that one. No matter
how long you've been apart. That presence has no separation
in it. Do you want to understand
more about friendship? Read the sura called Daybreak.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Memories I Cherish
- A ball of chocolate colored fluff that fit in the palm of my hand--2.25 lbs
- The day I took him over to my sister's apartment--the only time he really barked like crazy as a puppy--we figured out pretty quickly that the smell of blueberry Krispy Kremes drove him nuts. Once the blueberry donuts were eaten, he was silent.
- Our first walk--less than a quarter mile and I had to pick him up and carry him
- Teaching him to sit, lie down, wait, hold hands, kennel
- Watching him fall all over himself, slipping on the floor and sliding around in his efforts to get turned around, as I called him with the promise of Pupperoni dog treats
- Watching him sleep
- The way he'd stretch out and his back legs made me think of a frog
- His little face looking up at me with absolute joy and adoration
- When he stretched out and I rubbed him down, his entire body from the base of his neck to the base of his tail was the length of my hand from wrist to finger-tips
- Our first walk in NYC, and meeting an Irish Wolfhound
- The way he avoided puddles and hated to get his feet wet
- How he pouted after a bath, grabbing his treat and running off to find sympathy from another person
- That at 5 pounds, he absolutely cowed his best friend--a 120 pound yellow lab named Chewbacca
- The day I came home from work to find a squirrel skin turned inside-out on the sidewalk, stripped clean. No bones, no muscle, nothing. Just the empty, inside-out skin. I called the vet and they told me to watch for diarrhea. That never materialized. I did, however, wake up at 3:00 the next morning when I rolled over and put my foot in a puddle of vomit comprised mostly of squirrel parts.
- The way he would curl up behind my knees when we napped; or on my hip; in front of my belly
- That he was protective of me, even when it meant standing between me and other people he loved
- How much he loved his Nanna
- Walking around the lake
- The way he hunted rats--squeezing his whole body under the refrigerator, and shimming out again backwards
- How demanding he could get about ensuring I went to bed on time
- That tying my shoes took thee times longer than necessary because I had to play fetch and tug-of-war in the process
- That his favorite toys were the ones given to him by Pompa
- Dressed up as Santa for Christmas
- Dressed up as felon for Halloween
- How much he hated to wear hats
- That he fit perfectly inside my jacket, with just his head popping out at the neck
- That I could put him in my shoulder bag, and carry him around, sound asleep
- The way other people responded to him when we were out and about
- That he refused to potty outside in the pouring rain
- His energy, warmth, and light
- He was the primary impetus for sustainable health changes--and the accountability I needed
- How much he loved blueberries;
- and raspberries;
- and blackberries;
- and strawberries;
- and apples;
- and pears;
- and bananas
- How comfortable he was with most strangers
- His little face staring up when he'd beg
- The way he curled up in my lap or next to me as I read or watched TV
- The digging, digging, digging at pillows to ensure they were in exactly the right spot before he would curl up for a nap
- That he wouldn't lie down on the floor unless their was a pillow, blanket, or other soft object between him and the floor. Carpet didn't count.
- He finally got over this last point his past winter when he'd curl up on the kitchen floor near the radiator while I cooked, or in the common room near the radiator while I ate. But if I was on the couch, so was he.
- How often I would find him ignoring his kennel, and his blankets, and any assorted pillows in order to curl up in my work-out sweats
- That when I left the blind up, he would find a spot in the sun on my bed
- How much he loved;
- and loved;
- and loved;
- and loved;
- and loved;
- and loved me, and others, unconditionally
- How forgiving he was
- The way he checked in on our walks, glancing up every few moments to make sure we were on track.
- The way his body moved and the look of joyful delight on his face when he ran full-out
Monday, April 5, 2010
Twenty Questions for J.K. Rowling
These are all questions based on the premise that the world J.K. Rowling created is one of logic and reason, and demonstrate my freakish insistence on continuity as well as my slight obsession with Harry Potter. And really, there are twenty-eight question groups.
1. How is that the end of book 1, Sir Nicholas hasn't eaten in nearly 400 years, but in book 2 he's celebrating his 500th death day?
2. How is that in book 4, the false Mad-Eye Moody (Barty Crouch, Jr.) takes Harry's Maurader's Map, which is never returned, and yet Harry is once again in possession of it at the beginning of book 5?
3. When Hagrid returns in book 5, he uses dragon steaks on his face and green blood dripped no his beard, but in book 6, Slughorn uses dragon's blood convincingly as human blood on the walls. How is this possible?
4. Book 1, 4, and 5 tell us that the quality prized above all others by Godric Gryffindor is courage. Yet, in book 3 we learn what a coward Peter Pettigrew is. How did the sorting hat manage to miss this?
5. If people can see thestrals only after seeing death, why didn't Harry see them at the end of book 4 as the carriages returned the students to the train home?
6. Furthermore, Harry remembers the flash of green light and his mother's screams when Lord Voldemort murdered her (and we know he recollected these facts prior to the dementors in book 3, as in book 1 2we were introduced to Harry awakening from a nightmare of these events). Why then couldn't Harry see the thestrals from the end of book 1 when he headed home the first time?
7. In book 5, we're told that prefects can't dock point, but in book 2, Percy Wesley docks 5 points from Ron for hanging around the scene of Mrs. Norris's petrification. Did the rules change?
8. If there are only 2 prefects from each house, picked in their 5th year, are there no 6th year prefects, or does ever other class miss the chance at having prefects? We know Percy was still a prefect in his sixth year...
9. In book 4, having perfected it for his first task, why didn't Harry use the summoning charm to collect the Maurader's Map and egg he dropped when his foot fell through the trick step?
10. If a house-elf's enslavement requires they follow their master's command, why didn't Kreacher show up at Christmas in book 5 when Sirius called him? This is especially curious as we see him show up immediately in book 6 when Harry calls him...
11. In book 7, Harry has a rather strong reaction to the necklace (locket horcrux) when he has it in his possession. Why does he not have a similar reaction to the diary in book 2 or the tiara (diadem) in book 6?
12. If it took Fawkes to get Harry, Ron, Ginny and Professor Lockhart out of the Chamber of Secrets in book 2, as the entrance was an enormous slide, how did Ron and Hermione get out in book 7? While it is possible that Ron took brooms with him, or summoned them, we also know that Hermione is not an adept rider.
13. At the beginning of book 5, Harry summons a patronus to save Dudley from the Demoentor's Kiss, but doesn't think to feed him chocolate after. What's up with that?
14. In book 1, Dumbledore comments to McGonagall how foolish it is not to use the Dark Lord's proper name--Voldemort. Yet his proper name is Tom Riddle, which is how Dumbledore addresses him in person in book 5. Why does Dumbledore insist in book 1 that his proper name is Voldemore, when he already knows Voldemort is Tom Riddle?
15. How can Harry be surprised at the distance from Hogsmeade Station to the school in book 6 when he's been walking to and from Hogsmeade for three years?
16. How can Hogwarts be off the connection from the floo network (HBP, 349) when Sirius has been using it for the previous 2 years? Unless Hogwarts being taken off the floo network was part of the security measures? But then this would mean security was pretty lax for the first five years...
17. If felix felicis is so rare that Professor Slughorn has only taken it twice, and if he is hesitant to take up the post of potions master at Hogwarts that he didn't accept the appointment until six weeks before the start of term, and if it takes six months to brew felix felicis because it has to stew, what was Slughorn doing with a ready cauldronful on the first day of classes in book 6?
18. If the ban on speaking Voldemort's name is how Harry, Hermione, and Ron were found in Tottenham Court Road, why could they speak Voldemort's name freely at number 12 Grimmauld Place? Is that part of the fidelis charm? Or is that how the Death Eater's showed up outside number 12 Grimmauld Place (DH, 201)?
19. Harry believes Voldemort put a charm not hes tone basin to prevent the magical summoning of the horcrux (DH, 188), but his logic is mistaken. While we know the inferi leapt from the lake, it was to prevent the taking of the horcrux, Harry was "unable to summon the fake locket" (DH, 188). This, however, is due to the fact that Harry said, "Accio horcrux" when there was no horcrux to summon, as he and Dumbledore did not know which horcrux was supposed to have been in the cave. Is there any chance he would have gotten a different result if he had said, "Accio locket"?
20. Regardin the ban on Voldemort's name, number 12 Grimmauld Place, and the Fidelis Charm, how can it be the case that the Death Eaters know they're in the area, as Lupin says they're staking out everywhere Harry has a connection? So then, it must be the case that the fidelis charm or other enchantments action on the house keep them from knowing wizarding law was broken.
21. Speaking of enchantments at number 12 Grimmauld Place, if the freezing charm broke when the caster, Dumbledore, died, why did all the charms in and on the Black house not die with their casters?
22. Harry insists that "Bathilda" didn't want to talk to him in front of Hermione because it was all Parseltongue. But how can that be? When they got to the house, "Bathilda" said, "Come!" from the second room, cause both Harry and Hermione to jump. As Hermione heard this and did not recognize it as Parseltongue, it must have been spoken in English. re we then to assume that the snake had some control of Bathilda's vocal folds, tongue, mouth, and lungs? Is this a new way to animate a corpse?
23. If speaking Voldemort's name breaks magical enchantments, why didn't it break the enchantments at number 12 Grimmauld Place? (DH, 173)
24. If, as someone once explained, the Ministry of Magic can only track where magic is done and not by whom, trusting parents in magical families to keep their children from using magic during the holidays, and this is the reason Harry was blamed for Dobby's hover charm in book 2, why in book 5, and subsequent books, are members of the Order of the Phoenix able to apparate, disapparate, and perform other spells in and near Harry's house without Harry getting into trouble for it? Particularly if their movements are secret...
25. If Bill is secret keep to Shell Cottage, and we know from book 5 that only a secret keeper can betray its whereabouts to another, how was Ron able to tell Harry about Shell Cottage? How was Harry able to tell Dobby? (DH, 397 and 468, respectively)
26. If Harry's parents died on October 31, 1991 and book 1 opens the day after their death, how can it possibly be a Tuesday morning, when October 31, 1991 fell on a Thursday?
27. If Quirrell could not touch Harry because of love in book 1 (and it was that love which gave Harry his protection), and if by using Harry's blood to regenerate his body, now sharing that protection and able to touch Harry, why could Voldemort not possess Harry at the end of book 5?
27. As to the destruction of a horcrux, shouldn't a piece of Voldemort's soul not be able to reside in something so full of "a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature" (OP, 843)? Or is it the case that love is not "something so destructive that the horcrux cannot fix itself" (DH, 104)? And as Harry is a horcrux, then nothing short of basilisk venom or the Elder Wand could have killed him, could it?
(Even Nagini was killed with the sword of Gryffindor). Why then the concern, at the end of book 1, that his fight with Quirrell would have done him in?
28. The biggest question of all: If the protection of his mother's love makes it impossible for Voldemort to possess Harry, even if he can touch him after sharing that blood, and Dumbledore himself says, "Lord Voldemort's soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry's" (DH, 685), how is it that Harry is able to be a horcrux?
29. When writing HP&HBP, was Professor Slughorn's mistake in calling Ron "Rupert" a nod to Rupert Grint who plays Ron in the movies?
1. How is that the end of book 1, Sir Nicholas hasn't eaten in nearly 400 years, but in book 2 he's celebrating his 500th death day?
2. How is that in book 4, the false Mad-Eye Moody (Barty Crouch, Jr.) takes Harry's Maurader's Map, which is never returned, and yet Harry is once again in possession of it at the beginning of book 5?
3. When Hagrid returns in book 5, he uses dragon steaks on his face and green blood dripped no his beard, but in book 6, Slughorn uses dragon's blood convincingly as human blood on the walls. How is this possible?
4. Book 1, 4, and 5 tell us that the quality prized above all others by Godric Gryffindor is courage. Yet, in book 3 we learn what a coward Peter Pettigrew is. How did the sorting hat manage to miss this?
5. If people can see thestrals only after seeing death, why didn't Harry see them at the end of book 4 as the carriages returned the students to the train home?
6. Furthermore, Harry remembers the flash of green light and his mother's screams when Lord Voldemort murdered her (and we know he recollected these facts prior to the dementors in book 3, as in book 1 2we were introduced to Harry awakening from a nightmare of these events). Why then couldn't Harry see the thestrals from the end of book 1 when he headed home the first time?
7. In book 5, we're told that prefects can't dock point, but in book 2, Percy Wesley docks 5 points from Ron for hanging around the scene of Mrs. Norris's petrification. Did the rules change?
8. If there are only 2 prefects from each house, picked in their 5th year, are there no 6th year prefects, or does ever other class miss the chance at having prefects? We know Percy was still a prefect in his sixth year...
9. In book 4, having perfected it for his first task, why didn't Harry use the summoning charm to collect the Maurader's Map and egg he dropped when his foot fell through the trick step?
10. If a house-elf's enslavement requires they follow their master's command, why didn't Kreacher show up at Christmas in book 5 when Sirius called him? This is especially curious as we see him show up immediately in book 6 when Harry calls him...
11. In book 7, Harry has a rather strong reaction to the necklace (locket horcrux) when he has it in his possession. Why does he not have a similar reaction to the diary in book 2 or the tiara (diadem) in book 6?
12. If it took Fawkes to get Harry, Ron, Ginny and Professor Lockhart out of the Chamber of Secrets in book 2, as the entrance was an enormous slide, how did Ron and Hermione get out in book 7? While it is possible that Ron took brooms with him, or summoned them, we also know that Hermione is not an adept rider.
13. At the beginning of book 5, Harry summons a patronus to save Dudley from the Demoentor's Kiss, but doesn't think to feed him chocolate after. What's up with that?
14. In book 1, Dumbledore comments to McGonagall how foolish it is not to use the Dark Lord's proper name--Voldemort. Yet his proper name is Tom Riddle, which is how Dumbledore addresses him in person in book 5. Why does Dumbledore insist in book 1 that his proper name is Voldemore, when he already knows Voldemort is Tom Riddle?
15. How can Harry be surprised at the distance from Hogsmeade Station to the school in book 6 when he's been walking to and from Hogsmeade for three years?
16. How can Hogwarts be off the connection from the floo network (HBP, 349) when Sirius has been using it for the previous 2 years? Unless Hogwarts being taken off the floo network was part of the security measures? But then this would mean security was pretty lax for the first five years...
17. If felix felicis is so rare that Professor Slughorn has only taken it twice, and if he is hesitant to take up the post of potions master at Hogwarts that he didn't accept the appointment until six weeks before the start of term, and if it takes six months to brew felix felicis because it has to stew, what was Slughorn doing with a ready cauldronful on the first day of classes in book 6?
18. If the ban on speaking Voldemort's name is how Harry, Hermione, and Ron were found in Tottenham Court Road, why could they speak Voldemort's name freely at number 12 Grimmauld Place? Is that part of the fidelis charm? Or is that how the Death Eater's showed up outside number 12 Grimmauld Place (DH, 201)?
19. Harry believes Voldemort put a charm not hes tone basin to prevent the magical summoning of the horcrux (DH, 188), but his logic is mistaken. While we know the inferi leapt from the lake, it was to prevent the taking of the horcrux, Harry was "unable to summon the fake locket" (DH, 188). This, however, is due to the fact that Harry said, "Accio horcrux" when there was no horcrux to summon, as he and Dumbledore did not know which horcrux was supposed to have been in the cave. Is there any chance he would have gotten a different result if he had said, "Accio locket"?
20. Regardin the ban on Voldemort's name, number 12 Grimmauld Place, and the Fidelis Charm, how can it be the case that the Death Eaters know they're in the area, as Lupin says they're staking out everywhere Harry has a connection? So then, it must be the case that the fidelis charm or other enchantments action on the house keep them from knowing wizarding law was broken.
21. Speaking of enchantments at number 12 Grimmauld Place, if the freezing charm broke when the caster, Dumbledore, died, why did all the charms in and on the Black house not die with their casters?
22. Harry insists that "Bathilda" didn't want to talk to him in front of Hermione because it was all Parseltongue. But how can that be? When they got to the house, "Bathilda" said, "Come!" from the second room, cause both Harry and Hermione to jump. As Hermione heard this and did not recognize it as Parseltongue, it must have been spoken in English. re we then to assume that the snake had some control of Bathilda's vocal folds, tongue, mouth, and lungs? Is this a new way to animate a corpse?
23. If speaking Voldemort's name breaks magical enchantments, why didn't it break the enchantments at number 12 Grimmauld Place? (DH, 173)
24. If, as someone once explained, the Ministry of Magic can only track where magic is done and not by whom, trusting parents in magical families to keep their children from using magic during the holidays, and this is the reason Harry was blamed for Dobby's hover charm in book 2, why in book 5, and subsequent books, are members of the Order of the Phoenix able to apparate, disapparate, and perform other spells in and near Harry's house without Harry getting into trouble for it? Particularly if their movements are secret...
25. If Bill is secret keep to Shell Cottage, and we know from book 5 that only a secret keeper can betray its whereabouts to another, how was Ron able to tell Harry about Shell Cottage? How was Harry able to tell Dobby? (DH, 397 and 468, respectively)
26. If Harry's parents died on October 31, 1991 and book 1 opens the day after their death, how can it possibly be a Tuesday morning, when October 31, 1991 fell on a Thursday?
27. If Quirrell could not touch Harry because of love in book 1 (and it was that love which gave Harry his protection), and if by using Harry's blood to regenerate his body, now sharing that protection and able to touch Harry, why could Voldemort not possess Harry at the end of book 5?
27. As to the destruction of a horcrux, shouldn't a piece of Voldemort's soul not be able to reside in something so full of "a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature" (OP, 843)? Or is it the case that love is not "something so destructive that the horcrux cannot fix itself" (DH, 104)? And as Harry is a horcrux, then nothing short of basilisk venom or the Elder Wand could have killed him, could it?
(Even Nagini was killed with the sword of Gryffindor). Why then the concern, at the end of book 1, that his fight with Quirrell would have done him in?
28. The biggest question of all: If the protection of his mother's love makes it impossible for Voldemort to possess Harry, even if he can touch him after sharing that blood, and Dumbledore himself says, "Lord Voldemort's soul, maimed as it is, cannot bear close contact with a soul like Harry's" (DH, 685), how is it that Harry is able to be a horcrux?
29. When writing HP&HBP, was Professor Slughorn's mistake in calling Ron "Rupert" a nod to Rupert Grint who plays Ron in the movies?
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