Last night Em and I went to a fund raising dinner at the Presbyterian Church. As fund raisers go, it must have been wildly successful!! Hundreds of people (literally) filled the social hall, during the hour we were there, and they continued to serve for a total of four hours. The tally of meals served was figured out, in part, by the number of Styrofoam "to go" boxes that were used to dish up the meals. At the last count, I heard, over a thousand meals had been served! I certainly admire the enthusiasm, planning and promotional abilities of the fund raising committee!
For me personally the evening was so hard. Em's been volunteering at the church for a couple of months now and has learned the names and faces of many of the members. I attend worship services there sporadically, and have gained only a very limited knowledge of names and faces of anyone. Sitting in that packed hall, even with Em at my side, I felt very alone. I ate my barely warm spaghetti dinner, with it's wilted salad and stale cookie dessert, and just felt exceedingly sorry for myself.
It's hard for me to write that truth. "Feeling Sorry" for oneself was not an acceptable state of behavior at any time during my childhood years. First, it was unlikely to draw even the slightest sympathy or attention, so it was a complete exercise in futility. Moreover, if someone actually did take notice, the attention my "pity party" might bring down on me would be the most unwelcome kind. Teasing and disdain were the only predictable outcomes of that particular self indulgence, I can remember.
The crazy thing is; it's not as if I don't know the remedy for my own malaise. I do! It's as simple as following Emmy's wonderful example and jumping into the mix of people and life and energy swirling around Lakeview Presbyterian Church. I could join clubs and go to meetings, show up for book studies and work parties and soon I'd be in the thick of things and all my troubles would fade away! Right? Mostly right?? a little right??? almost right.... ?..
What's stopping me? Of course I know it's me, I'm stopping me, but why? The folks I've met are friendly, the friends I've made are loving and supportive. Is it too much work? Am I afraid (remember recess in the second grade?) no one will "pick me"? Is this reluctance a symptom of burnout from being so hyper involved at home? "All of the above? -- None of the above?" It's like I'm holding back, waiting for something outside myself to propel me forward. After all the work I've done over the last couple of decades, facing and properly containing the trauma and demons who would haunt me, learning to take personal responsibility for my life and times, recognizing no one is a victim (for long) who doesn't chose to remain a victim, why can't I stir my limbs and heart and get moving into this community (or another!)? Why do I feel such helplessness at this particular juncture of my life?
You, my dear anonymous reader, may have noticed some distinct mood changes woven through my writing. I see it too. I live inside this swirling mass of confusion, insecurity and hope, and it's as confusing to me as it may be to you! I seem to have a real "Love - Hate" relationship going on with my own life! Is that even normal? What will I be when I grow up? Will I grow up?
Writing here helps. I not sure why, but it helps. There's a particularly annoying voice, coming from some deep, dark crevice of my mind, which keeps offering (rather cynically, I might point out) "you are definitely a woman with too much time on your hands!" I don't agree. I'm a woman with just the right amount of time on my hands! Time, sweet time.... all things in good time.
thanks for listening,
my
Friday, October 23, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
What if?
Some days I'm tempted to fall in love with this place. It's so exotic. Last evening, for about two hours, a tremendous thunder and lightening shower rolled over us, accompanied by torrential rains. Toward the end of the storm, I'd planned to take Emmy to a friends house, a couple of miles from our own. We found, much to our amazement, that many of the road ways we'd normally use were completely flooded! I'm not talking a little standing water, there was feet of water over the roadways!! I saw (and it was featured on the news this morning) a small pickup truck, submerged up to the drivers window stuck in the small hollow of roadway under an overpass!! We had to re-chart our course to find the high ground roads (mind you, when you live in a below sea level community "high ground" is a relative term) to get us where we needed to be.
Actually I was very proud, not only did we find our way, without loss of life or limb (or hurting John's Jag!), but then I got back home again safe and sound, as well. What an adventure! All the elements of a Steven King novel; A Dark and Stormy Night, lighting flashes that lit up the whole sky, followed by thunder that actually shook the house. The rain was coming down so hard it was flying at the windows of the house, and later the car, sideways. The fastest setting of the windshield wipers couldn't keep up! What a night! I'm thinking I must not have lost all my pioneer spirit after all!
Not to long before we moved down here, I was going through a "memory box" and found, much to my surprise, a short essay I'd written, probably when I was in about the third grade. We moved a lot when I was a kid, by my reckoning, 7 or 8 different schools before the 10th grade, when mom and dad finally settled us in Bremerton to stay. Not many souvenirs of my childhood survived all that transporting from one place to another. I did save a Shirley Temple doll, given to me when I was about 8, and then because I could do it myself, I saved lots of memorabilia from high school. There's not much else, so how this single sheet of notebook paper, laboriously and carefully hand written (and not very neatly I might point out) survived I can't even guess. I didn't find it with a folder of old school work, just a folded up piece of paper at the bottom of a box. What a precious gift.
This little essay was evidently an assignment to write about; "What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?" In it, I proudly proclaimed to the world (or probably just to my teacher) "I want to be a scientist or an astronaut when I grow up!" Now, I can almost remember writing the paper, and I perfectly remember the feelings! What did you want to be when you grew up? Did any of you out there ever want to be a scientist or astronaut or a pioneer or a cowboy? I sure did! Each and every one one appealed to me at some time or another! Not to mention owner of horses, lots and lots of horses! I'm not sure what I intended to do with all my herds of horses in the future, but I know I wanted to own lots of them!
I'm not sure when the dreams faded or changed for me, but my grown up self recognizes living as we do in a world filled with modern conveniences, I wouldn't know how to do my life any other way. Does that mean it was the right choice to find new goals or did I make this reality the right choice? I often say to friends "I'd never change a single moment of my life, because each and every step got me to where I am today, and this is where I absolutely want to be!!
Don't you admire those few people we know who, whether from strength of resolve or blind luck, never gave up on their childhood dreams? People who didn't let the well intentioned "leaders" in their young lives point them in other directions "for their own good!" They became a cowboy or a fireman. For the rest of us, we (generally) do the best we know how to do with the tools at hand. And, maybe we had to let go of one thing in order to catch hold of something else. Perhaps leaving those childhood dreams behind is a normal and necessary part of growing up for most of us.
A happy thought: No matter the reasons we've changed direction, good or bad, lazy or resilient, smart move or a "forever" regret, I'm pretty sure the child's dreams still lingers in each of our souls. We certainly could revisit them anytime we'd like. We could try on those old wishes and examine what once were our goals, see if they might still fit, remember what drew us to them in the first place, revel in our once fearless hearts. Who knows what would happen? Some days, you might find my inner child in charge of the writing here. A little one, freed from the responsibilities of her adult caretaker for a few minutes, and allowed dream and share to her hearts content. I wish I could give her more time!
blessings,
my
Actually I was very proud, not only did we find our way, without loss of life or limb (or hurting John's Jag!), but then I got back home again safe and sound, as well. What an adventure! All the elements of a Steven King novel; A Dark and Stormy Night, lighting flashes that lit up the whole sky, followed by thunder that actually shook the house. The rain was coming down so hard it was flying at the windows of the house, and later the car, sideways. The fastest setting of the windshield wipers couldn't keep up! What a night! I'm thinking I must not have lost all my pioneer spirit after all!
Not to long before we moved down here, I was going through a "memory box" and found, much to my surprise, a short essay I'd written, probably when I was in about the third grade. We moved a lot when I was a kid, by my reckoning, 7 or 8 different schools before the 10th grade, when mom and dad finally settled us in Bremerton to stay. Not many souvenirs of my childhood survived all that transporting from one place to another. I did save a Shirley Temple doll, given to me when I was about 8, and then because I could do it myself, I saved lots of memorabilia from high school. There's not much else, so how this single sheet of notebook paper, laboriously and carefully hand written (and not very neatly I might point out) survived I can't even guess. I didn't find it with a folder of old school work, just a folded up piece of paper at the bottom of a box. What a precious gift.
This little essay was evidently an assignment to write about; "What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?" In it, I proudly proclaimed to the world (or probably just to my teacher) "I want to be a scientist or an astronaut when I grow up!" Now, I can almost remember writing the paper, and I perfectly remember the feelings! What did you want to be when you grew up? Did any of you out there ever want to be a scientist or astronaut or a pioneer or a cowboy? I sure did! Each and every one one appealed to me at some time or another! Not to mention owner of horses, lots and lots of horses! I'm not sure what I intended to do with all my herds of horses in the future, but I know I wanted to own lots of them!
I'm not sure when the dreams faded or changed for me, but my grown up self recognizes living as we do in a world filled with modern conveniences, I wouldn't know how to do my life any other way. Does that mean it was the right choice to find new goals or did I make this reality the right choice? I often say to friends "I'd never change a single moment of my life, because each and every step got me to where I am today, and this is where I absolutely want to be!!
Don't you admire those few people we know who, whether from strength of resolve or blind luck, never gave up on their childhood dreams? People who didn't let the well intentioned "leaders" in their young lives point them in other directions "for their own good!" They became a cowboy or a fireman. For the rest of us, we (generally) do the best we know how to do with the tools at hand. And, maybe we had to let go of one thing in order to catch hold of something else. Perhaps leaving those childhood dreams behind is a normal and necessary part of growing up for most of us.
A happy thought: No matter the reasons we've changed direction, good or bad, lazy or resilient, smart move or a "forever" regret, I'm pretty sure the child's dreams still lingers in each of our souls. We certainly could revisit them anytime we'd like. We could try on those old wishes and examine what once were our goals, see if they might still fit, remember what drew us to them in the first place, revel in our once fearless hearts. Who knows what would happen? Some days, you might find my inner child in charge of the writing here. A little one, freed from the responsibilities of her adult caretaker for a few minutes, and allowed dream and share to her hearts content. I wish I could give her more time!
blessings,
my
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
An Epiphany
I sat in the Presbyterian Church Sunday morning and sadly found myself fighting a familiar, internal battle, which before now, I’d thought related only to my private, and sometimes not so private, struggles within the boundaries of the Episcopal liturgy. Once again that morning, this time in a Presbyterian church, in my mind, I rewrote song lyrics, prayers, even scripture, to better suit my admittedly limited understanding of it all and/or my need for affirmation and consolation of my faith through the words of the liturgy.
The war in my head starts like this; first I change all male pronoun references to God to the word God. (Admittedly a waste of time, could God actually care???) Next, I personalize all prayers and creeds by using “I” instead of “we” (I want my prayers to be personal not corporate). These are the simple scuffles, some might argue (and I might agree!) the least consequential of my Sunday morning battles. The hardest skirmishes, and sadly, the most unsatisfactory, are those I find within my mind and heart while listening to song, a piece of scripture or a sermon and I rail (silently) over something presented there. For whatever reason, I'm compelled to try to make it all line up, make sense, match what I understand. Is that even possible? Is it necessary? What am I missing while I do all these mental gymnastics?
A friend once admonished me, as I was fussing (aloud for a change!) about something having to do with the words of the Liturgy, she asked; “Myra, Why is it you seemingly have no problem interpreting scripture, but can’t you give the same latitude to the words of the Liturgy?” She was right. I can easily dive into the actual words written in scripture, allowing for cultural differences, then and now, and the science unknown at the writing of those holy words and find deep meaning. Looking deeply into the overt message, I find amazing messages revealed for me today.
I have long believed the “path to righteousness” or salvation, 'Heaven" or whatever you might call a Nirvana sort of state, couldn't possibly have much to do with the name of the organization you worship within. Presbyterian, Episcopal, Mormon, Jewish, Islamic, Hindu, Native American Spirituality, whatever, they were all created by human beings, over vast periods of time, in a sometime futile (but always worthwhile) attempt at explaining and understanding these matters of God, which, in this lifetime anyway, will probably always remain somewhat unexplainable and beyond our understanding. What these differing traditions do very successfully is to draw likeminded citizens together, in community, to worship and honor and build relationship with God as best they understand. So, it seems reasonable to assume the semantics I spend so much time struggling over are, at worst, not the point(!) and I’m just stalling instead of doing the work necessary to strengthen my relationship with God, or at best, it's a feeble indicator I am working on finding my way, but consistently choosing a less than productive path to get there!
If these thoughts of mine have any validity, and given that I now realize my struggles with the words of Liturgy are not just related to the Episcopal community, then the epiphany is for me; it shouldn’t matter whether I‘m attending worship in the Presbyterian community, the Episcopal church, or any another, as long as I’m attempting understanding and relationship. If my attempts at understanding the Mind of Christ, my place in God’s Kingdom and what responsibility I have in that Kingdom, are the best I know how to offer, then maybe I should relax a little on Sunday Mornings, listen more, rail less and try harder to hear the message of the word. The hard work should begin in earnest when I leave the building! ;-)
The war in my head starts like this; first I change all male pronoun references to God to the word God. (Admittedly a waste of time, could God actually care???) Next, I personalize all prayers and creeds by using “I” instead of “we” (I want my prayers to be personal not corporate). These are the simple scuffles, some might argue (and I might agree!) the least consequential of my Sunday morning battles. The hardest skirmishes, and sadly, the most unsatisfactory, are those I find within my mind and heart while listening to song, a piece of scripture or a sermon and I rail (silently) over something presented there. For whatever reason, I'm compelled to try to make it all line up, make sense, match what I understand. Is that even possible? Is it necessary? What am I missing while I do all these mental gymnastics?
A friend once admonished me, as I was fussing (aloud for a change!) about something having to do with the words of the Liturgy, she asked; “Myra, Why is it you seemingly have no problem interpreting scripture, but can’t you give the same latitude to the words of the Liturgy?” She was right. I can easily dive into the actual words written in scripture, allowing for cultural differences, then and now, and the science unknown at the writing of those holy words and find deep meaning. Looking deeply into the overt message, I find amazing messages revealed for me today.
I have long believed the “path to righteousness” or salvation, 'Heaven" or whatever you might call a Nirvana sort of state, couldn't possibly have much to do with the name of the organization you worship within. Presbyterian, Episcopal, Mormon, Jewish, Islamic, Hindu, Native American Spirituality, whatever, they were all created by human beings, over vast periods of time, in a sometime futile (but always worthwhile) attempt at explaining and understanding these matters of God, which, in this lifetime anyway, will probably always remain somewhat unexplainable and beyond our understanding. What these differing traditions do very successfully is to draw likeminded citizens together, in community, to worship and honor and build relationship with God as best they understand. So, it seems reasonable to assume the semantics I spend so much time struggling over are, at worst, not the point(!) and I’m just stalling instead of doing the work necessary to strengthen my relationship with God, or at best, it's a feeble indicator I am working on finding my way, but consistently choosing a less than productive path to get there!
If these thoughts of mine have any validity, and given that I now realize my struggles with the words of Liturgy are not just related to the Episcopal community, then the epiphany is for me; it shouldn’t matter whether I‘m attending worship in the Presbyterian community, the Episcopal church, or any another, as long as I’m attempting understanding and relationship. If my attempts at understanding the Mind of Christ, my place in God’s Kingdom and what responsibility I have in that Kingdom, are the best I know how to offer, then maybe I should relax a little on Sunday Mornings, listen more, rail less and try harder to hear the message of the word. The hard work should begin in earnest when I leave the building! ;-)
Saturday, October 3, 2009
John's Birthday
Today is John's Birthday! We have a special dinner planned with lots of friends. A shrimp boil, with corn on the cob, baked beans, pasta salad, and Flan for dessert. I've been cooking and cleaning all day. Spent yesterday exploring more of this country side, in my attempts to get to the West Bank for the shrimp. This is truly a strange place. Even though the map clearly shows the location I needed to reach (the Seafood Market) is on the EAST side of the Mississippi River, the road to get there is I90 West, and just to add to my confusion, the signage on the express way calls that side of the river "The West Bank!" When I told this tale to our friends, they told me it's just because the river twists and turns so much that that side is "generally" west. They offer that thought so confidently, I had to back to my map and look again! It's not true! If anything the majority of the land "over there" is south of New Orleans, and generally it's East! I hope I can make sense of this place soon, thank God gas is getting cheaper and cheaper, because it takes me twice as long as it should, to get anywhere! I have to keep circling back and starting over. I know it's partly my own lack of directional sense, but mostly it's because everything is "off Kilter" from where I think it should be!
The good news is; It's John's Birthday!!! Friends will be arriving in a couple hours and we'll have a wonderful evening solving all the worlds problems or creating a few others.
Life here has taken on a pleasant routine. Em volunteers at the Presbyterian Church most everyday. I drop her off and Jack (the dog) and I grab a quick walk around the lagoon at City Park. I get home and tidy things up a bit, paint a little on the newest chair creation, then I take a second walk with a friend at Xavier U (about 2 miles from our house) in air conditioned comfort. Home again to start dinner, pick up Em, and then John gets home. Most any evening we might walk at the park and/or saunter over to a friends house for a glass of wine. It's a very calm time in my life right now and I find, much to my surprise, I really, really like it. I've grown so used to having a half dozen things to do with any given hour, this is a very sweet interlude of peace. I'm not at all interested, at the moment, in changing this reality by getting involved in church or community stuff.
Time enough for busy, right I'm enjoying being more serene and centered than I think I've ever been. It's kinda nice!!
The good news is; It's John's Birthday!!! Friends will be arriving in a couple hours and we'll have a wonderful evening solving all the worlds problems or creating a few others.
Life here has taken on a pleasant routine. Em volunteers at the Presbyterian Church most everyday. I drop her off and Jack (the dog) and I grab a quick walk around the lagoon at City Park. I get home and tidy things up a bit, paint a little on the newest chair creation, then I take a second walk with a friend at Xavier U (about 2 miles from our house) in air conditioned comfort. Home again to start dinner, pick up Em, and then John gets home. Most any evening we might walk at the park and/or saunter over to a friends house for a glass of wine. It's a very calm time in my life right now and I find, much to my surprise, I really, really like it. I've grown so used to having a half dozen things to do with any given hour, this is a very sweet interlude of peace. I'm not at all interested, at the moment, in changing this reality by getting involved in church or community stuff.
Time enough for busy, right I'm enjoying being more serene and centered than I think I've ever been. It's kinda nice!!
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