I be. Sitting in a swirling mist, hands gracefully draped around the wine glass...melting in our hot tub, alone. But yet, not alone...bigger. The mist, magic and science, alive and lively, surrounding me, while seductively enticing old memories of more sensual days, younger days...pulling my thoughts into it while my old mellowing body gives up its muscle into the heat of the water. I be. Transforming memory into body, and body into memory. With eyes closed, seeing clearer than in the sunlight.
Transformation completed, I see infinite worlds swirling with the mist created by heat and water. Through the Glass, through the yellow sparkle of the fruity wine that plays on my tongue...so close to turning into vinegar, yet magically growing sweet in my mouth.
It seems it is the mist itself that is taking me, drawing me, and turning me into a person who used to be me, but stopping short of actually Me. How could it have been me, when I didn't exist fully without the years padding me ....I am more me now than I was then, and I know, I FEEL that there is more of Me to come...adding substance and volume to what is me right now. I can't wait. How exciting to know there is more to come.
The thought that winds itself in and about the mist is Magic. I always wanted to be a Witch. Not the old thing that rides on a broom with warts on her face and has shrunken her heart to contain her tiny imagination...but a real, true witch that knows the earth and feels the heat of it growing and spreading and enriching and fertilizing populations of souls yet to come.... I want to be that Celtic ancient pagan woman who embodies the whole of the world of femininity and love...who can look at a single person and KNOW. Just know. There is such a divide between that Witch and our society's "appropriate" Christianity....and I know in my heart it is one and the same. I want the magic... I want to discard the science. I want to discard the logic. I want to live in the mist. I want to leave behind the judgment and the hard lines. I don't see them. To me, they all blend. Like mist into air. Like mist into water. Blend. Science and Magic. Where one melts into another...no lines, no borders.
It is hard to be in both worlds. If anything will drive me crazy it is that I try hard to make lines. It is not within me. I don't have borders. I don't have lines. I look at each person and see a life, a mist, that has a music of their own and a substance with no borders. It is okay. I want to say that to everyone I meet. It is okay. You are okay. Stop trying to contain the mist into borders. Please don't make me hard. I don't want to be hard, and contained. I want to flow. To just feel my way around and go where my mist seems to leak and seep.....
I do not do well when I put myself into boxes. I keep trying. Many times in my life I box myself. I don't want to hurt anyone who strives hard to "believe"...in the Jesus that is "true" and "one" .... I love that Jesus. I love his words. I love his belief. And yes, I love his humanity. He did not cause all those wars or those harsh mainstream judgments of "believers" who harken to some of his words, but mostly to words of people, like themselves, who are just trying. It's okay. Your boxes are intended to keep you safe, I understand. But test the waters...test the mists. Question a little. Put your toe out, gently....feel around. The mist is not evil. It is science and soul.... it will set you free.
I don't have answers to anyone's questions. Certainly not the big questions. But I know that a little nakedness of soul will do you good. Let your life fill you, let it swirl around you.... let go, just a little.... I believe there is a little Witch in all of us. We just call it different names.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Old Things in New Times...
Food digestion is an interesting thing to me...How long it takes meat to digest as compared to a boiled, mushied pea just makes sense. I heard it takes more than 24 hours for a human body to digest one bite of steak. When I think of the huge T-bones I used to consume at a sitting, along with those butter and sour creamed boats of potatoes...I am surprised that I was hungry ever again. Memories and life are like food digestion.
Having over half of a century on this oddly meandering path that is my journey, looking backwards I tend to remember best the "steak" times, the meatier memories. We all have them. The milestones: certain birthdays, the first kisses, the first orgasms, the first funerals of people we depended on, to say nothing of weddings and births and...well, you get it. Those are the meat of our memories, and ones that take much digestion and much of what stays with us as we move on to other days. The funny thing is, although those memories are with me in a familiar level each day, it is the less meaty memories, the "peas" so to speak, that I work at digging up and re-visiting in my quieter moments.
I let myself sink back into my memories of "a regular day"...of a day I would get up and get ready for work and walk into my next minute with no distinction between today and tomorrow. Our lives are made up of those days, the days that build the foundation for our "special Steak day memory"...days we walk through without consideration of it being the only day, that day, that we will ever see again. "Getting through" it seems to be all it is worth. Contrary to what it seems like, those are the days that I concentrate on and enjoy wallowing in...those days that are vague and long ago, and blending into my meatier memories like applesauce filling in the hollows.
Closing my eyes, sitting in my wonderful easy chair, I let myself slip back through old days, sifting my "meat" and my "peas".... Usually, I choose the "pea" days to wallow in. I bring up memories of, as a young girl, brushing my little sister's hair...careful not to pull the tangles, and smelling her little-girlness in the shampoo waftings as I brush her airy hair into a pony-tail. I think of the warmth and steady comfort as I cuddle into my mom's soft side when she reads the chicken scratch on the pages that say things like, "...and I shan't get home tonite" about a little old woman and a stick, stick that beats pig... I wallow even more in the memories of an every-day time when my chubby little baby boy giggles on the floor as I sweep my hair over his sweet face to make him laugh when I say "boo."
Another memory pea happens in a time lost to me when I worked in a wonderful group home facility in Oregon. The people I "took care of" (who were actually my teachers in disguise) and the everyday-ness of our lives together as we taught each other and became entwined as family rises as a foggy pea memory. Marilyn, my sweet friend, had multiple "issues" the least being that she was developmentally delayed...with her useless tiny little legs, but overwhelmingly huge toothless smiles...who just wanted to "marry" every man who walked into her vicinity. I think she even asked me to marry her once. The sadness and the sweetness of the lives within that home lives on in the misty pea memory of my mind. Michelle, whose intelligence could not even be tested due to her multiple "disabilities" was an amazing teacher and excellent confidant, since she could not "talk" like us, but communicated by smiling and laughing so hard we thought she might die from lack of air...but who kept laughing in spite of the peril.
The memory of feelings are my pea memories I hold precious. Remembering walking, alone, on a sandy beach growing up...feeling the sand grains soften my hardened barefoot soles and smelling the bay water of fish and rain. Memories of the quiet excitement of having my grandparents join us on a Saturday, slicing the luncheon meat and cheese and being lovingly teased by a grampa who smelled like love and laughing and potato chips warm from the box.
More recent pea memories are even more poignant. The lurch of love and joy when, after answering the phone with my Caleb's number introducing it, and hearing his voice saying, "life is so great, mom...I'm okay"....I love that. And having my littlest child, with lengthening legs and bones jutting into the soft areas of my middle age, cuddling and resting as a familiar nest...I know those days are too soon lost, and he will join his brother out in the world, making and digesting his own "steak and peas"...I can only hope that they find me someplace in the sweet pea memories of their mind, too.
Yup. Digestion of food is like digestion of life. Building memories and nourishing our lives to help us keep walking and keep traveling until we can reach a destination that is made just for us. Whatever it may be.....
Having over half of a century on this oddly meandering path that is my journey, looking backwards I tend to remember best the "steak" times, the meatier memories. We all have them. The milestones: certain birthdays, the first kisses, the first orgasms, the first funerals of people we depended on, to say nothing of weddings and births and...well, you get it. Those are the meat of our memories, and ones that take much digestion and much of what stays with us as we move on to other days. The funny thing is, although those memories are with me in a familiar level each day, it is the less meaty memories, the "peas" so to speak, that I work at digging up and re-visiting in my quieter moments.
I let myself sink back into my memories of "a regular day"...of a day I would get up and get ready for work and walk into my next minute with no distinction between today and tomorrow. Our lives are made up of those days, the days that build the foundation for our "special Steak day memory"...days we walk through without consideration of it being the only day, that day, that we will ever see again. "Getting through" it seems to be all it is worth. Contrary to what it seems like, those are the days that I concentrate on and enjoy wallowing in...those days that are vague and long ago, and blending into my meatier memories like applesauce filling in the hollows.
Closing my eyes, sitting in my wonderful easy chair, I let myself slip back through old days, sifting my "meat" and my "peas".... Usually, I choose the "pea" days to wallow in. I bring up memories of, as a young girl, brushing my little sister's hair...careful not to pull the tangles, and smelling her little-girlness in the shampoo waftings as I brush her airy hair into a pony-tail. I think of the warmth and steady comfort as I cuddle into my mom's soft side when she reads the chicken scratch on the pages that say things like, "...and I shan't get home tonite" about a little old woman and a stick, stick that beats pig... I wallow even more in the memories of an every-day time when my chubby little baby boy giggles on the floor as I sweep my hair over his sweet face to make him laugh when I say "boo."
Another memory pea happens in a time lost to me when I worked in a wonderful group home facility in Oregon. The people I "took care of" (who were actually my teachers in disguise) and the everyday-ness of our lives together as we taught each other and became entwined as family rises as a foggy pea memory. Marilyn, my sweet friend, had multiple "issues" the least being that she was developmentally delayed...with her useless tiny little legs, but overwhelmingly huge toothless smiles...who just wanted to "marry" every man who walked into her vicinity. I think she even asked me to marry her once. The sadness and the sweetness of the lives within that home lives on in the misty pea memory of my mind. Michelle, whose intelligence could not even be tested due to her multiple "disabilities" was an amazing teacher and excellent confidant, since she could not "talk" like us, but communicated by smiling and laughing so hard we thought she might die from lack of air...but who kept laughing in spite of the peril.
The memory of feelings are my pea memories I hold precious. Remembering walking, alone, on a sandy beach growing up...feeling the sand grains soften my hardened barefoot soles and smelling the bay water of fish and rain. Memories of the quiet excitement of having my grandparents join us on a Saturday, slicing the luncheon meat and cheese and being lovingly teased by a grampa who smelled like love and laughing and potato chips warm from the box.
More recent pea memories are even more poignant. The lurch of love and joy when, after answering the phone with my Caleb's number introducing it, and hearing his voice saying, "life is so great, mom...I'm okay"....I love that. And having my littlest child, with lengthening legs and bones jutting into the soft areas of my middle age, cuddling and resting as a familiar nest...I know those days are too soon lost, and he will join his brother out in the world, making and digesting his own "steak and peas"...I can only hope that they find me someplace in the sweet pea memories of their mind, too.
Yup. Digestion of food is like digestion of life. Building memories and nourishing our lives to help us keep walking and keep traveling until we can reach a destination that is made just for us. Whatever it may be.....
Thursday, November 11, 2010
November in North Carolina, through one old lady's glasses...
I think, next year, I would like to skip over October and jump right into mid-November. Choreographing my year, I will have to remember to add that simple leap into the dance.
I have immersed myself into old music, and "new" old music just to calm my jagged spirit. Having fallen into the bottom half of my "half full glass" in October, trying to swim to the top, only to be met with the hot air of mid-term elections, then gulping and grasping for a savior to keep me afloat while I search for the sand bar...music seems to be the life-float I needed. And not just any old music, but music that once touched my soul and filled me with strength and sorrow and joy, all at once. I have been listening to Tom Waits, Gordon LIghtfoot, Harry Chapin, and Joan Baez...musicians who I feel familiar and safe with...all whom carry my sadness with grace and share their voice in harmony, even while fighting for goodness and tolerance.
The mid-term election threw me for a loop. As you can tell, I am not one of those people who "got what they wanted" with the outcome. There was no rejoicing for me, no "Booyahs" pouring forth from my lips. I still feel like "the American People" made a bad choice, and the Poor Loser that I have tried to tame and civilize, rises up from within if I spend too much time thinking about it. I have learned many things from this election, and still have many curiosities regarding human psychology, but I am finding some footing along with learning about friendship and kindness. I have always been a vocal, politically minded person...partial to words, always, and fairly warrior-like when it comes to issues of humanity and generosity. I hope, in the long run, to be able to have an epitaph that my sons will be proud of, in my fight for human rights and justices, and that my spirit will be interpreted instead of my words.
I lost a few friends on this little jaunt. It is sad, a bit, but I feel assuaged knowing it wasn't MY choice and I will be here when they calm down and learn that Friendship is more important than an opinion. I give great KUDOS to the friends I have in my life, who hold some beliefs extremely opposite of mine, who remain with me and understand that although extreme in some things, are tied by a cord stronger than the moment. Knowing I can simply say, "I'm sorry for my harsh words, and I am glad you understand..." makes me love them even more. It doesn't mean we are ever going to agree, but it means that we are more valuable to each other for the dimension and perspective we can share...
I think, next year, I would like to skip over October and jump right into mid-November. Choreographing my year, I will have to remember to add that simple leap into the dance.
I have immersed myself into old music, and "new" old music just to calm my jagged spirit. Having fallen into the bottom half of my "half full glass" in October, trying to swim to the top, only to be met with the hot air of mid-term elections, then gulping and grasping for a savior to keep me afloat while I search for the sand bar...music seems to be the life-float I needed. And not just any old music, but music that once touched my soul and filled me with strength and sorrow and joy, all at once. I have been listening to Tom Waits, Gordon LIghtfoot, Harry Chapin, and Joan Baez...musicians who I feel familiar and safe with...all whom carry my sadness with grace and share their voice in harmony, even while fighting for goodness and tolerance.
The mid-term election threw me for a loop. As you can tell, I am not one of those people who "got what they wanted" with the outcome. There was no rejoicing for me, no "Booyahs" pouring forth from my lips. I still feel like "the American People" made a bad choice, and the Poor Loser that I have tried to tame and civilize, rises up from within if I spend too much time thinking about it. I have learned many things from this election, and still have many curiosities regarding human psychology, but I am finding some footing along with learning about friendship and kindness. I have always been a vocal, politically minded person...partial to words, always, and fairly warrior-like when it comes to issues of humanity and generosity. I hope, in the long run, to be able to have an epitaph that my sons will be proud of, in my fight for human rights and justices, and that my spirit will be interpreted instead of my words.
I lost a few friends on this little jaunt. It is sad, a bit, but I feel assuaged knowing it wasn't MY choice and I will be here when they calm down and learn that Friendship is more important than an opinion. I give great KUDOS to the friends I have in my life, who hold some beliefs extremely opposite of mine, who remain with me and understand that although extreme in some things, are tied by a cord stronger than the moment. Knowing I can simply say, "I'm sorry for my harsh words, and I am glad you understand..." makes me love them even more. It doesn't mean we are ever going to agree, but it means that we are more valuable to each other for the dimension and perspective we can share...
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Sipping my glass of beer and tomato juice, I ponder. Every once in a while I wake up in the morning with a too familiar rock on my chest: that old demon, Depression. I can usually tell he is taking over my day as soon as awareness slips into my dreams...you know, that time in between when you hear a noise in the real world and right before you open your eyes after a night of the drifting nothingness we call "sleep." Depression seems to be a family trait, a curse, a genetic cord that silently binds my sisters and brother to me. It hasn't become deadly yet, mostly a time-stopping annoyance, but I can see repercussions of nurturing it and wallowing in it a tad bit too long. I'm pretty sure that depression slinks and slides into everybody's heart now and then, but also pretty sure that its effect is planted more deeply in some due to the more fertile soil of their souls. I might be wrong, but I believe our "gift" of creativity may, indeed, be an indication of fertility in which depression can root.
I'm really enjoying my beer and tomato juice right now...it helps me wallow, in a mellow way. It makes me feel even very clever with my words, and "special" in a way that only someone with alcoholic tendencies should feel. Contemplating alcohol should probably be a red flag, if indeed, I am in bondage to spirits of grain, but it happens so rarely to me that I must immerse myself into it's magic. I know that the solid ground of morning will certainly manifest itself into a headache and remorse. But for now, I will just let myself feel it's power, misguided though it may be.
Tonight is Halloween...the most ghostly and pagan night of creation...Very Irish of us to celebrate, as if the deep roots of ancient times cannot touch us in our sterile, and modern lives. We dress our babies in costumes and encourage our young ones to seek candies from our neighbors, without thought to our old and deep roots to the magic that binds us to earth and history and an otherworld existence more real than the day. We play with the fright and the fear of another dimension, another time...play with it as if it were yet another toy made of plastic or make-believe. It is good that it comes only once a year. It might be just my imagination, but it seems as if more "to-do" is made of this holiday more nowadays than in earlier days ... I think it might have something to do with many more things to sell in stores and wild creations to market than any actual consideration of it's meaning. The same with Christmas, I believe. Marketing holidays seems to be a lucrative operation. It is funny that I am so easily lumping Christmas and Halloween together. A very odd combination of spiritual economics. It all seems to boil down to God and the devil. Why is that?
I'm really enjoying my beer and tomato juice right now...it helps me wallow, in a mellow way. It makes me feel even very clever with my words, and "special" in a way that only someone with alcoholic tendencies should feel. Contemplating alcohol should probably be a red flag, if indeed, I am in bondage to spirits of grain, but it happens so rarely to me that I must immerse myself into it's magic. I know that the solid ground of morning will certainly manifest itself into a headache and remorse. But for now, I will just let myself feel it's power, misguided though it may be.
Tonight is Halloween...the most ghostly and pagan night of creation...Very Irish of us to celebrate, as if the deep roots of ancient times cannot touch us in our sterile, and modern lives. We dress our babies in costumes and encourage our young ones to seek candies from our neighbors, without thought to our old and deep roots to the magic that binds us to earth and history and an otherworld existence more real than the day. We play with the fright and the fear of another dimension, another time...play with it as if it were yet another toy made of plastic or make-believe. It is good that it comes only once a year. It might be just my imagination, but it seems as if more "to-do" is made of this holiday more nowadays than in earlier days ... I think it might have something to do with many more things to sell in stores and wild creations to market than any actual consideration of it's meaning. The same with Christmas, I believe. Marketing holidays seems to be a lucrative operation. It is funny that I am so easily lumping Christmas and Halloween together. A very odd combination of spiritual economics. It all seems to boil down to God and the devil. Why is that?
Thursday, May 27, 2010
The Anchor Holds....
There is a hymn, titled "The Anchor Holds" that means so very much to me, yet confuses me if I think about it too much. Of course, being a song ripe with "Christian-ese" it shouts of the omnipotence of "God the Almighty" in the mysterious symbol-speak so common in the Christian society.
I was exploring "religion" once again, seasonally, as I seem to sow, reap, and search in that order, my way through life. I'm not sure where I am at the moment in that cycle, probably the searching since that seems to make up the biggest percentage of my existence. I seem to respect the gifts of the universe, and think seriously when interesting opportunities for seeking drop in my path, as if from the sky. I have been led astray with this kind of respect, giving more credence to things for a while than I should...but I always seem to swim my way back out into open water, free of the dangerous currents of tide, where I can control my direction more easily. It's a wonder I am still jumping into the water at all, with the experiences I have pulled out of by the skin of my teeth. (What does that even mean...skin of my teeth????)
So, I made friends with a woman who was charming and friendly, in my little town...I was fascinated by her mix of modern and old-fashioned...intriguing, really. She dressed like something out of "Little House on the Prairie" minus the bonnet, but had a daughter who gave her modern day worries like: tongue piercing, tight clothing, boyfriends...etc. The woman introduced me to another woman, who had a dog very similar to my Wicket, and we all decided to start a walking-for-exercise group, since we were all endowed more than we wanted with our middle age middles. One thing led to another, and they charmed me into their "fold" gently wooing me into a really crazy, mixed up world that they called UPC...United Pentecostal Church. I mean no offense to anyone by my opinions, so if you are reading this, please understand that this is my experience, through my eyes, and it is my blog ...I even attended a big women's retreat (not a "big woman's" retreat for big women, but a large retreat for UPC women....although, really, there were some large women in attendance, because what else is left to them in the rules but to eat?)
In my early stages of seeking among the UPC women, I committed myself to a Bible study, even holding it at my house in turns...which of course meant dragging my family into my seeking ways as well. My husband, bless his sweet heart, just enjoys the ride, speaking up when he sees I am headed for rough waters, but letting me swim otherwise....It was at one of these Bible studies that I first heard this song... and it came at such an odd and profound time, that I know it was some kind of spiritual dropping that I needed to pay heed to while I seek.
Picture this: a circle of men and women, singing and praising their God, in my living room...I don't know if you are familiar with a spirit-filled assembly of worship, but if you are not let me say, it is very intimate and very moving, whatever spiritual persuasion you may be. The very sound of sweet voices in harmony, the sight of people joined together with eyes closed inviting their God to be among them...well, moving me, like I said, in an emotional way that releases much energy into the world. In the midst of this, when it was time to move on into the "study" part of the evening, the person leading the night's schedule disrupted the timing by declaring that he felt the urge to pray for my son Caleb.
Granted, upon arrival and greeting, we all asked each other routinely, how we were doing, blah blah, like good people do. I mentioned that I was worried for my son, who was procuring a sailboat in questionable circumstances, and sailing with a man who promised Caleb the boat upon arrival of their destination... they were sailing from southern California to Seattle area, and it was only the two of them. I was very uneasy all day about Caleb's journey, and he had called earlier sounding less than positive himself. He is a good sailor, but hadn't many years of sailing under his belt...and no experience at all of sailing alone, with a large vessel.
So, when our "leader" interupted the schedule, he pulled the song "The Anchor Holds" out of the air, and insisted we sing and pray.... Here are the words:
I have journeyed through the long dark night
out on open sea by faith alone, sight unkown,
And yet His eyes are watching me.
The anchor holds though the ship is battered.
The anchor holds though the sails are torn.
I have fallen on my knees as I face the raging seas
But the anchor holds in spite of the storm.
I've had visions and I've had dreams
Well I've even held them in my hands
But I never knew those dreams could slip right through
like they were grains of sand.
Chorus: the anchor holds....
Now I have been young and I am older now
Oh there has been beauty these eyes have seen
But it was in the night when I faced the storms of my life
Oh that's where God proved His love to me.
Chorus
So, you see... if you can imagine, I could not sing, I could not speak, I was crying so deeply...there was not a dry eye in the entire circle, and I truly felt that God, Himself had entered the room that night. When the praying was over, I felt a sense of peace and release, and such a sweet spirit towards these people who prayed and cried for my child. I will never forget. A momma never forgets.
When I said goodbye to all but one couple, the Pastor and his wife, we got startled with the phone ringing. It was about midnight, and that ring sent a shockwave through my body...running to the phone thinking, "caleb's dead..." and picking it up to hear his wonderful voice...so many thoughts were running into each other...Then I heard his story.
Apparently, the guy Caleb was getting the boat from did not know how to sail. The guy went below and drank himself into a stupor, being no help at all to my son uptop. The boat was already established out on course, not seeing land, when a huge storm kicked up ....well, to make a long story short, Caleb feared for his life and singlehandedly brought the boat into a safe harbor along the way with no engine working (it had blown) and only a wing and a prayer... Well, maybe only one prayer, but as I've shown you it was a MIGHTY prayer. I believe to this day that our prayers worked side-by-side with my boy, bringing that boat into shore.
So, you ask, why do I keep seeking, when it looks like my answers were just DROPPED into my lap? Why do I keep doubting the existence of our Christian God? I think I go through periods of my life when imaginary things get confused with reality, and I have always struggled with it. Magic vs. solid science. Spiritual vs. Intelligence. The ultimate: Head vs. Heart. I do not agree with most of the teachings of the UPC... I have considered them, and I reject much of their "law"....I did the same with the Mormon church. I have yet to find a place that satisfies my yearning for truth in a reasonable, yet magical way.... I still believe in the Shire, and in Hogwarts.... why do I struggle so much with God? I truly believe there is something really spiritual...really big "out there" that we are missing. It cannot be contained in a box, with limitations that are so many deity itself could not be sustained. The Lutheran church has "laws" that expell Jesus himself...excluding everyone but those who agree to agree, beyond reason. I do not support "boxes" when it comes to spiritual possibilities. It is bigger than us. I bow down to it. I just cannot embrace it.
I was exploring "religion" once again, seasonally, as I seem to sow, reap, and search in that order, my way through life. I'm not sure where I am at the moment in that cycle, probably the searching since that seems to make up the biggest percentage of my existence. I seem to respect the gifts of the universe, and think seriously when interesting opportunities for seeking drop in my path, as if from the sky. I have been led astray with this kind of respect, giving more credence to things for a while than I should...but I always seem to swim my way back out into open water, free of the dangerous currents of tide, where I can control my direction more easily. It's a wonder I am still jumping into the water at all, with the experiences I have pulled out of by the skin of my teeth. (What does that even mean...skin of my teeth????)
So, I made friends with a woman who was charming and friendly, in my little town...I was fascinated by her mix of modern and old-fashioned...intriguing, really. She dressed like something out of "Little House on the Prairie" minus the bonnet, but had a daughter who gave her modern day worries like: tongue piercing, tight clothing, boyfriends...etc. The woman introduced me to another woman, who had a dog very similar to my Wicket, and we all decided to start a walking-for-exercise group, since we were all endowed more than we wanted with our middle age middles. One thing led to another, and they charmed me into their "fold" gently wooing me into a really crazy, mixed up world that they called UPC...United Pentecostal Church. I mean no offense to anyone by my opinions, so if you are reading this, please understand that this is my experience, through my eyes, and it is my blog ...I even attended a big women's retreat (not a "big woman's" retreat for big women, but a large retreat for UPC women....although, really, there were some large women in attendance, because what else is left to them in the rules but to eat?)
In my early stages of seeking among the UPC women, I committed myself to a Bible study, even holding it at my house in turns...which of course meant dragging my family into my seeking ways as well. My husband, bless his sweet heart, just enjoys the ride, speaking up when he sees I am headed for rough waters, but letting me swim otherwise....It was at one of these Bible studies that I first heard this song... and it came at such an odd and profound time, that I know it was some kind of spiritual dropping that I needed to pay heed to while I seek.
Picture this: a circle of men and women, singing and praising their God, in my living room...I don't know if you are familiar with a spirit-filled assembly of worship, but if you are not let me say, it is very intimate and very moving, whatever spiritual persuasion you may be. The very sound of sweet voices in harmony, the sight of people joined together with eyes closed inviting their God to be among them...well, moving me, like I said, in an emotional way that releases much energy into the world. In the midst of this, when it was time to move on into the "study" part of the evening, the person leading the night's schedule disrupted the timing by declaring that he felt the urge to pray for my son Caleb.
Granted, upon arrival and greeting, we all asked each other routinely, how we were doing, blah blah, like good people do. I mentioned that I was worried for my son, who was procuring a sailboat in questionable circumstances, and sailing with a man who promised Caleb the boat upon arrival of their destination... they were sailing from southern California to Seattle area, and it was only the two of them. I was very uneasy all day about Caleb's journey, and he had called earlier sounding less than positive himself. He is a good sailor, but hadn't many years of sailing under his belt...and no experience at all of sailing alone, with a large vessel.
So, when our "leader" interupted the schedule, he pulled the song "The Anchor Holds" out of the air, and insisted we sing and pray.... Here are the words:
I have journeyed through the long dark night
out on open sea by faith alone, sight unkown,
And yet His eyes are watching me.
The anchor holds though the ship is battered.
The anchor holds though the sails are torn.
I have fallen on my knees as I face the raging seas
But the anchor holds in spite of the storm.
I've had visions and I've had dreams
Well I've even held them in my hands
But I never knew those dreams could slip right through
like they were grains of sand.
Chorus: the anchor holds....
Now I have been young and I am older now
Oh there has been beauty these eyes have seen
But it was in the night when I faced the storms of my life
Oh that's where God proved His love to me.
Chorus
So, you see... if you can imagine, I could not sing, I could not speak, I was crying so deeply...there was not a dry eye in the entire circle, and I truly felt that God, Himself had entered the room that night. When the praying was over, I felt a sense of peace and release, and such a sweet spirit towards these people who prayed and cried for my child. I will never forget. A momma never forgets.
When I said goodbye to all but one couple, the Pastor and his wife, we got startled with the phone ringing. It was about midnight, and that ring sent a shockwave through my body...running to the phone thinking, "caleb's dead..." and picking it up to hear his wonderful voice...so many thoughts were running into each other...Then I heard his story.
Apparently, the guy Caleb was getting the boat from did not know how to sail. The guy went below and drank himself into a stupor, being no help at all to my son uptop. The boat was already established out on course, not seeing land, when a huge storm kicked up ....well, to make a long story short, Caleb feared for his life and singlehandedly brought the boat into a safe harbor along the way with no engine working (it had blown) and only a wing and a prayer... Well, maybe only one prayer, but as I've shown you it was a MIGHTY prayer. I believe to this day that our prayers worked side-by-side with my boy, bringing that boat into shore.
So, you ask, why do I keep seeking, when it looks like my answers were just DROPPED into my lap? Why do I keep doubting the existence of our Christian God? I think I go through periods of my life when imaginary things get confused with reality, and I have always struggled with it. Magic vs. solid science. Spiritual vs. Intelligence. The ultimate: Head vs. Heart. I do not agree with most of the teachings of the UPC... I have considered them, and I reject much of their "law"....I did the same with the Mormon church. I have yet to find a place that satisfies my yearning for truth in a reasonable, yet magical way.... I still believe in the Shire, and in Hogwarts.... why do I struggle so much with God? I truly believe there is something really spiritual...really big "out there" that we are missing. It cannot be contained in a box, with limitations that are so many deity itself could not be sustained. The Lutheran church has "laws" that expell Jesus himself...excluding everyone but those who agree to agree, beyond reason. I do not support "boxes" when it comes to spiritual possibilities. It is bigger than us. I bow down to it. I just cannot embrace it.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Parenting....
Human reproduction is the result of pure, raw nature. I have come to believe that "parenting" is, on the other hand, totally un-natural. I can hear my good, nurturing friends who are wonderful mothers object to this, but let me just remind you that I have always wanted to be a mother. Crazily enough, I wanted twelve children at one time in my life. The "un-natural" part comes when I tell you that I have just discovered that my yearning for children was really just "all about me." You see, we just got a puppy. My fault. I was yearning for one. The "yearning" is the natural "all about me" part. And, yesterday, I figured out why I was yearning for a puppy. It is because I am a parent.
Let me explain. I am teetering on the edge of my messy little nest, with my last baby bird pecking and pecking at me. My little baby bird is growing a sharp, painful beak and long legs with pointy knees, and his once soft feathers are becoming oily and changing to meet his own needs...in other words, I am perilously torn between pushing him out of the nest too early, or jumping off myself! I think God made us all to be naturally selfish creatures... and in order for us to live and thrive, we learn to take care of ourselves first. This is where "parenting" becomes un-natural to us. When we get past the "cute, sweet, baby" stages of our seed, there is a huge part of us that says, "quick...hide...they won't find us here!"
The other, smaller, part of us starts yearning for the old days when our children were small and soft...and still loved us more than any Nintendo game or even cell phone, ever created. So, we take steps to appease that craziness by having more babies....or getting a puppy. Then we start all over again, but too soon find ourselves in the uncomfortable position that traps us more solidly in the endless circle. And by this time, we are all so tired and grumpy, that we become a person totally different than the person we started out to be. Only this time, we have a filthy house with all the nice floor moulding and paint chewed up, and half grown people snapping at our heels, trying to think for themselves in a very obnoxious way.
Let me tell you about yesterday, then multiply it by all the numbers of every day of the next 7 years. You will see why it is daunting to me. My quiet 12 year old and his friend planned an after-school event yesterday. They started their end-of-grade testing this week, so they deservedly wanted to make it a good one. It coincided with the friend needing a place to hang out so as not to be lonely, too, so I'm glad it all worked out for them. Unfortunately, they failed to let me in on their great, well-thought out plan, and well... some things just are doomed from the beginning, I guess.
They were both excited to be picked up from school, and my careful son gave me specific directions on where to park and what time to be there. Being the good mom that I am, I worried about it all day afraid that I would forget to pick them up and then panic when he didn't come home on the bus. So I packed a book and went to the carpool line a half hour early... second in line, I scored! Then I waited. And waited. Now I was first in line. Then I was first in line AND last in line. Finally, I saw two boys that looked like my charges, meandering around, chatting unconcernedly ...and they walked past my waiting car clueless as to where I was. The invisible mom. It was 3:30. I had been there an hour. Rolling down my window, I whistled my own distinct, head-swivelling command. Skipping over, still chatting, they happily clambored in the back seat, full of the day and things to come.
North Carolina has been very warm and sunny so far this season. But the last couple of days were fraught with rain storms and chilled air. I wore my sweatshirt all this cloudy day, so was unprepared for the next bit of fun. My son's friend pulled a very handsome swimsuit out of his bag, exitedly exclaiming how cool his new suit was. Hmmm, I wondered... did they have swimming at school today? My heart was beginning to fall, just a little, with foreboding. We had a discussion on Saturday, when the boys went to the friend's neighborhood pool and had a blast...that maybe we should go sign up at the pool in the neighboring subdivision so they could swim near us on hot days, also. Mind you, this pool is not in our neighborhood, and we need to pay a non-resident fee to sign up for the summer, and a discussion is as far as it went. Yup, you guessed it. They planned to go swimming this very day at the pool that we know nothing about. Bummer. Not only was this a chilly, cloudy day, but we haven't a clue as to the schedule or fee for the pool....so I did what any lame mom would do: I said, "not today, boys."
My son usually takes no for an answer the second or third time. But together, they tortured me and belittled me and argued and showed all the pointy claws they had... to no avail. It did accomplish some very hard feelings all around though, and the rest of the visit pretty much was sealed. They cancelled their plans to go to TaeKwondo, which surprised me, since Seth LOVES that class... and apparently they wanted to be bored longer together. In the natural world, I would have certainly run away and found suitable pastimes to forget I even had twelve year old boys at my house. So, between dealing with the boys and taking care of two dogs, a cat, and a squawking parakeet... the teetering continued. Where were the soft, sweet little things that I endowed myself with out of yearning?
Today, I am debriefing, and I discover it isn't that bad. My puppy was so happy to see me this morning when I got her up...wagging her tail-end and moaning with happiness as she tried to chew on my ear.... Wicket stretched out and offered up his smooth, chubby little belly like no other....cat stretched and purred at me and rubbed up on my legs to say good morning.... bird sat and trilled a pretty song when I uncovered his cage... and the boy...well, okay, so the boy still didn't want to get up and was grouchy, but I know that will pass...someday. How do I know? I got a call from my older son, who is out in the world with his own yearnings being born. Full circle.... he loves me, he needs me... he understands now what it must have been like.... It gets better, and then I will soon be yearning for these days too. This is it. This is life, and natural or un-natural, I am going to try to embrace it.
Let me explain. I am teetering on the edge of my messy little nest, with my last baby bird pecking and pecking at me. My little baby bird is growing a sharp, painful beak and long legs with pointy knees, and his once soft feathers are becoming oily and changing to meet his own needs...in other words, I am perilously torn between pushing him out of the nest too early, or jumping off myself! I think God made us all to be naturally selfish creatures... and in order for us to live and thrive, we learn to take care of ourselves first. This is where "parenting" becomes un-natural to us. When we get past the "cute, sweet, baby" stages of our seed, there is a huge part of us that says, "quick...hide...they won't find us here!"
The other, smaller, part of us starts yearning for the old days when our children were small and soft...and still loved us more than any Nintendo game or even cell phone, ever created. So, we take steps to appease that craziness by having more babies....or getting a puppy. Then we start all over again, but too soon find ourselves in the uncomfortable position that traps us more solidly in the endless circle. And by this time, we are all so tired and grumpy, that we become a person totally different than the person we started out to be. Only this time, we have a filthy house with all the nice floor moulding and paint chewed up, and half grown people snapping at our heels, trying to think for themselves in a very obnoxious way.
Let me tell you about yesterday, then multiply it by all the numbers of every day of the next 7 years. You will see why it is daunting to me. My quiet 12 year old and his friend planned an after-school event yesterday. They started their end-of-grade testing this week, so they deservedly wanted to make it a good one. It coincided with the friend needing a place to hang out so as not to be lonely, too, so I'm glad it all worked out for them. Unfortunately, they failed to let me in on their great, well-thought out plan, and well... some things just are doomed from the beginning, I guess.
They were both excited to be picked up from school, and my careful son gave me specific directions on where to park and what time to be there. Being the good mom that I am, I worried about it all day afraid that I would forget to pick them up and then panic when he didn't come home on the bus. So I packed a book and went to the carpool line a half hour early... second in line, I scored! Then I waited. And waited. Now I was first in line. Then I was first in line AND last in line. Finally, I saw two boys that looked like my charges, meandering around, chatting unconcernedly ...and they walked past my waiting car clueless as to where I was. The invisible mom. It was 3:30. I had been there an hour. Rolling down my window, I whistled my own distinct, head-swivelling command. Skipping over, still chatting, they happily clambored in the back seat, full of the day and things to come.
North Carolina has been very warm and sunny so far this season. But the last couple of days were fraught with rain storms and chilled air. I wore my sweatshirt all this cloudy day, so was unprepared for the next bit of fun. My son's friend pulled a very handsome swimsuit out of his bag, exitedly exclaiming how cool his new suit was. Hmmm, I wondered... did they have swimming at school today? My heart was beginning to fall, just a little, with foreboding. We had a discussion on Saturday, when the boys went to the friend's neighborhood pool and had a blast...that maybe we should go sign up at the pool in the neighboring subdivision so they could swim near us on hot days, also. Mind you, this pool is not in our neighborhood, and we need to pay a non-resident fee to sign up for the summer, and a discussion is as far as it went. Yup, you guessed it. They planned to go swimming this very day at the pool that we know nothing about. Bummer. Not only was this a chilly, cloudy day, but we haven't a clue as to the schedule or fee for the pool....so I did what any lame mom would do: I said, "not today, boys."
My son usually takes no for an answer the second or third time. But together, they tortured me and belittled me and argued and showed all the pointy claws they had... to no avail. It did accomplish some very hard feelings all around though, and the rest of the visit pretty much was sealed. They cancelled their plans to go to TaeKwondo, which surprised me, since Seth LOVES that class... and apparently they wanted to be bored longer together. In the natural world, I would have certainly run away and found suitable pastimes to forget I even had twelve year old boys at my house. So, between dealing with the boys and taking care of two dogs, a cat, and a squawking parakeet... the teetering continued. Where were the soft, sweet little things that I endowed myself with out of yearning?
Today, I am debriefing, and I discover it isn't that bad. My puppy was so happy to see me this morning when I got her up...wagging her tail-end and moaning with happiness as she tried to chew on my ear.... Wicket stretched out and offered up his smooth, chubby little belly like no other....cat stretched and purred at me and rubbed up on my legs to say good morning.... bird sat and trilled a pretty song when I uncovered his cage... and the boy...well, okay, so the boy still didn't want to get up and was grouchy, but I know that will pass...someday. How do I know? I got a call from my older son, who is out in the world with his own yearnings being born. Full circle.... he loves me, he needs me... he understands now what it must have been like.... It gets better, and then I will soon be yearning for these days too. This is it. This is life, and natural or un-natural, I am going to try to embrace it.
Monday, May 17, 2010
"When I grow up..."
Like everyone, I spend more of my time floundering around, sort of guessing which way to go which inevitably leads me down a very meandering and somewhat unattractive path. Not that the path is unattractive, mind you, but because I do not let myself enjoy the sights and smells on it, my path is fraught with mostly a little panic until I get a hold of myself to be still for a bit. I picture myself trying to reach that point of where "grown up" is, by tripping and flopping and sweating and just plain floundering. I have yet to reach my destination of "Grown Up" and do not know how much further I have to go. I thought I would be there long ago. Long ago. Having seen my 54th birthday come and go, with 55 getting closer on my heels, I would have expected to see that sign rise up in front of me proclaiming my maturity!
When I was really young, and people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I would, without hesitation, and in all sincerity blurt: "Mary Poppins." As I grew older, and less magically inclined, my answer became more reasonably, "a teacher..." which is more or less the same as Mary Poppins, but without the great singing voice and bottomless carpet bag. To be fair and honest, I still want to be Mary Poppins and think it is entirely unfair that my life has not indulged me with either the great singing voice OR the carpet bag. Later, much later, as I was farther on in my journey, and, I thought, much closer to my "Grown Up" destination I harbored a great yearning for my secret "witch" to blossom and to hear from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to be a teacher there and to leave this heavy earthbound muggle existence behind me. Alas, I am still waiting. And, as you can see, probably not any closer to being a grown up than I was when I wanted to be Mary Poppins.
I do not know when that magic grown up time comes for people. Maybe it never does. I always thought of my mom and dad as being "grown up." But looking back on them from my vantage point of the here and now, Heck...I am older than THEY were back then when I thought they were grown up!!! How does that happen!!!! I know my own children haven't a clue that I am not really grown up. I keep pretending, when they are around, because I don't want to scare them or anything. I do the grownup stuff...say the grownup things... and, yah, it isn't very much fun. Come to think of it...why do I even WANT to get to that GrownUp place? Maybe that is the secret!!! NOBODY is a grown up....who are we kidding? Those people who I think are really grown up? I bet they are not having very much fun. Next time anyone asks me what I want to be when I grow up, I am going to tell them, "Mary Poppins"...and skip away on my meandering silly path that apparently goes everywhere, but to the Grown Up place. Because you know what? THAT is just where I want to be....
When I was really young, and people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I would, without hesitation, and in all sincerity blurt: "Mary Poppins." As I grew older, and less magically inclined, my answer became more reasonably, "a teacher..." which is more or less the same as Mary Poppins, but without the great singing voice and bottomless carpet bag. To be fair and honest, I still want to be Mary Poppins and think it is entirely unfair that my life has not indulged me with either the great singing voice OR the carpet bag. Later, much later, as I was farther on in my journey, and, I thought, much closer to my "Grown Up" destination I harbored a great yearning for my secret "witch" to blossom and to hear from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to be a teacher there and to leave this heavy earthbound muggle existence behind me. Alas, I am still waiting. And, as you can see, probably not any closer to being a grown up than I was when I wanted to be Mary Poppins.
I do not know when that magic grown up time comes for people. Maybe it never does. I always thought of my mom and dad as being "grown up." But looking back on them from my vantage point of the here and now, Heck...I am older than THEY were back then when I thought they were grown up!!! How does that happen!!!! I know my own children haven't a clue that I am not really grown up. I keep pretending, when they are around, because I don't want to scare them or anything. I do the grownup stuff...say the grownup things... and, yah, it isn't very much fun. Come to think of it...why do I even WANT to get to that GrownUp place? Maybe that is the secret!!! NOBODY is a grown up....who are we kidding? Those people who I think are really grown up? I bet they are not having very much fun. Next time anyone asks me what I want to be when I grow up, I am going to tell them, "Mary Poppins"...and skip away on my meandering silly path that apparently goes everywhere, but to the Grown Up place. Because you know what? THAT is just where I want to be....
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