in the midst of my almost incessant thinking about how to affect change in the world, i began reading/continued reading "the wounded healer" by henri nouwen. its never a linear journey through a book for me, i have these problems.
i don't even want to try to explain his wisdom and insights, i will just leave a quote to express where my heart rests currently on the issue:
"it is my growing conviction that in jesus the mystical and the revolutionary ways are not opposites, but two sides of the same human mode of experiential transcendence [he has early argued that modern humanity is searching for meaning through experiential transcendence in a mystical way or in a revolutionary way, as two totally separate pursuits]. i am increasingly convinced that conversion is the individual equivalent of revolution. therefore, every real revolutionary is challenged to be a mystic at heart, and he who walks the mystical way is called to unmask the illusory quality of human society. mysticism and revolution are two aspects of the same attempt to bring about radical change. no mystic can prevent himself from becoming a social critic, since in self-reflection he will discover the roots of a sick society. similarly, no revolutionary can avoid facing his own human conditions, since in the midst of his struggle for a new world, he will find he is also fighting his own reactionary fears and false ambitions"
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
death
i had a dream last night that my brother died. it was the most helpless feeling, he had been there, cracking jokes, laughing, being his normal little brother self. then just gone. gone. i woke up with tears on my face and desperation.
death has felt present these last months, and though its always everywhere, right now, i feel like its right here. not ominous. just present.
both my grandmothers face it simultaneously. one, sick for 20 years with diabetes and all the ways its tearing her body apart. she is scared to die, scared to leave her husband, scared she will miss out on life here. she knows she will be with God when she goes and wants more than anything for her whole family to be with Him. she prays all the time for my family, she says. though she believes in heaven, she is scared to die. the other, sick for the last few years from the effects of smoking since she was 12, is not scared to die, but is not letting go easily. one moment, she will be ready to let go, refusing to eat and drink. the next, she wants to go to the hospital for an iv. her daughters don't know how she wants to die. she wants more than anything for the whole family to believe in God and be together in heaven. she prays every night for my sister, brother, dad.
my mothers co-worker recently died, inexplicably. she was in her 30's, a preschool teacher. they closed the preschool last week one day for the funeral. they dont know what happened.
a bicyclist was killed on a major road in town a few weeks ago. a semi-truck, a wrong turn. and he is gone.
a few months ago, a friend lost a sibling to suicide. his art hangs on our coffeehouse walls, reminding us of potential we think was cut short in his decision... perhaps of potential realized just in time. i could not understand my friends pain until last nights dream. now in the smallest ways, its present, next to me.
what of death tasted and then retreating? before last nights dream, my roommate and i had talked about near-death experience... the "unconditional love" some say they feel in the moments when faced with death. 90 minutes in heaven, one pastor claims, is what he experienced before returning back to live out the rest of his days having tasted the ultimate unknown.
one of our pastors revels in reminding us, in an oddly endearing way, that when we see the elderly people who come mondays and fridays to use our church building, that all of us will be there someday, will all someday pass away.
its the only guarantee we have of anything, beyond our birth.
after her co-workers death, my mother spoke with someone close to us who reads the obituaries everyday. she does it, habitually, thinking if she knows about death enough, the age of death, the cause, perhaps she can control or understand it more or somehow get it. she feels that being older, with no more kids in the house, with many of her dreams accomplished already, with nothing to look forward to, really, that she has no purpose. and so death is all there is. and death is scary, completely unknown.
a few weeks ago, we visited one of our oldest and newest church members in the icu. she lay there, as we entered, glowing. the doctors had pulled all the machines keeping her alive. she had made this decision, she said, and was at peace with it. and she was right. peace, peace. just peace. so simple and uncomplicated. she was facing the biggest unknown, the thing most of us fear the most and she was doing it with confidence. i am not sure i had seen such beauty. we got to spend a few moments with her on one of her last days on earth, praying with her, touching her hand. she passed the next week. her daughters told us the doctors commented that they never see people die with such peace and dignity like she did.
i am not sure what to think if this all. death still elludes me. what it will be like. what it will feel like. but i think i know how i want to go. with peace and confidence. dignity. unafraid.
death has felt present these last months, and though its always everywhere, right now, i feel like its right here. not ominous. just present.
both my grandmothers face it simultaneously. one, sick for 20 years with diabetes and all the ways its tearing her body apart. she is scared to die, scared to leave her husband, scared she will miss out on life here. she knows she will be with God when she goes and wants more than anything for her whole family to be with Him. she prays all the time for my family, she says. though she believes in heaven, she is scared to die. the other, sick for the last few years from the effects of smoking since she was 12, is not scared to die, but is not letting go easily. one moment, she will be ready to let go, refusing to eat and drink. the next, she wants to go to the hospital for an iv. her daughters don't know how she wants to die. she wants more than anything for the whole family to believe in God and be together in heaven. she prays every night for my sister, brother, dad.
my mothers co-worker recently died, inexplicably. she was in her 30's, a preschool teacher. they closed the preschool last week one day for the funeral. they dont know what happened.
a bicyclist was killed on a major road in town a few weeks ago. a semi-truck, a wrong turn. and he is gone.
a few months ago, a friend lost a sibling to suicide. his art hangs on our coffeehouse walls, reminding us of potential we think was cut short in his decision... perhaps of potential realized just in time. i could not understand my friends pain until last nights dream. now in the smallest ways, its present, next to me.
what of death tasted and then retreating? before last nights dream, my roommate and i had talked about near-death experience... the "unconditional love" some say they feel in the moments when faced with death. 90 minutes in heaven, one pastor claims, is what he experienced before returning back to live out the rest of his days having tasted the ultimate unknown.
one of our pastors revels in reminding us, in an oddly endearing way, that when we see the elderly people who come mondays and fridays to use our church building, that all of us will be there someday, will all someday pass away.
its the only guarantee we have of anything, beyond our birth.
after her co-workers death, my mother spoke with someone close to us who reads the obituaries everyday. she does it, habitually, thinking if she knows about death enough, the age of death, the cause, perhaps she can control or understand it more or somehow get it. she feels that being older, with no more kids in the house, with many of her dreams accomplished already, with nothing to look forward to, really, that she has no purpose. and so death is all there is. and death is scary, completely unknown.
a few weeks ago, we visited one of our oldest and newest church members in the icu. she lay there, as we entered, glowing. the doctors had pulled all the machines keeping her alive. she had made this decision, she said, and was at peace with it. and she was right. peace, peace. just peace. so simple and uncomplicated. she was facing the biggest unknown, the thing most of us fear the most and she was doing it with confidence. i am not sure i had seen such beauty. we got to spend a few moments with her on one of her last days on earth, praying with her, touching her hand. she passed the next week. her daughters told us the doctors commented that they never see people die with such peace and dignity like she did.
i am not sure what to think if this all. death still elludes me. what it will be like. what it will feel like. but i think i know how i want to go. with peace and confidence. dignity. unafraid.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
addiction....
...is so fascinating to me, which sounds terrible because it destroys everything it touches. but i think it explains a lot about god.
addiction messes up your pleasure centers- once you have indulged in an addictive behavior enough, a chemical reaction (or something like that) happens in you and it begins to tell the pleasure center of your brain that you can only be happy if you are doing that behavior. and the desire in us to access the pleasure center that allows us happiness is an extremely powerful drive. so when its messed up and reprogrammed, things are not good. once those chemicals mess with your pleasure center, stopping your brain from thinking that drinking/having sex/shooting up/working/shopping/eating/(insert addiction here) is not the center of all your happiness is nearly impossible.
which makes sense.
god asks us to be extreme sometimes. and sometimes he asks us to walk the line between two extremes. sometimes he tells us its better to be in the middle than go too far one way. the fact that our brains are basically wired for moderation makes me feel like god is real. because he made our bodies and brains in line with his ways. he knows its not good for us to overindulge in certain things of this earth because he knows the only thing we can really overindulge in and never come away sick or addicted or broken from is pursuing him and his kingdom in a healthy way. he jealously wants our whole selves and has created our brains in a way that we must moderate what exactly we put inside of us and what we surround ourselves with. when we don't, something inside us becomes broken.
but what's even better about God is that when we often fail to keep ourselves from extremity and addiction (because we are all addicted to many things, if we think about it honestly), he still redeems us. still heals us. still picks us up off the ground and teaches us to keep walking.
there is no place more comfortable for me than in an aa meeting. its the environment i grew up in, the aa crowd, and i loved it so much. these people know brokenness, failure, destitution, the view from the bottom. but that much more, they know mercy, forgiveness, humility, grace. they are the realest group of people i know. i wish the church was more like them in seeing the deep brokenness we all carry around, admitting it as a reality openly and still getting up everyday and facing life with the belief that we can be redeemed.
what recovering addicts know is how to live out of their broken state. when we can truly learn to live out of our broken state, we can truly learn the meaning of humility. and in humility, grace.
addiction messes up your pleasure centers- once you have indulged in an addictive behavior enough, a chemical reaction (or something like that) happens in you and it begins to tell the pleasure center of your brain that you can only be happy if you are doing that behavior. and the desire in us to access the pleasure center that allows us happiness is an extremely powerful drive. so when its messed up and reprogrammed, things are not good. once those chemicals mess with your pleasure center, stopping your brain from thinking that drinking/having sex/shooting up/working/shopping/eating/(insert addiction here) is not the center of all your happiness is nearly impossible.
which makes sense.
god asks us to be extreme sometimes. and sometimes he asks us to walk the line between two extremes. sometimes he tells us its better to be in the middle than go too far one way. the fact that our brains are basically wired for moderation makes me feel like god is real. because he made our bodies and brains in line with his ways. he knows its not good for us to overindulge in certain things of this earth because he knows the only thing we can really overindulge in and never come away sick or addicted or broken from is pursuing him and his kingdom in a healthy way. he jealously wants our whole selves and has created our brains in a way that we must moderate what exactly we put inside of us and what we surround ourselves with. when we don't, something inside us becomes broken.
but what's even better about God is that when we often fail to keep ourselves from extremity and addiction (because we are all addicted to many things, if we think about it honestly), he still redeems us. still heals us. still picks us up off the ground and teaches us to keep walking.
there is no place more comfortable for me than in an aa meeting. its the environment i grew up in, the aa crowd, and i loved it so much. these people know brokenness, failure, destitution, the view from the bottom. but that much more, they know mercy, forgiveness, humility, grace. they are the realest group of people i know. i wish the church was more like them in seeing the deep brokenness we all carry around, admitting it as a reality openly and still getting up everyday and facing life with the belief that we can be redeemed.
what recovering addicts know is how to live out of their broken state. when we can truly learn to live out of our broken state, we can truly learn the meaning of humility. and in humility, grace.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
keeping up with the mrs. jones'
i had a dream last night that i was eaten alive by fruit flies. i was married and trying to help console a friend in the middle of the night. upon returning to my bed and my husband, i discovered a trail of ants in the sheets that suddenly turned into fruit flies and attacked me, biting and itching until there was no more of me left. it was those little tiny things that killed me. i woke up disturbed, the light outside still dark.
before sleep last night, i spent a glamorous night on the town with ten beautiful women for a birthday party. all fancied up with our high heels on, we were the epitome of youth and beauty and vibrance. well, they were. in comparison to so much womanhood, i felt like a little girl pretending. too skinny, too awkward, not the right outfit, the wrong hair and a bad sexy face (you will have to ask them about that), how did i fit in? one of them, newly married mrs jones, explained her engagement and marriage to me. she is just my age, i think, but seemed so much more in stature and confidence. as i looked around, i felt each woman, single, married or dating, held such beauty in who they were, unique and exuberant, all their outsides communicated an easy grace and a fitting in. i will feel this way from time to time, and more so as i get older... but last night, in comparison, i did not.
and its that little thing of comparison that's been killing me, i realize. in comparison to women who are married, i am alone. in comparison to people who have travelled extensively, i am static. in comparison to my college friends, i am a square. in comparison to the adventurous, i am mundane. in comparison to the brave, i am weak and fearful. in comparison to the on-the-town, i am at home. in comparison to the real missionaries, i am comfortable.
in these comparisons, life sometimes feels a race where i didnt realize we were supposed to leave the start line awhile ago.
but, in the grand narrative, the real reality, i am not responsible to be anyone other than what i am. in all this comparison, i am losing sight of this person, this girl, this woman my creator intended. in comparison, i have tried to acquire things and ways that i am not.
i am not eaten alive by small things, but they are itching at me.
before sleep last night, i spent a glamorous night on the town with ten beautiful women for a birthday party. all fancied up with our high heels on, we were the epitome of youth and beauty and vibrance. well, they were. in comparison to so much womanhood, i felt like a little girl pretending. too skinny, too awkward, not the right outfit, the wrong hair and a bad sexy face (you will have to ask them about that), how did i fit in? one of them, newly married mrs jones, explained her engagement and marriage to me. she is just my age, i think, but seemed so much more in stature and confidence. as i looked around, i felt each woman, single, married or dating, held such beauty in who they were, unique and exuberant, all their outsides communicated an easy grace and a fitting in. i will feel this way from time to time, and more so as i get older... but last night, in comparison, i did not.
and its that little thing of comparison that's been killing me, i realize. in comparison to women who are married, i am alone. in comparison to people who have travelled extensively, i am static. in comparison to my college friends, i am a square. in comparison to the adventurous, i am mundane. in comparison to the brave, i am weak and fearful. in comparison to the on-the-town, i am at home. in comparison to the real missionaries, i am comfortable.
in these comparisons, life sometimes feels a race where i didnt realize we were supposed to leave the start line awhile ago.
but, in the grand narrative, the real reality, i am not responsible to be anyone other than what i am. in all this comparison, i am losing sight of this person, this girl, this woman my creator intended. in comparison, i have tried to acquire things and ways that i am not.
i am not eaten alive by small things, but they are itching at me.
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