I felt like writing tonight, so decided to blog. It's been several months and; I am almost embarrassed to say. I don't want to read. I made myself read a little this morning. I read a few pages of "Spiritual Torrents" by Julian of Norwich. It was interesting. I highlighted a few sentences to review..... some day... maybe.... I'll want to finish it.
Here I set, university educated, blessed because I was taught to read as a child and have hundreds of books that I could plop down and read... or over 200 books on my Kindle (mostly free downloads of Christian literature).
I figure there is one of several things going on:
Idea 1: I've gotten lazy in my old age. Living in Western society with drive-in restaurants and drive-through banks and media on demand - I've lost the ability to patiently wade through the typed words to make sense of what I'm reading and to find ways to apply it to my life. If that's the reason, than I'm in sad shape and need to pull myself up by the boot straps and get a life.
Idea 2: I'm too tired to read with intentionality and comprehension. I'm still recuperating from moving, tired from the last bit of unpacking, tired from trying to work and get my yard in shape, weary from a half of year of urinary tract infection and a couple rounds of anti-biotics, depleted from this latest round of antibiotics (that are not liver friendly), exhausted from the liver disease. If that's the reason, then it looks like not reading is good self-care.
Idea 3: God is pulling me out of books so I will incorporate what I've read during the last few months of compulsive reading and apply what I've learned to my life. If so, then not reading is a good thing and a growing thing.
I don't know if any of the above are accurate, or partially accurate or just completely wrong. The blessing is that I'm not overly concerned about the why's because I know my life is in God's hand and trust He is directing me this way. I love the fruit of the spirit "Gentleness" and am so grateful I am learning to apply gentleness to my own self. I do not intuit I am out of His will; but deep in his heart of love. I feel close to God and sense His indwelling presence. I talk to Him and spend time with Him. I just don't want to read what others say about Him at this time.
The only icky feeling is what if I'd never have the desire to cuddle under a warm blanket and read a good book cover to cover - underlining beautiful sentences that I want to explore later or that make me feel closer to God? Part of me would miss that. Part of me would rejoice that I am feeling God in ways other then reading and/or intellectual.
As Ecclesiastes says, there is a time and a season. I am grateful I can accept this is not the season for more head knowledge and am content.
I'm so grateful to be God's beloved daughter.
Monday, 17 June 2013
Sunday, 16 June 2013
Dad - A Father Worth Remembering
Having lived 17 years longer then my Dad, I often feel I'm treading on virgin territory. What would Dad have been like at age 62? How would he have handled the changes age brings? What could I have learned about aging gracefully from him? The little I remember about the man are indelibly imprinted on my mind and are a guide. A few specifics, but the character of the man shined: his honesty, his love, his integrity, his faith.
Specifics: I remember riding home on his shoulder from work. When we walked into the back yard - winter was over and summer was there. Twigs were lush green, lilacs smelled wonderful, tulips added colour... it seems every spring the re-life after winter catches me by surprise and I am once again the little girl riding on Dad's shoulders with him holding my hands so I don't put them over his eyes thinking I was being funny.
Specifics: I remember him finding make-work projects at his business. Cleaning old car parts or scraping an old rubber runner off the floor. Things to help me feel special, needed and competent.
Specifics: I remember taking an old blanket (pink & white with embroidered autographs??) and laying it on the ground and looking at the stars. He'd tell me about each constellation, why it was named, what the story was behind the name and the name of some of the more special stars. Then we'd come inside and he'd "dope" (put medicine on) my mosquito and chigger bites.
Specifics: BRC (Bike Rider's Club - Janeen, Brenda, Pat and me) cleaned off the cement slab beside his shop to roller skate. He said it was too hot. We wouldn't believe him. He put a thermometer out in the sun and said if it's over 100 there would be no skating... it reached 110 that day. No skating.
Specifics: After fishing many Sunday afternoons, and putting my pole and bobber in the pond and then walking around exploring. The day we heard a schoolmate died in the pond when a bank gave away, Dad sat at the kitchen table and cried and cried; then called us to him where he held us girls and cried some more.
Specifics: I remember him crying when he heard a local teen was going to be an unwed mother. He wasn't mad at the girl but at the boy who had "taken advantage of her." Okay, this was the 50s and there was quite a social stigma and ostracism back then; but he had compassion on people who others were shunning. Mom made maternity clothes for her.
Specifics: I remember when a tourist's car broke down, he helped them set up our family's tent in the back yard of his shop (in the grove area behind the office where the outdoor toilet was), and they lived there until the parts were shipped in. Mom invited them to our home to shower a few times why they were stuck in Kensington. Although they never met again, apparently they remained friends for years after Dad had died and them and mom corresponded.
I know that next to God, Dad's family was everything to him; not only his wife and children, but his birth family and their families; but the family of community in Kensington and his love of the whole family of God's creation.
As a kid, I liked May Day. Our family tradition was to make May baskets out of construction paper, filled with candy and flowers from the yard and deliver them to everybody on our list of who we'd went to get Halloween treats. That meant we chose to just visit about a dozen people at Halloween. That's a tradition I handed on to my children. I remember them trying to figure out people to give May baskets to who they hadn't trick or treated. But May Day didn't end on May 2. I remember more then once that Dad would drive the jalopy (what he called the car) down the street from some family, leave a bag or two of groceries, ring their door bell and run off and hide in the bushes to make sure they got the food and then sneak back to the car. He took such delight in giving. I was so thrilled when I got old enough to go along and stay quiet in the car so he could give in secret. Then on the way home he'd caution us to not tell anybody because the receiver needed their dignity. Even at those tender single-digit age, he trusted me to know something and handle the information in secret.
At age 7, I remember the family did it's normal nightly routine. Dad read us an age-appropriate story about nature then we'd discuss how lovingly God made the universe and how we could see God in nature. Then he'd read a Bible story and we'd discuss it. Then we'd kneel beside the bed and pray. But one night was different. Dad went through the form, but his heart wasn't in it and he often would stop to wipe his face with his white hankie with brown plaid edge. I thought his hay fever was acting up. But when it came time to pray, he didn't kneel down but sit on the edge of the bed and cried. Eventually Mom lead him out of the bedroom and put us little girls to bed. I understood Dad was going to the hospital again, but instead of Sadie Gudd babysitting us in our house, we'd spend time with Aunt Madonna and Uncle Joe, Donna Jo and RoseAnne and Butch, the dog who drank out of the toilet and looked like the then popular "Shaggy Dog."
We arrived to find Madonna's nieces were also visiting. That was 6 or 7 girls and since I was 7, I was the only one who wasn't old enough to wear a bra. I was spoiled, especially by RoseAnne who always did my chores because, "But Mom, she's just a little kid." I loved the attention. Uncle Joe would let me sit on his lap when he got home from work and that was comforting because he reminded me of an extroverted version of my quiet Dad. He also taught me to gamble!
I remember getting into trouble because I told Dad that Grandpa Kaba was in the hospital. They didn't want Dad to know that his Dad was sick. I was too young to understand Dad was undergoing what was then experimental heart surgery. I was nick-named "Big Ears" by Uncle Joe and when Uncle Greg use to call Gypsy the Trix rabbit - it would bring back those memories of my childhood when I was the one with the growing ears.
After a few weeks Dad was back, Grandpa was home from the hospital; both were pale and skinny, so I didn't understand what all the hullabaloo had been about. The change for me was no more bear hugs because where they'd wired Dad's ribs back together on the left side, a piece of wire was an outsie instead of an insie and if I hugged him there, it would break through the skin and he'd hurt and bleed.
As I became a woman, I found out more about those few days and read the medical report the family physician gave Mom that was sent to him by the heart surgeon (Not sure if he was Dr. Skillet or Dr. Kettle - but Mom called him by the wrong name and that became a family joke). The heart's valve, that apparently should have been large enough for a man to put two fingers in, had been reduced to the size of a pencil lead opening. After they opened the valve that was extremely damaged from rheumatic heart disease, his heart was still working hard to try to push the blood through the narrow opening but was pumping too much blood through the new big opening - it was more volume then the heart could manage. He blew a hole in the side of his heart and the doctors had to do an emergency surgery to repair the hole. I remember as a child he told me they fixed it like he fixed inner tubes in car tires. In my childish wonderment, I figured they took it out, put it under water to find the bubbles from the leak and then put glue and heat on the patch to hold it together. It was age appropriate understanding that brings a smile to me as I remember by naivety.
Not only was surviving the two surgeries a miracle, he got malaria from tainted blood. This was back in 1957 before blood was screened like it is today. Apparently one night his fever spiked at 106 and God pulled a miracle of a hail storm. They rolled him outside and rubbed him down with the God-given ice to lower the temperature. He was careful to hide from us children the recurring issues of malaria.
Since it was experimental surgery, there was no fees except repaying the many units of blood that were used and for any food he ate. Back then, hospitals weren't as expensive as they are today; but I am thankful for Canadian socialized medicine. The men, and a few ladies, from Kensington and relatives, would go to Kansas City and donate blood so he didn't have to pay for the blood used. Of course, it was a given when in Kansas City to watch the Kansas City A's play a game of baseball. yeah, I know that team moved decades ago but it still sounds right to have Kansas City As.
The first year home, Dad obeyed the doctor and took it easy. He made model planes, bought a television and rested on the couch a lot, read, and about drove himself crazy. Mom worked to provide. That meant Pat and I did the cooking for noon meals and were often scolded for not being as quiet as church mice. Pat had a leg-up on being quiet as she was content to hide behind any piece of furniture and read; but that didn't go with my personality so I was always on the carpet - and not the red carpet. I remember Pat teaching me to put rubber bands around my sleeves so when I cooked dinner, my long sleeves didn't catch on fire from the natural gas stove. I was too short to see in the pot, so she had me stand on a chair so I didn't burn the food. She was just as quick to get me in trouble as she was to help me -- and that's what big sisters are for. I think that's their job description! I love her dearly and she's my bestest friend still.
After the second year, Dad went back to work. Things felt normal again. Mom ran the children's clothing store she bought and later sold it to be the office manager for dad's business. I was a Pollyanna and life went on and that year of the surgery was interpreted as a glitch that reset itself.
Pat remembers those years differently. She would talk to Dad about how he felt about his sickness, his future death and what it would be like to die and to live without him. I rode bikes, played dolls and roller skated (I still have my roller skate key). I'm blessed she's told me some about their talks. Since turning 50, I try really hard to not be a Pollyanna but to accept reality; I don't think I'm very graceful at that yet, but it's a good skill for me to learn.
Dad did try to help me face his future passing. I remember times when he'd have to go to the next town for his monthly heart medication. I'd ask why he didn't buy several months medication and he's day, "I buy one month at a time because I may not be alive next month." I interpreted that as something silly and not serious. I knew Dad didn't lie, but I couldn't wrap my childish brain around a life without my Daddy.
Sunday, January 20th, Pat and I went to Sunday School and were to come home afterwards. Dad hadn't felt well and had spent the night on the sofa with lots of pillows so he wasn't laying flat. We get home and exchange a few words (I was on the carpet once again - my normal spot it seems) and he died. For me it was a danged quick passing - but to others, it was slow because they had been in touch with reality of his slow death throughout the years.
The next part is going to be hard to put into words and I don't want to cause distress to others. But the next few days were what turned me into an atheist and satanist for about a decade. As people would come to the house, stop me on the street, or greet us at the funeral - they had no clue what to say to this blue-eyed child with tears running down her face and fear enveloping her like a halo. So they would open their mouth and say the most ugly, horrid things. Some of them I remember was "God loved your daddy more then you could so he took him to heaven." "God wanted your Daddy so He took him." "Don't cry, it makes God sad." When you see somebody in distress and don't know what to say, please don't say stupid things - just hold their hand and be still before the power of their grief - be with them in their pain. Cry with them. Hold them. But don't lie about God or minimize what they are experiencing. Don't say anything that could even possibly shake their faith that may already be on shaky ground. I couldn't love a mean God who'd willfully and selfishly force a a child to be fatherless - even men on death row for atrocious crimes know the power of a parent/child bond - yet so many people passed a faith death sentence on me by their uncaring and stupid words. I have forgiven them; but after holding it in for half a century, want to say how I feel.
So at a time when God could have comforted and encouraged me; I turned my back on him. I didn't need the uncaring, selfish bastard of a god these people touted - I shudder evening thinking of a perverted deity like that. He'd be more like Moelech then Jehovah. I did find comfort in sitting on Daddy's gravestone (thank you Mom for getting him a flat stone that was sit-able instead of a tall one that wouldn't have given comfort). For a decade or more, I'd ride my bicycle the two miles to the graveyard and talk to Daddy, or just sit quiet and absorb the peace of the prairie surrounding the graveyard. I don't know how many times throughout my adult life I'd like to have sit there and talked to Dad and God (after I found faith years later) about life and challenges.
It still strikes me as odd the times when I feel sucker-punched and almost brought to my knees in grief. When I had my first son, I grieved because I wanted Dad's blessing on my precious son who was named after him; the grief hit as hard with the second son, but it wasn't the raw pain because experience taught me to expected it. It sucker-punched me when my youngest son had his first bio-son and named him after dad; I wanted to share that glorious moment with the baby's namesake. When I graduated from university (all three times) I wanted his smile of blessing of a job well done because he was a supporter of education; my mom was proud of me but didn't even know what I'd majored in because higher education wasn't her interest but his. When I was in my 20s and dated a black man, I knew Dad would have approved and probably grinned that he'd had such a positive influence on me; because he was so inclusive that our first doll was black because he didn't want us to see race but humans. Recently I've gone through a re-grieving of my absent father; I would love to show him my little house. I know he'd be proud of me for how I've picked up the pieces of my life and am making life work for me.The Phoenix has arisen from the ashes; just as it did for him after his surgery.
There are times with my own disease, that I can look to how Dad handled his disease and feel I'm handling it well. It's hard to step out of my comfort zone and discuss it; but I know it is healing and relationship building to share. I remember Dad's well-worn Bible was by his bed and his illness brought him a closeness with God that he may not have developed had he not been sick - and I try to look at my own disease that way. But I'm at an advanced age where a serious disease is "common" but had it been 20+ years ago, I don't think I would have handled it as well as Dad did at that age. I admire him for that. So many set-backs in his life and he kept moving forward and enjoyed life anyway. I think he understood the set-backs are really stepping stones that make us more who we are. In his quiet way, he embraced life from the core of his being; but embraced it in a way he wasn't afraid of dying - but was concerned how his passing would affect his loved ones left behind.
I see so much of Greg and me in our youngest son. He's a good daddy; having been a house-husband he's also a good and fair disciplinarian; things and appearances aren't very important to him. He's had his share of health, financial and family issues and he keeps moving forward with life. I think Justin looks like me in the face and height, but he's got his Dad's stocky build with wide shoulders and lots of facial fur like his dad. His feet are like his dad's - cute, chubby baby feet in man-size. He's married to a smart lady who knows how to help him open up and see the inner depths and layers of who he is.
I see so much of Dad and Harry (my ex's dad) in Mark, my oldest son. He looks like a combination of both, his body build is similar to theirs at that age, like Harry, he's a go getter and business leader; like my Dad, he's inventive and creative and a good dad - like his dad and his grandad (my dad). He's married to a smart lady who knows how to help him schedule his busy life so he has time for all of their large family's obligations.He's smart enough to recognize that her people skills can be a great benefit and he listens and learns from her. I sense that when Mark was faced with his own mortality in 2008, there was a major shift in his life that mellowed him and turned into a blessing.
I'm grateful for my children, my children's dad, my mother but especially for my father. I am blessed my father was a shining example of my heavenly Father. From the cradle, Dad was instrumental in starting me on the path to God.
Thank you Dad. Thank you God for picking my Daddy to be my daddy; he did more in 12 years to earn the name Daddy then many men achieve in a long lifetime.
Specifics: I remember riding home on his shoulder from work. When we walked into the back yard - winter was over and summer was there. Twigs were lush green, lilacs smelled wonderful, tulips added colour... it seems every spring the re-life after winter catches me by surprise and I am once again the little girl riding on Dad's shoulders with him holding my hands so I don't put them over his eyes thinking I was being funny.
Specifics: I remember him finding make-work projects at his business. Cleaning old car parts or scraping an old rubber runner off the floor. Things to help me feel special, needed and competent.
Specifics: I remember taking an old blanket (pink & white with embroidered autographs??) and laying it on the ground and looking at the stars. He'd tell me about each constellation, why it was named, what the story was behind the name and the name of some of the more special stars. Then we'd come inside and he'd "dope" (put medicine on) my mosquito and chigger bites.
Specifics: BRC (Bike Rider's Club - Janeen, Brenda, Pat and me) cleaned off the cement slab beside his shop to roller skate. He said it was too hot. We wouldn't believe him. He put a thermometer out in the sun and said if it's over 100 there would be no skating... it reached 110 that day. No skating.
Specifics: After fishing many Sunday afternoons, and putting my pole and bobber in the pond and then walking around exploring. The day we heard a schoolmate died in the pond when a bank gave away, Dad sat at the kitchen table and cried and cried; then called us to him where he held us girls and cried some more.
Specifics: I remember him crying when he heard a local teen was going to be an unwed mother. He wasn't mad at the girl but at the boy who had "taken advantage of her." Okay, this was the 50s and there was quite a social stigma and ostracism back then; but he had compassion on people who others were shunning. Mom made maternity clothes for her.
Specifics: I remember when a tourist's car broke down, he helped them set up our family's tent in the back yard of his shop (in the grove area behind the office where the outdoor toilet was), and they lived there until the parts were shipped in. Mom invited them to our home to shower a few times why they were stuck in Kensington. Although they never met again, apparently they remained friends for years after Dad had died and them and mom corresponded.
I know that next to God, Dad's family was everything to him; not only his wife and children, but his birth family and their families; but the family of community in Kensington and his love of the whole family of God's creation.
As a kid, I liked May Day. Our family tradition was to make May baskets out of construction paper, filled with candy and flowers from the yard and deliver them to everybody on our list of who we'd went to get Halloween treats. That meant we chose to just visit about a dozen people at Halloween. That's a tradition I handed on to my children. I remember them trying to figure out people to give May baskets to who they hadn't trick or treated. But May Day didn't end on May 2. I remember more then once that Dad would drive the jalopy (what he called the car) down the street from some family, leave a bag or two of groceries, ring their door bell and run off and hide in the bushes to make sure they got the food and then sneak back to the car. He took such delight in giving. I was so thrilled when I got old enough to go along and stay quiet in the car so he could give in secret. Then on the way home he'd caution us to not tell anybody because the receiver needed their dignity. Even at those tender single-digit age, he trusted me to know something and handle the information in secret.
At age 7, I remember the family did it's normal nightly routine. Dad read us an age-appropriate story about nature then we'd discuss how lovingly God made the universe and how we could see God in nature. Then he'd read a Bible story and we'd discuss it. Then we'd kneel beside the bed and pray. But one night was different. Dad went through the form, but his heart wasn't in it and he often would stop to wipe his face with his white hankie with brown plaid edge. I thought his hay fever was acting up. But when it came time to pray, he didn't kneel down but sit on the edge of the bed and cried. Eventually Mom lead him out of the bedroom and put us little girls to bed. I understood Dad was going to the hospital again, but instead of Sadie Gudd babysitting us in our house, we'd spend time with Aunt Madonna and Uncle Joe, Donna Jo and RoseAnne and Butch, the dog who drank out of the toilet and looked like the then popular "Shaggy Dog."
We arrived to find Madonna's nieces were also visiting. That was 6 or 7 girls and since I was 7, I was the only one who wasn't old enough to wear a bra. I was spoiled, especially by RoseAnne who always did my chores because, "But Mom, she's just a little kid." I loved the attention. Uncle Joe would let me sit on his lap when he got home from work and that was comforting because he reminded me of an extroverted version of my quiet Dad. He also taught me to gamble!
I remember getting into trouble because I told Dad that Grandpa Kaba was in the hospital. They didn't want Dad to know that his Dad was sick. I was too young to understand Dad was undergoing what was then experimental heart surgery. I was nick-named "Big Ears" by Uncle Joe and when Uncle Greg use to call Gypsy the Trix rabbit - it would bring back those memories of my childhood when I was the one with the growing ears.
After a few weeks Dad was back, Grandpa was home from the hospital; both were pale and skinny, so I didn't understand what all the hullabaloo had been about. The change for me was no more bear hugs because where they'd wired Dad's ribs back together on the left side, a piece of wire was an outsie instead of an insie and if I hugged him there, it would break through the skin and he'd hurt and bleed.
As I became a woman, I found out more about those few days and read the medical report the family physician gave Mom that was sent to him by the heart surgeon (Not sure if he was Dr. Skillet or Dr. Kettle - but Mom called him by the wrong name and that became a family joke). The heart's valve, that apparently should have been large enough for a man to put two fingers in, had been reduced to the size of a pencil lead opening. After they opened the valve that was extremely damaged from rheumatic heart disease, his heart was still working hard to try to push the blood through the narrow opening but was pumping too much blood through the new big opening - it was more volume then the heart could manage. He blew a hole in the side of his heart and the doctors had to do an emergency surgery to repair the hole. I remember as a child he told me they fixed it like he fixed inner tubes in car tires. In my childish wonderment, I figured they took it out, put it under water to find the bubbles from the leak and then put glue and heat on the patch to hold it together. It was age appropriate understanding that brings a smile to me as I remember by naivety.
Not only was surviving the two surgeries a miracle, he got malaria from tainted blood. This was back in 1957 before blood was screened like it is today. Apparently one night his fever spiked at 106 and God pulled a miracle of a hail storm. They rolled him outside and rubbed him down with the God-given ice to lower the temperature. He was careful to hide from us children the recurring issues of malaria.
Since it was experimental surgery, there was no fees except repaying the many units of blood that were used and for any food he ate. Back then, hospitals weren't as expensive as they are today; but I am thankful for Canadian socialized medicine. The men, and a few ladies, from Kensington and relatives, would go to Kansas City and donate blood so he didn't have to pay for the blood used. Of course, it was a given when in Kansas City to watch the Kansas City A's play a game of baseball. yeah, I know that team moved decades ago but it still sounds right to have Kansas City As.
The first year home, Dad obeyed the doctor and took it easy. He made model planes, bought a television and rested on the couch a lot, read, and about drove himself crazy. Mom worked to provide. That meant Pat and I did the cooking for noon meals and were often scolded for not being as quiet as church mice. Pat had a leg-up on being quiet as she was content to hide behind any piece of furniture and read; but that didn't go with my personality so I was always on the carpet - and not the red carpet. I remember Pat teaching me to put rubber bands around my sleeves so when I cooked dinner, my long sleeves didn't catch on fire from the natural gas stove. I was too short to see in the pot, so she had me stand on a chair so I didn't burn the food. She was just as quick to get me in trouble as she was to help me -- and that's what big sisters are for. I think that's their job description! I love her dearly and she's my bestest friend still.
After the second year, Dad went back to work. Things felt normal again. Mom ran the children's clothing store she bought and later sold it to be the office manager for dad's business. I was a Pollyanna and life went on and that year of the surgery was interpreted as a glitch that reset itself.
Pat remembers those years differently. She would talk to Dad about how he felt about his sickness, his future death and what it would be like to die and to live without him. I rode bikes, played dolls and roller skated (I still have my roller skate key). I'm blessed she's told me some about their talks. Since turning 50, I try really hard to not be a Pollyanna but to accept reality; I don't think I'm very graceful at that yet, but it's a good skill for me to learn.
Dad did try to help me face his future passing. I remember times when he'd have to go to the next town for his monthly heart medication. I'd ask why he didn't buy several months medication and he's day, "I buy one month at a time because I may not be alive next month." I interpreted that as something silly and not serious. I knew Dad didn't lie, but I couldn't wrap my childish brain around a life without my Daddy.
Sunday, January 20th, Pat and I went to Sunday School and were to come home afterwards. Dad hadn't felt well and had spent the night on the sofa with lots of pillows so he wasn't laying flat. We get home and exchange a few words (I was on the carpet once again - my normal spot it seems) and he died. For me it was a danged quick passing - but to others, it was slow because they had been in touch with reality of his slow death throughout the years.
The next part is going to be hard to put into words and I don't want to cause distress to others. But the next few days were what turned me into an atheist and satanist for about a decade. As people would come to the house, stop me on the street, or greet us at the funeral - they had no clue what to say to this blue-eyed child with tears running down her face and fear enveloping her like a halo. So they would open their mouth and say the most ugly, horrid things. Some of them I remember was "God loved your daddy more then you could so he took him to heaven." "God wanted your Daddy so He took him." "Don't cry, it makes God sad." When you see somebody in distress and don't know what to say, please don't say stupid things - just hold their hand and be still before the power of their grief - be with them in their pain. Cry with them. Hold them. But don't lie about God or minimize what they are experiencing. Don't say anything that could even possibly shake their faith that may already be on shaky ground. I couldn't love a mean God who'd willfully and selfishly force a a child to be fatherless - even men on death row for atrocious crimes know the power of a parent/child bond - yet so many people passed a faith death sentence on me by their uncaring and stupid words. I have forgiven them; but after holding it in for half a century, want to say how I feel.
So at a time when God could have comforted and encouraged me; I turned my back on him. I didn't need the uncaring, selfish bastard of a god these people touted - I shudder evening thinking of a perverted deity like that. He'd be more like Moelech then Jehovah. I did find comfort in sitting on Daddy's gravestone (thank you Mom for getting him a flat stone that was sit-able instead of a tall one that wouldn't have given comfort). For a decade or more, I'd ride my bicycle the two miles to the graveyard and talk to Daddy, or just sit quiet and absorb the peace of the prairie surrounding the graveyard. I don't know how many times throughout my adult life I'd like to have sit there and talked to Dad and God (after I found faith years later) about life and challenges.
It still strikes me as odd the times when I feel sucker-punched and almost brought to my knees in grief. When I had my first son, I grieved because I wanted Dad's blessing on my precious son who was named after him; the grief hit as hard with the second son, but it wasn't the raw pain because experience taught me to expected it. It sucker-punched me when my youngest son had his first bio-son and named him after dad; I wanted to share that glorious moment with the baby's namesake. When I graduated from university (all three times) I wanted his smile of blessing of a job well done because he was a supporter of education; my mom was proud of me but didn't even know what I'd majored in because higher education wasn't her interest but his. When I was in my 20s and dated a black man, I knew Dad would have approved and probably grinned that he'd had such a positive influence on me; because he was so inclusive that our first doll was black because he didn't want us to see race but humans. Recently I've gone through a re-grieving of my absent father; I would love to show him my little house. I know he'd be proud of me for how I've picked up the pieces of my life and am making life work for me.The Phoenix has arisen from the ashes; just as it did for him after his surgery.
There are times with my own disease, that I can look to how Dad handled his disease and feel I'm handling it well. It's hard to step out of my comfort zone and discuss it; but I know it is healing and relationship building to share. I remember Dad's well-worn Bible was by his bed and his illness brought him a closeness with God that he may not have developed had he not been sick - and I try to look at my own disease that way. But I'm at an advanced age where a serious disease is "common" but had it been 20+ years ago, I don't think I would have handled it as well as Dad did at that age. I admire him for that. So many set-backs in his life and he kept moving forward and enjoyed life anyway. I think he understood the set-backs are really stepping stones that make us more who we are. In his quiet way, he embraced life from the core of his being; but embraced it in a way he wasn't afraid of dying - but was concerned how his passing would affect his loved ones left behind.
I see so much of Greg and me in our youngest son. He's a good daddy; having been a house-husband he's also a good and fair disciplinarian; things and appearances aren't very important to him. He's had his share of health, financial and family issues and he keeps moving forward with life. I think Justin looks like me in the face and height, but he's got his Dad's stocky build with wide shoulders and lots of facial fur like his dad. His feet are like his dad's - cute, chubby baby feet in man-size. He's married to a smart lady who knows how to help him open up and see the inner depths and layers of who he is.
I see so much of Dad and Harry (my ex's dad) in Mark, my oldest son. He looks like a combination of both, his body build is similar to theirs at that age, like Harry, he's a go getter and business leader; like my Dad, he's inventive and creative and a good dad - like his dad and his grandad (my dad). He's married to a smart lady who knows how to help him schedule his busy life so he has time for all of their large family's obligations.He's smart enough to recognize that her people skills can be a great benefit and he listens and learns from her. I sense that when Mark was faced with his own mortality in 2008, there was a major shift in his life that mellowed him and turned into a blessing.
I'm grateful for my children, my children's dad, my mother but especially for my father. I am blessed my father was a shining example of my heavenly Father. From the cradle, Dad was instrumental in starting me on the path to God.
Thank you Dad. Thank you God for picking my Daddy to be my daddy; he did more in 12 years to earn the name Daddy then many men achieve in a long lifetime.
Sunday, 9 June 2013
Rohr - Beyond the Bird Bath
I recently finished an online Richard Rohr course from Center of Action and Contemplation called "Beyond the Bird Bath: Courageous Heart of the Franciscan Way." I want to learn more about the Franciscan lifestyle and thought this would be a great way to learn. Of the six lessons, this quote is what stood out to me the most:
We are suppose to be the people who hang on the contraries and hold the
dilemmas that life presents us with. And
we suffer them. Now you have the meaning
of the cross. You absorb the tension.
You don't release the tension on another group by blaming and damning another
group of people. You hold what's true
about this side and what's true about that side. There is a field beyond right and wrong and
I'll meet you there; maybe that is the only place you can meet the other - that
who is beyond me and other than me."
I have been unpacking that to learn to better apply it to my life; and I feel I will be unpacking and expanding on that for quite a while as I mature in my Christian walk.
I'll start with how I have utilized that quote in the past week. When I'm faced with the inner conflict or contrast, I perceive I take up the cross, suffer the pain of being stretched out with one side of the conflict nailed on one side and the other side is nailed with the conflict on the other. Nailing is "naming" the dilemma and determining what is going on inside - to listen to my inner dialog and making an executive decision what to name the inner conflict. Nailing is painful because it opens me to change. Next, I meditate and release all thoughts until the inner pain of confusion abates. Through this, I either have the answer of which to chose; or find freedom in holding the dissonance within and not allowing it to disrupt my God-given peace and joy. It also helps me see areas where I need to grow up and allow God to refine and purify me like gold.
I'll give a specific example. I had an opportunity to be offended this week. Part of me wanted to have compassion and empathy and jump in to fix the problem that was causing the tension. The other part of me wanted to blast this person for causing the inner conflict. Fortunately, I didn't start by nailing the person to the cross. Unfortunately, I didn't immediately nail the two sides of my thoughts to the cross, but analyzed them. I'm discovering that analyzing never fixes anything and often prolongs and augments the suffering. This unnecessary analyses brought me to finding lots of little things this person had done to annoy me and escalated into all the other things people had and have and probably will do that annoy me. I'm ashamed to say, my knee-jerk reaction was wanting to blame him and hurt back. I wanted the suffering of the inner dichotomy to end - but I thought to have compassion I had to "fix it" or love meant being an enabler; and I didn't want to blast this person, either; because the times I've blasted others, I walk away feeling ashamed and guilty. Yes, I am very egocentric at times. I was stuck in a dilemma.
I finally named what was nailing one hand to the cross: feeling I had to put on my pink super-cape and fix the problem. The other hand was nailed to the cross by wanting to get even. I stood quietly for a few minutes and cleared my mind, relaxed and released the emotions and noticed how tight the muscles in my neck and shoulders were. I didn't ask God to show me what to do; I just trusted He would lead me on the right path. Maybe praying should be part of the process... something to consider as I develop in this skill. If I'm trusting already, do I need to pray to trust? Hummm. another dilemma! ;-)
I chose not to fix the problem - that was out of my comfort zone and exceeded my available personal resources. I trusted the other person to handle their own stuff. Having taken myself out of the equation, peace and love returned and I could write an e-mail with empathy and validation and hopefully encouragement. The deadline was met, rapport was not broken and I think a greater respect was born - not only my respect for the other person but my respect for myself. I also learned a nugget about me: I'd erroneously equated compassion with enabling! No wonder life had been such a struggle at times - enabling sets me up for resentment.
Yeah, I think I'm going to find the suffering of the cross helpful to stop the dualistic, self-defeating thoughts and behaviors as I move forward with my life.
I am grateful for this teaching. I'm grateful for Fr. Rohr's teachings. I'm grateful for God in me (Col. 1.27) and me in God (Acts 17.28a).
As the quote mentions, St. Bonaventure says the world wants people to chose sides. The above example didn't have a side because it was private and if I wouldn't blog about what I learned from it - it would remain hidden. Back to choosing sides: I am finding myself embracing opposite church doctrines and finding joy in the diversity. Infant sprinkling or adult immersion? Both thrill my heart and I don't have to pick one or the other. Common cup, individual cups or no Communion? All thrill my heart and I don't have to pick one or the other. Heaven/Hell or Universal Salvation? Both thrill my heart and I don't have to pick one or the other.
Why don't I feel I have to chose one doctrine over another? Because I know and love people who believe either way and I know their heart is turned to God - they've shown me God's love and hopefully I've reflected God's love back a little. So how they practice their faith is none of my business. For where I am now in this life's journey: how faith is practiced is less important then the Love of God that under=girds the whole thing. I want to find ways that unite me to others much more then I want to find ways that exclude others.
My prayer: God, let me grow in inclusiveness - in finding roads to become united in your body of believers and let that grow to inclusiveness to those who don't believe or who believe but are rejected by many Christians because of their lifestyle. Help me, Lord, be accepting of others just where they are - like you are accepting of me where I am. Give me wisdom to touch others with your compassion and let that compassion change me to be more like Christ. Let me be like Jesus and be open to loving friendship with tax collectors, shepherds, prostitutes, and those who are often excluded, rejected and who have experienced more then their share of rudeness, bullying and shame - especially when those were injuries by Christians (including me). Help me not see them as different or "defective" or as "a project" but teach me to see the diversity of the people you're created and love them with compassion and acceptance - like you do. I ask this in the name of your son who shows us how to love the other. Amen.
Dualism creates necessary struggle. The cross is a geometric
sign of holding, nailed to the two sides of all of the human dilemmas: divine and human, matter and spirit, male and
female, good thief and bad thief. When
you try to hold the contraries together, St. Bonaventure says you will always
be crucified. The world wants you to
chose sides.
I have been unpacking that to learn to better apply it to my life; and I feel I will be unpacking and expanding on that for quite a while as I mature in my Christian walk.
I'll start with how I have utilized that quote in the past week. When I'm faced with the inner conflict or contrast, I perceive I take up the cross, suffer the pain of being stretched out with one side of the conflict nailed on one side and the other side is nailed with the conflict on the other. Nailing is "naming" the dilemma and determining what is going on inside - to listen to my inner dialog and making an executive decision what to name the inner conflict. Nailing is painful because it opens me to change. Next, I meditate and release all thoughts until the inner pain of confusion abates. Through this, I either have the answer of which to chose; or find freedom in holding the dissonance within and not allowing it to disrupt my God-given peace and joy. It also helps me see areas where I need to grow up and allow God to refine and purify me like gold.
I'll give a specific example. I had an opportunity to be offended this week. Part of me wanted to have compassion and empathy and jump in to fix the problem that was causing the tension. The other part of me wanted to blast this person for causing the inner conflict. Fortunately, I didn't start by nailing the person to the cross. Unfortunately, I didn't immediately nail the two sides of my thoughts to the cross, but analyzed them. I'm discovering that analyzing never fixes anything and often prolongs and augments the suffering. This unnecessary analyses brought me to finding lots of little things this person had done to annoy me and escalated into all the other things people had and have and probably will do that annoy me. I'm ashamed to say, my knee-jerk reaction was wanting to blame him and hurt back. I wanted the suffering of the inner dichotomy to end - but I thought to have compassion I had to "fix it" or love meant being an enabler; and I didn't want to blast this person, either; because the times I've blasted others, I walk away feeling ashamed and guilty. Yes, I am very egocentric at times. I was stuck in a dilemma.
I finally named what was nailing one hand to the cross: feeling I had to put on my pink super-cape and fix the problem. The other hand was nailed to the cross by wanting to get even. I stood quietly for a few minutes and cleared my mind, relaxed and released the emotions and noticed how tight the muscles in my neck and shoulders were. I didn't ask God to show me what to do; I just trusted He would lead me on the right path. Maybe praying should be part of the process... something to consider as I develop in this skill. If I'm trusting already, do I need to pray to trust? Hummm. another dilemma! ;-)
I chose not to fix the problem - that was out of my comfort zone and exceeded my available personal resources. I trusted the other person to handle their own stuff. Having taken myself out of the equation, peace and love returned and I could write an e-mail with empathy and validation and hopefully encouragement. The deadline was met, rapport was not broken and I think a greater respect was born - not only my respect for the other person but my respect for myself. I also learned a nugget about me: I'd erroneously equated compassion with enabling! No wonder life had been such a struggle at times - enabling sets me up for resentment.
Yeah, I think I'm going to find the suffering of the cross helpful to stop the dualistic, self-defeating thoughts and behaviors as I move forward with my life.
I am grateful for this teaching. I'm grateful for Fr. Rohr's teachings. I'm grateful for God in me (Col. 1.27) and me in God (Acts 17.28a).
As the quote mentions, St. Bonaventure says the world wants people to chose sides. The above example didn't have a side because it was private and if I wouldn't blog about what I learned from it - it would remain hidden. Back to choosing sides: I am finding myself embracing opposite church doctrines and finding joy in the diversity. Infant sprinkling or adult immersion? Both thrill my heart and I don't have to pick one or the other. Common cup, individual cups or no Communion? All thrill my heart and I don't have to pick one or the other. Heaven/Hell or Universal Salvation? Both thrill my heart and I don't have to pick one or the other.
Why don't I feel I have to chose one doctrine over another? Because I know and love people who believe either way and I know their heart is turned to God - they've shown me God's love and hopefully I've reflected God's love back a little. So how they practice their faith is none of my business. For where I am now in this life's journey: how faith is practiced is less important then the Love of God that under=girds the whole thing. I want to find ways that unite me to others much more then I want to find ways that exclude others.
My prayer: God, let me grow in inclusiveness - in finding roads to become united in your body of believers and let that grow to inclusiveness to those who don't believe or who believe but are rejected by many Christians because of their lifestyle. Help me, Lord, be accepting of others just where they are - like you are accepting of me where I am. Give me wisdom to touch others with your compassion and let that compassion change me to be more like Christ. Let me be like Jesus and be open to loving friendship with tax collectors, shepherds, prostitutes, and those who are often excluded, rejected and who have experienced more then their share of rudeness, bullying and shame - especially when those were injuries by Christians (including me). Help me not see them as different or "defective" or as "a project" but teach me to see the diversity of the people you're created and love them with compassion and acceptance - like you do. I ask this in the name of your son who shows us how to love the other. Amen.
Sunday, 19 May 2013
Salvation: National and Individual
It's been a while since I've written in my blog. Between packing to move, moving, unpacking and working on the house, and trying to take things easy because I over-did it - I haven't made writing much of a priority. I have spent time on Facebook and today I posted this quote from Richard Rohr:
"Salvation for the Jews was a social and historical notion, not this much later regression into “How can I personally go to heaven?” This gross individualism pretty much destroyed the historical influence and sweep of the Judeo-Christian religions. Individuals sought to be privately correct instead of learning how to stay connected with everything else. This has really done us in."
ROHR: not this much later regression into “How can I personally go to heaven?
ME: Having been raised in North America, I'm just as vulnerable to seeing everything in that filter's "What about me" or "What's in it for me" context - that egocentric place that Jesus was tempted with during the 40 days in the wilderness. All three temptations, but especially the third, are steeped in the "What about me" as an individual; yet my Lord shook off that self-honouring position to humbly become God-honouring. I'm just coming to the place where I perceive myself as part of the body of Christ, rather then as an individual cell in His body. As I die to self, I put aside the "what about me" and more often think "what about Thee" - both God and others. No, I don't have it mastered; but at least I finally realize it is a possibility and at times I feel that attitude being active in my life. The more I realize I'm "in Him" the less important my individuality is to me. It's more an unfolding - like a beautiful rose that goes from a tiny leaf to a stem with many leaves to a bud to a full-grown rose.
ROHR: " This gross individualism pretty much destroyed the historical influence and sweep of the Judeo-Christian religions."
ME: I have read a few articles and heard several sermons on the atonement and soteriology. I was surprised that both have had changes throughout the years. Looking back at Jewish history - most of the animal sacrifices were national and not individual. From my non-Jewish perspective, it seemed there was more focus on individual impurity - which has nothing to do with sin. Things like touching dead bodies, having a menstrual period, having sex, etc. It didn't make you sinful; it just made a person unclean and hindered their participation in religious acts. Back when I was studying this, I really struggled with the concept a person could be unclean but not be sinful; or be sinful (even the sin of murder) and still be ceremoniously clean.
Having been both a fundamentalist and a liturgist, the word religion has a very different definition in each. As a fundamentalist, religion is a bad thing that hinders relationship. One pastor gave the definition of religion as "you tell God what you're going to do for Him and tell Him that He has to accept it." But as a liturgical person, he word treligion carries the definition as wholeness; maybe a better way to describe it would be the sum of belief, practice, history and experience of a relationship with God. Since the quote was from a Franciscan priest, the definition of religion, in my opinion, would be closer to the second one.
Although not mentioned in this Rohr quote, from what I've read, Jews were more integrated nationally - the Old Testament law nurtured and controlled it; that national integration filtered down to individuals. Jews were more holistic; they did not break physical and spiritual into two different columns. I think post-modern North Americans have tried to break their life into physical, spiritual, sexual, soulish, vocational, etc. realms. They see themselves as so many little pieces, they no longer know who they are; but don't perceive their own (my own) fragmentation from humankind. Fragmentation brings disenfranchisement. This not recognizing our wholeness, makes it easier to not see the world as a whole and other people and creation as part of me. When I see myself as an individual; I see every person as "other" instead of part of God's creation; but that is lonely so the individual finds a few more who have something in common so it becomes us against them: Christians v non-Christians; Democrats v Republicans; women v men; pink-skin v brown-skin; straight v gay; Sinners v holies, This makes it easier to pick up a gun and kill another, to kill a reputation with gossip, to destroy the ecosystem we all share. My need to protect my fragmentation and my group's fragmentation makes it easier to avoid being vulnerable and authentic to sharing my/our brokenness with others, keeps individuals disenfranchised and stops me from being Christlike. Christ was often criticized by the Pharisees for having relationships with hookers, swindlers (tax collectors), oppressors (Roman soldiers & centurions), women, etc.
Several places in the book of Acts talk about family and/or household salvation. I didn't study about it, but it seems that not all Biblical salvation was individual. From what little I have read on Christian history, the lessons Jesus taught changed when Constantine made Christianity the national religion of the Roman Empire. The Celts "saved" Christianity.... or would it be presumptions to say the Celtic church started by St. Patrick "saved" "Salvation?"
When I grow in melding the various aspects of myself into one; and then I can continue growing and I pray I'll see all of God's creation as part of me and me as part of it: so I will come to cherish it because He created it for His pleasure (Rev. 4.11) and since I'm in him - vicariously for my pleasure. My university chemistry teacher quoted Col 1.17 "By Him all things are held together." He said scientists have tried to determine why the electron doesn't go flying off the neutron/proton - and He said that was answered in the Bible. Some scientists say it's an electromagnetic force; but I believe it is God and because of that belief - that means God is in ALL things since He chose to make all things of atoms.
As I see myself as an individual - then I self-deceive into thinking I deserve rights, privileges, honor, blah, blah and I blind myself to seeing my opinions as right. As I see myself as part of a group; then I self-deceive into thinking my group deserves rights, privileges, honor, blah, blah and is undeniably right. But as I perceive myself as one small part of ALL that is held together by God, it does something wonderful. It helps open me to looking for God in others and in everything. I can look out my window at the forested mountains and see God and it comforts me. I can hear God in the raindrops and feel loved. I can feel God's love when the neighbor's dog slams against my window to get a treat and greet me; I can hear God in the laughter of a friend; or a smile with eye-contact. From receiving that love poured into me, I am compelled to pass that on to others. The more places I can perceive God, the move loved by God I feel and the more love I can pass on to others.
ROHR: Individuals sought to be privately correct instead of learning how to stay connected with everything else.
ME: One of my favorite quotes (God gave it to me) is, "When you get to heaven, I'm not going to ask you if your doctrine was correct; I'm going to ask you if you were open to Love." And what greater example is there of God's Love then our Saviour, Jesus Christ? None. He's the apex and example of Love.
I agree, JoAnn, we individually respond to the call of salvation and accept it or reject it - not only once but over and over and over and over every time we chose to receive and give God's love. But if we only see Christianity as an individual event for an individual human for an individual moment and not as a corporate, national, earth and galactic event - then there is, in my opinion, room for growth.
I'm only speaking about my walk with Christ. I'm sure others are at different places and shake their head wondering why I didn't arrive here decades ago; or they may wonder what am I rambling about. That's okay. It's God who promised to both will and do His work in us.... individually and corporately. (Phil 2.13).
I liked that quote of Rohr's because I feel sad and burdened that so many people (including myself at one time) lived with the godless attitude of "Bless us four and no more." I'm growing so I can now pray "Bless Creation - Bless all people and all of Creation." For me, that feels right. I'm in process so my understanding will change and that's okay, too; I don't want to stagnate.
Debbie
"Salvation for the Jews was a social and historical notion, not this much later regression into “How can I personally go to heaven?” This gross individualism pretty much destroyed the historical influence and sweep of the Judeo-Christian religions. Individuals sought to be privately correct instead of learning how to stay connected with everything else. This has really done us in."
ROHR: not this much later regression into “How can I personally go to heaven?
ME: Having been raised in North America, I'm just as vulnerable to seeing everything in that filter's "What about me" or "What's in it for me" context - that egocentric place that Jesus was tempted with during the 40 days in the wilderness. All three temptations, but especially the third, are steeped in the "What about me" as an individual; yet my Lord shook off that self-honouring position to humbly become God-honouring. I'm just coming to the place where I perceive myself as part of the body of Christ, rather then as an individual cell in His body. As I die to self, I put aside the "what about me" and more often think "what about Thee" - both God and others. No, I don't have it mastered; but at least I finally realize it is a possibility and at times I feel that attitude being active in my life. The more I realize I'm "in Him" the less important my individuality is to me. It's more an unfolding - like a beautiful rose that goes from a tiny leaf to a stem with many leaves to a bud to a full-grown rose.
ROHR: " This gross individualism pretty much destroyed the historical influence and sweep of the Judeo-Christian religions."
ME: I have read a few articles and heard several sermons on the atonement and soteriology. I was surprised that both have had changes throughout the years. Looking back at Jewish history - most of the animal sacrifices were national and not individual. From my non-Jewish perspective, it seemed there was more focus on individual impurity - which has nothing to do with sin. Things like touching dead bodies, having a menstrual period, having sex, etc. It didn't make you sinful; it just made a person unclean and hindered their participation in religious acts. Back when I was studying this, I really struggled with the concept a person could be unclean but not be sinful; or be sinful (even the sin of murder) and still be ceremoniously clean.
Having been both a fundamentalist and a liturgist, the word religion has a very different definition in each. As a fundamentalist, religion is a bad thing that hinders relationship. One pastor gave the definition of religion as "you tell God what you're going to do for Him and tell Him that He has to accept it." But as a liturgical person, he word treligion carries the definition as wholeness; maybe a better way to describe it would be the sum of belief, practice, history and experience of a relationship with God. Since the quote was from a Franciscan priest, the definition of religion, in my opinion, would be closer to the second one.
Although not mentioned in this Rohr quote, from what I've read, Jews were more integrated nationally - the Old Testament law nurtured and controlled it; that national integration filtered down to individuals. Jews were more holistic; they did not break physical and spiritual into two different columns. I think post-modern North Americans have tried to break their life into physical, spiritual, sexual, soulish, vocational, etc. realms. They see themselves as so many little pieces, they no longer know who they are; but don't perceive their own (my own) fragmentation from humankind. Fragmentation brings disenfranchisement. This not recognizing our wholeness, makes it easier to not see the world as a whole and other people and creation as part of me. When I see myself as an individual; I see every person as "other" instead of part of God's creation; but that is lonely so the individual finds a few more who have something in common so it becomes us against them: Christians v non-Christians; Democrats v Republicans; women v men; pink-skin v brown-skin; straight v gay; Sinners v holies, This makes it easier to pick up a gun and kill another, to kill a reputation with gossip, to destroy the ecosystem we all share. My need to protect my fragmentation and my group's fragmentation makes it easier to avoid being vulnerable and authentic to sharing my/our brokenness with others, keeps individuals disenfranchised and stops me from being Christlike. Christ was often criticized by the Pharisees for having relationships with hookers, swindlers (tax collectors), oppressors (Roman soldiers & centurions), women, etc.
Several places in the book of Acts talk about family and/or household salvation. I didn't study about it, but it seems that not all Biblical salvation was individual. From what little I have read on Christian history, the lessons Jesus taught changed when Constantine made Christianity the national religion of the Roman Empire. The Celts "saved" Christianity.... or would it be presumptions to say the Celtic church started by St. Patrick "saved" "Salvation?"
When I grow in melding the various aspects of myself into one; and then I can continue growing and I pray I'll see all of God's creation as part of me and me as part of it: so I will come to cherish it because He created it for His pleasure (Rev. 4.11) and since I'm in him - vicariously for my pleasure. My university chemistry teacher quoted Col 1.17 "By Him all things are held together." He said scientists have tried to determine why the electron doesn't go flying off the neutron/proton - and He said that was answered in the Bible. Some scientists say it's an electromagnetic force; but I believe it is God and because of that belief - that means God is in ALL things since He chose to make all things of atoms.
As I see myself as an individual - then I self-deceive into thinking I deserve rights, privileges, honor, blah, blah and I blind myself to seeing my opinions as right. As I see myself as part of a group; then I self-deceive into thinking my group deserves rights, privileges, honor, blah, blah and is undeniably right. But as I perceive myself as one small part of ALL that is held together by God, it does something wonderful. It helps open me to looking for God in others and in everything. I can look out my window at the forested mountains and see God and it comforts me. I can hear God in the raindrops and feel loved. I can feel God's love when the neighbor's dog slams against my window to get a treat and greet me; I can hear God in the laughter of a friend; or a smile with eye-contact. From receiving that love poured into me, I am compelled to pass that on to others. The more places I can perceive God, the move loved by God I feel and the more love I can pass on to others.
ROHR: Individuals sought to be privately correct instead of learning how to stay connected with everything else.
ME: One of my favorite quotes (God gave it to me) is, "When you get to heaven, I'm not going to ask you if your doctrine was correct; I'm going to ask you if you were open to Love." And what greater example is there of God's Love then our Saviour, Jesus Christ? None. He's the apex and example of Love.
I agree, JoAnn, we individually respond to the call of salvation and accept it or reject it - not only once but over and over and over and over every time we chose to receive and give God's love. But if we only see Christianity as an individual event for an individual human for an individual moment and not as a corporate, national, earth and galactic event - then there is, in my opinion, room for growth.
I'm only speaking about my walk with Christ. I'm sure others are at different places and shake their head wondering why I didn't arrive here decades ago; or they may wonder what am I rambling about. That's okay. It's God who promised to both will and do His work in us.... individually and corporately. (Phil 2.13).
I liked that quote of Rohr's because I feel sad and burdened that so many people (including myself at one time) lived with the godless attitude of "Bless us four and no more." I'm growing so I can now pray "Bless Creation - Bless all people and all of Creation." For me, that feels right. I'm in process so my understanding will change and that's okay, too; I don't want to stagnate.
Debbie
Monday, 29 April 2013
Will you .... respect the dignity of every human being?
Will you .... respect the dignity of every human being?
The above quote is in the Anglican BAS for baptism, confirmation, Easter mass, etc. I've always liked saying that and presumed since I'm not intentionally a bully then I'm okay. Aaah, right/wrong thinking - followed by check-marks of succeed/fail. Ouch! That's a hard way to live. Today God showed me He is trying to grow my capacity for bestowing dignity on others. I've came to the realization that, for me, Christianity is not a self-improvement course; but a gift of grace. I want to learn about dignity so when the Holy Spirit nudges me to participate in offering dignity, I will obey. I'm also blessed I couldn't find any article on how to offer dignity in 5 easy steps... so I get the blessed opportunity to learn from Abba Father God.
Today I participated in a conversation that left me feeling appreciated, heard and dignified. It caused me to look at my own interpersonal skills. I fell short of where I want to be. I am okay with that. It seems God is now taking me on the journey to expand my ability and understanding of offering dignity to others. I am excited.
I have a feeling that over the next weeks and months that God will show me many styles of offering dignity until the methods of lavishing dignity on others will permeate my personality and flow from my inner core - life in Christ. I think there's a big correlation between humbleness and offering dignity.
As I analyzed the short conversation, I realized that by offering dignity to another; it increases the dignity of the offer-er. That's so much like my heavenly Father - give and it will be given to you.
Heavenly Father, Teach me this new skill in your tender, gentle, validating way. Amen.
Debbie
The above quote is in the Anglican BAS for baptism, confirmation, Easter mass, etc. I've always liked saying that and presumed since I'm not intentionally a bully then I'm okay. Aaah, right/wrong thinking - followed by check-marks of succeed/fail. Ouch! That's a hard way to live. Today God showed me He is trying to grow my capacity for bestowing dignity on others. I've came to the realization that, for me, Christianity is not a self-improvement course; but a gift of grace. I want to learn about dignity so when the Holy Spirit nudges me to participate in offering dignity, I will obey. I'm also blessed I couldn't find any article on how to offer dignity in 5 easy steps... so I get the blessed opportunity to learn from Abba Father God.
Today I participated in a conversation that left me feeling appreciated, heard and dignified. It caused me to look at my own interpersonal skills. I fell short of where I want to be. I am okay with that. It seems God is now taking me on the journey to expand my ability and understanding of offering dignity to others. I am excited.
I have a feeling that over the next weeks and months that God will show me many styles of offering dignity until the methods of lavishing dignity on others will permeate my personality and flow from my inner core - life in Christ. I think there's a big correlation between humbleness and offering dignity.
As I analyzed the short conversation, I realized that by offering dignity to another; it increases the dignity of the offer-er. That's so much like my heavenly Father - give and it will be given to you.
Heavenly Father, Teach me this new skill in your tender, gentle, validating way. Amen.
Debbie
Saturday, 20 April 2013
Rohr-Birdbath - Spiritual Formation
I have started Richard Rohr's online class " Beyond the Bird Bath: Richard Rohr Teaches the Courageous Heart of the
Franciscan Way!"
One of the exercises is to answer questions in a journal format. Since my blog is my spiritual journal of becoming more like St. Francis, I'll journal the questions here.
1. What experiences in your life have shaped your identity?
2. What experiences in your life have shaped your image of God?
Debbie
One of the exercises is to answer questions in a journal format. Since my blog is my spiritual journal of becoming more like St. Francis, I'll journal the questions here.
1. What experiences in your life have shaped your identity?
- being born
- being raised in a Christian family
- loving Jesus and singing songs to Him at screaming level
- the recurring nightmare from infancy
- discovering music
- dad's illness - or where will I sleep tonight?
- being tall (this is great since I was one of the youngest in my class)
- big hands (great for keyboarding), big feet (easy to get shoes on sale), big eyes
- sharing a birthday with a classmate
- old-fashioned corporeal punishment
- being appointed by not chosen
- dad dying
- my sister
- riding my bicycle
- working part-time
- no homework yet I excelled
- student bandmaster
- turning my back on God - and Him waiting like the prodigal's father
- 18 and finally ready to date
- greaser and owning a motorcycle
- college
- working full time
- marriage and divorce (times 3)
- coming back to God
- Bible school
- miscarriages
- life goal met: married with children
- two sons - lots of testosterone after years of estrogen-only living
- the joy of volunteering and helping the needy
- praise leader to pew sitter
- empty nest
- moving to Canada
- abuse and a woman's shelter
- 12-step and counseling
- a sponsor who was God's hands extended
- developing friendships
- Arms of Jesus participation
- legalistic religion to a budding friendship with God - throw out the rule book, sorta'
- seeing me "in Christ" and seeing "Christ in me" - whoa! Amazing
- learning about contemplation and later practicing meditation and contemplation (naval gazing is great because the Bible says out of our bellies shall flow rivers of living water - John 7.38)
- scripture meditation
- Song of Solomon - powerful way to experience God and see who I am to Him.
- seeing blessings happen for me
- blessing others
- boundaries
- physical sickness can include spiritual & life healing
- growing old
- limitations, limitations, limitations or are they blessings
- learning to listen to the quiet
- loving self and loving others
- accepting celibacy/singleness
- accepting self
- growing
- laughing in the rain
- changing churches from holy roller to liturgical - what a blessing
- loving God, loving me, loving God, loving others
- recycling and learning to care for the planet
- accepting the occasional feeling of being alone and/or lonely as beautiful act of solitude
- Cursillo weekend
2. What experiences in your life have shaped your image of God?
- being taught of God and by God since infanthood
- platitudes about God when dad died
- talking to God while sitting on dad's gravestone
- perceiving God as mean since he stole daddy from me
- holding that attitude of a mean God
- returning to God
- accepting powerlessness in 12-step
- giving my power to God and accepting His power in me
- re-defining some words so they worked for me: humility, work, play, attitude, acceptance/approval
- healing
- live birth son
- scripture, especially memorizing
- Angela Thomas's book "Do you think I'm beautiful?"
- a beautiful death upstairs while I worked in the basement
- knowing I was victimized but I am not a victim - I'm a victor in Christ
- meditation and contemplation as inward knowing of God
- accepting self, accepting God, accepting others
- wondering where I end and God begins and knowing our unity prevails: God in me and me in God - WOW
- music
- scripture
- hearing preaching
- seeing an example: my parish priest and my Cursillo weekend
Debbie
Tuesday, 9 April 2013
Sex, Celibacy and Hebrew Words
Ezer
Kenegdo. Interesting Hebrew words that didn't mean anything to my
English-as-my-only-language background. In Genesis 2:18, God says,
"I will make him an help meet for him." Help meet.
Ezer Kenegdo. Woman was created to be ezer kenegdo. A help meet for her
husband.
My
English speaking, western world mindset related ezer kenegdo to being a floor
mat to be walked on and used or abused by a man at the worst; or fetch and
carrying his beverage or tool belt at the best and picking up his messes
without complaining. That did not agree with being "the Beloved" as
the Bible calls women in the Song of Songs.
I
went to my Bible concordance and at first glance, reading the words didn't
change that opinion of being a door mat to a partner. But when I looked
at how the word ezer was used in the Bible it is only used two ways. A
woman is ezer to her husband; and God is ezer to the people of Israel.
Whoa! There are about 20 times ezer is used for God-man relationships;
they are used when without getting God's help, the man/men will be in major
problems and possibly die - especially in the Psalms. Times when enemies
are on each side, backed into a corner and enemies with swords and spears aimed
and ready to kill and the psalmist or man of God screams out in fear and terror
for God to "ezer" him. It is a cry of desperation knowing God is the
only way to make it through successfully. I am humbled by thinking the Bible
would use that same word, ezer, for what God created a wife to be.
I
found 12 other words for "help" in the Hebrew Old Testament. Not one
of them are used with God-man relationship or woman-man relationship.
From
that I extrapolated in God's economy, woman must be much more important in a
marriage then my westernized mind can begin to comprehend. I couldn't grasp how
it fit together but it was intriguing and I wanted to figure it out. I
wanted to understand the Jewish roots of my Christianity concerning the woman's
role.
God,
in his infinite wisdom and patience, brought two orthodox Jewish men into my
life through the internet who were as comfortable with Torah and speaking
Hebrew as they were with English. They started shining more light on ezer
kenegdo. I was actually grasping it correctly only very dimly and I still don't
fully grasp the magnitude of woman as ezer of man. Both men told me the same
thing. Women were very honored in the Bible and in their Jewish
culture. As Jews, they understood the holiness of marriage and family and
the desire for that to be a life-long commitment and knew God had the methods
to make his creation of marriage prosper and be fulfilling for both parties.
I
found it interesting that both said the wife's home is the house; but the men's
home is not the house but the woman. She is the home for him. They both said that the center of Jewish
worship is not the synagogue but the home. Woman is in charge of the house (and is her husband's home);
thus, she is primary leader of worship in the home. The woman isn't required to go to synagogue
or temple to say the daily prayers because God trusts her to find the time in
her busy schedule to pray. Women aren't required to wear a prayer shawl to
help them remember to behave in public like a God-honouring person because
women more naturally assimilate that relational role with God.
Another
surprise was if a Jewish woman marries a non-Jewish man, the children are
considered Jewish because of their Jewish mother. If a Jewish man marries a non-Jewish woman,
the children are considered heathen because of their non-Jewish mother. Thus,
Jewishness seems to be passed-on through the mother rather than the father.
Women,
not men, received the blessing to light the candle that start the Sabbath -
the day of rest and worship. In absence of a woman in the home, the man could
fulfill that role. Women were chosen as a way God had to honour women for being faithful to God when the
men gave their gold and jewels made the golden calf when Moses was receiving the 10 Commandments but the
women later gave generously of their gold and jewels to build the tabernacle. I didn't find that in the English Bible, but in Hebrew it is apparently quite understandable or else it's part of Jewish tradition. The New Moon festival, Rosh Chodash, was to
honour women as the shekhinah (glory) of God. During this one or two day
monthly festival, women did no sewing and little housework and spent their time
in the company of other women; apparently as a bonding experience.
This
concept of the high regard of women or women as leaders in the home, was
reinforced when I watched the Jewish movie filmed in Hebrew in Jerusalem, "Ushpinzin." The lead rabbi asked Moshe, the husband and
Torah student, "How are things at home?" Moshe answers, "Fine, thank God. The
Lord has been very generous. No complaints. We've seen miracles." The rabbi says. "Nice. How's your
wife?" Moshe answers, "My
wife's fine." The rabbi, "She
happy?" Moshe, "Sort of
happy." The rabbi stops and looks
intently in Moshe's eyes and replies, "You should make her happy. Always
remember that. Your wife comes first. She's the most important, it is your way
or worshiping.... sit with her. Talk with her. Make her happy. That's what matters. Go pray now." The
full movie is on youtube and I'd recommend it.
There
were three Old Testament reasons a woman could divorce her husband: (a) he
didn't provide her with food, (b) he didn't provide her with clothing and (c)
he didn't supply her with adequate and pleasurable sex. That's in Ex 21.10
concerning female slaves; and if that was minimal for slave wives, then how
much greater for a wife who was chosen? Later abuse and some other
reasons were added giving the wife the ability to divorce as found in the books
that delineate the laws of the Torah. In fact, both men I knew said they were
taught that the woman was the sexual leader because of the Law of Onah states
the husband must make sex pleasurable for his wife. Sex is considered a woman's
need and a man's obligation. Whoa! Read that again: Sex is considered a woman's need and a man's
obligation. From what the men said about Jewish life, sex is a right of a wife;
but it is not a right of a husband. Double whoa! My western, Christian mind is
still boggled by that! Part of the reason the Jewish woman is in charge of sex
is because of the Law of Niddah - her time of ceremonial uncleanliness (uncleanliness
is not sin and the difference of uncleanliness and sin is an interesting Bible
study especially when learning how their faith is practiced when unclean and the rules if they are in sin). Yet, the wife is not required to ask for sex or take the
initiative; the husband is suppose to pay attention and recognize when she is
receptive and respond to that in a loving, honorable way. Aaah, that
means his religion requires him to pay attention to his wife; close enough
attention that by her scent, her touch, her words, her posture that he will
know when he is to lovingly approach her to fulfill his sexual obligation to
her.
The
Hebrew law was adamant on the man learning to be a pleasing husband. Deuteronomy
24:5 says, "A man who has recently been married will be free from military
duty or any other public service. For one year he is free to stay at home and
make his new wife happy." And all
the women said, "Amen!" ."
I like it's the husband to make his wife happy and not the wife is to make her
husband happy. I think God implemented this in his law because women innately
want to please their husbands and God pointed that out in Genesis 3:16. Because
of the fall, men have to learn how to please their wife. Women started learning
the skill as toddlers who played dolls, had tea parties, toy ovens and wanted
to have domestic skills because of their innate desire to be good partners
before they could even put that desire into words.
During
the approximately 2 weeks of Niddah, a couple was not allowed to sleep together
or even touch. If she wanted to hand him a book - she had to place it on a
table and him pick it up from there so they did not touch and he become
ceremonial unclean and unable to fulfill his daily obligations at temple.
During this time, I presume it would be like chaste dating where they got in
touch of each others lives without the pressure of sex - and learned to express
their desire for each other in words, flirting and other communication, but not
by touching. How hot the sex must have been after two weeks of no
contact. I think they'd have needed smoke alarms and fire extinguishers
in the bedroom!
Having
sex on Sabbath was considered a double mitzvah (a double blessing) and very
sanctioned by God. Well, people didn't invent sexual pleasure - God
created it as innate need of the human body and psyche. I believe good
sex helps partners bond but also helps us better understand the pleasure of
loving God which bonds us to Him. It's a win win - both a spiritual and
physical growth opportunity. For me, a celibate, celibacy works the same way as
sex - it brings me closer to God and helps me understand my own, unique
sexuality and feminism. I remember the
day at church I couldn't stop singing the Rogers
and Hammerstein song, "I enjoy being a girl...." It was the first time I remember being
fascinated, thrilled and acceptance of my feminine gender. It surprised me I didn't
get to that place by the validation of a sexual partner; but through paying
attention to my body, my sexuality and my Lord during my decade of celibacy.
The
Jewish men went on to say that the woman leads in the home and the man leads in
spiritual, community and his vocation; thus the husband when he is home is
under her leadership. She respects him and makes his life comfortable --
and what sane woman wouldn't want to honor her husband if he was paying
attention to her and treating her as a valuable, unique, loved partner who
was capable of autonomy? If he was being a jerk and jeopardizing the
marriage; what woman wouldn't want the comfort of knowing her religious
community was backing her leadership and encouraging his following in the home? In fact, Proverbs 31 is read in the Jewish marriage.
A
Biblical example of the woman leading even contrary to the husband's wishes was
Sarah in Genesis 21:10-12. Sarah commands Abraham to kick Hagar and
Ishmael out of the camp. Abraham did not laugh at her for making such a demand
and say, "What, a wife telling me what to do with my concubine, how dare
she, the bossy broad...." No, Abraham went away by himself to talk
to God about it. God didn't say, "Aaah, poor Abraham, being married
to a bossy shrew." No, God told Abraham to obey his wife.
Shocker. In 1 Peter 3, we are told to act like Sarah. Yes, she showed him
respect by calling him "Lord" or as the Message version says,
"my dear husband" but she forcefully lead because she knew it was the
right thing, the holy thing to do.
Although
I haven't yet typed it up, I've also studied the New Testament writings about
wives and husbands and after studying the Greek words and historical data - it
agrees with the wife as lead - ezer kenegdo. This makes sense to me. I
like the way Gary Smalley said, "I found that women had a built-in
marriage manual: They seem able to explain what makes up a good relationship
and how to arrive at that kind of relationship." He says men have a
built in repair manual and excel at fixing things. When the man will honour
his wife's inner marriage manual and honour his skill to fix things - they will
have a wonderful and fulfilling marriage. Both need to feel free to use those
gifts appropriately and lovingly.
I
do not believe women are superior to men; nor do I believe men are superior to
women. I believe each has been designed as equal, holy, complete and beautiful
before God. We just have different skills that are imperative to create a
loving, long-term marriage and society.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)