Indigo World

The Girl with the Weight of the World in her Hands

She won't recover from her losses,
She's not chosen this path, but she watches who it crosses
Maybe move to the right, maybe move to the left
So we can all see her pain she wears like a banner on her chest
And we all say it's sad, and we think it's a shame
And she's called to our attention, but we do not call her name,
The girl with the weight of the world in her hands.

We're busy with our happiness, busy with our plans
I wonder if alone she wants it taken from her hands
But if things didn't get any harder
She might miss her sacred chance to go a consecrated martyr,
The girl with the weight of the world in her hands.

I wonder which saint that lives inside a bead
will grant her consolation when she counts upon her need
It makes us all angry though we feign to care
But who will be the scale to weigh the cross she has to bear,
The girl with the weight of the world in her hands.

"Is the glass half-full or empty?" I ask her as I fill it
She said it doesn't really matter, pretty soon you're bound to spill it.
With the half logic language of the sermon she delivers
And the way she smiles so knowingly at me gives me the shivers
I pull the blanket higher when I'm finally safe at home
And she'll take a hundred with her, but she always sleeps alone,
The girl with the weight of the world in her hands.

Saints

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
where there is sadness, joy;

O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

Indians

Well...Iraqis. I was captivated by the cover photo on a recent edition of Newsweek...it was the picture of a young boy, probably 4 or 5 years old, holding a machine gun. The cover story talked about the new jihadists, about the essentially generation and a half of children, adolescents and young adults who have, for various reasons and as a result of several situations, are becoming the next generation of soldiers, militia, insurgents, jihadists, whatever you want to categorize them as. I prefer to see them as a generation and a half of children and young men and women who have been traumatized by war, by economic embargo, by poverty, by seeing more than anyone should ever have to see, whatever their age, and it's frightening to think about an entire society of people traumatized and un(der)educated and how we (people somewhere close to my age) will interact with them one day. (Incidentally the un(der)educated part is a statement of fact rather than critique. It used to be 70% elementary-aged children attending school. That number now is more like 36-39% and even then, those children probably aren't learning everything they should what with all the bombs exploding outside the school windows.) Violence begets violence and we are not innocent in this matter. Well...America is not innocent. Well...our political leaders who have established the policies in the early '90s that drove the people to trust the militias and the...well...gangs...for their welfare rather than their government. Let's face it, neither were stellar. No one really had anyone's best interests at heart...save their own.
So here we are. 5 year olds running around with weapons of not so mass destruction but they can do some damage. 9 year olds with their own kalishnakovs. 17 year olds who are pissed off with the other side after helping to prepare nearly 300 brutally killed people for burial. No wonder they are traumatized. What, then, should be our response? A "surge" of military strength? Who's going to raise a generation of children who have experienced the atrocities of war...a war that we prompted and intensified? Correction. That this government prompted and intensified? (I no longer give major institutions the right to speak for me. They lost that privilege a long time ago.) And for what else should we be responsible. No. Really be responsible for this time. What should we do? And how can we do it? The big picture seems too big...and the powers that be can't even catch a small glimpse of that picture. Who, then, can take the lead? Who sees what I see, and a whole lot more, and can do something about it? Really do something about it? You want to talk about unfair and injustice...here it is.

Nomads

I have a nomadic spirit...and at least once a year...usually about this time, I need to go. I need to travel to a new place and experience new cultures and new people. I need to see more of this world. I'm not sure where the next place should be...or when I will get to go there. For now, I have to relegate my travels to books that take me to far off places and introduce me to other cultures. It's not quite what I had in mind...because there's nothing like the real thing.

I don't really know where the nomad in me stems from...neither can I tell you about the Slav that lives within. I have no idea where either originated, but they are there and from time to time, they clamor for my attention.

And some days, I wish I had done more...seen more...experienced more than I did before I settled down into wifedom (thought I truly LOVE that role and wouldn't trade it for anything)...but then, that comes from the rearview of hindsight. Fortunately, I have a willing travel partner...just not enough vacation time to get away as much as we would like.

Where do I get one of those?

On Saturday mornings, my dad gets up earlier than many like to given the opportunity to sleep in to go to a local restaurant to have breakfast with his "group." It is a group of about 1/2 a dozen men from varying faith traditions, work background, education levels, what have you...and all are brilliant and in touch with the world around them and, inevitably, the theological issues that are raised on this journey of life. They are earthy. They are honest. They love and care for one another. They support one another and give each other the gift of a safe place to share their thoughts on any- and everything. Almost always, they talk about politics and eventually they come to matters of theology and faith. Where do I get one of those?

I went to Sunday School at my new church last Sunday. It was my first time to try a class at this church, the first time in about a year that I have attended Sunday school and the first time since college that I actually attended a class with people close to my age (I think I was still the youngest in the room). So needless to say, I was a little skeptical (as I am about most things concerning the institution), but I need the community and the relationships and I do truly believe that I can learn something from everyone. I gotta admit. It was tough. The class is comprised of couples ranging from late 20's to mid-30's, all married, some with a child or two. And we were split up by gender. The class has initiative and wanted to do something a little different, to not stay bound to the curriculum and good for them. I like variety and trying new things. So they have decided for 8 weeks to split up and the men are reading one book while the women read another (both appropriate more for the particular gender). The women...we...are reading Having a Mary Spirit. I forget the author but it's the same woman who wrote Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World. Wow. It's hard for me to read it. There was a time when I would have eaten that book up in my quest to be holy as God is holy. Lord, change me, make me pure and holy and more like you was my ever urgent, insistent prayer. My prayer now is neither urgent nor insistent. Most days, it is, in fact, nonexistant, as it has been for nearly 3 years since my mom's sudden and untimely death. Regardless, through the experience of her death and my experience of grief and other experiences from the past nearly 3 years, God has changed me and made me a little more like Godself. Back to the book, though, it carries that same urgent, insistent, "God change me now" tone and I have a hard time with that. It feels very hyper and frenetic to read. As for content, I have a hard time with that as well. Mostly, I have a hard time with the implicit call to throw the baby out with the bathwater. She is calling for us to shed every part of ourselves, for it's all (or mostly all) bad and sinful and there's no room for the Holy Spirit to take up residence as much as she (my gender pronoun) should. I see it differently. I think that, if we really are created in the image of God, then something of God already resides within us and we are not 100% "hateful, awful people." That when all else is stripped away, the essence of who we are, our true self, the self in the image of God, remains. And the Spirit is already present with us in that space for we are spiritual beings anyway.

I struggle to read this book. I struggle even to talk about it because I struggle with being on, and trying to dismount, my self-righteous, educated high horse. My husband says I need to try to build some bridges to people who go about their spirituality differently. And he's right. And I'm trying. I'm going to go back to that class. I have almost completely caught up with the reading (8 chapters by Sunday) and that only after having gone once. I do want to know what these women are reading and thinking about, even if it doesn't work for how I experience my faith. We are all different and there is no Right Path to God. I just wish someone would try to build some bridges to my teeny part of the Home for the Exiled Square Pegs.

I think that perhaps if I could have a group of square pegs with whom to interact and spend regular time, if I could be fed there, then I can build bridges with more ease. Any takers?

Hiatus

At long last, I have once again posted something on this blog. Perhaps it will continue. Perhaps not. We shall see.

Resistance

In light of the current state of things...

Pledge of Resistance:

"We believe that as people living
in the United States it is our
responsibility to resist the injustices
done by our government,
in our names

Not in our name
will you wage endless war
there can be no more deaths
no more transfusions
of blood for oil

Not in our name
will you invade countries
bomb civilians, kill more children
letting history take its course
over the graves of the nameless

Not in our name
will you erode the very freedoms
you have claimed to fight for

Not by our hands
will we supply weapons and funding
for the annihilation of families
on foreign soil

Not by our mouths
will we let fear silence us

Not by our hearts
will we allow whole peoples
or countries to be deemed evil

Not by our will
and Not in our name

We pledge resistance

We pledge alliance with those
who have come under attack
for voicing opposition to the war
or for their religion or ethnicity

We pledge to make common cause
with the people of the world
to bring about justice,
freedom and peace

Another world is possible
and we pledge to make it real."




The Not In Our Name Pledge of Resistance was created collectively by artists and activists in April 2002 as a means of inspiring protest and resistance. It is at the heart of the Not In Our Name Project.

Mortified

That's how Al and I left a few people in Panera the other night. We were enjoying some tasty carbs and Al called his brother-in-law to tell him something. While on the phone Al asked when Matt was going to shadow. (He's doing a summer unit of CPE and all students are required to shadow the on-call chaplain for a few hours to get a feel for what that's like) Matt said he was going to do it Thursday. I told him Monday and Tuesday would have been great days...nail gun to the abdomen and stone saw to the face, respectively. Apparently, people sitting a few tables behind me looked over and were shocked at how nonchalantly we were talking about these traumas. Clearly they have never worked anywhere near a hospital or had people in their family who did. Clearly they don't know me well enough to know I don't talk about people who have had such experiences if they aren't going to be OK.

To be sure mine is a crazy job and we see a lot of stuff around here. When I joke about it, you needn't be mortified. It's when I can barely talk about it that you should be concerned.

The Working Wounded

Some days--most of them, in fact--I can't help but wonder if I'm too wounded to do this kind of work...if I should even show up for my paycheck. Because I sure don't feel like I earn it. I'm just sort of here. Today is no exception. Though I had a 4-day weekend, I don't know that I have what it takes to be here.

I took Friday off because I just couldn't take this place anymore. So I decided Thursday morning to take a vacation day. Monday was comp time from an upcoming on-call. In between was a spa day with my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law. Our wonderful husbands got together at Valentine's Day and got each of us a gift certificate to Mitchell's Spa and we finally had a chance to use them. It was a day that consisted of a massage, lunch, manicure and pedicure. It was fabulous. And then we did a little shopping. Unfortunately, I couldn't fully enjoy myself for several reasons.

It was also the day before Mother's Day. And I was hooded for my M.Div. on Mother's Day. Without my mom. Monday was graduation and I received the piece of paper that said I accomplished something. Without my mom.

While I love Al's family and appreciate them being there for as much of the festivities as they could, it's exhausting to be with them. They are extroverts and I am not. Most of them don't really get the significance of Mom's absence--and they certainly don't understand the excruciating pain. I was already emotionally drained just on principle. Then I had to expend more energy to be with them and to keep my guard up around them. Which has mostly to do with me, but not entirely.

In short, I am one of the walking--and working--wounded...and I'm not sure if I can make it to August. I certainly feel that way today.

Using My Degree...

I graduated with my Master of Divinity today. Even have the piece of paper that says so. But there are those out there wondering why I'm not using my degree. I'm trying to get beyond the place where that frustrates me. I use my degree--and the things I learned while I was at Campbell--every day. Just because I don't work in a church doesn't mean I'm not "using my degree." Not to mention the fact that most people wouldn't really want me to work in church. Not really. Oh, they may think that they do. But they don't. They're not really ready for me, for my thoughts, for my theology. And most people have no idea.

Besides, my M.Div. is more than a piece of paper that says I punched the ticket and fulfilled all the requirements to get that piece of paper. My M.Div is an education, an experience, a way of life. I just wish more people could understand that.

This Just In

(WASHINGTON—5/10/2006) After watching [Tuesday] night’s ABC News program on the H5N1 Bird Flu Virus, U. S. President George W. Bush has launched a preemptive strike on the Canary Islands.

That was sent to me by my dear friend Steve. I thought it deserved a more public display... Don't worry folks. It's just over 980 days left in the administration.

Scary and Damaged

Grey's Anatomy is currently my favorite T.V. show and Sunday night's episode was no exception. Certainly the main story line poked at some of my own issues, but it was Meredith's conversation with McVet towards the end of the show that really hit home.

McVet had tagged Meredith as "scary and damaged." It's appropriate for those who have been deeply wounded--whatever the source. It is appropriate for me. I never had any clue that grief would be what it has been for me, that it would pervade EVERY corner of my existence, that I, too, would become scary and damaged. Some days I scare myself, some days I scare my husband. Most days I feel the damaging effects of my mom's death just past 2 years ago.

I appreciate this phrase and the air time it got Sunday night. Scary and damaged...aren't we all.

Dan Brown is right

All the controversy about the contents of The Da Vinci Code aside, Dan Brown is suggesting--in not so many words--that the church (the holy, catholic, universal church) is narcissistic. They are about protecting the image of the church and the church's image of Christ and God (not so much with the Spirit who gets very little air time as it is...no pun intend...well...). And I have a hard time with the church's narcissism. I have an even harder time with the church's image of God and the traditional image I have inherited.

God is not Santa Claus. God does not do as much as we would like to think. God does not do nothing--God is not the watchmaker who creates the world, winds it up and lets it run until it runs down. God is way more than God does. For someone like me, who has grown up in an evangelical, Protestant church, that is a paradigm shift of major proportions. For someone like me who works in a hospital and sees things all day long (and sometimes all night) that don't make sense, that aren't fair, that can't be explained in any way (and those who try unfortunately bring a paltry offering to the altar), it is a paradigm shift I have to make. Much of what I see in my line of work cannot be explained away, nor is it ordained by God. If it is, I have a HUGE problem with a God like that.

God is. That's what God told Moses: I AM WHO I AM. And God is present--though it may not seem like it, though we may never feel it or know it--God is. I am learning how to trust the God who is more than the God who does. May we find our shalom there.

Ready...set...GO!

Well, I have finally succumbed to blogging. I don't know whether this will be read...at all...ever...or how often I will post...but here it is. Musings about my world as I continue to weave my own tapestry, with all its beauty and flaws. Perhaps you will find some use here. Perhaps you will be entertained. Perhaps you will respond in some way. Regardless, the tapestry has begun.