love

Out of the mouths of babes

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It’s easy to think that the goal is to be happy.

Today in church, there was the kind of prayer moment where the minister asked people to speak their prayer requests aloud. People spoke out prayer requests for sick loved ones, our country, the homeless, prisoners, and the like. Prayers for health, happiness, freedom, justice. Prayers that we will be freed from sadness and suffering and those around us will be freed from sadness and suffering.

And then a young boy asked for this, “I pray that those of us who are happy can have some sadness so that we know how to help those that are sad.”

It’s easy to think that the goal is to be happy. Somehow that boy knew there is an even more profound goal.

(To comment click on the header of this post “Out of the mouths of babes”)

PB & J Communion

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Eucharist: late Middle English: from Old French eucariste, based on ecclesiastical Greek eukharistia ‘thanksgiving,’ from Greek eukharistos ‘grateful,’ from eu ‘well’ + kharizesthai ‘offer graciously’ (from kharis ‘grace’).

Over the past ten years, I’ve watched my dad slip away, one small, excruciating piece at a time.  At first it was little changes.  Before he started slipping away, he was always an obsessively neat and tidy person.  He would hang tools on the garage wall and ask me to outline the shapes of each tool with a marks-a-lot ( an old-school Sharpee) so that they would always be returned to the exact same spot each time. His sock drawer was immaculate; each pair rolled exactly the same, color coded from lightest to darkest.  One of the first changes I noticed in dad was that his garage wasn’t neat and tidy anymore.  Dad had always been fastidiously clean and then I noticed that sometimes he didn’t shower every day.   Dad was always a “fix-it” guy and a true handy-man, but suddenly he wasn’t fixing anything around the house.  Mom bought a new barbecue grill and he didn’t put it together for her.  I realized at some point that it wasn’t because he had lost interest, or become lazy, it was because he couldn’t anymore. 

He started falling frequently, and staying in bed all day.  He became incontinent and this very proud man didn’t seem embarrassed in the least when he would wet or soil himself. 

For the last 2 ½ years, he’s been in a nursing home- the final indignity.  He’s lost his mobility and his dementia gets worse by the day.  He is unable to communicate verbally anymore in any meaningful way.  He has a tough time bringing words to mind in order to complete a sentence. 

I grieve the loss of my dad a little at a time as there’s less and less each day of the dad I knew.  But behind the inabilities, vulnerabilities, and indignities he is going through, one thing endures.  My dad was always such a giving person.  If you needed something, he was there for you.  When my brother in law was burned in a house fire, dad flew up to northern Michigan and sat at my brother in law’s bedside, feeding him ice cream.    If you were moving, he was there to help.  When I went through my divorce, he was always coming into town to be with my kids while I went to night classes, went on business trips, tried to make a new life for myself.  He tiled a bathroom for me, built in a fourth bedroom for my son.  He was one of those people that truly enjoyed giving to others and being the hero.   He was my rock.  

And dad was a romantic.  He was the kind of man who bought my mom flowers and jewelry for special occasions, opened doors for her, and I hear he was a great dancer.  Now, he can’t dance or go out and buy her roses and diamonds, and a nursing home is about the least romantic place to spend time with your lover.  But,   every day, he orders a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from the lunch room.  After his lunch, he takes the sandwich back to his room and waits for my mom to come for her visit.  When she comes to see him each day after lunch, he takes half the sandwich and gives her half.  Then together, as their lives and their 61 year love affair slip away; this beautiful couple share this bread, and jelly and peanut butter.  This is their daily eucharist, their holy communion.  It’s all he has left to give her. 

“This is my body”

And it’s beautiful.   

(to comment, click on the blog title "PB&J Communion") 

Mottoes - Part 1 "Be tough"

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There are several problems with being tough.  First of all, it’s a lie. 

 

We all have mottoes - things we say to ourselves or words of so-called wisdom we learned from others along the way.  Mottoes are supposed to be little sayings that encapsulate a set beliefs or ideals that can guide us through life.    The trouble with mottoes is that they often lead us astray.  This is first part of a series on the mottoes I have had in life which did me no good at all. 

We are all made up of each and every experience that ever happened to us.  They are all stored in our subconscious and are influencing us moment by moment without our even being aware.  Although we think our conscious minds are calling the shots in our lives, they are not – our subconscious is mostly what drives us. 

It is our instinct to avoid or recoil from pain and suffering.  It’s a good instinct – a survival instinct.  But often times instincts that are there for our survival, can turn into ways of being that ultimately tear us down.  Our fight or flight response, when it’s ON daily, leads to stress-related illnesses.  Our bodies’ attraction to high fat, high sugar foods …well, we all know where that leads. 

And our avoidance of pain and suffering can also end up nowhere good. 

If there is a part of us that has suffered, we often try to just put it away. 

“Don’t think about it”

“Don’t dwell on it”

“get over it”

“Be tough”  

That was my dad’s motto – be tough.   My dad was a football coach.  He was tough.  His motto "be tough" got him through a lot as a child of an abusive and alcoholic father.  He said it to us as kids - repeatedly.  

There are several problems with being tough.  First of all, it’s a lie.  I’m not tough and neither are you.  We are all weak, and fragile.  We all feel stuff and that is totally OK, totally honest and totally human.     The second problem is that no one can keep up being tough.  If we don't allow ourselves to be weak and fragile, it will come out in our bodies.  We will have muscle spasms, headaches, backaches and any other number of other problems.  Our bodies cry out to us, "HEY!!  Guess what!!  You're not as tough as you're trying to be!"  Our bodies always tell the truth and will try to get us to stop being tough all the time.  Another problem with being tough is that to be tough you have to reject the part of you that isn’t.   And to reject it, you pretty much have to tell yourself that it’s bad, and worthy of rejection.   The idea that some feelings are good and some feelings are bad is built in to our society.  It’s ingrained in us almost from infancy.  So we reject the parts of us that we have been taught are bad:  weakness, fear, anxiety, sadness, confusion, boredom, uncertainty.  When we encounter these feelings, we find ways to get rid of them as quickly as possible:  deny, medicate, blame, lash-out, act out.  Anything we can do to return to “good” feelings like: strength, certainty, happiness, confidence. 

Those “good” feelings are only half of us.  We are rejecting half of ourselves, and rejecting half of others as well.  How can we have lives of love if we reject fully half of all that makes us and everyone else human?  Who is going to love our “dark” side? 

We walk through life feeling lonely and unloved because we have rejected half of ourselves and others have as well.   Imagine what it would feel like if we lived in such a way that the side of ourselves that we keep in the shadows, the things we don’t want people to know for fear of their rejection – were loved and appreciated every bit as much as those qualities we call our strengths. 

It starts with us.   An exercise that I use is a visualization of cradling pain and suffering.  I learned it years ago when I was becoming certified to be a hypnotherapist.   In this visualization, I imagine the thing I am trying to reject in myself.  Maybe it’s a personality trait, a behavior, a past experience, or an experience I’m having right now.   I imagine holding that thing and cradling it like a mother holds and cradles her baby, speaking words of love and acceptance to it.  Sometimes the mother doesn’t even know why the baby is suffering, but the very act of cradling the baby soothes its suffering.   I find in myself that this visualization lets me acknowledge that within me are many, many feelings and experiences that are not tough.  They are soft, and vulnerable, and hurt; and that's OK.....they are loved.

(To comment click at the top on the title of this post - "Mottos - Part 1 "Be Tough")  

Must I objectify to love?

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“Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”

This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters. If anyone has material possessions and sees a brother or sister in need but has no pity on them, how can the love of God be in that person? Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.

Must we objectify someone or something in order to love it?

Can we love without action?

Can we love from afar?

If love is an emotion, must it have an object to attach itself to?

When love is just an emotion, just what exactly are we loving anyway?  When we feel an emotional feeling of love or charity toward someone, we are simply loving our concept of them. Unless we are talking about our emotional reaction to the way they look, we aren’t loving the actual, concrete being. We are loving all the mental and emotional concepts and definitions we have attached to them.  We are loving the object we created in our own mind.  This creation of ours may or may not be them at all.  We could have them all wrong.  In this way, people are not objects that can ever be fully known.  They are infinite with infinite depths and cannot be pinned down so easily.  Thus, we may be loving someone that doesn’t even really exist. 

And so it is with love for God.

So if by objectifying others, or God, I end up loving something that may not even exist, how then do I love?

When they had finished eating, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?”

“Yes, Lord,” he said, “you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Feed my lambs.”

Again Jesus said, “Simon son of John, do you love me?”

He answered, “Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.”

Jesus said, “Take care of my sheep.”

 You might think at first glance that the simple equation is that love is a verb that requires an object to give to.  However, love can only truly occur when it is a verb applied to a non-object.  When it is  given freely in action form to another person without making assumptions about who that person is or what they will do with our gift.  Without objectifying.   

Feed his lambs. 

Who are they?

How can we know?

Are we feeding a lamb?

A sinner?

Someone blameless?

Someone trustworthy?

A con artist?

A devil?

An angel? 

God?

 

(To comment, click on header)

Happy Valashentine Wednesday

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It’s Ash Wednesday  …. And Valentine’s day

Ashes and chocolate. 

Love and repentance. 

Disclaimer:  I grew up low church.  We didn’t do Ash Wednesday.  We really had no liturgy of any kind other than three songs and a prayer-communion-collection- sermon- song-prayer.  So my knowledge of Ash Wednesday was pretty much that it is the beginning of Lent, and that the ashes signify repentance (as in “repent in sackcloth and ashes”).  So my disclaimer is that  because of my seriously limited knowledge of what Ash Wednesday is all about, and the fact I’ve never participated in it, lots of this information – which I got from the internet – could be highly inaccurate or just simply bullshit.   (Can I use the word bullshit in a post about Ash Wednesday?  Maybe I’ll have to repent of that.)

Either way here’s some stuff I learned and some thoughts about today:

First of all, I love that it comes right after carnivale - a huge period of indulgence culminating in Mardi Gras.    Just because that's some truth about human nature right there. 

I read that when the ashes are put on your forehead the minister or priest often says, "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."    I kind of love that.  It’s way better than some statement about the sins I’m repenting of.  Instead of some statement of guilt, it’s a statement of my humanity.  And honestly, can’t we just do away with the guilt-baggage around the idea of “sin”?  I mean if “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” isn’t that just basically saying  “hey guys, you’re all human and you aren’t God” ? 

That we are all just dust? 

I read there is “Ashes to Go” program in which clergy go outside of their churches to public places, such as downtowns, sidewalks and train stations, to distribute ashes to passersby, even to people waiting in their cars for a stoplight to change.   So, if the ashes are a declaration of our imperfection and our humanity, I like that we can declare our humanity while waiting at a stoplight.  It seems about right. 

I learned that the Catholic Church does not exclude from placing of ashes on the head, those who are not Catholics, those who are not baptized, and even those who have been excommunicated from receiving the ashes.    That’s cool. 

Since we are all dust. 

I learned that in the Republic of Ireland, Ash Wednesday is National No Smoking Day.They decided on this date so that quitting smoking can tie into giving up a luxury for Lent.  That seems fitting.  Give up your ashes on ash Wednesday.

As far as Valentine’s day goes, I’m really not a fan.  It seems to put a lot of pressure on people to come up with just the right romantic gesture.

This often ends in ashes.  

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Unless you're my husband - who even when he's sick in bed with Type A flu and can't get out to buy a valentine comes through with this gem.  A definite valentine's WIN in my book

 

Love is tough that way.   I can put forth my very best effort to show love to my loved ones, but it will usually fall short.   In the end, they have to give me grace.  They have to give me and my love the benefit of the doubt.  They have to have faith in me – that I love them, because I suck at expressing it perfectly. 

So maybe the fact that Valentine’s Day falls on Ash Wednesday is the perfect duo.   I mean, since we are human and all of our attempts to love and to express love will come out imperfect.   Since we are

just dust. 

(To comment, click on header)