A Sense of…

Last November, my dad came to spend Thanksgiving with us. I remember this sense of security come over me when he entered the door to my house. I felt it deep inside, and it reminded me of that sense of security I must have felt as a kid. It was a relaxing feeling, like I could let go a bit. Dad was here. That sense of security is heart knowledge, something that you know without words in your heart. (As oppose to, or in conjunction with head knowledge, knowing something in your head, usually but not always with words.)
I have faith, deep faith I hope. At least it is presently deeper than I have ever known. But I wish it gave me that same sense of deep security that I have when my dad is around. And as I think about it, if my mother was alive, I know the feeling would be even deeper and more pronounced. I miss my dad. I miss my mom.
Last night, my daughter came home from college. It’s been two months since she left for her freshman year. It’s Fall break. She gets a whole week off. 🙂 It felt really good to see her again, just to have her around the house. I knew I missed her but not exactly how much until I hugged her.
I cannot say that I feel any sense of security with her being home. (Hopefully she does.) It is more a sense of completeness, wholeness. No, that is not exactly right. It is more a feeling of less emptiness, less aloneness. (That seems to be an odd statement to make in a household of four children.) I don’t want to say that I feel less broken. Maybe it is like a cool, soothing sauve on my wounded heart.
Thank you Lord for my family. Please, please keep them safe. Bless them with Your grace for the needs You know they have.

Life is Messy

The following quote is part of a comment I left on another weblog today:

The game of life is messy. You are going to get hurt sometimes, and at times, you cannot not hurt those you love. Are you going to get in the game or sit on the sideline? Are you going to get dirty and bloody and scrape your elbows and knees along side your neighbor, or keep your uniform clean? Are you asking the Coach to put you in the game?

At the end of last month, I heard the black dog howling. He was very close, and finally bit me. In the previous week, a couple things knocked me off balance. The next week hit me hard with several things all at once and I finally fell. I knew the darkness was going to overcome me again. But this time it was different. I was more aware of it. I saw the warning signs and tried to be proactive. I tried to send out signals to my friends that something was wrong. I needed help.

Something else was different about this one. I was scared. I was moving way too fast toward the edge. I did not know how I was going to stop. The thoughts of certain people, and my love for them, kept me from venturing too close to the edge last time. But this time, it didn’t feel like I loved them enough, cared enough about them to stay back from the edge. The pain was making me selfish and my safety net seemed to be unraveling. I was slipping. I sent more signals to my friends. I wanted someone to reach out to me, pull me back, and hold me. I wanted someone to save me.

They never did.

If they only knew how close to the edge I was.

Sure, they consoled me and gave advice. They listened. They sat with me. They hugged me. What more could you ask from friends?

But they remained at a safe distance. I needed someone to hold my hand. I needed someone to look deep into my eyes. I wanted someone to get in the game with me and risk getting dirty in the mess of my broken heart. No one did. I stood alone at the edge.

It is all my fault. I cannot fault my friends. One always keeps a safe distance, shouting from the sideline, “Good luck with that!” Another is usually quick to get in the game, and occasionally gets dirty at times, but for some reason, didn’t this time. Still another just sat there across the table, probably overwhelmed, not knowing what to do or say. It all made me feel cold and isolated, embarrassed and ashame, guilty for reaching out for help from my brokenness and weakness and pain.

If they only knew how close to the edge I was.

There is one good thing from all of this, a most important thing. One friend did save me. The only friend that really could. He used this opportunity to teach me that he is the only one that will never hurt me, never abandon me, always be in the game with me even if the field is the messy brokenness of my heart. And when the game is finally over, he’ll be the one to wash my dirty uniform too.

I miss three of my closest friends. I have not been able to look them in the eye since. I so desperately want to, need to, but I just can’t. I’m too embarrassed, too ashamed. In a way, they broke my heart and I don’t want them to see it, not yet.

I am not in darkness. I am not exactly in light either. Some of both. Some of neither. I am not near the edge, but I know exactly where it is. I feel…I feel like Much Afraid walking along the Sea of Loneliness.

Thank you Lord for my friends, and all the people in my life. Through them, you send your grace everyday to me. Bless them all. I hope and pray to see each and every one of them again with you in heaven. Until we meet again, let them know in some way how much I truly and deeply love them, and that I would do my best to be in the game with them no matter how messy it got.

Psalm 23

Good ole Psalm 23. A favorite of many (not mine, not yet). Last night, I heard several people say that they have always associated the psalm with death and the here-after, and then only after having recently meditated and prayed with it, did it change there whole perspective on it to mean something about the here and now.
That kind of strikes me funny. I have never associated the psalm with death. Hmmm…

Another Song

Another song (from today’s all-school Mass) to help drown out the voices of my enemies tempting me:

Shepherd me, O God,
beyond my wants,
beyond my fears,
from death into life.

Seeking

Spirituality is about seeing.

— Richard Rohr

I forgot where I read or heard him say that. He went on to say that much about spirituality is three steps forward and two steps back. When you think you see, that is, when you think you have it all figured out, then you no longer truly see. One never really can hold on to the vision. It slips in and out of our hands, in and out of focus. It is probably a good thing too, because we would want to try to control what we see.

My morning meditation/prayer this morning was from Luke 12:22-34. Within verses 29-32 (from NAB):

As for you, do not seek what you are to eat and what you are to drink, and do not worry anymore. All the nations of the world seek for these things, and your Father knows that you need them. Instead, seek his kingdom, and these other things will be given you besides. Do not be afraid any longer, little flock, for your Father is pleased to give you the kingdom.

Seeking worldly things diverts your attention from seeing what is really important. Duh! Spirituality 101 and a host of other clichés like “let go, let God”. But, there is more to just seeking God.

Yesterday, one of my students read a passage from Hermann Hesse’s Siddhartha that reminded her of me. (The senior religion class is currently reading this book because the first semester is mostly comparative religion.)

Siddhartha said: “What could I say to you that would be of value, except that perhaps you seek too much, that as a result of your seeking you cannot find.”

“How is that?” asked Govinda.

“When someone is seeking,” said Siddhartha, “it happens quite easily that he only sees the thing that he is seeking; that he is unable to find anything, unable to absorb anything, because he is only thinking of the thing he is seeking, because he has a goal, because he is obsessed with his goal. Seeking means: to have a goal; but finding means: to be free, to be receptive, to have no goal. You, O worthy one, are perhaps indeed a seeker, for in striving towards your goal, you do not see many things that are under your nose.”

There is a deep connection here that I can barely describe in words. Seek God instead of worldly things. Yes, got that. Trying my best. But seeking in and of itself is searching for a goal, an end, a prize. It is as if God is external, out there to be found, to be searched for. But God is not out there, He is here, now, everywhere, everything. Seeking is not seeing. Seeking is not noticing. In seeking God, I will not notice Him here, now. I miss the opportunity to dance in the rain of His grace now within every moment. Seeking is not being open to the gifts of now.

Two steps backwards, three steps forward. I am reminded of the story about the little fish.