Faith Looks Up

I was just telling my calculus students the other day, the first day of school, that a major difference between calculus and algebra is the way we view graphs of functions. In algebra, we tend to view a graph as a static picture. It just sits there. Oh look at that pretty graph of a hill (a path of a projectile in air, or inverted parabola for those that remember something from algebra). In calculus, we view graphs, curves as we prefer to call them, as flowing and changing, rising, falling, increasing, decreasing. Only a horizontal line is non-changing, sort of. A curve tells us a story of its journey.

The same goes to what I see in this painting by Kathy Ammon called “Faith Looks Up”.

[painting]

Starting on the left, to me, the person moves and flows to the right through different stages of the journey to look upward in faith. In each of the faces, a transformation is seen from struggle, doubt, despair, sorrow, to surrender, courage, strength, patience, joy, and hope.

Deb at Abiding posted this image at the end of a very moving post about her struggles. My eyes immediately became misty at seeing this painting because I could see Deb passing through her struggles to reach the point on the right. I then saw myself and my story in that painting. And I saw a dozen other people’s stories too. Some of them are looking up. Some are somewhere to the left. It is all in God’s hands, not ours. I pray for them, for Deb, for all of us.

What the painting does not show is that we all will slide back to the left at times. We all fall. We all must get back up, and struggle to look up again in faith.

But once you have been through such a deep struggle, something inside of you is different. You have passed through a threshold. The next fall and struggle back can and often times be just as painful as the first, but this time you know deep within your soul that you will make it through the threshold again with faith in the power of God’s grace. You have been transformed. You are being transformed. It is getting through that first one that is seems to be the toughest.

Lord Jesus Christ, if we are not in your grace, please put us there. If we are, please keep us there. Transform us through your love.

Lonely?

Just found out that my last surviving grandparent, my mom’s mom, died. Another link to my family history lost (for now). Mom passed away back in 1993 and there is hardly a day that goes by that I do not think of her. My wife left last night to take our oldest daughter to college out of state. I miss them deeply already. My daughter and I drove together to school every morning since she was in fourth grade. Plus, I fear that a very close friend and I may be drifting apart. I know the deep love of the friendship is still there and will last for eternity, but I so miss their presence.
I feel so alone.
I do know in my head and in my heart that God is still there. He always is. I feel kind of blah. I cannot say that I feel God’s presence, but through faith, I know that He is most likely carrying me through this moment, propping me up. Part of me has this urge to close down, to build a wall and retreat within myself. A larger part of me is drawn to the light, to do the opposite and go outside of myself. I do not feel like I personally have the energy to reach out, but then again, I do feel a sense of energy from deep within. It has to be grace because I could not do it on my own.
The sun is shining in a wonderfully blue sky. The leaves and grass are green. I can still hear the laughter of my other children. Although all is not right in my world, at least by my standards, it is still all good.
I need to stop looking at the emptiness of the hole in my [still looking for the “right” word to place here]. I need to focus on the Light. And to not listen to the voices of Bitterness, Resentment, and Self-Pity.
And oddly enough, all I can really say now is: Thank you Lord. All is gift. Thank you…

Know

In Your book were written all the days that were formed for me.

— Psalm 139:16

You knew me before I was. You will still know me after I was. You know me now.

A Little Kid’s Book

I recently heard Richard Rohr comment on another person’s research into the idea that the story you most remember or most identified with in your early childhood somehow shaped, or at least reflected, your personality. Furthermore, that story could have an effect in your style or approach to faith and spirituality. For example, Rohr said the story he most identified with was The Little Engine That Could, a classic example of a winner’s script—try hard, positive attitude and success will follow through with hard work.

When I first heard this, my mind immediately recalled my favorite book from my early childhood. It was a book I would ask my mom to read over and over. And after I learned to read myself, it was one I often returned to. The book was Dr. Seuss’s Are You My Mother?

In the beginning of this book, a little brown bird is comfortable, safe, and content in the nest with his mother. But somehow, while his mother is away, he gets knocked out of the nest, and thus begins his quest to be reunited with his mother. He searches high and low for her. Whenever he encountered something other than himself, be it an animal or thing, the little bird would ask, “Are you my mother?” Each of the animals he met would reply with a snooty “no” as if the little bird wasn’t smart enough to realize the simple fact that they were different kinds of animals. When the little bird asked an inanimate object like an old, beat-up, abandoned car, he would eagerly await for a reply that would never come. After awhile, the undaunted little bird would continue on with his quest.

Eventually, the little bird comes across a big, earth-moving steam shovel with puffs of black billowing smoke. A “snort” he called it because of the sound it made. Oblivious to the danger of this monstrous machine, the delicate little bird walked right up to the shovel and asked his question one more time, “Are you my mother?” The “snort” replied with another billow of smoke. And then suddenly, the arm of the giant steam shovel scooped up the little bird, raised him high into the air, and gently placed him in a bird’s nest. A moment later, the little bird’s mother returned. But this time, the little bird did not have to ask if she was his mother. He knew.

This little story explains some things about me. A moment of grace—seeing the world in a new way—a flash of insight illuminating a part of my own spiritual journey. Thank you Lord.

I Am Certain

I know the following beautiful but frightening words written by Paula D’Arcy to be true in my head, but I am trying to learn them in my heart. I know that I have partially learned them, but my analytical side wants, but cannot give, a percentage. The percentage does not really matter anyway.

  • I am certain everything is gift.

  • I am certain we are entitled to nothing.

  • I am certain the wells for pain and joy are not separate.

  • I am certain bitterness and healing are a choice.

  • I am certain that running from your darkness leads to greater darkness.

  • I am certain the darkness is held ultimately by light.

  • I am certain that the words from scripture “In Him we live and move and have our being” are not poetic; they are actual physical reality.

The only way to learn these truths seems to be experiential. That seems to be the only way to circumvent the false dualism of the mind and body, to have it all contained together within the heart. And the only way to have that experience is through pain, foundation-shaking pain down to its core. In effect, it is to have your heart broken, to crack its hardness and egocentric ways, and let God’s grace enter.

Genuine grace is scary because it means change.