Stolen Mantras and Orange Blossom Tea

I haven't been overly vocal about a decision I've made recently. ... or maybe I have. I've decided to throw my name into the pot and try my luck at going back to school. I am so entirely thrilled at this prospect, I want to tell everyone I know. But I feel fear lurking in the shadows, asking me, "What if you don't make it???" Perhaps it's better not to tell, to keep a potential rejection to myself.

But I believe life is richer when shared, people have the chance to rejoice with you, console you or encourage you to keep trying. So there it is: I'm attempting to go back to school for my Master's degree. And deadlines are l  o  o  m  i  n  g   in front of me. Letters of recommendation, writing samples, personal letters, transcripts, the list goes on and on. If I'm not careful, I find myself getting completely overwhelmed, both by the task of applying and by the unshakable feeling that my whole life is panning out before me.

Suddenly I see myself with a degree, then a PhD, then children, the a career. Suddenly I'm 45, then I'm 60...I feel like I need to have it all planned out, to know exactly what I want to do with my degree, when I want to have kid, how will we provide for them. My poor Tim has been subject to many an interrogation complete with tears and emotional breakdowns. Thank God for him, he has been so patient and supportive. It's amazing how discovering one thing about yourself, or even just the next step in your life can be utterly overwhelming, even if it's supposed to be a good thing.

I was chatting with the Muse (can I call her that?) or the Melancholic about this and she shared with me a mantra that has helped her throughout the last year.

Today. Just enough for today.

I cannot tell you how many times I say this to myself now. We should never expect ourselves to be capable of handling anything (or everything) beyond the present. When I'm enrolled with school, I'll be capable then of handling it. How can I expect myself to be ready to conquer my life in its entirety by the time I'm 26? It's ridiculous when you say it that way.

My other daily comfort? Orange Blossom Tea. Yum.

Feeling the Weather?

 I don't know if I react more than most to the weather or if because I delight in the feelings, I cultivate them. I love waking up with the anticipation and excitement of what the weather will be doing that day. I remember as a little girl j u m p i n g out of bed and racing to my window to see if it had snowed! 

I love the joy and light heartedness that comes with a fresh spring day, breaking through the cold with such determination and gentleness. I hunger for days that look miserable and pouty, so I can sit in a coffee shop or a warm window seat with a book, a fire, a cup of coffee, a journal or whatever other soulful endeavors I pursue that day.

 The thrill of windstorms, ice storms, rain deluges, thunderstorms...any kind of extreme weather really, sends the thrill of anticipation: how powerful will it be? Again, I remember racing out into the pasture and leaning into the wind to see how far I could lean into it before I would fall over. Giggling and laughing at the power of the weather. 

Photo by Mme. Bookling

I felt my spirits soar yesterday as I walked under the fall stricken branches of Sacramento. The air was fresh and clean (for once) and the smell of the rain still hung in the air. Even though the sun was shining, the promise of a crisp fall gave me hope. And I thought:

There's no explanation for why we respond to the weather. Regardless of what kind of weather people like, we all find ourselves reacting to it. Cheerfulness with sunshine, morosity with rain, soulfulness with gloom. 

There's really no logical reason that I can see that we would need to respond to the weather--that it should have any affect on our days. But it is magical to me. I love change. I love the dynamics. I, for one, am soo grateful that we do respond to weather. Life would be so much less rich without it.

In my Dreams...

I dreamt about you last night. You were so kind. Loving. You loved me. And you wouldn’t let my pain and hurt keep us from working through it and loving each other. I remember: you took me in your arms and said, “I’m not letting you put me out of your life. I love you.” And you held me. A myriad of emotions—all conflicted roiling inside.

I want you to love me; I want to hear that you actually do care. I wanted you to love me enough, but how can I forgive you? How can I let go of being so angry? How can I forgive when I have dealt day by day, hour by hour with what you have done to our family, and you (seemingly) have continued happily on? Do you even realize how changed we are because of you? Do you realize we have all but given up on institutionalized church because of you (maybe for the better)? Do you realize that I see the havoc you have wreaked on us on my husband’s face on a weekly (sometimes daily) basis? And I am helpless to help him. But I stand by him and support him, much like you should have. And how can I possibly desire your love when I want to hate you for what you’ve done to us?

I can still feel your arms around me, being the person you should’ve been. Why do I still feel so strongly? Why do I still hurt? And why, in God’s name, do I still have to see you in my dreams?

I read a blog recently, thanks to mme. bookling, that was so...poignant. Truthful. I'll share a tidbit here, but you all should enjoy it (here)

You will walk through those moments with as much grace as you will allow as your guide and a sense of adventure for your future and your path

for you see,

as much as it will burn and cause you to grit your teeth over the pain, it will bring joys bigger and wider than any you have ever experienced.

The cruelty you suffer at the hands of others

.

The slings and arrows of fortune, outrageous or otherwise

.

The moments of pouring sweat on a determine brow

.

.......

These are the moments that will give you a heart big enough to forgive your detractors, a soul wide enough to weather any storm and a constitution strong enough to climb anything you've set your goals upon....

And so I plod along, sweating, toiling through the mire of human relationships and telling myself that I am striving toward a bigger goal. One worth this fight, one that will deepen and grow me. One that will allow me to love and live as I never have before

Decisions, Questions and Answers

I've decided to go back to school. In some ways, it feels more like I have been released to go back to school, but I won't get into that. For the first few weeks, I excitedly searched the internet for schools, looked up degrees, met with my old professor and started a plan of attack for enrolling the fall of 2011. I had a plan, a destination and was planning a route to get there. Master's degree in 2 years, Doctorate degree in 4 (? hopefully), on to a teaching position at a university shortly after and intent on helping to guide the church through the beginnings of transition and change.

This weekend, I find myself suddenly doubtful. Who am I to think I can do all those things? What change can I affect on this world, on people or what's more, the church? And how am I supposed to address intangible as the church? And how could I possibly speak to an issue that is still so raw for me and that I haven't figured out for myself?

In addition to all of these questions, Tim and I have been talking a lot about where we see ourselves in the future with church, raising kids, etc. It's all been extremely....disorienting. I feel like so much of what I loved and held dear has been turned on it's ear and now I'm asking, "What does God really want for us? "What does God really want for us?” “What is God’s heart for the church?” and Where does he want to lead it? I suppose being a theologian does not mean having all the answers, but choosing to pursue them with integrity.

Just the same, I feel daunted, scared and a bit inadequate. I suppose all of that is natural and I should embrace my soul expressing itself through the process of transition.

Readers Beware: A Dark Post

A poison slipped in
In between rejection and rage, it slipped in
Biding its time
It felt like pain, like truth
And now it feels too late
Too late and I believe, and it courses through me
Not lovable
         Not worth it
                          Too much trouble
                                                      Not lovable enough
Poison greets my friends, creeps into my family
My husband's eyes are hazed with it
There is some small sanctuary in marriage, but outside doubt prevails
And the poison courses through
I feel us tearing our bodies to pieces, trying to rip it out
Why not lovable
             Why not worth it
                                     Why too much trouble

Why not lovable enough.

The Art of Losing

I have been surrounded with loss and death these last few months. My co-worker’s dad committed suicide. My other co-worker’s friend died in a car accident the day after her 21st birthday. My closest friend’s 5 year old nephew was hit by a car and died. One of my other friends shared recently that her and her husband have lost 18 people in the last 12 months, and it has so upset him that he is spending some time in a mental health care facility. Last night, Tim and I found out that his Oma passed away. And, of course, Tim lost our church and many of our close friends last month. Some of our friends that have decided to leave have lost that too. We lost faith in those people—in the church that we moved here to serve.

Closely related to the feeling of loss is loneliness. I am lonely for my family. I am lonely for the next step in our life. I am lonely at work. In these last few weeks, Tim’s schedule has changed to work nights, so I have been seeing him even less, and I think with that loss everything else comes more poignant.

I’m tired of losing. I’m tired of death. But with the sheer amount of both in my life I feel a strange sense of clarity, urgency. People die all the time. People that shouldn’t die. Things we love are stolen from us. Moments pass too quickly. And all this begs the inevitable question:

Am I living?

Am I as happy as I could be? Am I pursuing things that I care about? Am I investing in things that matter? 

Undefinable Weights

I suppose we all have those times when we wake up in the morning struck by an unexplainable heaviness. A weight that feels almost tangible.

Granted this has been a strange few months for me. It has been so bizarre how much the incident with our previous church has affected me. I find myself growing impatient about how it still hasn't passed. How grieved I still feel. How unexpectedly so many people were ripped out of my life. And how even in anger and grief, I still care about them. I'm concerned with how they're doing, I still believe that they're good people. Maybe that in itself is the most painful. What was so wrong with us that they couldn't stand to have us in their lives any more? You can say as much as you want, "it's me not you" but when has that ever lessened anyone's pain? When has that ever actually meant that you were not part of the equation?

I think I also still feel myself spinning, and frustrated again that that doesn't seem to have settled yet. I know the phrase "the rug pulled out from under you" is overused, but I can't think of a better metaphor to describe the emotional and spiritual vertigo I feel. What does God have for us next? How long will we tread water in Sacramento? Or are we here to stay for awhile?

Honestly, I think that is part of the heaviness I feel: a need to have more purpose or at least the fulfillment that comes with being dedicated to where you are and what you're doing. Perhaps some parts of enjoying the journey of life is feeling the heaviness of the need to be intentional. Or perhaps the heaviness is the soul screaming for the need to intentionally find something fulfilling. Amidst the muck and fog of life, I stir.