Praying Amidst Overwhelm

One week. That’s how long we have before our church building is turned over to the new buyer. There are 1000s of books to clean out of the library. We have stacks of porcelain plates. Gigantic pots line the kitchen shelves.

Ideally, much of it would find new homes. In reality? Our dumpster is empty and only five people have been doing the work. One now has a back injury. Another is driving one of the vehicles moving his son to a new city several states away. My husband and I have cycled from the installation of a new roof after a storm to a plumbing repair.

For months now as we’ve worked on our church move, my prayer life has lagged. I just haven’t had the heart. Clearing out has been hard, but there have also been moments of light. These moments have reinvigorated my prayer life.

On Sunday afternoon, I worked in the library. I was cleaning off a table where someone else had stacked volume after volume. Hymnals. Books on playing the organ. And, what’s this. A book of Common Prayer. I flipped it open and found prayers for Epiphany. We’re far from that season but I glanced down and read:

“Almighty and Everlasting God, who dost govern all things in heaven and earth; Mercifully hear the supplications of thy people…”

God had heard our supplications. Our building sold in less than a week. We no longer have to worry about finances. The roof that was incorrectly installed? Not our problem.

Cleaning out the church I’ve loved for years wasn’t my ideal job, but it did reinvigorate my prayer life. Beside my chair sit a book of common prayer and a missal, neither of which I had seen until the day I was working to clear off that table in the library. We still have a mountain of work before us, but I no longer feel quite so alone.

–SueBE

Discernment: Listening Together

I don’t think that anyone needs to be reminded that we live in divisive times.  Either you agree with someone or you are WRONG.  And you aren’t just a little wrong.  You are bad.

But when people work together it is a beautiful thing.  Recently, members of my church decided to use prayerful discernment to make a decision. If you aren’t familiar with discernment, it is when a group of people pray for an answer to a question.  Quite often it is “what should we do?” 

The reasons behind working together are simple.  None of us has a complete understanding of God’s will.  I see what I am capable of seeing.  You hear what you can hear.  There is much that we both miss.  But you and I working with other people? As a group, we will hear and see more completely.

That means that to work, discernment must be inclusive. And it also involves waiting for an answer. I don’t know about you, but waiting is where I often fall short.

For discernment to work, we must wait for an answer and not outrun the Holy Spirit. What do you do while you’re waiting? Read scripture. And listen, as St. Benedict put it, with the ear of our heart. 

In discernment, there isn’t a right answer and a wrong answer.  There is a Faithful answer. Both my concerns and your concerns must be addressed. This is very different from “the majority rules” or “you can’t please everybody.”  For discernment to work, we must hear what everyone has to say and we act accordingly.

The path ahead may be difficult. But that’s okay because with discernment you are traveling that path as a group. The sure footed can help those who need a hand over the rough spots. Those with a good sense of direction can point the way. Working together. It’s a pretty amazing thing when we pull it off.

–SueBE

Grace Under (Extreme) Pressure

Let me sum it up for you: Grace — I don’t have it. Well, at least not outwardly. Not the kind of grace that shows up in the fluid movement of a dancer or the effortless courtesy of a good hostess. Certainly not the kind of grace Jesus’ mother Mary had, which was a complete freedom from sin. The kind of grace available to me (and to all of us) is pure gift, the redemption we receive only from God.

We give grace when we forgive one another. But it’s hard to bestow that kind of grace, hard to say, “I forgive you” without adding, “even though you’re essentially a bad person/ a selfish swine/possibly a criminal/not someone who deserves my friendship.” Grace doesn’t judge. It’s rather like mercy in that way, dropping “as the gentle rain from heaven / Upon the place beneath.” Raindrops don’t choose where to fall. And if we want to be Christ-like, we can’t pick and choose where our grace falls either.

I’ll admit it’s a struggle. Lucky for me, grace is also a prayer. Maybe not this kind, but still — praying might get me there.

I was not built for grace.
It fits me ill,
a hair shirt at once too small
and dangling from my shoulders.
Still, I’ll have the mastery of it.
I will practice the fastening of buttons,
repeat the words until I mean them.
I will work at grace as at a puzzle,
trying the pieces, searching for a fit.
Perhaps the picture will never be clear,
but I will accept it as it stands, with holes
and jagged bits, unfinished but enough.
I will rain grace, fertile as a heavy cloud,
no matter how the stony ground accepts it.
But first, I must fill myself.

Hurts Down to the Bone

I once heard a doctor describe illness as an external trauma that the body has absorbed. Literally, our bodies take in the bad things that happen to us and convert them into sickness. “What kind of New Age nonsense is this?” I wondered.

But he was right.

The trauma I experienced in the first three months of this year came home to roost in the second three. Cellulitis, respiratory infections, back problems, pneumonia — you name it, I had it. I was a fixture at my doctor’s office. I visited the ER. I underwent two ultrasounds and a CT scan. I took four courses of antibiotics, all different. I slept sitting up for two months.

I’m much better now. Really. But I’ve become a believer in the body-mind connection. If you don’t take care of the things that hurt you emotionally, your body will be forced to contend with them in various, very physical disguises. What hurts your soul can also hurt your body. My advice? Pour out your pain to any listening ear you can find. Ideally, you should find a professional, but barring that, talk to someone: a friend, a relative, a spiritual advisor, your spouse. And, of course, you can always pray it out.

I am the worse for wear.
So are we all, trapped as we are
in fragile flesh, prone to pelting
by the nettles of nature, the stings
of our very need for each other.
Bad love hurts to the bone.
Grace still heals, miraculous as mud
daubed on a blind eye, sudden as touching
the hem of a cloak. You will hurt,
but you will change, cell by cell,
into something stronger.
You may not see it now. But believe.
Bones ache as they grow;
so do souls.

All Wet

I have been submerged in grief for four long months. It’s kept me away from this blog, mostly because I could not fathom how to write my way out of my despair. If I had to tell you what I’ve learned, it is only this: Who will buoy you up when you are in the depths. I have been blessed with support from friends like Ruth and Sue, who have blessedly kept the home fires burning, and from my husband’s lovely family. And while I am nowhere near healed, I am ready, perhaps, to stick my head above water and see what’s going on.

Ship to shore: Hello, hello?
Alas, I’m still at sea.
I’ve been down, trench-deep,
where fish fluoresce and nothing grows.
The need for air recedes
the longer you dive deep;
the silence shrieks with sound.
I went without gear,
not knowing I would live here,
making a home, rattling my teacups
for visitors who seldom come.
The pressure is tremendous of course,
but no less than on land,
and no one complains
that my tears make them wet.
Will I abide, letting my hair grow wild
with kelp, squeezing grief into pearls?
Or will I breathe out bubbles and
follow till my feet find land at last?
I am not so deep that I don’t know light.
We will find each other someday.

Rescue Bugs and Friends You Can Count On

Just in case I’m reincarnated as a silverfish in my next life, I never squash any bugs I find in the house. It’s just not worth the risk!

So I spotted a multi-legger this morning in front of my computer table and stopped in my tracks. “Whoa!” I said. “You’re a big boy. Not to worry! I’ll take you out.”

I always clarify, “Mind you, I mean take you outside. Not take you out, like Tony Soprano would take you out.”

Oh yes, I do talk to all my rescue bugs, just in case silverfish speak English. Well, English with a New Jersey accent. So, Inglitch. Yo.

Youse guys, I bent down to scoop Steve (the standard name I give to spiders and silverfish) into a plastic cup and realized it was just a giant mass of matted cat hair. Oh! Oopsie. 

I thought about feeling embarrassed even though I was alone in the living room, but gave myself a break. I’ve got low vision. Honest mistake.

So instead, I scooped Phyllis the Furball (as she was now christened) into the cup dramatically and announced to no one in particular, “Rescue Accomplished!” and started to whistle the theme song to Mission Impossible. I deposited her into the garbage gingerly and said, “Glad to help, ma’am! Just doin’ my job.” 

You might as well make light of times when you make a mistake. Give yourself a break. God made you just as you are, flaws and all. 

He made me quirky and loyal and extra at times. He also authorized my low vision, so I know it’s nothing to be ashamed of. 

If you stumble a bit today, don’t worry about it. No biggie. 

Instead of agonizing, put your heart and soul into the things you love to do. That’s where you’ll find your calling. When you really get your hands on a project that lights you up from the inside, you won’t even sweat it when you mess up. You’re too busy getting stuff done and feeling good about life. 

I’ll tell you what else: when you find your calling, that’s where you’ll find your tribe, too. Writing about faith and prayer led me to my sisters of the soul, Lori and SueBE. I know that if I’m reincarnated as a bug in their house, they’re going to take me outside. Not take me outside, mind youse. But they’ll scoop me up in a plastic cup and help me find my way. 

So the least I can do in this life is love them from afar, wherever they are. Just as they do for me.

Self-Care as Prayer

I wish I could tell you why, but I can’t. All I know is that the term “self-care” used to grate on my nerves. It may be because it is trendy. With me, that’s enough. Unicorns? Yuck. Mermaids? Shudder. Don’t even get me started on . . . never mind.

But lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about self-care. It feels essential.

One friend recently told me about her teen daughter having to take carry out orders over the phone for work. When she didn’t immediately know which of several sandwiches with peppers one customer wanted, he explained to her just how stupid she had to be. A friend is helping her father post-surgery. She gets told off regularly by her brother because she isn’t doing it right.

And it isn’t just that these women need self-care. They do, but it goes beyond that.

Self-care for me means taking at least a short hike even when the weather is cold.

I’m sure that some of the crabby people in these stories may be genuinely nice people. They love their dogs. They hold doors open for their neighbors when said neighbors have their hands full of shopping bags. They give to charity. They care.

But so many of us are stretched to the limit. It doesn’t matter if we are working in healthcare or education. We all have a vast number of worries. We have concerns. And some of us are getting really mean with those around us.

One thing that can help prevent this is self-care. Just what self-care means to you is going to depend on you. My husband and I are attempting to take 52 hikes in a year. We live in Missouri which means that, at best, we’re hiking in cold. At worst, we are hiking in snow. But every time we manage even a short hike, we are seeing something of God’s creation. We talk and we laugh and we decompress.

What about you? Maybe hiking isn’t your thing. Honestly, these are pretty gentle hikes. Serious hikers would say we are just going on casual walks. Pfft. Whatever. The point is that they work for us. Maybe you have a physically demanding job. Your perfect down time involves a hot cup of tea and your favorite music. Or you might love to draw but haven’t taken the time lately to get out your paper and pencils.

You just need to figure out what works for you. You see, you’re a part of God’s creation. And more than that, you are one of a kind. When you engage in self-care, you are caring for God’s unique creation.

When we hike, we experience the vastness of creation. Each step is a prayer of sorts, taking us away from our worries and toward the loving presence of God. How will your self-care be a form of prayer? Why not take a few minutes this week and discover the answer?

–SueBE

Balancing Act

Over it. Those are words I hear a lot lately. Folks are tired of the pandemic. Tired of being abused by employers. Sick of inequality, insufficient health care, the gridlock in Washington, even the weather. I, too, have been struggling with the state of my personal life. My beloved cat, Roux, died of kidney failure. Relationships I thought were solid have turned toxic, and I don’t know why. I’ve struggled with writer’s block. I just feel…tired. And I know I’m not alone. Life is out of balance. Maybe if we all fling ourselves at God at the same time, things will even out?

Speak to me of balance
of the trick
of the flick
of the wrist,
all balls in the air —
it’s quite an act.
I sit in the minute
before it all drops,
expecting chaos,
braced for pain.
Someone — some saint, perhaps —
step in and save my act.
All I know of life
is the just getting by,
the daily glide along the wire,
betting on the skin of my toes,
when what I need is a net.
God get us out of this circus.
Retire us to a place
where being is enough:
Hands empty. Soles on the ground.

O Come Let Us Adore Him

The magic of Christmas is this: That something so small could change the world. That a girl from a “nothing” town could be chosen as the mother of God. That a stable could be the birthplace of a Savior. That a baby — a tiny, helpless baby — could be God incarnate, our salvation, the ultimate game changer, taking us from Old Testament “eye for an eye” to New Testament “forgive seven times seventy times.” God truly is a master of surprise.

Something so small:
the cowrie shells of his nails
(an oasis in the desert!),
the questing bud of his lips,
opening like an orchid.
His hair, fine and spare,
brushed ‘cross a skull
still red with effort,
soft beneath the hand.
Slitted eyes, seeking light,
seeing only subtle shapes.
Yet armed as any animal,
able to grip and startle, track and root.
This, then, will change the world:
hands so small will touch a cross,
flailing legs will lead us to heaven.
To trust in this is to pick cattle over comfort,
seeds over trees, a star that shines so seldom,
yet points the only way. And so we follow.
All that God is fits in the crook of an arm,
swallows us like an ocean.

The Present Is a Gift

Picture of a cup of brown coffee in a small, white, ridged mug, and a pink, puffy pastry on a dainty, flowered plate next to an open book.

Thank you for meeting me where I am, even when I forget to be present. 

As I lumber up, into the day, I feel as if I need to plow through a massive to-do list to earn my keep in the world. 

And, inevitably, every day, it’s the same old thing. Too much to do. Not enough (insert one: time, money, resources, etc.). Crisis du jour appears. 

But today, I received a reminder that every good and perfect gift comes from above. Somehow, even when I feel I don’t have everything I need, “enough” always seems to find me.

Every dollar that comes to me was routed through the Bank of Goodwill/God’s Will. Every time I see a number on my phone that makes me exclaim, ”Well, hello there, dear heart!” — that’s a bonus. 

And when I’m too focused on challenges, I flip the script in my head. There’s a pile of innovative solutions (neé “problems”), and a folder filled with “unpaid bills” that’s actually a map/manual of finding a way. 

Looking back, when I had too much, I used it all up; still, I wasn’t satisfied. Now that I have just what I need, I appreciate it like nobody’s business. 

Thank You for giving me the good sense to be grateful for what I used to take for granted, like the heat in this home. Also, the warmth in this home. A cat who sits next to me as I knit, fascinated by the ball of yarn. Family and friends who check in with me “for no reason” when I just happen to be feeling blue. Food on the table. Bear claws from the bakery. Coffee perking. A tiny pitcher with real cream for that cup of Joe.

Sometimes you just need to look at your life in the clear light of day to see how blessed you really are.