Anam Cara

Blessed...

Many of you met my gorgeous little nephew Tucker in these pages over the past few years and prayed with us, rejoiced with us, and wept with us as he faced challenge after challenge before receiving his ultimate healing in the presence of his Father.  Since Tucker's home-going in February, mom and dad, big sister and brother, have had to discover what life looks like now for "party of 4".  I am in awe of them. 

Yesterday, Candy shared a beautiful story on their blog about a surprise she received this week.  She talked about the choice to continue to love deeply, and to walk over "broken glass" to get to those priceless memories that are deep in her heart.  I reprint the story here with her kind permission:   

For the most part, I have mastered the skill of emotional distraction.  I hold tight to the things that remind me of Tucker. I cherish every opportunity to celebrate his life. However, these days, I admit, I don't often allow myself idle time. 

I got an unexpected gift on my drive home today. I popped in a CD of a recorded church service from early 2008 with the intent of listening to the music, and my heart skipped a beat by precious interference, the excited squeals and happy chatter from a certain 2 year old who was busily playing with his Cars nearby the recorder. For a moment, I could hear him again and my heart was full. I played the recording over and over and over and over again, because that's what I have.

We have pictures meticulously placed in a photo book. They are in order, and they tell a story.  We have videos of first words, and milestones, but the random, otherwise insignificant moments caught on tape of a pizza covered face that just wants to look at himself in the camera...those are the ones I treasure. 

It's almost unfathomable that it's been almost 2 years since I heard that sound.  How is it even possible that one day it's here and the next day it's not?

And in moments like these, I am blessed to remember. I am blessed to feel.  Unfortunately, remembering the presence requires acknowledging the absence. I read recently in a book, "When A Child Dies" (thank you Wanda), the story of a mother who refuses to give up the good memories of her child's life. She said sometimes you have to walk over broken glass to get there, but it's worth it. Her words could not be more accurate.

Sometimes I find myself consoling people when they ask me how I am. Just today, someone I recently met, sweetly told me that they had visited the website for the first time. I smiled and said, "He was an awesome little boy."...just as if we were talking about someone from a story I'd read. 

Though Tucker is ever present on my lips and in my mind, this afternoon I allow myself to walk over the broken glass and visit Tucker in my heart. Not just the awesome Tucker that the world knew of and loved, but Tucker my child, Tucker flesh of my flesh and heart of my heart, Tucker whom my soul aches for.  

I am blessed to have known the joy, and I am blessed to feel.  The Lord giveth, He taketh away, blessed be His name.

Spring is Coming...

Butterflies flitted in cages, fountains splashed, and the room was filled with the scent of spring...and of possibility...

Last night Mike and I had the honor of hearing from some true heroes of the faith at the annual Show Hope dinner.  Show Hope (formerly Shaohannah's Hope) is an organization started by Steven and Mary Beth Chapman several years ago to help meet the needs of orphans, both by providing assistance to adoptive families, and by resourcing those who care for children who have not yet found their "forever family".

The evening began with the beautiful faces and voices of The Children of the World Choir.  "Children of the World is a special group of orphaned and disadvantaged children from several different countries around the world. They travel the U.S. for 10 months putting a voice and face to the desperate needs of children whose lives have been devastated by civil war, famine, poverty, unclean water, and preventable diseases."  These ebullient, radiant little ones wiggled their way right into my heart.

Mary Beth talked with Michael Shook, director of Maria's Big House of Hope in Luoyang, China, about the outstanding level of care being provided to children with special needs.  She also shared the good news that this year Show Hope gave their 2000th adoption grant...2000 little ones growing up in forever families!! Wow!  She reminded us that their own journey toward adoption began when she and Emily were part of a Compassion International trip several years ago, and  we celebrated Compassion's own milestone this summer: one MILLION children sponsored!  It was appropriate, then, that the guest speaker was Compassion International's President, Wes Stafford.

He told us that, from the beginning, Satan had understood that the best way to break God's heart was to attack His children.  And, the sooner the better.  He asserted that even the womb can be a dangerous place as poverty or convenience provoke mothers to end a life almost before it begins.  And yet, God assures us that he has plans for us even in the womb (Psalm 139), plans to give us a hope and a future (Jeremiah 29).  He then shared this powerful verse from Psalm 8:  "From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise because of your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger."

Whose responsibility is the orphan?  "You can't say, 'This is just not my thing.'  If you are a follower of Jesus, this IS your thing!"  If children are dear to the Father's heart, and if they have the power to silence the avenger, then it is our responsibility and our privilege to care for them.  And to care FOR them, as Stafford pointed out, is different than just caring ABOUT them.  He encouraged those who have brought children into their families, and those who are working tirelessly to care FOR the fatherless to not grow weary.  And he ended with this compelling thought: 

"When Jesus comes for us and He wipes every tear from our eye, I hope He also has to wipe the sweat from our brow.  Because I hope we were working with all our might to care for those who are so dear to Him right up until we were wonderfully and gloriously interrupted by Heaven!"

The theme for the evening, "Spring is Coming", was drawn from Steven's new album, Beauty Will Rise.  All the songs were written out of the family's walk through the devastating loss of little Maria.  It is the story of beauty from ashes...the story of hope.  Just before Steven closed the evening with the song, Scott Hasenbalg, executive director, shared this lovely quote that was so appropriate to the moment, "Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings."

Today is Orphan Sunday.  Today is the perfect time for each of us to ask how God might have us be part of caring FOR the fatherless.  Perhaps it is bringing resources, encouragement and hope to a little one where he or she is by sponsoring a child through Compassion or World Vision.  Perhaps it is by supporting Show Hope and helping children find their forever families.  Or, just maybe, there is a little one waiting to be part of your family.  Each of us owe it to ourselves, and to God, to ask the question...

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life." 
~Proverbs 13:12

The Silence...

 

Though the air is full of singing
my head is loud
with the labor of words.

Though the season is rich
with fruit, my tongue
hungers for the sweet of speech.

Though the beech is golden
I cannot stand beside it
mute, but must say

"It is golden," while the leaves
stir and fall with a sound
that is not a name.

It is in the silence
that my hope is, and my aim.
A song whose lines

I cannot make or sing
sounds men's silence
like a root. Let me say

and not mourn: the world
lives in the death of speech
and sings there.

~Wendell Berry

Do These Shoes Make My Feet Look...Fast?

Running is cheap.  Relatively speaking.  As a sport.  No fancy equipment to buy or maintain.  No gym membership necessary.  No costly greens fees or club memberships.  Just clothes and shoes. 

The clothing is pretty simple.  You want fabric that wicks moisture away from your body.  It may not matter so much for a tool around the block, but log three or four hours in the summer in Tennessee and this becomes vital.  Gloves and a hat or ear band are essential in the colder months.  Even as body heat builds, your extremities will be the last to benefit.  I have run many times in a tank and gloves.  If you are persistent enough to run in the rain, a rain jacket with hood that allows for sweat evaporation is also extremely helpful.  And, at the risk of being a wee bit too personal, girls will want a really good sports bra.  Trust me on this.

The shoe element of the equation gets a little more complicated.  There are several schools of thought here.  For a number of years, the prevailing opinion has been the more padding, cushioning, support, gel, air, etc.... the better.  But recently, doctors and running coaches have begun to challenge this way of thinking and to point out that the rise in running injuries has closely paralleled the increase in padding and manipulation of the foot. 

Enter the barefoot runner.  Obviously, people have been running barefoot since humans have inhabited the earth.  But, as compelling evidence mounts for the benefits of trusting the natural suspension and strength built into the foot itself, ordinary runners are beginning to embrace a more minimalist approach. 

The shoe industry is quickly reconfiguring to accommodate this new approach.  If you wish to embrace the barefoot philosophy but still keep some sort of insulation under your foot, you now have a number of options.  Nike has introduced the Free (and some really creative marketing to go along with) and Mizuno the Wave Universe.  These are stripped back, bare bones shoes that give more freedom of movement while still cushioning and protecting.

The most popular entry in the "barefoot shoe" game is the Vibram Five Finger shoe.  To be fair, Vibrams have been around for a while.  Climbers and divers were the principal target audience in the beginning.  But, runners find in these glove-like shoes the perfect compromise; allowing all 26 bones in the foot to do their job of supporting and adjusting, while providing a protective layer between runner and ground. 

I love my Vibrams and am using them for all my shorter training runs.  They definitely required an adjustment period, but I love that they are strengthening muscles in my feet and legs that had heretofore been neglected.  I believe my running posture and technique are greatly improved as a result.  I had harbored hopes of running my next marathon in them, but the adjustment has taken longer than I anticipated. 

My two "newest" pairs of running shoes both have more than 300 miles on them.  So, a few weeks ago I began the search for my Disney Marathon shoe.  Because I have begun to dream of running a Boston qualifying time this next year, I was all about speed.  I did a good bit of research, visiting pose and chi running sites, reading Runner's World reviews, and checking out runner's forums.    Somewhere in the midst of all this, I ran across a company I had never heard of before.  I was immediately intrigued by their unique concept.  I started reading everything I could find on them, and found it nearly impossible to locate an unfavorable review.

Newton Running is named for Sir Isaac Newton's third law of motion.  Their exclusive action-reaction technology is revolutionary.  It is a company created by runners.  The shoes are finding their most loyal following in the Iron-man and ultra-marathon families.  I confess I was less than enthusiastic about the Mardi Gras colors...until I found the pink ones.  They are so pretty. :)

The company recommends that you allow yourself to adjust gradually to the shoes.  I have to say that they feel quite a bit different than any shoe I have ever worn.  There is very little padding in the back of the shoe so the front is actually higher than the back.  Though this seemed awkward at first, it felt fine by the second run.  Also,  because they are designed to accommodate and support fore-foot running they may require the use of muscles you haven't used before.  My Vibram training is probably helping me here.  I began with a 3 mile get acquainted run last Monday.  I found myself automatically running faster.  My legs felt fresh and strong at the end of the run, though my heart was begging for mercy.  I used them for 4 miles of my 20 mile run on Wednesday, 6 miles on Friday and 7 on Monday.  Thus far I am very pleased. 

My training plan from here out is to continue using my Vibrams for my 5-6 mile training runs and to use both the Newtons and my old Asics for long runs, increasing the mileage in the Newtons til I am using them exclusively.  I'll let you know how it works out...

What's in a Name? Part, the Second...

"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal."  II Corinthians 4:18

This is my "Bio" from Twitter: Mother, Friend, Wife, Teacher, Runner, Reader, Art Lover, Pianist, Traveler, Addicted to Wonder and Magic, Relentless Pursuer of Beauty and Truth.  It doesn't say everything that is true about me, but it gives a pretty good snapshot.  Here is a question I have come to wonder about: What if something happened to my legs and I could never run again?  Who would I be then?  What if I couldn't play piano?  Or what if I lost my eyesight and the only art works I could see are the ones imprinted in my memory?  Would I cease to be me?

My husband and I had always agreed that when our children were born I would quit my job and stay at home to raise them.  It was a responsibility and privilege I welcomed.  But...I had loved being a teacher.  I was good at it.  And people were always telling me I was good at it.  Almost every day.  Then, all of a sudden, I was home all day with a beautiful little baby who had no language.  And, even if he had been the most wordy guy in the world, my husband could never have replaced all those voices that had told me I was doing a good job.  And he wasn't...wordy, I mean. :)  All of a sudden I didn't know who I was.

In his book, Everything Belongs, Richard Rohr pictures our lives as concentric circles.  The inner circle is our soul, our essence, our ethos.  The outer circle is our "skin", our reputation, our appearance, our image, our ego.  Our "skin" is not necessarily bad, it is just so much less...less essential, less sustaining, less eternal.  And yet, most of us give far more attention and care to the outer circle than to the inner, and we are likely starving ourselves to death.  He suggests that there are two paths back to the center; that of prayer and love, and that of suffering. 

"Suffering seems to get our attention; love and prayer seem to get our heart and our passion...This ordinary path back to Paradise is the blood, guts, and ecstasy of the whole biblical text...You do not resolve the God question in your head--It is resolved in you when you agree to bear the mystery of God."

Losing my identity as "teacher" has actually not been the most traumatic struggle I have faced with identity, just one of the first.  Perhaps the personas I have "created" for myself become more deeply entrenched as I grow older and therefore, when God sees fit to gently wrest that "false identity" away from me it is all the more excruciating.  But it is absolutely necessary.  If I am ever to know God as I want to know Him; if I am ever to really know myself; He must remove the barriers I repeatedly erect through my own folly.  "First there is the fall, and then there is the recovery from the fall.  But both are the mercy of God."  ~Julian of Norwich

Here is the beautiful irony.  Often, once God has wrested away from us that something that we have elevated to a place of definition, He purifies it and hands it back to us redeemed and beautified and we are able to revel in it without arrogance or abuse.  Consider these frustrated words from the demon, "Uncle Screwtape", in C.S. Lewis' book, The Screwtape Letters.

"I know the enemy (God) also wants to detach men from themselves, but in a different way...When He talks of their losing their 'selves', He only means abandoning the clamor of self-will; once they have done that, He really gives them back all their personality, and boasts (I am afraid sincerely) that when they are wholly His they will be more themselves than ever."

I'm teaching again.  In fact, just over a year after my daughter's birth, opportunities began to present themselves in children's choir, youth Sunday School, and now teaching history to high schoolers who are primarily educated at home.  But it does not define me.  It is part of the glory God placed in me.  But, He has enabled me to live in awe and wonder as He teaches through me.  And that is a lovely thing.

What's in a name?  What is it that gives us identity and value?  Is it our daring exploits?  Our fame?  Our accomplishments?  Our beauty?  Is it our destiny?  Is it what lies deep within? 

My friend Charles responded to yesterday's post with a beautiful explanation of the significance of naming in the Native American tradition.  He explained how he and Siouxsan have prayerfully given names of destiny to their daughters; names like "Peace/Reconciliation", "Victorious" and "True Worshiper of Creator".  What will it mean to Nanaiya, Imaiya and Aianli to grow up having these names of blessing spoken over them every day? 

What's in a name?

Thank you to those of you who have contributed to the discussion thus far.  I welcome your thoughts.  "As iron sharpens iron..."

"My only desire is to give myself completely to the action of this infinite love Who is God, Who demands to transform me into Himself secretly, darkly, in simplicity, in a way that has no drama about it and is infinitely beyond everything spectacular and astonishing, so is its significance and its power."  ~Thomas Merton

What's in a Name? Part, the First...

Nebuchadnezzar was a builder.  He was also a great warrior king and ruler of one of the most important civilizations in Mesopotamia.  Perhaps we would still be telling his story if he had not built on such a grand scale.  But he did not leave that to chance... 

As a political maneuver, he had married a Persian princess.  He took her from her mountainous home and brought her to the flat, arid city of Babylon.  From all accounts, he truly loved Amytis and wanted her to be happy.  But she missed the mountains and trees and lush plants of her homeland.  So, he built her a mountain.  He caused a ziggurat to be constructed with an elaborate irrigation system which would bring water from the Euphrates to the top of the ziggurat.  This water trickled and cascaded like so many mountain streams.  He then had native Persian plants and animals transported across the desert.  No small task.  The hanging gardens of Babylon were so awe inspiring they became known as one of the seven wonders of the ancient world.

He also built the stunning Ishtar gate.  Covered with numerous reliefs and enameled in a rich blue, it must have been dazzling against its desert backdrop.  Through these gates visitors came into the city, as did prisoners of war.  All this was designed to give outsiders a proper respect and awe.  We know Nebuchadnezzar built these and much more besides because he told us.  Every single brick was stamped with an inscription that essentially said, "Nebuchadnezzar had me made."  What's in a name?

Assyrian ruler Ashurbanipal also realized that his ruthless and far-reaching military exploits could not be counted upon to insure that future generations remembered him.  So he built a library at Nineveh.  Using war booty in part to stock his library, he included Babylonian texts, such as the Epic of Gilgamesh, as well as Hebrew scriptures.  When Nineveh was destroyed in 612 B.C. by a coalition including Babylonians and Medes, the library was burned.  But because many of the works were on clay tablets, they survived.  Today the British Museum has over 30,000 of these.  And we still remember Ashurbanipal's name.

Homer's Iliad relates the story of the great warrior Achilles.  His mother, the goddess Thetis, had tried to keep him from going to Troy.  She dressed him up as a girl so the men would not be able to find him.  When wily Odysseus drew him out with the gift of a sword, he reproved his mother for her cowardice.  She then told him that if he stayed at home he would live a long and peaceful life,  but if he went to Troy, though he would win great fame for himself, he would never see his homeland again.  You know what he chose.

As we join the story in the tenth year of the conflict, Achilles has withdrawn from fighting because his "honor" has been impinged.  He even sends his mother to ask Zeus to strengthen the Trojans so his comrades will be unable to win without him.  He is willing to visit death and destruction on his comrades for his "honor"?  What kind of honor is that?  What kind of name?

In story after story characters like Gilgamesh, Odysseus, and Aeneas leave their families and endanger their friends to secure for themselves immortality or fame.  They seem unable to imagine a life of obscurity...like they would cease to exist if they lost their reputation.  I am perplexed by them, and yet...I fear I am more like them than I would care to admit.

When Jesus met Simon for the very first time, he gave him a new name.  "You are Simon son of John. You will be called Cephas" (which, when translated, is Peter).  Jesus looked at a hot head-- the guy who would ask to walk on water, the one who, in a show of bravado...and perhaps love, would cut the ear off a guard, the one who would impulsively jump out of the boat and swim to shore to be the FIRST to get to Jesus--and He named him "rock".  Really?  Do you think Peter's friends laughed?

And what about Peter?  Was there a part of him that rebelled against the name?  Maybe he wanted to be the edgy one; the provocateur.  Maybe "rock" sounded a little too establishment.  Or maybe...there was a part of him that immediately resonated; that recognized potential truth in what Jesus said.  Maybe he began to dream of a destiny that had never occurred to him.

Do you ever feel sabotaged by an idea?  Like all of a sudden everywhere you turn it is in your face?  I have come to believe that when this happens it is critical that I listen.  And the idea that keeps showing up for me of late is this idea of identity, and where it comes from and what it means.  Truthfully, I still have more questions than answers.  But I think better when I write.  So, I am writing.  And perhaps this will mean something to you.  Or perhaps it is only for me.  I submit it for your consideration (in two parts so that its length does not overwhelm).  I invite your input.

To be continued.... 

Double, Double Toil and Trouble...

Remnants, remembrances from the day:


 
Watching Kelsey walk down the street at Pumpkinfest and every head turning.  People stopping her and asking to take pictures with her.  Smiles, belly laughs, joy.

Mike covered in cotton candy after serving up the sweet stuff to children all afternoon.

Helping Joshua with his costume and seeing him transformed.

 

Watching clouds in ever changing configurations dance around a full moon.

   

Happy Halloween, dear friends.

Rebranding America

This erudite and insightful piece ran in the New York Times a couple of weeks ago.  It provides a thoughtful perspective on the recent selection by the Nobel Peace Prize committee.  It is well worth your time.

A FEW years ago, I accepted a Golden Globe award by barking out an expletive.

One imagines President Obama did the same when he heard about his Nobel, and not out of excitement.

When Mr. Obama takes the stage at Oslo City Hall this December, he won’t be the first sitting president to receive the peace prize, but he might be the most controversial. There’s a sense in some quarters of these not-so-United States that Norway, Europe and the World haven’t a clue about the real President Obama; instead, they fixate on a fantasy version of the president, a projection of what they hope and wish he is, and what they wish America to be.

Well, I happen to be European, and I can project with the best of them. So here’s why I think the virtual Obama is the real Obama, and why I think the man might deserve the hype. It starts with a quotation from a speech he gave at the United Nations last month:

“We will support the Millennium Development Goals, and approach next year’s summit with a global plan to make them a reality. And we will set our sights on the eradication of extreme poverty in our time.”

They’re not my words, they’re your president’s. If they’re not familiar, it’s because they didn’t make many headlines. But for me, these 36 words are why I believe Mr. Obama could well be a force for peace and prosperity — if the words signal action...

Continue reading HERE.

Point Vierge...

 

The first chirps of the waking birds mark the "point vierge"
    of the dawn.
under a sky as yet without real light,
a moment of awe and inexpressible innocence,
when the Father in perfect silence opens their eyes.
They speak to Him, not with fluent song,
    but with an awakening question
that is their dawn state,
their state at the point vierge.

Their condition asks if it is time for them to "be"?
He answers "Yes."

Then they one by one wake up, and become birds.
They manifest themselves as birds, beginning to sing.
Presently they will be fully themselves, and will even fly.

Meanwhile, the most wonderful moment of the day is that
when creation in its innocence asks permission
    to "be" once again,
as it did on the first morning that ever was.

All wisdom seeks to collect and manifest itself
    at that blind sweet point.
Man's wisdom does not succeed,
for we have fallen into self mastery and cannot ask
    permission of anyone.
We face our mornings as men of undaunted purpose.
We know the time and we dictate the terms.
We know what time it is.

For the birds there is not a time that they tell,
but the virgin point between darkness and light,
Between nonbeing and being.

Here is an unspeakable secret: paradise is all around us
    and we do not understand.
It is wide open. The sword is taken away,
    but we do not know it:
we are off "one to his farm and another
    to his merchandise."
Lights on. Clocks ticking. Thermostats working. Stoves
    cooking. Electric shavers filling radios with static.

"Wisdom," cries the dawn deacon, but we do not attend.

~Thomas Merton 

October Gave a Party...

October gave a party;
The leaves by hundreds came-
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band.

The Chestnuts came in yellow,
The Oaks in crimson dressed;
The lovely Misses Maple
In scarlet looked their best;
All balanced to their partners,
And gaily fluttered by;
The sight was like a rainbow
New fallen from the sky.

Mike, Joshua and I hiked the gorgeous Ramsey Cascades trail today in the Great Smokey Mountains National Park.  Recent rains have left the forest quite damp, and the upper elevations were filled with the mist that gives the park it's name.  We felt like we were walking in the clouds.  I could almost sense the individual little pinpricks of cool water hanging in the air as they pressed against my skin.  I was completely enchanted by it.  It gave everything a sense of mystery and romance.

At the lower elevations, the canopy was stunning.  Against an overcast sky the leaves seemed positively luminous.  Chartreuse, lemon, tangerine, and scarlet pulsed with vibrancy, giving light to the darkened wood.  As we got higher, the kaleidoscope was at our feet.  I couldn't stop taking pictures.

I kept thinking how much fun it must be for God to create such spectacular beauty in so very many shapes and textures and hues.  Every day.  In thousands of places all over the world.  Amazing!!

There are a great many more photographs I would like to share, and probably more words.  But, I am typing this on our balcony which is the only place the wireless works.  I have been watching my breath form ever more lusty clouds.  And now, my fingers are freezing up.  Enjoy this little sampling for now. 

 

*October Gave a Party was written by George Cooper.

**Full Photo album HERE.

To See, or Not to See...

My mom failed her driving test.  Her first one.  When she was a teenager.  Not because she couldn't drive.  Because she couldn't see.  She didn't know.  Her vision had deteriorated gradually and she had automatically learned to accommodate. 

She told me about the first ride home with her glasses...about seeing individual leaves on the trees, instead of kindergarten trees that were just big balls of green.  It was like rediscovering the world.  Like seeing it for the first time.

I have been blessed with impeccable vision.  I got that from my dad.  It is a gift, and I am most grateful.  But recently I noticed that when I pulled items with small print closer for a better look, they actually became less clear.  This was terribly disconcerting.  While visiting the eye doctor with my son, I asked him about it. "Does this sound like a problem, or does it just sound like I'm 43?"  "Well, we can't know for sure until we take a look.  But it's probably that you're 43."  "O.K. Thanks." :~/

One eye exam later, I have the following diagnosis:  "My eyes are beautiful and healthy.  And I am getting old."  So...I went to one of my favorite fru fru stores in downtown Franklin, Avec Moi, and bought my first pair of readers.  Black and Purple.  Really cute.  I still forget I have them sometimes.  Truth is, I can still usually make out most anything I need to read without them, they just make it a lot easier.

Here is an interesting thing I have observed though.  When I take them off and look back at the words I was just reading, I am amazed at how fuzzy and confusing they look by comparison.  I have done a lot of thinking about this.  I have wondered how many other things...how many truths...how many other people even...I look at and think I see them, when in reality I have only a fuzzy impression.

"For this people's heart has become calloused; they hardly hear with their ears, and they have closed their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts and turn, and I would heal them."  ~Jesus  (Matthew 13)

Do you know how federal agents are trained to spot counterfeit money?  You might think they would be shown all the tell-tale signs of counterfeiters.  But that's not it.  They spend a great deal of time with REAL money.  They are taught to memorize each detail.  Once they know it as well as they know their own faces, they will always be able to spot a bill that is not real.

"Sanctify them by the truth.  Your Word is truth." ~Jesus (John 17)

Father, teach me to see.  When I embrace illusions and believe them to be truth, shatter my illusions.  Teach me to be humble enough to seek help when my vision is blurry...when I am too close to a situation to see it clearly.  Sanctify me with truth.  Your Word...

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands, but in seeing with new eyes."   ~Marcel Proust  

May God Bless You With Discomfort...

 
Anne

May God bless you with discomfort
At easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships
So that you may live deep within your heart.

 
Bob

May God bless you with anger
At injustice, oppression and exploitation of people
So that you may work for justice, freedom and peace.
 

Catalyst 2009 Compassion Moment from Catalyst on Vimeo.

May God bless you with tears
To shed for those who suffer pain, rejection, hunger, and war
So that you may reach out your hand to comfort them
And turn their pain into joy.

 
Katie

And may God bless you with enough foolishness
To believe that you can make a difference in the world,
So that you can do what others claim cannot be done
To bring justice and kindness to all our children and the poor.

Amen

A Franciscan Blessing...and a few brave souls who are living its words.

The Hard Work of Imagination...

When I was a little girl there was no such thing as Tivo.  There were no VCR's.  If you wanted to watch something on t.v., you had to arrange to be home when it played.  And it only played at one time slot.  No repeats later in the evening.  Some movies, however, did recur on an annual basis;  movies like The Wizard of Oz and Peter Pan.  I always made sure I was home for those.

The Peter Pan to which I refer was the classic Mary Martin Broadway version.  It captivated me.  I dreamed of flying away with Peter, and I clapped til my hands hurt to save Tinker Bell.  The first time I watched this movie as an adult, I made a shocking discovery.  All the trees were made of cardboard...or lumber or something.  Flat.  Just stage props.  When I was a little girl they were real trees. 

As children, our imaginations are so healthy and free, we have no trouble filling in missing details.  All stage producers had to do was suggest "tree" to me and I gave it three dimensions with swaying branches and whispering leaves.  Refrigerator boxes became spaceships.  Blankets became forts.  There was no place I couldn't go and nothing I couldn't do.

As we grow up, we learn a great deal about the mysteries that perplexed us when we were small.  We learn that the sun doesn't go to bed after all.  Our earth just turns away from her for a bit.  The stars that look like diamonds sparkling in the sky are really nasty balls of flaming gas.  And bit by bit, we surrender the magic that was once our constant companion.

We come to believe that truth must be quantifiable and verifiable.  "Just the facts, ma'am."  We even want our stories (and our faith) tied up in neat little bows with simplistic morals and clearly defined good guys and bad guys.  But that is not life.  And that is not truth.  Life and truth are far more complex, and messy, and rich, and wonderful.  But they require a good deal of work.

It is the artist, perhaps more than anyone else, who teaches us to do this.  Any interaction with truly great art will require something of the viewer.  It is a dialogue, an exchange, a wrestling.  Just this past week, I encountered this in several forms. 

On Friday night, my family and I went to see "Where the Wild Things Are".  It was one of my favorite books as a child and I have passed that love on to my own children.  Visually, the film is spectacular.  From a storytelling standpoint, some have said it is weak.  I concur that there is not a cohesive theme--"A character who wants something and endures conflict to get it."--to borrow from Don Miller.  But, there are a number of smaller stories compellingly presented, if one is willing to search for them.  Rich truths about friendship and family and choices.

Saturday I attended a teacher workshop at The Frist Center.  As Anne Taylor was introducing us to the Thomas Hart Benton illustrations for "Tom Sawyer", she described his style as "reductionist".  "He merely hints at an eye or some other feature and expects you to fill in the rest."  Having already viewed the exhibit twice and perceived his drawings as quite detailed, I was surprised to hear her say this.  But, upon closer inspection, I found she was right.

One of my favorite pieces in the modernist exhibit at the Frist is "Carnival of Autumn" by Marsden Hartley.  Though you can certainly pick out trees and clouds and land forms, his work is quite abstract.  And yet, when my eyes first fell on it I was overwhelmed with the exuberance and fury of autumn.  I could smell the leaves and hear them rustle.  Anne shared a comment from one of the critics who viewed it at the first opening in 1909.  Here it is in part: "The...hardiness and vigor of representation...sincerity of sentiment and use of color produced a strictly physical sensation.  It irritated the retina and exhausted it.  After leaving the gallery, Fifth Avenue looked more gray than usual."

I am currently re-reading Homer's Odyssey with my World History Students.  It is a book filled with deep truths, but one has to work to get at them.  Homer never preaches.  He simply tells the story and trusts his reader to imbibe the truths within.

Jesus did the same thing.  Why did he respond to questions with questions?  Why did he tell stories?  Because he knew the truest things in life must be discovered...through wrestling...through blood and sweat and tears.  Sometimes the sweat is our own.  But every now and again, we get to learn through the blood of Odysseus, or the tears of a boy named Max.

I understand that sometimes we use movies or books to escape.  We want something simple.  A place to rest.  But I encourage you to sometimes choose art that challenges you...art that can take you places you can't get to by yourself.  Read Dostoevsky or Chesterton.  Listen to Rachmaninoff or Philip Glass.  Watch Crash, or Big Fish, or anything by Wes Anderson.  Stand in front of art created in the last hundred years.  Discover the poetry of Rilke, Berry, or Merton.  Bring your dreams and your imagination with you.  And wrestle.

"All art is at once surface and symbol.
Those who go beneath the surface do so at their peril.
Those who read the symbol do so at their peril.
It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors."

~Oscar Wilde        

Longing...

"O God, I have tasted Thy goodness, and it has both satisfied me and made me thirsty for more.  I am Painfully conscious of my need of further grace.  I am ashamed of my lack of desire.  O God...I want to want Thee; I long to be filled with longing; I thirst to be made more thirsty still.  Show me Thy glory, I pray Thee, so that I may know Thee indeed.  Begin in mercy a new work of love within me.  Say to my soul, 'Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.'  Then give me grace to rise and follow Thee up from this misty lowland where I have wandered so long.  In Jesus' name, Amen."

Aiden W. Tozer

Some of His Best Friends Are Beasts

My kids and I have been counting down the days.  I have my "Where the Wild Things Are" shirt washed and ready.  Tonight, we go to see what Spike Jonze has done with one of our all time favorite stories.  This review from the New York Times has just dramatically heightened my anticipation:

Some of His Best Friends Are Beasts

Most of the snuffling, growling beasts that roam and often stomp through “Where the Wild Things Are,” Spike Jonze’s alternately perfect and imperfect if always beautiful adaptation of the Maurice Sendak children’s book, come covered in fur. Some have horns; most have twitchy tails and vicious-looking teeth. The beasts snarl and howl and sometimes sniffle. One has a runny nose. Yet another has pale, smooth skin and the kind of large, wondering eyes that usually grow smaller and less curious with age. This beast is Max, the boy in the wolf costume who one night slips into the kind of dream the movies were made for.

Max, played by the newcomer Max Records, is the pivotal character in this intensely original and haunting movie, though by far the most important figure here proves to be Mr. Jonze. After years in the news, the project and its improbability — a live-action movie based on a slender, illustrated children’s book that runs fewer than 40 pages, some without any words at all — are no longer a surprise. Even so, it startles and charms and delights largely because Mr. Jonze’s filmmaking exceeds anything he’s done in either of his inventive previous features, “Being John Malkovich” (1999) and “Adaptation” (2002). With “Where the Wild Things Are” he has made a work of art that stands up to its source and, in some instances, surpasses it.

Keep Reading...

The Real Work...

 
 
It may be that when we no longer know what to do,
We have come to our real work,

And that when we no longer know which way to go,
We have come to our real journey.

The mind that is not baffled is not employed.

The impeded stream is the one that sings.

~Wendell Berry

Art as Prayer...

Sometimes I am completely overwhelmed by the extraordinary people God brings into my life.  Ariane Trifunovic-Montemuro is one of those people.  We met almost a year ago in our Tuesday morning Bible study group, and now worship together at St. Ignatius.  Ariane is a beautiful soul who sees deeply, who asks provocative questions, who loves generously...and...she is an artist.

Educated at the New York School of Visual Arts, Ariane has impeccable credentials and immense skill.  But that is not what sets her paintings apart.  It is her vision, her faith, and the prayers with which she saturates her work that make it so compelling.  It is significant art with layers of meaning, sometimes surprising the artist, as well as the subject, with its insight.  

"Ariane was always curious about connections to spiritual realms.  Growing up, she was surrounded by icons--which are unique to her Eastern Orthodox Christian faith.  These icons, or sacred depictions, are used as a bridge to create a connection between oneself and God.  Icon is a Greek-derived word from 'eikon', which means likeness, image or representation.  Orthodoxy holds that these images are mystically connected to that which they depict.  They also celebrate through lines and colors, holiness, 'dwelling of God within men' (Revelation 21:3)...

I would love for you to know my friend Ariane. Please visit her gallery and read her remarkable stories.  I feel certain you will be blessed.

*Featured in the post: "Christ Child and the Ever Virgin Mary of Tennessee" and "Angel of Joy"

Grace...

...some days I am just more aware of it than others.  Are you? 

I opened Frederick Buechner's Wishful Thinking this evening to find a passage I wished to share with a friend.  While there, I browsed back through some of my underlines and turned-down pages.  (I tend to be a rather interactive reader.  Reading a book is a dialogue, to my way of thinking.) The book is subtitled "A Seeker's ABC".  It is a primer of sorts, introducing a good deal of religious jargon, but with refreshing perspectives.

The passage I had been looking for was Buechner's sapient and perceptive entry on wine which you can read here.  But, as I read back over his entry on grace, I was overwhelmed by the many ways grace has invaded my life on this day alone.  With gratitude in my heart, I invite you to browse his words and see if they open your eyes to graces as yet unseen...

"After centuries of handling and mishandling, most religious words have become so shopworn nobody's much interested anymore.  Not so with grace, for some reason.  Mysteriously, even derivatives like gracious and graceful still have some of the bloom left. 

"Grace is something you can never get but can only be given.  There's no way to earn it or deserve it or bring it about any more than you can deserve the taste of raspberries and cream or bring about your own birth.

"A good sleep is grace and so are good dreams.  Most tears are grace.  The smell of rain is grace.  Somebody loving you is grace.  Loving somebody is grace.  Have you ever tried to love somebody?

"A crucial eccentricity of the Christian faith is the assertion that people are saved by grace.  There's nothing you have to do. There's nothing you have to do.  There's nothing you have to do.

"The grace of God means something like: Here is your life.  You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn't have been complete without you.  Here is the world.  Beautiful and terrible things will happen.  Don't be afraid.  I am with you.  Nothing can ever separate us.  It's for you I created the universe.  I love you...."