This Day is Officially Too Long

Tags

Inspirational, life in the foothills, New Mexico

That’s me, bushed at the end of a long day of cymbal playing. Yes, I do want that jug of wine, just pour it down my throat.

I’m having one of those reflective days, days when you recognize that you are amazingly lucky to be alive. No, no near death experience, but it’s occurred to me in the busy-ness of living, that well, one might stop and at least appreciate that one is still walking and breathing.

Yesterday I was headed off to the pool and then grocery shopping when I was rudely pushed off the interstate by the police. After traveling along the front street known as the Bataan Highway, I came upon what I expected–an awful horrific accident.

An accident so bad that the freeway had been closed in both directions while police did their best to work out how this had happened. One look at one car told me that there were fatalities. The roof of one car had been sheared off. Nobody much survives that. Turns out it was a woman and her son, hit by someone who crossed the median, went airborne and hit them apparently high enough to take off the roof and most of the front end.

It gives you pause.

The woman was doing nothing but driving when suddenly her life is over in seconds. It must have been instantaneous. Not much time to reflect on a life lived well or ill.

Today I was at Mass (being one of those Catholic things–we call them Masses of Obligation). A man passed out. The EMT was called. They didn’t take him so they must have concluded he was okay.

Again, I reflect.

As I arrive back from Mass and the pool, I hurry into the kitchen and spend thirty minutes creating a meatloaf. Then I rush to the bedroom and fold the clothes from the morning’s washing. I’m running out of steam. It’s been a busy day.

But I have reflected.

I’m busy almost every day. Strangely, it’s okay mostly. I’m by nature lazy. I do most of what I want. Working on a quilt, making a lacy mat for a chair to protect it from my head, making a new recipe here and there, cleaning, shopping, swimming, walking, reading, never enough of that. And don’t forget the wife things. Connecting, discussing, laughing, touching.

Diego enjoyed Halloween. The kids all love him. “He loves everyone,” one little girl proudly told her friends. “He likes to be petted.” Diego did enjoy the attention, though what he thought of the strange mixture of firemen, princesses, witches, and Star Wars soldiers, I have no clue. We met neighbors, we waved, we threw candy into buckets. We had strung “cobwebs” across the front. Some of the littlest tricksters were a bit wary. They had to be prodded–“Say trick or treat”, parents intoned. And they did.

One or two were already being carried by dads and were nodding off. They would find the candy more exciting in the morning.

The older kids brought round the younger kids and then got together themselves and sheepishly returned to beg for their own sweets. As one tweeter said, “About 47% of the kids who came to my door wanted handouts.” That figure sounds about right.

It was fun. We enjoyed it.

I reflect.

And return to the kitchen to check on that meatloaf and the gravy, and to get the potatoes going, and the green beans, and then I’ll read a while, and sew a bit, and well, you know the routine. It’s probably a lot like yours. In the generalities of course.

Life.

Lived, living.

Reflect.

 

 

The Pool of Humanity

Tags

Essays, Inspirational, life in the foothills, New Mexico, swimming

This is where I swim three days a week. I’m sure you could care less about the building, but I thought I should anchor you in a location before I speak further.

 

This is the general look of the interior, with as you can barely see, a “river” that is currented, and further to the back of the picture, lap lanes. There are three irregular pools of surrounding the river, one of them being heated to temperatures that makes it therapeutic. It is here that the water aerobics classes are conducted.

You can see from this that the pool serves a myriad of purposes: the lessons for small children (see the water slide to the left as well as the wading pool in the front right), lap lanes for the physically fit swimmers, the river for those who are out of shape but want to gain some leg strength by strolling with or against the current, and the side pools where Styrofoam “weights” can be used for workouts. The super heated pool is for those in need of healing water therapy and low, easy aerobic exercises used mainly to limber up old bodies. The second floor houses weight equipment and aerobic and yoga classes.

Since I was not “physically fit” I opted out quickly from laps to aerobics, and once I had learned some basic good exercises for training, I went off to a side pool where I now go Wednesday thru Friday to “workout”. Increasingly, I’m able to swim across the small pool several lengths and can circuit the river without being exhausted. Since I don’t play well with others, I find my own workout routine perfect for me.

But that is not what this is about. The pool has become a microcosm of life. It’s most extraordinary. It reminds me to be so thankful for what I can do, for so many are living with so much less.

There are of course the bright-eyed toddlers who revel in the water, being cooed over by doting (it’s always doting isn’t it?) parents and helpful pool personnel who declare “good job” to every successful dunking under water and flapping of limbs. But they are not the story.

I can say without hesitation that most of the folks who frequent the pool are the elderly, in various stages of decomposition. They stretch and groan in delight at the extra warm water caressing arthritic shoulders and knees. They laugh and act like children, led by a jolly old elf who is round as a donut and waddles, but  is undoubtedly hard muscled from four hours a day of “faster!” and “just ten more!” exclamations of authoritative leadership.

Some come in wheel chairs and gingerly walk the long ramp into the water, on legs that are so worn as to be nearly useless but can still traverse a few yards. Others limp and hobble with canes and walkers to the edge, discarding their evidence of fitlessness to enter the realm of fantasy.

Why fantasy? Because the soothing soft delicious kiss of water surrounding one, gives the illusion of weightlessness and grace. One feels like a ballerina able to glide and turn with ease. One feels light, buoyant, free.

The tools of mobility having been cast asunder, limbs act like the limbs of youth.

Later in the locker room, the rude truth wills out again. Bodies sag and wrinkle again. Each looks but doesn’t look at the other, noting better arms, worse thighs, and oh those sagging balloons that once stood proudly upon the chest of a twenty-one year old.

But there is more.

On the river, the serious student trudges against the current, leg weights on, forging calf and thigh muscles made of steel. She passes the couple that is never without a smile, stopping to chat with everyone who will. I learned to smile broadly, say “morning” and keep on trucking lest I waste fifteen minutes in small talk. Also passing are the two rather rotund ladies who keep up a constant chatter for their thirty minutes as they walk as slow as it is possible to while still moving, with the current, and then stop at a nice little coffee shop for a Danish and coffee, congratulating themselves on their commitment to fitness.

A couple brings their intellectually challenged child to the pool and carry her through the water while she periodically shrieks. It is impossible to know whether the shrieks are of joy or terror. It is wild and high-pitched and startles everyone until we all feign ignorance and do not interject ourselves by stares into that life story. Another brings a child in a wheelchair and spend thirty minutes unsuccessfully trying to coax her into the water. This happens every time they come.

A man, over four hundred pounds, struggles to get out of the pool, holding both railings, and taking one step at a time, with an interval of minutes between each. A time in the pool, leaves one feeling utterly weighted down by an extra 200 pounds when you step out and gravity resumes it pull. You wonder if he will return. You note all those seriously obese who have not, or stopped after a couple of weeks.

I’ve met the nicest people here. I am humbled by so many of them. The woman who twenty years ago suffered a massive stroke in childbirth and learned to diaper one-handed, struggles to get in and out of the pool, still burdened with a hamstring that never returned to use and an arm that is useless still. The woman who was nearly bent over with arthritis in her back, who is limber now, but still a widow and lamenting how to climb up high enough to get the cobwebs her husband used to get. The man who walks with a cane and is to say the least, a mass of wrinkled skin dripping off tired bones, who is heading for El Paso for a dinner date with his girl friend later in the evening.

I return home, relaxed, tired, and as I pull in the driveway and Diego races to the car whimpering his welcome, and the Contrarian looks up from his saws and routers and sanders to smile and say “have a good swim?” I consider myself most lucky to be in the shape I’m in at 62.

You can teach an old dog new tricks I learn.

 

 

Room For All in Lent

Tags

God, Inspirational, Jesus, Lent, religion

Image via Wikipedia

Today begins the annual time of penance and preparation for the glory of Easter. Yet, even our atheistic friends can benefit from the challenges posed by the season of Lent.

As children, we all probably recall friends who observed the time. One heard, “what are you giving up for Lent?” I recall many a friend of mine in childhood who blanched suddenly, eyes growing big as saucers. “What’s wrong?” we would ask. And there would be a mumbled “I gave up french fries for Lent” as the offending food slid down the throat unwillingly.

While we still do “give up” things, some of them even food items, we also “give up” old ways that have proven untenable, harmful, or hurtful. We often “add” practices that are designed to bring us in a  more constant “present moment” with the divine.

It is a poor Christian who arrives at Lent, and then decides what practices will be adhered to during the 40 days. It requires a certain amount of thought and prayer. We spend the time in the last weeks and days before Lent in preparing. We contemplate, we uncover, we decide what needs fixing, where we have failed, how we can correct wrongs done.

But even if we give no thought until today, we can still do this. I don’t think God is concerned if we only get in 39 days or 38. It’s the sincerity that counts.

For those who are not in faith, why, Lent provides that same incentive to better ourselves, to end bad habits, to acquire new ones. Indeed it’s ever so much better than New Year’s resolutions. They mostly fail, because the great maw of “forever” brings us to a halt almost before we begin. Observing Lent only requires a commitment to stick with it for 40 days, (more actually since weekends aren’t counted), and that is doable.

Who among us is perfect? Who can’t stand a bit of tweaking around the edges? Who doesn’t want to repair a broken friendship or family relationship? Who doesn’t want to start a new creative endeavor, read more, or engage in more hands-on volunteer work? Now’s the time to make that commitment to stick with it for a few weeks.

Time for a new habit to become a tried and true one. Time to evaluate and institute a change here or there. Time to uncover something more deeply seeded in one’s psyche.

For the faithful, Lent is a time to mourn our failings and offer small penances to God (really to ourselves), attaching consequences to our wrongs. It is our opportunity to grow close to our Lord in his suffering as He chose to show his followers the depths of his belief in the path that  he shows us is  true communion with our Creator. It is our time to work at our sainthood, distant and unlikely as it may well be.

It is odd that we remember the old question: “What are you giving up for Lent?” for in Matthew, Jesus told his disciples the exact opposite. Don’t let the left hand know what the right is doing. Don’t pray in public, nor lament over your fasting. Don’t make a public display of your “righteousness”. (Matt 6: 1-6)

There is no righteousness in shouting to the world all you are doing in Lent. If you are sincere, then keeping those things between you and God are all that is necessary. If your chosen practices are truly meant to improve you, then, no one need be aware.

Take a moment and think whether you might benefit from some changing act or practice during the next few weeks, safely aware that it need not last forever, but just might, if you don’t impose a forever commitment. You might be surprised at the wonders that come your way.

Blessings my dear friends.

 

Related Articles

• How the Season of Lent Can Motivate You (fitsugar.com)
• What is Lent?. (greatriversofhope.wordpress.com)
• Living Lent: a season of life (johnpmcginty.wordpress.com)
• This Lent, clear the debris and go to confession (archden.org)
• Lent 2011! (culturalawakening.wordpress.com)

Fall to Grace

Tags

Book Reviews, Fall to Grace, grace, Inspirational, Jay Bakker, religion

First my thanks to the Hatchette Book Group and Sarah Reck specifically, for offering this selection for my review. I am indebted to them for their many kindnesses over the last year or so.

Jay Bakker’s Fall to Grace: A Revolution of God, Self and Society, is something of a surprise to me. Bakker, as you might guess, or know, is the son of Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker, dis-graced (as Bakker puts it) leaders of the PTL club. Jim Bakker as you recall, went to prison and sadly Tammy Faye died not long ago from cancer.

Jay Bakker, candidly reviews his life, its ups and downs. Predictably he, as a young child, had a ball being in a famous and wealthy family. As the family’s fortunes fell, so did his own, and he went the route of many kids in his position: drugs and alcohol. Also, as you might suspect, his hold on faith broke as well.

Like many, Bakker struggled with how he could redeem him life after years of bad choices and bad living. It did not happen over night, but finally he “heard” the words of a friend who patiently stuck with him, repeating again and again, that God’s love never wavered. After long arguments, night after night, often in a fog of alcohol, Jay finally fell to Grace.

And grace is what Jay Bakker preaches, and what he believes with all his heart. He carefully explains the concept to those who may be unaware, largely through the voice of Saint Paul in Galatians, his admitted hero.

 Jay was undoubtedly brought up in a fundamentalist mind-set, but as regards the bible, he has grown from that limited view, into a more mature and nuanced understanding. He notes that not all of Paul’s letters may actually be written by Paul, and he notes the work of Robert Wright’s,  The Evolution of God, as well as the work of Karen Armstrong, and Henri M. Nouwen.

Those who might shy away from the book on the grounds that it is but another fundamentalist tract, need not worry. I found little in the book that I, as a fairly liberal/progressive Christian, would quarrel with.

What Bakker sets out to do, is to show others how they, steeped in their own screwed up lives, can find a way out of the wilderness through the offering of God’s unlimited grace. Grace, as he explains, is God’s offering of favor to us, completely unmerited by anything we have done or could do.

It is release from the Law, the Law that Paul spoke of as regards the Torah, but also the Law that we impose today in the manner of morals and accepted behavior in a modern world. We don’t have to live up to some mark, God is always offering us the grace of  forgiveness and favor.

When one comes to this belief, then and only then, Jay argues, one can by choice begin to see a better way of living, one that is not self destructive  and hurtful to others. We can begin to value ourselves as we now realize God values us. And that is the first step. Once we value ourselves we automatically want to do those things that enhance our newfound goodness as humans.

This leads, as we study Jesus’ words and Paul’s, to a realization that love is the controlling factor in the world. It is the aim of our lives, to love and to continue to grow in love, thereby squeezing out the fears, the angers, the greed, and jealousies we are all too prone to.

When love is freely given, not attached to our hope that it will gain us anything (salvation), then we begin to love the doing of things for others more than any other thing. We embody God’s grace, and offer it to others.

This is the way we change hearts and minds, this is the way we build the kingdom.

Perhaps in the most stunning fundamentalist reversal, Bakker has been able to find his way through the ugliness of homosexual bullying that is so prevalent in the fundamentalist world. He has correctly (in my analysis) understood the flimsy “biblical evidence” against homosexuality and come out the other side as a clear and loud voice supporting the gay community.

He, today, preaches to those he calls the freaks and geeks, the unlikely and the unwanted of society. I suspect he brings both comfort and joy to their lives.

While the experienced reading and thinking liberal Christian will not find much new here, those new to faith, or those who are outsiders and wonder if the church has a place for them, will find a welcoming spirit and reason for joy.

Related Articles

• Jay Bakker: Finding Jesus, in Drag (huffingtonpost.com)
• Jay Bakker Promotes LGBT Equality With New Book (pinkbananaworld.com)
• Clobberin’ time (slacktivist.typepad.com)

Coping With Being Human

Tags

editorial, evolution, God, hope, humanity, Inspirational, psychology

In the wake of the horror in Tucson, introspection forces me to ask the question: why hope?  That, and seeing the question posed in a couple of other places in the last few days. I figure God is nudging me, so I ponder.

I don’t have much new to add I suspect to the mix. I’ve always been shocked and amazed at the lengths the human person will go to survive; well beyond what might seem rational at times.

One can say, well, animals do as much. And indeed they do. Every animal will fight to live until the bitter end. But of course, they don’t have the fine ability to assess their chances, they have no idea of consequences, they cannot reflect on a life lived and conclude that enough is enough.

We humans can do all those things. And the fact that we don’t hurl ourselves off cliffs with regularity suggests that something more is at work. It is something in our DNA undoubtedly, something that drives us, regardless of common sense, to hope, to struggle until we breathe our last.

Some would argue no doubt that it is part of our evolutionary primitive brain. Like animals, the urge to live and procreate overwhelms our senses and we never give in to simple acceptance of our fate. Our atheist friends would argue that our belief in a god is but another attempt to forestall the inevitable death, by promoting a concept of eternal life in the Creator.

That may be true, or not. We each will learn that at the appropriate time. But I find it hard to believe why there is such a strong desire to live at all costs, that is simply evolutionary in nature. Why and how does such a thing come about? One can claim that those with stronger drives to survive, survive in greater numbers and procreate, and thus dominate the landscape. So what? Why need this be so?

No, an equally cogent claim can be that our God has placed within us this urge to live, that it pleases our Creator that we live and grow, hopefully in relationship with each other and with the Godhead.

Yet this doesn’t explain why WE hope, or why I hope. Surely I can point to various times in history, and to places today, where life is mean and harsh. Where life is cheap, short-lived, and brutal. Where life doesn’t seem worth the living frankly.

In contemplating that, I can place my own anger and hopelessness at the state of our country and of some within it, in some perspective.

Still, that is no answer, for we are all, in the end, products of our own time and place. Empathize as I do, as I can, cannot supplant the reality of the only world I know, my own. And so my afflictions are the medical problems, however minor, that I suffer, the political intransigence that I witness, the pigheadedness I engage with regarding all manner of issues, and the carelessness toward Mother Earth that I endure.

And yet I remain hopeful.

Somehow, in the cold and snow of another miserable winter, I arise with some measure of hope, even though the day will proceed nearly the same as yesterday. It will be mundane, with small points of laughter, but as many of anger, and angst, of frustration, with smatterings of relaxation, satiety, and peace.

I can look at the events of Tucson and see bravery amid the blood. I can see selflessness amidst the carnage. I can see messages of hope that spring like spring flowers from the asphalt of a red spattered parking lot.

I read this yesterday:

“Last week we saw a white Catholic male Republican judge murdered on his way to greet a Democratic Jewish woman member of Congress, who was his friend. Her life was saved initially by a 20-year-old Mexican-American gay college student, and eventually by a Korean American combat surgeon, and this all was eulogized by our African-American President.” ~ Mark Shields,

I witnessed tributes to  Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., yesterday that I would not have witnessed twenty years ago, certainly not thirty. I see the numbers rising in support of the rights of our LGBTQ brothers and sisters. Women in positions of power and authority are commonplace, hardly remarkable any more.

I can watch television shows and movies that push the envelope, making us see gay families, transgenders, immigrants, and all the “others” in our society as simple people like ourselves, who hope, dream, love, desire, work, play, laugh and cry just as we do. Make no mistake, media has great power to help us along here.

We watched GLEE for the first time, last night. Yeah I know, late to the party. We thought it was a teen show, and we learned something quite different. Gays, physically impaired, emotionally scarred, the dangers of penal institutions to our youth, the realities of so much of life that we sweep under rugs in our minds. They showed it all in frankness, in honesty, but lovingly with hope.

This is why I hope. We have the capacity to each day be a bit better than the day before. And by the grace of God, or by our own genetic  where with all, we seem to do it. I trust we will.

I hope.

Related Articles

• We Are All Wounded (psychologytoday.com)
• Helping children cope with tragedy ()
• As shock subsides, pain sets in for Ariz. victims (msnbc.msn.com)
• David Shields: The Writer’s Job: Aggravate The Fear Of Death (huffingtonpost.com)
• Americans ponder King in wake of Tucson shootings (thegrio.com)

With Blessings for All

Tags

blogging, Inspirational, Iowa, life in the meadow

I wish everyone a blessed Christmas. We have much in our respective lives to both be thankful for and much that we have suffered through this past year. This night, we turn our thoughts to hope and promise. The hope of better days, the promise that we will support each other in times of trial.

The message is one of love and compassion, of empathy, and peace. We celebrate a belief in better days. We remember all the good that we have enjoyed.

We let go of petty jealousies, petty wrongs, and greed. We celebrate our unity as images of our Creator. We are quiet, serene, and gentle. As He was.

Whether you believe or not, we are wondrously made, fashioned in mystery. We live as part of a unity of life upon a small blue dot. We wander throughout the universe, unafraid on our journey. We cling to each other, and give courage as we face the unknown, assured that somehow we are going in the right direction.

We are led by the invisible hand of God, beckoning us to be ever more human, ever more like the Godhead.

***

We got a surprise this morning. Not welcome, but we are letting it be. It would be in excess of twelve inches of snow, with perhaps more to come. We are truly cozied in among the trees, looking at a vast sea of white. We’ve shoveled off the porches and swept the bird feeder and everyone is warm and snug.

We shall have a glorious meal tomorrow, watch some good movies, and read or do other indoor things. I made nut clusters with peanuts, pecans and almonds this morning, setting out the candy muffin tins in the snow to harden up the chocolate.

Whatever your circumstances, I hope you can get where you want to go, and share the day with those you wish to be with. My thoughts are with those of you who might be alone. I know that experience, and well, one just enriches the day as best one can.

Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas and we’ll resume our conversation on Sunday or Monday. Be safe, and be joyous. HOPE!

Dear Elizabeth

Tags

Elizabeth Edwards, Inspirational

I, like many, heard a day or so ago that Elizabeth Edwards had taken a turn for the worse. I had no idea time would be so short. I was so deeply saddened to learn of her death yesterday.

I have not spent much time learning a lot about Mrs. Edwards, yet I felt I knew her. She was that kind of woman, open and seemingly honest. She seemed stronger that I could ever hope to be, courageous in her battle with cancer, and elegant as she suffered the humiliation of her husband’s unforgivable behavior.

I say his behavior was unforgivable,  but I suspect she forgave him, if only for the sake of her children who now look to him as sole parent. I can think of no worse betrayal than to cheat on a spouse who is in the throes of a life-threatening illness, or who has become seriously incapacitated. At a time when a husband or wife needs their partner as never before, John was off giggling like a randy thirteen-year-old, leaving Elizabeth to go it alone.

I am sure that like every marriage, there were ups and downs, and perhaps deeply flawed personalities on both side. That is not the issue for me. It is simply that you just don’t do that to any human, let alone one you have spent decades with, walking away emotionally to dally with someone else.

Don’t start telling me about how such a caregiver partner can be drained and susceptible to the warm arms of another. It’s a matter of maturity and acting as an adult. Surely in that moment, John Edwards showed us he was in no way suited to lead a nation. He had lost his moral compass.

Elizabeth, publicly, held up her head and honestly confronted the challenges before her. She carried on. No doubt there were plenty of times when she broke down away from cameras and perhaps even family. One can only guess, and sympathize.

She indeed serves as a role model to other women of how to get on about the business of living in the face of fatal disease, in the face of the dissolution of a marriage that from the outside had looked rock solid. We can, again, only guess, of what it appeared to her from the inside.

It seems she devoted her remaining months to helping other women struck down with cancer, and, more importantly planning and preparing her children for the time when she would leave them. I suspect they are handling this much better than many of us.

She said that the death of her sixteen-year-old son, Wade, prepared her for her own death in some ways. Nothing could ever be as bad as that had been. And I suspect she truly believed she would join him at last. She said she didn’t fear death nearly as much as she would have otherwise.

None of us, rich, poor, accomplished or not, knows when our next trial will arrive and how severe it will be. We can remember Elizabeth and give life to her legacy by remembering the grace and quiet dignity she brought to the ugly business of dying. She showed us, as few others do, that in dying, we can learn better to live.

She lived these last few months, it appears, fully, connected at every moment to her family, her friends, her world. She helped everyone around her, it appears, make peace with the inevitable end to come.

I shall miss her occasional public pronouncements, championing health care, and breast cancer awareness. I shall miss her laugh, and I shall miss her honest embrace of all life-the good and the bad.

Blessings and safe journey, Elizabeth.

Related Articles

• Reactions to Elizabeth Edwards’ Death (abcnews.go.com)
• Elizabeth Edwards: Resilience Remembered (npr.org)
• Elizabeth Edwards dies at 61 (boston.com)
• Elizabeth Edwards and Her Final Days in Hospice Care (politicsdaily.com)