::walk with me quiet, walk with me slow...

Sometimes, when the pistons of anxiety fire and conspire to churn my guts into some twisted primordial stew of panic, I like to take a walk.
Oh, wait.
I also kind of have to.
My diabetes pretty much demands it.

[Also? Garrison Keillor says that writers should take long walks.

I'm on it, GK.]

This evening, I strolled through the acreage adjacent to a local park, where the four bodies of my parents' parents are buried.

When I take strolls, I often fill my ears with melodic, moody, guitar-driven ballads.

Their lyrical content usually smacks of lovelorn loneliness, which seems highly appropriate somehow.

I amble about, and I ponder, and it never fails to occur to me that I worry constantly about things that do. not. matter.

Surrounded on all sides by tombstones etched with heartfelt epitaphs, my mind swarms with memories of all those whom I love, whose burial services I have attended, standing silent as their respective virtues were extolled.

It's slightly ironic to be exercising on an expanse of land dedicated to housing the dead; the truth is, I'm there doing something I hope will postpone my own arrival.

::you talkin' to me?

Lately it seems I think a lot about conflict.
It is 2:37 a.m. as I sit to process this.
Hence, conflict = insomnia.

I hate it.
Despise it.
I will spare no expense to scurry away from its talons.

Sometimes, however, it catches me.
And then I am forced to engage in confrontation.
It's never pretty.

But it's ugly for peculiar reasons.
I cower in the face of any accusatory anger, and spray it with apology after apology until its flames are completely drowned.

The problem is, I do this even when I don't need to apologize.
It could be that the other person has grossly mistreated me, and is still emotionally abusive enough to suggest that I provoked them.
Even if I know I've done nothing wrong, I still apologize.
I kowtow.
No matter how much you've hurt me, I will gladly admit guilt and full responsibility, if only for the sake of temporary truce.
Even if it is, in truth, as useless as sticking a tiny Band-Aid on a broken leg.

I'm a coward.
I must learn to defend myself against disrespect and voice my displeasure at undeserved, unprovoked cruelty.

Turning the other cheek is one thing.

Allowing oneself to be repeatedly abused, is quite another.

::let's rivet this

"You should blog more."

I have heard this multiple times now.
I suppose it's high time I push past the neurotic perfectionism and Give The People What They Want.

Lately I have been approached with a very humbling opportunity, which is an invitation to work on the church bulletins with one of the most gracious people I've ever met.
Ann is a talented, thoughtful, creative Force of Nature.

My church's liturgy is very intentional, very specific.
It's a shame that it doesn't include something like Random Prayers of Thanksgiving.
I'd write one like this:

Thank You, O Lord, for the gentle hues of blue contained in the expansive ceiling over traffic backups and natural disasters.
Thank You for the moments when even the simple glint of an earring can remind us of the brightest Light.
Thank you for the sight of toddlers squabbling over the possession of plastic french fries.
Thank You for the moment when icy water touches our tongues on days when we fear we will never escape the swelter.
Thank You for the random paintings hanging in restaurants that burrow into our psyches and render us amazed.
Thank You for the sweetness of a long-awaited embrace, the tenderness of a brush of lips against an unsuspecting cheek.
Thank You for the laughter that penetrates to our very core, forcing us to drink in the splendor of joy, of wonder, of Being.
Thank You for the countless ways in which we recognize You every day, and have mercy on us for neglecting to thank You for each one.

::dialogue

I have felt profoundly challenged and inspired by David Dark's book, The Sacredness of Questioning Everything. (Get it here. Now.)




=====

These questions are almost as old as the Earth...

Why does God allow us to kill each other, to rape, molest and cheat and lie to each other, to commit horrifying acts like mass genocide and perverse persecution?
Why?
Why do girls drown on beaches in front of their friends while they're on vacation?
Why does my precious friend Robin have to see what she sees in places like Bangla Road in Phuket, Thailand?
Why, why, WHY?

Because we live in a fallen world.
God allows us to choose how to behave.
Some choose wisely, some choose poorly.

But if He has the power to force us to choose wisely, why didn't He create us that way?

God's mind is infinite.
Ours are finite.
Even if there were a complete answer - and there is, but only God knows it - your mind would not be capable of comprehending it.

It seems terribly cruel to allow my brain to ask questions whose answers it will be incapable of comprehending. Does that mean that God is terribly cruel?

No.
That's just your human understanding.
Remember, even your understanding is depraved.

So, wait...God allows us to make poor choices, to "miss the mark", as it were, because He loves us?
And he wants us to choose to love Him?
Because Love isn't authentic if it's forced?

Correct.

But if God created Love, then He could have created it any way that He wanted.
So why can't it work like this: "I love you, therefore I will use my omnipotence for your ultimate Good, and I will create you so that you are incapable of hurting anyone, and they are incapable of hurting you?"

Only God knows.
And remember, when we are hurt, He is hurting right along with us.
He is just as upset, if not more so, as we are.

But why would that be true?
Our hurt feelings are largely due to the fact that we are powerless to change our nature.
But God can.
If He can actually keep it from happening, why doesn't He?
Why does He get upset about it, rather than prevent it?

You do not understand this, because you do not need to.
Can you trust that?
Can you trust that He loves you?
Can you trust that He knows every question you have, even the ones you haven't asked yet? Can you trust that He listens to you, and does not dismiss your inquiries?
Can you trust that He is worthy of your trust?

Maybe.

I'm trying.

=====

"I believe deliverance begins with questions. It begins with people who love questions, people who live with questions and by questions, people who feel a deep joy when good questions are asked. When we meet these people -- some living, some through history and art -- things begin to change. Something is let loose. When we're exposed to the liveliness of holding everything up to the light of good questions -- what I call "sacred questioning" -- we discover that redemption is creeping into the way we think, believe, and see the world."

~David Dark, The Sacredness of Questioning Everything, p 14

::lottery

I like:

luminaries, fresh fruit centerpieces, underdogs, anthologies, purple gerber daisies, second chances, poignant pauses, listening, macro snapshots, kisses on the cheek, reusable tote bags, smiling babies, helicopters, pink sunsets, rusty hinges, novelty lunchboxes, thunder, cobblestone walkways, seahorses, literary quotes, long-lost friends, unexpected hugs, handwritten letters, lazy afternoons, cashews, patterned lampshades...

Et tu, dear reader?

::waterlogged

I grow weary of hearing complaints about weather.
Although I am not entirely innocent of weather-whining, so
I do understand the tendencies.

Maybe sometimes, for some of us, laments about the weather are merely masquerades.
They contain a much larger message; the ultimate frustration we feel about all the things over which we have no control.

We can decide how to behave and how to speak, but we cannot control how others will react.
We can make meticulous, detailed blueprints for our days, but outside forces may "conspire" to squash our best-laid plans.

These are just a few of the thoughts that passed through my brain this past week, when I realized that I have always found something special about rainy days.
They're really not so bad, dear reader.
They deliver nourishment to the earth, and foster countless opportunities for creativity.

Toddlers learn the fine art of puddle-splashing.

Emma, June 10

Raindrops linger in strategic locations, inviting us to marvel and capture.

And we are, hopefully, left with the residual wonder of a simple, soggy day.

::Celibacy and the Village

Last Thursday night, I joined my sister-in-law, her sister, and their cousin, for a late-night showing of Sex and the City 2.

A new friend, one who doesn't know me well, commented thusly: "I thought you were all deep and intellectual...why do you even care about that movie?"

Now, I have never described myself as deep or intellectual.
This is his impression of me, and it's a kind one, and I'll take the compliment.

As Carrie Bradshaw herself might say, I couldn't help but wonder...

So, I probed my own brain to try to "justify" my SATC fandom.

I certainly do not have the financial means to live as luxuriously as these women live, or the body to showcase their haute couture ensembles (few women do, I would imagine.)
I don't suspect that I share their worldviews, or even their values.
I can see a very valid argument; that this series glorifies hedonism and perpetuates the myth of materialistic satisfaction, that it claims to be pro-feminist, yet actually objectifies the women it portrays.
I can see how it's vapid, shallow, and undoubtedly offensive to many people.

I can see beyond its superficiality, however, and what I connect to is, its celebration of the institution of friendship.
These are women with drastically different personalities (some would argue that they're overly stylized archetypes) who love and support one another.
Their acceptance of each other is not conditional, nor is it afraid to confront self-destructive, unhealthy behavior.

I must admit, also, that there is a part of me - however tiny and ill-advised - that would actually love to be able to traipse around Manhattan in high-fashion dresses and overpriced jewelry. I'd love to flit from a leisurely Cosmopolitan lunch with my girlfriends to a date with a gorgeous man, visiting all the most exclusive nightclubs, hobnobbing with socialites and celebrities.
The problem is, I wouldn't want to live like that.
I could probably only stand it for one or two days.

My own life is much different.
I buy clothes in which I feel comfortable and confident.
They are not runway-worthy.
I wear makeup and jewelry because I genuinely like to.
I style my hair because, let's face it, if I didn't, I'd have a giant helmet of frizz.
My days and evenings are not spent in "glamorous" locations.

But, generally speaking, I like my life.
I feel very thankful for my blessings, and I try my best to recognize new ones.

Every once in awhile, though, it feels nice to indulge a fantasy or two.
And that's why I love Sex and the City.
It's a nice place to visit.
But I would never want to live there.