It’s been a long year…
but there’s is still so much to be thankful for…
For all that has been — Thanks. For all that shall be — Yes! ~ Dag Hammarskjöld
It’s been a long year…
but there’s is still so much to be thankful for…
For all that has been — Thanks. For all that shall be — Yes! ~ Dag Hammarskjöld
It’s time to watch this again:
It seemed appropriate – not just because it is Thanksgiving – but because the last few weeks of school, papers and projects are piling up for me, work and internship are reminding me both how broken people are and how broken this world is, and I find myself losing sight of the beauty and wonder around me as I am drowning in books and journal articles and case notes and reports. So much in this culture and society is pulling us towards wanting more – desire – consumption. “If you just had this, you’d be happy. If only you weren’t so ____, people would love you more. If you could just own that new toy, that new pretty thing… All you need is just a little bit more – more stuff, more status, more accomplishment, more happiness… And you deserve it.” And on Black Friday, the high holy days of capitalism, we see this message over and over again.
This is the message we hear every day. And it is a lie. It will never be enough.
I know what is true. I see the things that push me towards life, towards abundance, towards joy: and among those things, three of the primary ones are contentment, gratitude, and wonder. So much in life is outside of our control. You can’t will yourself towards health when you’re sick. You can’t make someone love you. We all have limitations, barriers, and things that hinder us from accomplishing what we desire. And the tension that I wrestle with is how to balance that acceptance of my limitations and finiteness with the reality that there is much that I dream will come true – there are deep desires within me for beauty, for community, for redemption, for companionship, for love, for faithfulness, and those desires are there for a purpose. This battle between contentment and desire wages in my heart, but it is only be holding them in that tension that balance can be lived. Contentment reminds me that my desires are just that – desires. And while they point to something deeper, they should be held loosely. Yet those deep desires of my heart remind me that I was made for more, it keeps me moving God-ward, it guards me from complacency and passivity and laziness. Both are needed, in their appropriate place.
Gratitude and wonder work together to stop and remind me of how truly blessed I am – everything I have been given, and everything that gives color and laughter to my life. From the sun crawling up off the lake on my morning run, to the lights of the city as I drive home at night – the play of clouds, the sound of the breeze, the crisp cool air that burns and awakens and refreshes – these are gifts. The laughter of a friend’s daughter, the tears that spring from some unknown place when confronted by the beauty of friendship, of love, and of sacrifice – all are gifts. A glass of wine and a loaf of bread to welcome the Sabbath as an old friend, forgiveness growing slowly like a blade of grass in the sand, a heart that is melting, thawing, warming before the light of the son – this is gift and grace. When we truly stop and see, how can we not be grateful? When we truly stop and feel, how can our hearts not threaten to explode with wonder?
“Gratefulness can change our world in immensely important ways. If you’re grateful, you’re not fearful. If you’re not fearful, you’re not violent. The grateful act out of a sense of enough, not scarcity, so they are willing to share. Being grateful does no less than change the power balance of life. It’s a nonviolent revolution that even revolutionizes the concept of revolution. Grateful people are joyful people; the more joyful people are, the more we’ll have a joyful world.” ~ Brother David Steindl-Rast
And in the midst of the tragedy, the brokenness, the unmet desires and unfulfilled dreams, and all that we don’t understand, we see glimmers of hope – catch the faintest whiff of grace – hear the whisper of peace and presence: it’s enough to make anyone thankful, if just for a moment… And sometimes, that moment is all we need to keep on.
“Either life is holy with meaning, or life doesn’t mean a damn thing. You pay your money and you take your choice. Only never take your choice too easily, of course. Never assume that because you have taken it one way today, you may not take it another way tomorrow. One choice is this. It is to choose to believe that the truth of our story is contained in Jesus’s story, which is a love story. Jesus’s story is the truth about who we are and who the God is who Jesus says loves us. It is the truth about where we are going and how we are going to get there, if we get there at all, and what we are going to find if we finally do. Only for once let us not betray the richness and depth and mystery of that truth by trying to explain it…” ~ Frederick Buechner
(Reposted, because I needed to be reminded of this today…)
Early morning waffle breakfasts with my sister Carly and dear friends…
Bike rides and motorcycle rides in the early morning light…
Lazy mornings drinking coffee and laughing…
Beach picnics, friends, stand-up paddleboarding, frisbee, sand, naps, sunshine…
Connecting with family over the phone…
Afternoon run through the park and serindipitous encounters with school friends…
Concocting delicious treats…
Cookouts, laughter, fireworks, games, play, joy, community…
I walked along the lakeshore, small waves tugging and pulling at my feet as I headed out to launch the stand-up paddle-board into Lake Michigan. I was just excited to get out in the water, to be on a board again (it’s been four years since I sold my surfboard and left Rio and the Atlantic behind, and have just missed it desperately at times).
But there was that laughter…
I turned and saw a young boy, maybe 8 or 9 years old, seated in a wheelchair. The front two wheels were completely submerged, and he laughed and giggled as the waves lapped around his feet, and his dad splashed water on him, and over him.
It reminded me of blessing, of holiness, of baptism…
It was beautiful to see the love of a father for his son, the love of a son for the world around him, and the love of God refracted so beautifully…
The shattering weight of summer-light pressed down and through shadowed tree covered lanes as we walked home from the cafe. Turning a corner, we saw the girl in front of us dancing through, and around, and between rainbow streams of shimmering water, spraying and spinning and spiraling. There was beauty in the interplay of light and shadow, of sprinklers and water and scintillating rainbows that scattered shards of light profligately, without regard for whom might see, or appreciate this holy symphony of movement and color.
“…it is easy to believe in such moments that water was made primarily for blessing, and only secondarily for growing vegetables or doing the wash…”
~ Marilynne Robinson – Gilead
This was one of those moments.
Leaving Neil’s house, biking down to the lake, I was struck once more by the extravagance on display – water in blues and greens, as far as the eye could see, shimmering and sparkling, evidence of grace.
Water is not only for the deserving.
Water does not only quench the thirst of the pure.
Water gives life to all, evenhandedly, without condition, without restraint.
I stopped my bike on the shore, captivated by the joyous call of the water.
Finally, unable to resist, I gave in to its siren song, leaping into the blue-green womb with abandon and laughter, over and over and over again…
“…water was made primarily for blessing…”
A number of years ago I spent about four months living and working in Nepal with WMF. I arrived in Kathmandu a few months after my 20th birthday, idealistic, full of big dreams about the difference I would make, and certain that my time would be an adventure in every way, serving the poor, learning to be like Jesus, and basically having everyone admire me for how amazing I was. It only took me a few weeks to find out that I was not all that.
I had arrived with visions of being the next Mother Theresa or Gandhi, with a touch of Oscar Romero thrown in, and my expectations were dashed when I discovered that the “working with street kids” (which I envisioned as cute little boys and girls who were hungry for affection and just needed someone to come play soccer with them for a few hours each week to point them on a path towards wholeness, health, and the restoration of all that was broken in their lives) that I had hoped to be involved in wasn’t going to happen.
Instead, we would be spending our time volunteering at one of the local Missionaries of Charity homes, doing distinctly unglamorous tasks such as pulling up water from the well, washing dishes, cleaning, doing laundry by hand, cleaning out septic tanks one bucket at a time, and generally doing the best we could to not get in the way too much, or get talked to sternly by a nun for being too slow, incompetent, or inefficient. It was not fun. It was not sexy. It was not even “missionary cool,” like working at the home for the dying, or with photogenic kids, or with crowds of needy people that you could tell others about and bask in their glow about how holy you were. Instead, we were at a home called Shanti Bhivan (House of Peace) for mentally and physically disabled Nepalis. It was simple, quiet, unassuming, and hidden. It was hard.
I toughed it out for a few weeks. After all, I was with a team of people, and to simply stop going would look bad. I didn’t want others to think poorly of me. I didn’t want them to see how unspiritual and shallow I truly was. I didn’t want them to see me as I really was, so I pretended. I pretended to be a servant, all the while grumbling inwardly about how I didn’t really want to be here, and how I really wanted to be somewhere else – somewhere more exciting, more dramatic, more more… But inside, I was stuck.
Our regular schedule included getting up at 5am for an hour of silent, contemplative prayer. The first month or so involved lots of falling asleep in the midst of it – only to be woken by a jab in the ribs from Julie, or a throat clearing from Ben or Kipp. I’d return the favor when I noticed their breathing turn too deep or regular for being awake. But as we stuck it out, I began to recognize something beautiful and holy about those quiet, dark, cold mornings we spent on the floor, wrapped in our woolen blankets, learning to quiet our hearts and inhabit the silence that was a doorway to God’s heart.
After prayers, it was time to go to work. There were two bikes that we could use, and for the first few months that was my favorite part of the day: the 30 minute bike ride to work. It felt like a video game as I dodged tuk-tuks and cows, taxis and pedestrians, buses and trucks, dogs and street vendors, weaving in and out of the hustle and bustle of Kathmandu’s morning rush hour. I felt alive – the adrenaline flowed – and it was exciting in a way that the rest of my days were not.
One morning as I was riding to work, I was feeling tired, grumpy, and just plain fed up. We had been there for a couple of months, and whatever appeal had been present at the beginning was gone. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to serve. I didn’t want to go to the stupid Missionaries of Charity home, run by the stupid nuns who would just make me feel bad for not giving more, doing more, being more… I felt like I wasn’t enough. And I wanted to do something more fun. I wanted to stop and go to a cafe and get breakfast and coffee and spend time reading my novel. I wanted to do what I wanted to do. Who cared if I was on something called a “Servant Team.” I was tired of serving. I wanted out.
At the same time, I was intensely self-conscious and worried about what others would think of me. If I just didn’t go to work that morning, the nuns would ask about me. Kipp would know that I didn’t show up. I couldn’t lie about it. They would catch me. They would know the depths of my self-centeredness, my shallowness, my laziness and general lack of spirituality. They would know that I wasn’t really like Jesus. Not in any ways that mattered, anyway. After all, I couldn’t even spend a measly five hours volunteering and working with the poor – the poor that I claimed to love, and had come to Nepal to serve. However, I had found that loving “the poor” in reality was often difficult, challenging, and hard (just like anyone that you truly enter into relationship with.)
I didn’t want people to know who I really was, and how I really felt. But I also didn’t want to go. At that moment, I had a brilliant idea… What if I got a flat tire? If my bike tire went out, I’d have a ready made excuse. I COULDN’T go in to work if my bike tire was flat. I’d have to stop and get it fixed, and who KNOWS how long that would take. It might take all day, if I could find someone slow enough… and my problem would be solved. It just might work…
I could explain to anyone who asked how I intended, nay, deeply WANTED to go to volunteer today. I was trying to, but my cursed bike let me down by getting a flat tire, and what was I supposed to do? … Yes. I would have the rewards of people looking to me and still admiring me for what I WOULD have done if only the mechanical bike hadn’t gotten in the way. AND, I would be able to do what I really wanted to do, which was read my book over a pot of coffee and a set breakfast (with little delicious pastries) from the German place down the road. It was a win-win.
However, there was only one slight problem with this plan. My bike didn’t have a flat tire.
I didn’t let this stop me. I still had a few miles to go before I got to work. There was still time. There was still hope that I COULD get a flat tire. And if it needed a little help from me, then that could be arranged…
So, I started hitting potholes. Every pothole, crack, piece of glass, sharp object, bump, or nail in the road… If it was there, I hit it. I started pushing hard on the front tire, trying to put more weight on it and get it to pop (or at least go flat) before I arrived. As I drew closer and closer to Shanti Bhivan, I grew more and more nervous, and more and more frantic. The tire wouldn’t pop. No matter what I hit, no matter what I ran over, it wouldn’t go flat.
As I pulled up to the front gate, I was disgusted. “Fine,” I remember saying to God. “I’m here. I’m not happy about it. I don’t want to be here. But since I’m here, whatever… I’ll serve. But don’t expect me to be happy about it…”
I grudgingly walked through the gates… and as I fell into the rhythm of work, or buckets pulled and clothing washed, of meals served and wounds tended, something happened… My anger – my bitterness – my frustration – it melted away. I couldn’t hold on to it. I tried. But somehow, someone reached through and softened my heart. Through the practice of obedience, I was transformed and made obedient. Through the discipline of service – by simply showing up – my heart was renewed. I left that afternoon rested, thankful, and blessed. Joyful. At peace. All because the tire I had been hoping and praying would go flat held up. All because my attempts at sabotage had failed. All because God would not give up on me. All because of grace…
In heaven it is always autumn;
His mercies are ever in their maturity.
We ask our daily bread,
And God never says
You should have come yesterday,
He never says
You must ask again tomorrow:
But today, if you will hear his voice,
Today he will hear you…
He brought light out of darkness,
Not out of a lesser light;
He can bring thy summer out of winter,
Though thou have no spring;
Though in the ways of fortune or understanding or conscience
Thou have been benighted till now,
Wintered and frozen, clouded and eclipsed
Damped and benumbed, smothered and stupefied till now,
Now God comes to thee,
Not as in the dawning of the day,
Not as in the bud of the spring
But as the sun at noon to illustrate all shadows,
As the sheaves in harvest, to fill all penuries,
All occasions invite his mercies,
And all times are his seasons.
~ John Donne, Christmas Day, 1624
Tomorrow afternoon my little sister is getting married!!!
(@ the rehearsal today – pic via Lindsay Long)
The last couple of weeks have been a tumultuous, crazy, roller-coaster: finals, job transitions, an intensive summer course, and a quick trip from Chicago out here to sunny California for the Miller-Derentz extravaganza. After a week of sleep deprivation and intensive, exhaustive learning, it does my heart good to be out here, surrounded by family, laughter, crazy busy-ness, and the celebration of love.
We arrived at the botanical gardens to find Kait, Car, Adam, and all the rest of the wedding party – such a delight to see so many people who love her and have gathered to celebrate with her – and so much fun to spend time anticipating the adventure that begins tomorrow.
And now I’m falling asleep on the floor of Grandma Sally’s living room, incredibly thankful, and overflowing in all the messiness and abundance that implies. Overflowing because of:
– Beauty, flowers, nature, and sunshine
– Hugs and laughter of friends reunited after years and years
– Delicious food, drink, stories, and reminiscing at the family lunch
– Time with brother and sisters as we ran around doing errands
– Swimming pools and sunshine and hot-tubs and laughter
– Bowling and dancing and people – beautiful, funny, joyous, loving friends and family
And it’s not over yet! Can’t wait for the celebration of their love – a day full of work, worship, beauty, dance, and joy. Love you Kait!!!
It hit me out the blue today – but Chicago really feels like home. A combination of thoughts as I reflected on today and the past week boiled over and left me feeling content, restful, and settled in so many ways. Here’s a couple vignettes of why this place has all of a sudden felt like home:
– Sunday morning Dad and Heather came over to my apartment – we spent time getting food ready, the ham in the oven, and then off to church… worshipping together in a space that celebrates beauty and truth, with friends and brothers and sisters – cello and bass and mandolin fusing with bagpipes and chorale echoing through the spacious cathedral, stained glass and liquid light and warm sound as we celebrated the victory of Life over death… Then everyone back to my place for cooking and laughter and stories and an abundance of food – my heart overflows…
– Lunches at hole in the wall pubs and Jewish delis, cheese and wine with friends before small group, fasting and prayer and awareness of lack – and all those shared with friends old and new.
– A job that is challenging, growing, fulfilling, and loads of fun – newness and variety and opportunity – and all of that with a great fit for who I am, what I value – conversations with teenagers about what it was like being smuggled across the border, their families, their hopes, their fears, their problems and frustrations… Laughter and games and bad movies and bad haircuts and temper tantrums and breakthroughs… Amazing coworkers and laughter intertwined through it all.
– The lake – a running path from my door to the waves and the water, the skyline of Chicago floating behind me or before me, wind and sand and sky, races and smiles and the joy of movement…
– My church – small group – a people who value questions, and prayer, and food, and worship, and service, and action, and justice, and faithfulness, and each other… Volleyball and soccer and teaching and praying – beauty and pathos – life…
– Friends – from roommates who have become like brothers to coworkers, people from school, church friends, and the like – helping move and sharing meals and laughter and prayer and movement towards the ineffable.
Tonight, I’m thankful that this place is becoming home…
5 miles as the sun set on a warm, blustery, fall day with this as the setting…
Tonight: the Civil Wars & friends…
Tomorrow morning: Mr. Tom Wright…
Later this week:
1 paper in Doctrine.
1 test in Marriage and Family.
1 presentation in Counseling Theories.
Life is good. Busy. Full. Rich.
And I am thankful… in the midst of being nearly overwhelmed… there’s still so much to be grateful for.