a poem for lent, and other things

One of the sponsors from my RCIA group gave the group of us catechumens and candidates (those converts who are already baptized) a Lenten devotional book as a gift. I admit, I've omitted reading this more days than I've engaged with it, but I have found a lot of treasure there.

The following poem by Rita A. Simmonds, graces the inside cover. This one gets me in the gut.

Sacrifice

It was just yesterday
when the sun rose
on the memory of things
broken, trashed
and carried away,
and I had to ask
if I could still love
what couldn't last,
if there was
something other than forgetfulness
for devastating loss,
if there was someone who could save
my heart from fraud.

And I remembered the Man
who loved to the point of absurdity:
Whose side held a lance
till all the blood and water
that waited could let go.

Real love has hung and died,
and must be carried
with panting and heavy sighs
to a cold place
where stone walls
reinforce the definitiveness
of the end.

But the true nature
of love
is human,
so it waits,
and divine,
so it rises
and lives again.

Let nothing
dam the flow of breaking love.

* * * * *

A few other random smatterings from my life:
First of all, I apologize. My life right now is all about what my body is doing and how it is adjusting to pregnancy. You might not particularly care about or want to know about the truths I list below, but this is my reality.

* I'm still dealing with nausea on a regular basis. Sadly, it doesn't confine itself to a particular block of time during the day, but lasts all day, getting particularly bad at night.
* Thinking about my prenatal vitamins, imagining them, getting a whiff of them, or being anywhere in proximity to them makes the point above particularly bad. Eww.
* I'm sleeping well, that is ... when I'm not getting up every hour and a half to use the bathroom.
* Next midwife appointment is tomorrow!!
* My latest craving? Cottage cheese and pickles. And not just any pickles mind you: I want Claussen Dill spears. Oh, yes.

And speaking of Lent ...
During the season of Lent, those in the process of conversion (such as myself) are going through a season called the Scrutinies, which aren't nearly as scary as they sound (trust me, it's nothing at all like the Spanish Inquisition). Basically, it's an opportunity to reflect more deeply on the steps we're taking and the commitment we're preparing to make to the Church. As such, I've been writing a lot more on my own and am thinking about posting in a series format what led to this decision. It will be good for me to recall and articulate those things that brought me to this place, and it just might prove helpful for someone someday who is considering taking the same steps.

A question for you:
Are you engaging in a particular devotion or fast for Lent? If so, what is it and how is it working for you?

personal penitence

This poem/prayer has grown out of a personal confession that has been evolving over the last several days. My heart has been heavy with many cares and frustrations which seemed to have clogged the communication lines between earth and Heaven, at least for me. For some time, it's been difficult for me to pray at all. And now in the wake of what has transpired in Haiti (in which unanticipated demands were placed on all our hearts), it seems fitting to share it now.

The form is loosely based on one of the forms of the Penitential Rite, which takes place at the beginning of the Catholic Mass. I'm becoming increasingly thankful for the liturgy, which gives me fitting words when I have none of my own.

I am lean on faith
and heavy with excuse.

Lord, have mercy.

I feel the pull and the tug
of gravity
and of anxiety.

Christ, have mercy.

My belly and my heart
are filled with sighs,
the exhalations of unmet hopes
and of many disappointments.

Lord, have mercy.

I have only enough care
to know I don't care enough.

Christ, have mercy.

My heels are dry and cracked,
my fingers bleeding.

Lord, have mercy.

Pierce my heart
with the nails of the cross,
with the thorns of your crown.

Christ, have mercy.

Let the hot blood course over
these frozen stones
and render them supple flesh.

Lord, have mercy.

Please hear my refrain,
carried on the breaths of the saints
and on angel wings.

Lord, have mercy.

Christ, have mercy.

Lord, have mercy.

photo by kirsten.michelle
copyright 2009

bottles of tears & desert places

What a cop out, I thought sardonically.

One sentence from the pastor's prayer reverberated through me: God, You are the answer to every question.

Whatever.

I felt a hard and bitter lump at the back of my throat; hot tears pooled behind my eyes, stinging at the corners. I had plenty of questions. And I had reached out to God with those questions, time and again. Making no effort to disguise my need, I stretched forth my arms and held those hungry questions in my hands. They were hard and cold and He had not offered satisfaction for a single one of them. Starved of answers, they started to feed on my heart, picking at it like buzzards. He knew it and still, He held back and let them nibble at my innards.

At least that is how it felt. Though in my mind I knew God was present and that He cared, in my heart I felt abandoned. And I was so tired of trying to talk myself out of feeling that way.

I don't often attend the monthly evening services at church, but I went that night as an act of faith. I wanted to touch the hem of His robe, to see if His power would course its way through my body and make me whole. But my Comforter seemed out of reach. I imagined Him standing in the shadows, arms crossed and motionless as He took in the sights and sounds of the scene before Him: my arms reaching out for him, my faltering voice calling to Him from a raw throat. If not answers, then comfort please, I begged. Come and find me here.

I wrapped my hands around the edges of the chair in front of me to steady myself. What could I do but wait? I didn't need to know why this was happening anymore or even when it would be over, but could He give me a word, a hope, a bit of comfort -- anything to sustain me? How, God? How is this good? It felt at times as though He loved me in a more generic "I love the whole world" kind of way. I started to feel small and invisible, as if God were too busy with hurricanes, wars, and famines to attend to me.

I started to trust in His presence in the same way I might trust that the Titanic sank: as a true and historic fact, but one that had little in the way of a compelling connection to my present. Nothing could or would change the truth of it, but it was a cerebral truth, one that was acknowledged more or less academically. Asking my heart to believe it was to invite a tension and conflict within myself that was incapacitating. I couldn't make any sense of it, and so I didn't want to encounter it. My heart was a puddle and my head was already splitting; I could not afford nor bear to invite additional strain.

I've been studying the book of Job in this season in order to find a new lens through which to view my own experience. As I wrote my most recent post reflecting on God's silence throughout the bulk of the book, I pondered in the final paragraph:

I wonder what [God] is doing in the shadows as He listens to Job's friends all but accuse him of some vile sin time and again. I wonder what was in His heart as He watched Job scrape at his sores with bits of broken pottery. I wonder what He was thinking as Job and asked why?, over and over again. I wonder how He held himself in silence when Job requested an audience with God so Job could make his case. I wonder how His heart felt as He counted and collected Job's tears.

The last sentence was a new thought for me and honestly, a bit of a throwaway as far as I was concerned. It's something I tacked on at the end of the paragraph, due in part to the fact that I had recently said to someone, "If it's true that God gathers every teardrop, then there is an Olympic-sized swimming pool in heaven with my name on it." The jest belied how deeply my heart was hurting; I desperately wanted it to be true.

Less than twenty-four hours later, I received an e-mail from Sarah that nearly made me fall out of my chair:

... you came to mind. I started to pray, that god would be with you, that you'd feel his nearness, that he'd protect you from the enemy. And then I prayed something I haven't prayed before ... I don't know if I've ever thought it before. I prayed that you would know that each tear you cry is precious to him, that you would know he's catching them all in his hand and collecting them because they matter to him, because YOU matter to him. I SAW it, you crying, him catching.

Now, this never happens to me ... not ever. I mean, I get images, but I don't think I've ever been woken up to pray something like this before.

And then I read what you wrote ...

But the amazingness did not end there. The day after that, I went to Stuff Christians Like, a blog I look at only infrequently. I read this post about feeling too small for God, and what should I read but:

... every now and then I come across a verse that shakes my deep belief that I am beneath God’s radar. One that I love is Psalm 56:8. Here, in what hopefully makes me look pretty smart, is the King James Version:

“Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?”

But maybe you’re not old school, so here’s what the New Living Translation says:

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.”

I think that’s beautiful. Can you imagine that? Can you picture God doing that? Taking His giant hands and tenderly picking up every single one of your tears? Knowing why they came, understanding what they mean, placing them in His bottle, so that He can comfort you.

In the space of a day, I had been reminded twice that truly: He gathers every teardrop. He gathers my teardrops. He spoke to the ache and the need that I simply had no words to describe. I was reassured that my tears mattered to Him, that they had not escaped His notice. He spoke to the need behind my pleas for healing: He answered my doubts about His presence, about what His love for me looked like, about whether or not I really mattered to Him. I had gone from feeling deserted, as though I was an infinitesimal blip in a crowd of humanity to feeling like I was the only soul on the planet for whom God cared.

My health issues continue to be a part of my current reality, and I won't pretend that those don't matter. I suppose from that vantage point, nothing has changed. But the world as I knew it was turned upside-down when our great big God became small enough to let me know that He saw me, that He collected every single tear I cried and regarded them as something precious. There was nothing generic about it; it is by far the most intimate God-experience I've ever had. He drew me to the desert and whispered His love to me there. And everything changes radically when you know for sure that you're fiercely and dearly loved.

hope rising

I can't thank you all enough. If I had any doubts as to being cared for, all I would need to do is to look at what you all wrote in response to my previous post. You people blow my mind and invade my heart. Seriously.

And you pray. Boy, did you all pray. But I'm getting a bit ahead of myself.

On Monday (the day I published that post), I went to my family doctor to follow up on some things that had been ongoing for several months. I had received instruction to come back and get checked out if they hadn't changed.

CAVEAT: Sorry if I am being vague, but I want to be sensitive toward any readers who aren't particularly curious or desirous to read about the finer details of how my body does or does not function. If you want to know, I really don't mind telling you -- really, I have no inhibitions left when it comes to discussing the topic -- I just don't want to put it out for general consumption or to cause anyone to lose his or her cookies while reading.

I already knew I'd be in for more tests: more needle sticks, more deep breathing while shiny stethoscopes were pressed on my skin. More lying back on cold tables covered in white tissue paper. I told my doctor what was happening: or rather, what wasn't. Two months and no change. And I got one of those looks again. Oh, and some new digestive complications too. That's been going on two months or more, too. Another frown. I told her I had already scheduled an appointment with the gastroenterologist again. August 25.

I was sent to the lab again; the phlebotomist and I are familiar to one another now. Once we knew the results, my doctor would know what our next steps would be.

On Tuesday, I stayed home from work. I was worn out. I felt overwhelmed with sadness and confusion; my anger had worn me out and my boss was kind enough to give me a mental health day. I slept in, I drank my coffee out on the back porch. I made a second cup. I read my Bible and I journaled. The words weren't as angry this day.

It was shortly after 10 a.m. that things changed. I suppose they changed a little before that, but that is when I made my discovery. The two chronic complaints? Let's just say things are working as they should. The things that weren't working started working then (at the same time) and they are still working. My digestive and other (formerly chronically troubled) body systems are normal and functioning as they were designed to function. [Cue loud music and exuberant dancing around the house.]

Yes, you better believe I danced that morning. I'm still going to be vigilant, still going to follow-up with my physicians, but ... yeah. Things are good right now. And that's really good news.

As for the lab results, I received the official word today: even my thyroid is back to normal.

So thank you, people of God, for bathing me in prayer, for lifting me up to the Almighty. Less than 24 hours between the time I posted and the time God chose to extend His healing toward me. You were on it.

He turned my mourning into dancing, my weeping into laughter. This is your party, too.

Anyone wanna dance with me??

sunrise photo by kirsten.michelle

love-joy-squeal fest

As if it weren't lavish & glorious enough that Christianne is coming to see me, this gorgeous girl is coming too. At the same time!!

You should see the pinch marks!! Not sure what God is up to here, but whatever it is, I can tell you two things: it is very good, and it humbles the heck out of me.

I'm with you, Sarah: I think I must be dreaming.

sharing the love

When I first began blogging in November of 2006, it was only after a couple months of blog voyeurism. I was constantly peeping in anonymously at the blogs of a few college friends, silently admiring their ability to share and express in so public a sphere. It only occurred to me a couple months later that I could start my own. When I finally started lattes & rainy days [after a day or two of agonizing over what my blog should be titled and then over whether I had anything blogworthy to publish], it was primarily as a way of reconnecting with those friends from college, hearing about weddings, seeing pictures of their growing babies, being reintroduced to them in their everydays, and welcoming them into my own.

And now it has become something so much fuller and more rewarding than I ever expected it to be; I have reconnected with old friends and formed new connections that are soul-deep and life-transforming. I have been stunned by the perceptions and insights of those who, whether or not they've met me, somehow get me, know me from the inside out. It is utterly disarming to be confronted with the reality that someone else has shared your doubts, fears, questions, and not only doesn't judge you or look down on you for it, but offers ways of looking at at the whole sweep of things that you hadn't thought of before. These are people who offer themselves with transparency and honesty, and in doing so, gift me a gift unlike any other. In short, these are people that give me a glimpse at the face of God.

Little things [like blogs] in the hands of a great big God ... this is nothing I have created, but something that has been handed to me, this amazing gift I treat with great care as something precious that I don't want to break.

There are so many I can think of who I could recognize and who would be deserving of such recognition; much of my blogroll, in fact. But if I consider who I've leaned on most, who has provided more support than I'd dare ask for, who act as a mirror for me, who have unabashedly offered me the gifts of themselves, who offer me a glimpse at the face of God, and encompass all those things described above, then the answer is obvious: I am passing the love on to Christianne and Terri: never were more kindred spirits found. Both fast friends, writers and artists, tender-hearted and humorous, honest, beautiful women who manage to understand me when all I offer is a confused spew of words usually followed up by "you know?" or something equally intelligent. These are two people for whom I weep with gratitude, who have come alongside when I needed it most, who add fuel to my fire.

Others who most definitely make my day (and fit all those descriptions as described in the second paragraph):
23 Degrees: Insightful, humorous, honest. So perceptive and encouraging, often giving me the gift of words where my own have failed me.
Nathan: As raw and real a person as you'll ever meet; honest, terribly insightful, and one heck of a writer.
Carl: Always ready with a thoughtful word and frequently lightens my day with his humor.

I am delighted to know you all!

P.S. Have you noticed that it's less than 2 weeks until I go to Florida to visit Christianne?!!?

Breaking the Funhouse Mirror

One of the things I simultaneously love and loathe about being in relationship with others is how you are reflected back to yourself. Let’s face it – the reflection isn’t always pretty when someone who can lend some objectivity to your you-ness shows you what he’s seeing. There are days I’d much rather have my relationships function as a kind of funhouse mirror, but in reverse: distort and manipulate the truth so that what is reflected back to me is what I want to hear, what I want to see, a supermodel picture of spiritual and relational perfection – not the impalatable, hard-to-digest, I’m-really-quite-deformed-and-deficient-and-all-out-of-proportion truth.

But getting a truthful look at yourself is essential to seeing and knowing what needs to change, what needs improvement, what needs a tune-up, and what requires a complete overhaul. And while others may have an unmitigated ability to examine themselves critically and with utter honesty, I find I am fond of subconsciously (and sometimes not-so-subconsciously) convincing myself that I’ve got my stuff together. In other words, I sometimes need other people to tell me when I’m full of crap.

When you have a friend who possesses a blatant, unapologetically no-holds-barred variety of honesty, all I can say is, watch out and in the same breath, thank God! Honesty is a quality that many value but in my own experience, few exercise to its full potential (I include myself in this) because not only is there difficulty for the recipient, but it also requires a measure of risk for the one who speaks it. It is a delicate matter to speak the truth with tact and in love to another child of God. It is much easier to let things slide, kick your feet up and allow the friendship to coast, the ills of another remaining unidentified and unchallenged.

I once heard a pastor say, you are contributing to or contaminating your relationships one hundred percent of the time. The statement struck me as odd, but the more I allowed it to roll around my brain, the more I grasped its truth. While I may not be actively contaminating a relationship with my words or behavior, I am contaminating it if I contribute nothing toward it. If I do nothing to sustain its life, I am ensuring its death.

So I am thankful for the friend who is helping me learn this these days, who tells me the truth even when it might be painful to hear, and encourages me to reciprocate. As uncomfortable as these conversations might be at times, they are drawing me into the fullness of myself. It is helping me to identify those parts of me that are all too human and decidedly un-Christlike. Knowing this, I can choose to surrender them at the foot of the cross so Christ can give me the new self He has created for me, the self created in the “righteousness and holiness of the truth” (Eph. 4:24).

This is part of how we grow and live in love in the Body of Christ. This is how we attain maturity in Christ’s Body. To avoid it is to become careless and callous; to avoid it is to contaminate it and by extension, ourselves.

I think St. Paul says it best:

… if indeed you have heard Him and have been taught in Him, just as truth is in Jesus, that, in reference to your former manner of life, you lay aside the old self, which is being corrupted in accordance with the lusts of deceit, and that you be renewed in the spirit of your mind, and put on the new self, which in the likeness of God has been created in righteousness and holiness of the truth. Therefore, laying aside falsehood, SPEAK TRUTH EACH ONE of you WITH HIS NEIGHBOR, for we are members of one another.
Ephesians 4:21-25 (NASB)

We are members of one another, friends. Grace and peace be with you.