Venn Diagrams

Experiences--can we ever really say we've been there? Can we ever really say we absolutely with 100% certainty know how someone feels? Can we say we've had the very same experience? Can we ever really experience anything the same way as someone else? I think the answer is no, and I think that is extremely painful when you see someone you love in pain. It is all the more painful when you know you're close to knowing; there are similarities, there are crossovers, but the truth, the absolute bottom line painful gut wrenching truth is that no matter how much I want to know, no matter how much I want to take the pain, experience the pain myself, I can't.

I can say I have been and I am lonely. I know the pain of feeling not connected. I have felt it before, and I feel it now. I know how hard it is to be "on" all the time, to feel you're on a perpetual first date. I know how hard it is to hear other people talk about all their plans and their friends and know that if I want something to happen, I have to do the work. I have known and I know now how it feels to feel that you don't belong. And I know how it feels to feel that you've been left behind. Those are our overlaps. There's where our circles meet.

But I don't know what thoughts are going through your head or what hurts are in your heart. I hear you talk, but I can't climb into the corners of your heart and see the words that you cannot even speak. I can't feel the pain you have for which you have no words. I don't know how those feelings manifest within you.

Because we are not the same. We are connected, we cross over; we overlap, but we are different. I must honor your difference. I must honor that you are a person with your own feelings, thoughts, needs, desires, wants, and even pain. To try to put your circle within mine is to deny your goodness; it is to deny your uniqueness as a child of God. It is, in fact, to deny your personhood. To deny that, regardless of the benevolent intent, is to deny Christ in you.

But where our circles meet I will always be. That is where we honor the similarities and hold the difference. It is the place we stretch to when there is no one or no where else to be. And I am not now nor will I ever leave you in your pain alone.

Shattered Grief

You look at me and don't see the deep pain that is coursing through my body. I'm not throwing myself on the ground or screaming. I'm standing, stock still with a smile on my face, so no one knows that every breath I take feels as though it is a knife ripping through my soul. No one can see the open wounds that pepper my heart and my mind. The wounds that ooze ever so slowly poisoning my memories. I look fine; I act fine; it is how I am surviving. I can't talk about it, and no one can touch me. Because if you do, I will shatter into a thousand pieces, and there will be nothing left of me.

Living out a theology

It's hard to live out a faith in our daily lives, but sometimes an opportunity comes that's so obvious and yet so easily missed.

Chris coaches the elementary basketball team, and Caroline and William both play. We have several players that wouldn't be able to play if Chris didn't get them to and from practice and games. Most game days we have them just ride the bus home with our children.

Last week we had a game on Thursday. I was in the middle of an intense course; I knew there would be lots of homework; and everyone was tired. That morning I put together a spaghetti casserole in the crock pot and headed off to the grocery store for paper plates, garlic bread and gatorade. I was just going to serve it quickly and get through the night. Weaving through the aisles I realized that this was an opportunity to live out the Eucharistic theology I love so much. So, I passed up the cheap paper plates, color coordinated cups, napkins, and plates and went home.

Every Sunday I set the table for Eucharist at three services. I love doing this; it is a very special, humbling and sacred time for me. At home, I decided to set the dining room table for these children with as much reverence as I do each Sunday. I wanted to serve these children with as much care as I would anyone else that came to our home. I set the table with a color coordinating pattern, set candles out and got ready for the children.

The children all gathered around the table; I lit the candles; we held hands and said the blessing. Each child brought something to the table--we had humor, compassion, sensitivity, seriousness, fun, and a lot of love. As I looked around, I thought this is the same thing as the communion table--a place where we all are equal, where we all are worthy, where we all are children of God in our similarities and in our difference. I hope they felt it too.

A Journey Home

Living in different places can bring energy, excitement, and experience to one's life. With each new place comes new friends, new customs, new ideas; it builds on a person layer by layer. As each layer is added, it seems as if the base will be forgotten. Perhaps the base isn't recognized by new friends, but it's there.

You know it's there because it's the layer closest to your heart. It's the place that feeds you and makes you whole. It's the place you KNOW defines you--it's who you are. It's the blood coarsing through your veins that makes your heart beat; it's not just where you're from, it's a part of you. A part of you that can't be washed off or unlearned. Time and distant can bury it deeper and deeper, but it's always there simmering and waiting to erupt.

Heading back, with every mile, I feel the layers being shed. The weight begins to lift; a weight that came on so gradually I didn't recognize it until it began to slide off. An energy begins to flow through my veins, a lighter heart, a peaceful soul. It's amazing that the gradual unnoticed buildup oozes off so quickly. Crossing the state line, without having realized I've been holding my breath all these months away, I can finally exhale. I'm home.

Lessons from a child

Several weeks ago, Caroline and her friends got a hankering to collect money for charity. They chose three recipients--one girl's daddy was running in a race for breast cancer, a seminary staff member's house had burned and there was a collection being taken, and good will. They constructed boxes to be placed in all the apartment stair wells complete with signs explaining what they were doing and who would receive the money. They asked everyone they saw. Most people threw in coins--you'd be amazed at how it added up.

Each girl became responsible for delivering the money to the appropriate place. Caroline got good will. Fast forward three weeks----

Caroline asked me to take her to Good Will to deliver the money. Good will is not on my beaten path, so I've been putting her off. The other day we were driving and I suggested to Caroline that instead of giving the money to good will, perhaps we could donate it to the Karen refugees a ministry through our church. I thought this was a brilliant idea as Caroline has given some of her clothes and toys already. Plus she's met some of these children when they attended Bible School. I convinced myself I was trying to help her make a connection but honestly, it would also be easier for me.

Caroline said, "That's a great idea Mommy, and I know they could use it. I'll have to start another charity drive because when I collected this money I told the people it would be going to Good Will and it wouldn't be right to change that without their knowing."

Gone

I'm very sad. The old chipped coffee cup from 2000 is gone. One got lost in the move and the other fell off my desk this morning (I was trying to save the computer from falling off.) Silly I know, but I cried. It was my friend and part of my life; it held many memoriesand many needed cups of coffee. Feels like a door to the past is shut--wonder what the future will bring? I know I'm going to need a new coffee cup to travel that road with me.

Swirling Thoughts

Three ideas swirled through my head on my run today. Following rules, an interview I was listening to, and narrative therapy-

I'm a rule follower--most rules are not made arbitrarily and even if I don't know why they exist, I assume there's a good reason. I've seen the mess that can happen when exceptions are made, and I get very annoyed with people who believe they are always an exception. So I follow rules.

The podcast I was listening to was BBC All Things Considered with an interview with Tony Campolo. He said (and I'm paraphrasing) Jesus doesn't ask us to take on all the problems of the world ourselves. He asks us to do what we can right here and right now. Got me thinking--I'm think a lot about what my ministry will be when I'm through seminary. How can I make the biggest difference? What are my gifts? All questions that are important certainly. But in thinking about the "big picture", I wonder how many snap shots I'm missing right now. Today what would God have me do? Sit with my child who is hurting from teenage drama and just be there regardless of the big project that needs to be finished? I think that's what Jesus would do. (Aside thought that just entered my head--Jesus would take a B over an A if it meant he could be present for someone.)

And narrative therapy. I'm learning about this right now and wondering how it works in practice. Yes we all come from our own social construct, but aren't there some universal? Isn't there some rules to issues of respect and discipline? Does listening to someone's story change the universal rules? Isn't there a right and wrong in some things?

How do these fit together? When we're so busy following rules without listening to people's stories, we can't be Jesus in the present. Sometimes rules were meant to be bent and possibly even broken; not randomly but because of stories. A different perspective.