Tuesday, July 15, 2014

and now, for a brief commercial break

Many blogs contribute to the livelihoods of their writers through sponsors who pay to be mentioned in blog entries. Some writers do this really well, and I actually look forward to their sponsor posts; other writers annoy me so much at sponsorship time that I stop reading their blogs altogether.

This blog contributes to my sanity rather than my livelihood, so there are no sponsors to whom I am beholden for support. However, in keeping with the generic convention that blog posts sometimes tell you where your money can go, I'm going to use this space to tell you about the causes that I sponsor in hopes that you, dear reader, might be inspired to contribute, too.

I promise not to do this often, definitely not more than once a year. To be honest, I'm not sure why I'm doing it now, except that I'm really excited about what Stephanie and Mark and Bob & Taylor and Rob & Kirsten are doing, and I'm proud of what my modest contributions help to accomplish.

1. I support Stephanie Pearl McPhee because she makes me laugh. Her blog Yarn Harlot offers up a constant supply of the spice of life.
I had to buy a new [air mattress] on account of the fact that last year I took my knitting into the tent with me, and my dpn poked a hole in the air mattress. The only reason Jen didn’t kill me that night was because she’s a knitter too. This year we have a “no needles in the tent” rule that seems reasonable to both of us.  There’s not much that can make the rally harder, but sleeping (or not sleeping) on rocks is right up there.
Stephanie, her best friend Jen, and her daughters are riding with team Psychlopaths in PWA's Friends for Life bike rally from Toronto to Montreal (7/27 - 8/1) to raise funds for AIDS support.

2. I support the American University's United Methodist Community because it was my spiritual home on campus, and because the Reverend Mark Schaefer's sermons continue to inspire me to question and to think about my faith. My experiences there helped to create the person that I am, and many of the relationships that sustain me now started there because
We aim not to be simply a place of worship, or a place to study faith, or even a place to serve, but to be a community in which all the elements of faith are lived out fully. And part of building community is building real and authentic relationships with one another. So whether we’re spending time in worship or prayer, or lending a sympathetic ear, or grabbing a bite to eat or going out to see a movie, we are intent on building real relationships that will be a source of strength and comfort.
Mark is raising funds for the ministry this summer by riding his bike around Lake Ontario.

3. I support Friendly Planet Missiology because they give me hope for peace and community in the aftermath of war. Bob, Taylor, and their Congolese counterparts
work alongside local community leaders as they create unique solutions to local problems. Each village is different in personality and assets, and yet, all have the kind of creative wisdom it takes to turn their lives around. 
While their work is now in the Democratic Republic of Congo, I hope that their methodology can spread to other conflict zones. Contributions can be made on their website.

4. I support the Huss Project because it makes my city a better place. By repurposing an abandoned school lacking heat, air conditioning, and running water and located in a difficult neighborhood, Rob and Kirsten and their team are building a space for community to flourish.
We hope that the Huss Project can become a space that illuminates imaginative possibilities for people of faith living into God’s Kingdom in a particular time and place.  We hope that people from throughout North America will converge there with their stories and questions about Christianity as a way of life to inspire and learn from one another.  We hope that the neighborhood around the Huss Project will experience God’s goodness through all five senses as they participate in activities that engage the body, mind and soul.  We hope that a community kitchen and garden, arts programming, off-campus opportunities for college students and other projects will exist in playful synergy and that such synergy will provide rich soil for experiential, connected, imaginative learning by people of all abilities and backgrounds.
Saturday, July 19th is their fifth annual Future Fest, and I'm looking forward to seeing the progress that has been made so far and to glimpsing the dreams that are to come. Contributions can be made here.

So, dear reader, thanks for letting me share these causes and organizations with you. I hope that I haven't annoyed you so much that you stop reading altogether. Please consider contributing your prayers and gifts, or even your service, if you're in one of the right places. If there is a cause that is close to your heart, put a link in the comments.

P.S. I apologize for the mixed bag of fonts in the block quotes. I tried to make them all conform, but the HTML defeated me.

Monday, July 14, 2014

conflict

The news these days is dominated by stories of conflict. In Syria. In Gaza. In Iraq. In Ukraine. In the US Congress. On the steps of the Supreme Court. In Indiana.

In so many cases, conflict is perpetuated by misuse of religion. It is  beautiful when faith is the guiding  principle of discipleship and reverence for the creation. It is horrific when faith is twisted into a tool for violence and destruction.

It is unfortunate that in the midst of conflict, when we most need our principles to guide us, human beings are most likely to surrender to our emotions. We let anger and fear take control of our actions. We demand retribution instead of offering forgiveness. We forget that the Other is also a Self.

At Velveteen Rabbi today, Rachel Barenblat wrote:
I have been watching the news (and reading blog posts and tweets and Facebook updates) out of Israel and the Palestinian territories with a sense of unbearable heartbreak. It brings me to the brink of something like a panic attack: my chest tightening, my throat choked with tears, the embodied feeling that the grief will wash me away altogether. And I am aware that those who live there are experiencing something far more powerful.
The only thing which brings any comfort is poetry and prayer. Bethlehem Blogger posted A prayer in times of violence, which though it is explicitly Christian speaks to me nonetheless. Wendell Berry's poem The peace of wild things speaks right to my heart. I daven the oseh shalom blessing -- "may the One Who makes peace in the high heavens make peace also for us" -- with particular fervor.
To prayer and poetry, I would add music.




I have faith that one day will come. 

Today the news of conflict I've been reading has been accompanied by updates from a friend traveling through a region of the Democratic Republic of Congo that was ravaged by war in recent years but is now home to community and hope.

UMC Kyubo, DR Congo. Photo credit: Bob Walters, Friendly Planet Missiology




fear

Last year, several weeks after my husband died, I had dinner with an old friend whose summer travels brought him past Rambling Farmhouse. At the end of the evening, as we made our farewells with a hug, I suddenly felt safe, and it was such a relief. Until that moment, I had not realized what a frightening place my world had become or the degree to which  fear was informing my decisions. Though the world was no less frightening when the hug was over, that brief solace made it possible for me to see, and seeing is the first step toward coping.

I used to say that I had lost my invincibility when I became a mother. In the moment that I realized another being depended on me for sustenance and protection, I suddenly became aware of how vulnerable human beings are, how we take risks as we live our daily lives. It was frightening at first, but life is worth the risks, and I learned to live with this new awareness.

I thought that motherhood had allowed me to see through the illusion of my own invincibility, but widowhood showed me that the illusion of invincibility, albeit in fainter form, was still with me. Part of the tenacity of the illusion comes from the way we talk about risk, I think. When we hear statistics like the risk of death in a car accident is 1 in 6,700, it's easy to disregard the one. That one will be someone else, someone distant, someone unconnected to us. But someone has to be the one.

It has been harder to learn to live with the new awareness of vulnerability this time, in large part because I don't have a partner to lean on.

Though I recognize that fear is a normal part of grief, I find that it manifests itself in unexpected ways:

Like the way my mind gets caught in a hamster wheel of worry and doubt over things that shouldn't be worry worthy.

Like the way I avoid making estate-related phone calls because I imagine they will be awful, even though they are almost always less bad than I build them up to be.

Like the way I don't send pages to my dissertation committee because I worry they will say my work is awful.

Like the way I make poor choices about how to spend my work time because finishing my degree is frightening, even though I simultaneously really want to be done.

Everything is harder when lived through the lens of fear.

I sometimes wonder if we need the illusion of invincibility, if it is that illusion that allows us to rationalize the risks that we take every day. I'm not sure, though. Perhaps it's not an illusion of invincibility that we need, but confidence in our resilience.

Friday, July 4, 2014

a glimpse of ferocity

These are my fierce shoes. I wear them when I need to remind myself that I am awesome and powerful.


Most recently, I wore them to do estate paperwork at the bank. It went well. 

Thursday, June 26, 2014

angry

The way we Americans talk about the stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) makes them seem like a linear process, but the experience of grief is anything but direct. Labyrinthine would be a better word, perhaps. Recursive is also not inappropriate.

For most of the last year, I've just been sad. Not really depressed, not bargaining, not in denial, just sad.


Lately, though, I'm angry.

I'm angry at Adam.

I hate all the tasks that are suddenly my job.

I'm frustrated by the estate process.

I resent my continued responsibility for Adam's things when he is no longer here to be my partner.

Adam's forgetfulness and his disorganization, the things that always drove me crazy, are still problems, but his wisdom and helpfulness no longer mitigate them.

This last year, for the first time, I felt like my marriage had compromised my career, and I'm not even married anymore.

I'm angry that he left me. He reneged on our deal.


I know that Adam's death was an accident, and that he didn't leave me by choice. Really, I do. But grief is not rational. Logic is not operative in this wilderness, and, in truth, there are far worse targets for my anger than someone who is not here to feel it.

 I get to be angry.

a glimpse of midlife

It used to be that the yellowed paperbacks in my life had come into my hands with their own history, having been read and loved and given up by someone else first.


This was new when I bought it.



Tuesday, June 24, 2014

sable letter

Typeface from Charbase http://www.charbase.com/1d4b2-unicode-mathematical-script-capital-w
Sometimes lately I feel like I have a giant black W tattooed in the center of my chest below my collarbone. 

Sometimes it aches. Like when I spend time with couple friends and feel lonely. Or when the kids are being awesome, and Adam isn't there to see it. 

Sometimes it burns. Like when people ask "how are you" more for their own benefit than for mine. I know they are trying to be compassionate and helpful, but this is not compassion.

My closest and best friends, the ones with whom I actually want to talk about Things and Stuff and Feels, rarely ask. Instead, they wait for me, knowing that when I have something I need to say, I will find them, and they will make themselves available.

Because here's the thing, asking is an implicit command for me to perform my grief, and that is not helpful. I refuse to access my vulnerability on command. I refuse to perform my grief so that someone else can feel more comfortable with theirs. 

There's been an uptick in these interactions as the one-year mark approaches, and it pisses me off.   

I get it. If you are grieving Adam's death, this week is hard. But I refuse to occupy the hole he left in your life. I refuse to be sucked into your stage of grief, because it's yours, not mine.  And I'm not sorry for protecting myself this way.