Failure

Failure.
There’s something funny about writing this word after two weeks of feeling it.

No, not the debilitating feeling of those whose failure (or perceived failure) cripples them, leaves them laying in a heap of their own decided helplessness. My failure is more like the dull ache of disappointment that comes and goes like the pain in my left shoulder. I don’t deceive myself–this is only because I’m young.

For a long time, I said I believed that no one could fail unless they truly gave up, just stopped trying.

But then I watched as I spiraled into myself, after only a few months of “failing.”

I gave up, …kind of. And then I gave over.

It’s funny how prepositions change everything.

Recent failure: I didn’t complete my mission: 4 blogs, 4 weeks. I got busy. I forgot my computer (for a week). I went on vacation, had bad time management, and stupid forgetfulness. I failed.

And, I think I’m okay with it.

Because maybe it’s less about failing, and more about how you handle it.

Week Two: Open Mindedness

You’re probably less open-minded than you think.

This statement pops into my head, as I whip up my favorite protein smoothie. Okay, where did that come from? Amidst thoughts about yogurt, the loudness of my blender, and the brilliance of dark chocolate, it seems a bit out of place.

But my mind goes with it. And I’m thinking the ideas and teachings and philosophies and how they are just one or a few people’s thoughts, that a few more people believed, replicated, adhered to,…

Before we know it we have doctrines, traditions, sub-cultures and sub-sub-cultures. We have groups of people with titles, denominations, a language all their own. We have people who fit the mold perfectly and those who are cast out and find a better fit. And these groups begin to grow, shift, weed out the unbelievers, and eventually, we have masses of people who think the same.

I am not the exception.

I fit into one, or several of these (and this is how I’m picturing them now) robotic sub-cultures. Take in and spit out, follow the code, use the lingo, question little, spread the vision, remember the code!

It’s like stale manna. The heavenly bread that the Ancient Israelite were told to never hoard, but instead collect it every day. Instead of new bread, new provision from above, they tried to store it.
It was full of maggots the next day.

How am I saved then from eating moldy bread, from just consuming and regurgitating what I’m given?

I don’t know.

So, starting point: humility. (It seems to always come back to this)

I don’t know it all. I hardly know much, actually. Things I do know, letting myself question them. Can I/should I/How do I re-learn?

And then: recognition.

I cannot step outside of my upbringing, culture, religious background, or experiences any more than I can step out of my skin. (you can’t either) I will not come to anything untainted, free, a blank slate. I will not be the exception, as much as I try.

So: surrender.

Maybe just ask questions?
Be okay with mystery?
Go to my community and listen more than I speak. Go to other communities, other sub-cultures and listen more than I speak.
Read the Word like it’s alive. Ask the Spirit for something fresh. Learn, despite my hard heart and harder head.

Wait for the manna.

————————————————————————————————————————————–
Jesus said to them, “Very truly I tell you, it is not Moses who has given you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is the bread that comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”

“Sir,” they said, “always give us this bread.”
Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life.
-John 6:32-35

Treat kindly every miserable truth that knocks begging at your door, otherwise you will some day fail to recognize Truth Himself when He comes in rags.–AUSTIN O’MALLEY, Keystones of Thought

Thanks to my beautiful friend, Charisa, who talked with me about stale manna, in terms of God revealing Himself, giving himself each and every day.

Week One: Humility

I’ve decided (again) that I need more structure in my life. More consistency and dedication.

There’s a problem though. As bossy as I am, I suck at telling myself what to do.

But I’m going to try this (again). “This” being commitment. For every week in June I am going to blog at least once on one topic. That’s at least 4 posts on 4 different subjects. So this means I can’t just rant about my day or write bad poetry. Yep. Here goes…

Week one.

Humility

I have two friends who frequent my backyard this summer. One, a lazy hare whose bed is the clumps of downy earth exposed by our lack of care, the other, a Cardinal.

“Prideful birds,” my mother said, pointing to the red streak on the highest branch of my childhood.

My friend though, hops absently on the earth, idles, then alights to nearby shrubs (so unkempt, they may even be overgrown weeds along our fence).

There is, I should mention, an incredible Maple tree which shadows are whole yard. I must point my chin to the sky to find it’s tallest branches.

My friend now sings on a haphazard pile of fallen branches we’ll soon burn. For a moment, I wonder why.
But it’s simple.

He forgets himself.

trying to write

Sometimes I just need to listen.

To the Spirit, first,
who is always whispering
Come, Rest
and today is saying
I am always the river, running through
your dry riverbed

To the lake, hushing itself in the breeze.
And the four year old, who takes my hand before she sleeps, holds it to her cheek

To people…

“sometimes God seems so far away i feel i have to yell myself hoarse to get him to hear me. and other times, he seems as close as a bird on my shoulder, singing beautiful songs to me, and softly touching my face with his feathers.”
-emily wierenga- inked…

our very bodies bear the mark of our interdependence.

permanently pressed into our skin is the sign that we belong to one another,
by

–tara pohlkotte- intertwined: on why we have bellybuttons

Candlelight

“Your word is a lamp onto my feet and a light unto my path.”
“Sometimes all we’re given is a crappy Bic lighter…”

The blood in my cheeks rises to kiss the water in my eyes.
We are all sitting in this tight wood-paneled room. We’ve come for six weeks to explore our personality, gifts, and strengths.
Finally, it’s the end.
And I still don’t know where I’m going. Still. Even knowing who I am.

“I was hoping to fix myself. Or at least know myself…so I could fix the situation.
And be happy.”
I say it and realize it all at once.
The frustration feels like a rope coiled in my chest.

Haven’t I been here before?

Our facilitator looks at me, knowingly. Nodding. She tells us a story of her father’s 1,000 candle floodlight. How it was so bright she could send signals in the sky to her neighbors. That’s what we want, she says.
I know that’s what I want. Something simple, strong, and luminous.

And then she says, “But sometimes all God gives us is that crappy Bic lighter. You know?–the one that doesn’t always start right.” Yes, I know. The one that sends a single candle of flame to burst open the dark. And it’s just long enough—barely long enough—to see your fingers, the tips of your tennis shoes, the shadowed face of Someone next to you.

Prayer: In sparks God, You say to follow in darkness is the only true trust. Help me.

Meditation:

Thanks, Naty of HopeCC, my home away from home.

Thick Layers

You can’t wonder why love’s wearing thin when you’re wearing a thick layer of self.- a holy experience

There are few articles of clothing I have dearly loved in my life. I guess there’s my favorite jeans that I finally retired to the goodwill bag (2 years too late, I’m afraid.) Then there’s the softest, most cuddly shirt on earth (a giant hammy down Cubs t-shirt from 1980-something), and finally the silky purple basketball warm-up my auntie gave me (and I recently returned so she could give it to her daughter).

So although Cubs is still with me, most of my favies have left me to my stiff and starchy wardrobe. Boo.

And then! Present from Jesus! I discovered the softest, gigantuan, most enveloping coat of all time!!!

It’s my brothers old Air Force-issued parka and it lives in my parents closet. How did I discover this little gem, you ask? Well,… my coat smelled like a Catholic fish-fry (literally) and I desperately needed to air out, so I went a-digging. Alas! Behold! The glory of swimming in puff and silk. Parka-coat, I love you.

In this coat, I am impenetrable. Truly. Try to touch me (I won’t feel it), grab me (fist full of coaty), or even see me (the hood kind of eats up my entire face), and no cigar!! I am elusive. I am sheltered. I am confident I could do very bad things and get away with it.

Soooooo. Thick layers. Yep, good stuff. Except. When it’s thick layers of self. YUCK. (I’m picturing my skin just layering and layering until my whole body looks like one giant, calloused, big toe. Ewww. I do it though. Put my self on. I hide. I protect. I introspect-to-death. I think “ME ME ME ME ME. you. MEEEEEE!” And feel good about the little “you” I threw in there.
BLECH.

Let’s be real. Selfish people sicken us. But we are never the selfish ones. “Gahh, not me! I tithe. I bake things for people. I sometimes share my favorite bag of all-natural wheat crackers. Sometimes.” The truth is it’s freaking natural for us to think about ourselves, because we think within our own minds. It’s downright unnatural to think of others first, to be self-sacrificing. Pooh. Sometimes I just want to quit this Jesus thing because nothing is easy.

But I’m glad we have a pretty rad and divine Helper. Okay, Holy Spirit, I need your help. So thanks for this verse and the reminder that you love in a self-less, vulnerable way. We can too.

“[Wake Up from Your Sleep]Watch what God does, and then you do it, like children who learn proper behavior from their parents. Mostly what God does is love you. Keep company with him and learn a life of love. Observe how Christ loved us. His love was not cautious but extravagant. He didn’t love in order to get something from us but to give everything of himself to us. Love like that.” Ephesians 5:1 MSG

peace!

ways of ice and dying

My mom just called me. Again.

This is a woman whose grey-blue eyes can be as cloudy as mount Sinai and yet fill so swiftly with tears for another. I cannot keep up.

“Hennepin County just issued a thin ice warning. Don’t go driving out there tonight.” She’s good at that. Reminding me to be afraid.

I receive this instruction while reading some Proverbs.

“Listen to advice and accept instruction, that you may gain wisdom in the future.”
“Cease to hear instruction, my child, and you will stray from the words of knowledge.”

Okay. I will listen.
But this too…

“The fear of the Lord leads to life, and whoever has it rests satisfied; he will not be visited by harm”
“Many are the plans in the mind of a man. but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand. “

So I’m wondering. What’s the formula? How much instruction is really to my soul’s benefit? And how much can I really logically plan everything out? Where should my greatest fears fall, my strongest allegiances lie?

Where my musing led…

To the woman who carried me first, and forever holds me.
Yes, Mother. I am afraid.

Afraid for my life–that the sunshine of close friends, hot coffee, warm hands holding mind– it will all be lost. And the comfort of a wooden church bench, a memorized dirt path, your own hands cupping my face,—lost too.
Yes, Mother. We are not talking about driving on ice, anymore.

We are talking about walking on water.

About moving forward, towards Him, the Man whose hand is always outstretched.
He tells me it will be okay, to hold His hand (tightly now) and walk to where he’s hewn a hole in the ice. He did it once, too. Plunged in. The pain of feet, and hands, and eyelids growing numb, your whole mind and soul screaming for breath. But then, (He knows it’s true) the wavering orb of light that you watch on the surface,
it falls,
ignites into flame,
comes and crowns you
to see and smell and hear and feel, again. Or for the first time.

And to You, The Lover of my Soul, I say,
I find I cannot walk to you.
Even with the winds and waves suffocated beneath the ice.
I can see the circle you drew in the snow. And I know you will do the carpenter’s work and carve it when I come.

And to Me, the Lover says,
I will hold you as
we descend.

Kill fear. check these out
http://www.aholyexperience.com/category/fear/
http://www.jumptandem.net/search?q=fear

Rest

This story could be about suffering or pain. To me it’s about rest. I pray we all learn to truly–body, heart and soul– rest.

I will make them lie down…

My father sits with his head down next to the hospital bed. His hand rests lightly on my forearm. It is just us, so when he speaks of his mother—her restfulness in life—he allows his eyes to run over.

I can feel where the synthetic tubes enter and leave me, can feel the cold fluids pass into me, the constant thrum of pain behind my skin, in tandem with my heart.
I can also feel his thumb. Moving slowly, moving in circles on my arm.
He will comfort me. This man without a mother.
“I’m sorry,” he says, “for the pain.”
I cannot speak, so together, we weep.

Come lie down in meadows green. Come lie
as only lovers
and those dying do.

She dies when I lie, fever beating behind my eyes, face and neck and eyelids swollen to shine red. She feels the expand—this earth’s air—filling her lungs for the last time.
I am glad for her going.

I will lie here and let all my bones–all my strength and sorrow– melt into you.

I have a choice, now. I can fight to speak, fight to swallow without shuddering. I can let thoughts of golden streets distract me–so I am never really here, never really hurting.
Or I can slip out of my tattered facade, leave it in a heap on the floor and own
my heavy robe of weakness.
I decide.
Feel my body and mind unravel into His chest. Feel the fraility of my simple, changing frame. He is always true,
today, in weakness, I am too.
I find my rest.

Things on rest (that I love): Hibernation, thoughts on rest from a friend, AND
this great poem by Mary Karr

Read

Suddenly I had the urge to write. Anything and everything and not really care how put together it was. I realized I often have this urge. So I created a new category of things and words that are very unrefined. Have fun.

The pages of your mind, unfolding,
are covered in dust.
You are taught to think in alphabetized ways. Or not taught
at all.

You could blame them–someone–
for feeling so upside down.
But you know you’ve been
standing on your hands when they bring
the spoon to your mouth.

It’d help, if they could read you. And you’re easily read
left to write, top to bottom,
like stacks of old encyclopedias.

Living Free From Addictions: Step 3: Entering the Process

I’m not much of an “answers” person. So I don’t have the final answer, and won’t even try to, when it comes to living completely free.

But I do know in absolute surety, it’s a process.

If I’ve acknowledged the addiction, named it, (step 1) and then admitted what I really want and desire and chase after–happiness (step 2). Then I still have to go through the process of free living. Your process will probably be different than mine.

Here’s a few steps we can all take…
1. Tell somebody, even if it seems stupid. e.g. “I’m addicted to my phone. Don’t want to be. Can you keep me accountable?”
2.Watch for the whole ditch and switch. Sometimes we ditch one addiction and switch it out for another. Be mindful.
3. Dwell on truth: Real happiness (what we really) is found where our roots are.

I don’t need to be doing something “meaningful.” I need to be rooted where all streams, fountains, and waters coalesce. Jesus. He’s my living water. He’s yours. Even if you don’t know Him yet.

I’m in a drought. But, as my buddy Keller said, There’s something about a drought… that makes you reach your roots down even deeper.

And I know where my roots are reaching, there is no end to His depth.

Love and peace.

Meg Writes Life

stories & essays on life and living with loss

Author: Megan