Lenten Reflection: First Sunday

 I'd like to say that I've been so bitten by the "Lenten Season" bug that I opted for Sunday mass this morning of my own free will. Not really. Joey's 4th grade class mass was today, and so Emily and I were conscripted into attendance.  The readings and homily, however, were exactly what I needed to hear.  Readings about temptation -- about thinking I know what's best for me and forgetting to include God in any plans -- about fearing what I have to lose or stand to not gain -- about lying to myself in my own language.  Good lord, it was just so spot on.

The first reading centered on the temptation in the Garden of Eden. Satan approaches Eve (perhaps believing he could work with her inferior position in the scheme of things) to suggest that the injunction she's been given to not eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil is, for lack of a better word, bullshit. Satan lies to Eve in her own language --the language of fear of not being good enough. John Milton illustrates this exchange so beautifully in Paradise Lost when he delivers the temptation boom in Book IX. After convincing Eve that he, as a serpent, can speak because he himself tasted the fruit of this tree and was greatly improved by it, Satan moves in for the deadly scarcity message:

"Shall that be shut to Man which to the Beast 
Is open? or will God incense his ire
For such a petty trespass, and not praise
Rather your dauntless virtue, whom the pain
Of Death denounced, whatever thing Death be,
Deterred not from achieving what might lead
To happier life, knowledge of Good and Evil? . . .
Why then was this forbid? Why but to awe,
Why but to keep ye low and ignorant,
His worshippers?" (691-7, 703-5)

John Milton, some say, was a bit of an arrogant asshole. But he was indisputably a genius --so, I think he adeptly understood the concept of pride and ego and how Satan (who rebelled against God for the exact same frustration he senses in Eve) could target this trait in her to effect his plan. He lies to Eve in the language of her own fears of insufficiency and wounded ego. "God doesn't think much of you, does he, that he would prohibit you from partaking in this Godlike fruit that he has allowed me--a lowly snake--to eat."  But it's all a lie.  Satan is not a snake.  He has eaten no fruit.  She just doesn't know what she doesn't know.  What she knows is her own sense of self-worth.  And it's fading fast under Satan's postulations.

That was a good first reading today to illustrate how quickly I can be deterred from trusting God's will if I'm only encouraged--for even a short time, by a seemingly credible source--to be afraid of my own inadequacy.

The second reading was taken from the Gospel according to Matthew and features Jesus being tempted by the same Satan who has a knack for turning one's greatest fears against him. Jesus does not buckle, but Satan makes three attempts.  In the first temptation, he hopes to entice Jesus, who has been fasting for over a month in the desert, with food. Jesus draws from the divine scripture to respond.  Satan's second pass is to tempt Jesus to test God--"Hey, if you're so sure of this God of yours, fling yourself off this cliff and see if He saves you!" Jesus again draws from what he knows about holy teachings to respond, "Again it is written, 'You shall not put the Lord, your God, to the test." On his third attempt, Satan goes old school --takes Jesus to the top of a mountain and says, "Look, man--ALL of that can be yours if you just forget about this God (LOVE) of yours and come follow me (FEAR)."  Jesus says, one more time, "It is written: 'The Lord, your God, shall you worship and him alone shall you serve.'"  And so Satan bails, presumably to go find less formidable temptees.

Knowing what we know about Satan (again, read: fear), we know he must have been lying to Jesus in his own language.  Jesus of Nazareth was a human being.  What human can withstand the true pain of starvation hunger? Or the call to place faith in himself and his own ability to manipulate a situation? Or a need to be significant and secure in his own earthly power? Make no mistake. Satan had Jesus' number. But Jesus never broke off from his deep-seeded trust in divine scriptures and the teachings of his faith. He threw his unbroken connection with God right back at Satan and it fortified him against the grip of a universally human fear that sometimes whispers and sometimes screams: "You are not good enough. You are unlovable."

Here's the truth. God is love. Sin is fear. Fear is not evil. It is a human condition. But it can most certainly lead to evil. I have a choice to make every minute of every day--which master I will serve.  Today, I will choose love.

Lenten Reflection: Ash Wednesday

I really love Lent. And I love Ash Wednesday --probably more than Easter. This is the hard work of reflecting on the things that hold us back from being the best version of ourselves (read: fear).

A few years ago, I made a shift in my Lenten season resolves to add in a healthy behavior, rather than just remove an unhealthy behavior. This year, along with removing the excess of sugar and attention/sympathy-seeking, I wanted to add in daily exercise (walking, really) and a regular reflective writing practice.

I blew past the opportunity to write about Ash Wednesday this week, but it is the kick off event for Lent and so should be reflected on and written about, albeit days later. I dug through some old writing and resurfaced a poem written, I believe, back in 2016:

Ash Wednesday

Hers is perfect:  

a beautiful symmetry of crossed ash

revealing the faultless state of her soul.

The black edges blend into the skin,

as if the particles knew not what it meant

to be separate from her brow—

the home of patient expression, 

inexplicable love, and assurance 

in those around her.

Everyone knows her faith today;

her ashen forehead reveals her order,

her inner-peace, her integrity.

Mine is horrid:

a smudge—something like 

marks on police reports—

revealing chaos within.

The muddled blob sits clumsily

until someone remarks:

“You have dirt on your face.”

“No,” I say, knitting my sullied brow,

“It’s Ash Wednesday.”

But the tacit truth remains:

I have dirt on my soul—

disclosed to you now

through the guise of piousness.

I can't say the sentiment has changed in the 7 years since this poem was composed.

Ashes signify the remnants of something that once was but has since passed away. A death and a resurrection. When I take the ashes on my forehead, I surrender to my imperfection and those aspects of myself that need to die so I can be reborn into clearer perspective, kinder action, more compassion and greater connection with my higher power.

Ash Wednesday is a perfect start to a season of growth and movement in the right direction: forward.

"Fit So Nice, He Said I Could Keep It": A Throwaway Line Bears Fruit in a Blog

Preamble disclaimer: If you do not have strong working knowledge of Rob Reiner's The Princess Bride (1987), this blog may not be for you. And, I highly recommend acquainting yourself with it as soon as humanly possible

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Today, while relaying a step-parent situation to my sister, I alluded to Cary Elwes' ridiculous character in the movie Liar, Liar.  This reference, of course, led us almost immediately into a quoting spree of The Princess Bride--landing on this sequence:

Wesley: What I wouldn't give for a holocaust cloak.

Indigo: There we cannot help you.

Fezzik: [pulling such a cloak out of his shirt] Would this work?

Indigo: Where did you get that?

Fezzik: At Miracle Max's--it fit so nice, he said I could keep it.

We laughed at the brilliance of the writing, as we always do, and were about to carry on with our day. But then, I just couldn't let it go.  Under what bizarre circumstances is Fezzik in a position to be modeling this cloak for Max that would prompt the latter to say, "Hey--that looks good on you; you should have it!" Why is he trying on clothes at Max's? Why does this tremendously huge cloak exist in the home of two diminutive spell casters?

So, can we imagine this off-script scene for a second? 

Here's one scenario:

Max is taking in the size of Fezzik.  He's never had a real giant in his place before.  He actually cannot wait to tell the guys at the Retired Wizard's Realm meeting next week about this delightful interruption to his Sunday bickering with his witch wife.  Suddenly, he remembers that ridiculous cloak Valerie's sister knitted for him three Winter Solstice Festivals ago.  What in God's name was she thinking? Anyone could see she should have stopped four bolts of fabric before she did.  In any case, there it sat, in his back closet, with no plans of being worn.  Maybe . . . 

"Fezzik, I think I might have something for you.  Would you follow me, please?"

The giant meekly complies with the request to follow Max down the narrow hallway to his back bedroom and the wizard extracts a tremendous lump of fabric from his closet.

"Please, try it on."

A little confused, but excited about Max's unwavering attention to him, Fezzik slips the cloak onto his shoulders.  Max adjusts the hood and finds, only to Fezzik's surprise, that it fits perfectly.

"I think this fits so nice, you should keep it."

And here's the scenario that makes me giggle with slightly more glee: 

Wesley is lying flat on a table at Miracle Max and Valerie's cottage. Fezzik is just wandering around the house, getting a lay of the land--maybe even snooping through closets.  Something catches his eye--a large, dark cloak with a hood--presumably fourteen sizes too big for any of the occupants of this house.  Fezzik pulls the cloak out of the closet and tries it on.  It really fits well! What he wouldn't give for a holocaust cloak like this?  As he struggles to position himself so the tiny mirror on the wall can reflect his gorgeousness in this cloak back to him, Max walks into the back bedroom.

Fezzik blushes with embarrassment. Not only is he in Max's room, he's wearing his clothes! 

"Oh, I . . . I . . ." Fezzik stutters.

"You know," Max smiles, "that fits so nice--I think you should keep it."

Fezzik beams with pride at his perfect showing, removes the cloak, carefully tucks it into his shirt for a later time, and gratefully accepts the mutton, lettuce, and tomato sandwich Max was coming to bring him.

To Narcissus

 I reflect you

and you fall in love with yourself.

Then I'm protected in your self love

until you remember you hate yourself--

and then you go.

We Wear the Mask: An Experience with Quarantine

(Another blog I began pre-divorce proceedings--originally composed in late April 2020--finished in early April 2021.  We are still in pandemic conditions, but things are looking up with some highly effective vaccines and an eager readiness to get back to "normal" life)

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I haven't blogged in a while, but it seems like a silly thing to do to let a plague pass by and not record something of the things I'm learning through it.  First, let's be clear.   Everything has changed.  There will be a time "before COVID-19" or "Coronavirus" (for after this, there will only be one that people really talk about) and a time after.  One six-month sweep of a highly contagious respiratory infection has changed human life on planet earth as we know it.  Only time will reveal the myriad ways in which this will occur.  But, we can see some at present:

I. Distance Learning: omg.  I feel like I should save this one for later, but it is kind of when my Coronavirus journey began.  And, in truth, this section needs to be split into 1. High School Seniors and 2. Elementary Homeschool.

A. Home Work: The first rule of "working at home" is to establish a work space--preferably one that is removed from the other spaces of your daily living.  I have no such space.  We quickly established the dining room table as our collective work table and dining area (and game-playing area).  I wish I had an office/library/study whereto I could retreat to teach and read and work.  Similarly, I wish my kids had at least their own desks from which to work.  One of the things that makes the homeschooling difficult is that we are all in each other's work space.  I can simultaneously oversee Joey's handwriting exercise and edit a google doc for my daughter's 4th-grade social studies homework.  While that may sound efficient and productive, it's actually confusing and chaotic--a survival state, at best.

B. Homework: By definition, homework is work a student can accomplish on his or her own.  It is meant to prepare for an upcoming lesson, practice a recently acquired skill, or (in some rare cases) extend a lesson.  The latter produces assignments that are fun for teachers to construct and grade, but difficult for students to accomplish.  And, in elementary school, those "extend the lesson" assignments get completed by parents who are involved in their kids' education.
       1. High School Seniors--the homework I have assigned to the students I am teaching is, in some         ways, in this latter category that is little work for the teacher to assign, but a lot of work for the           student to complete.  I have decided to join my students in my own research assignment--and I'm         being very transparent with them, having added them all as "peer reviewers" to my project on             Noodletools (high school teachers, if you are unfamiliar with this research tool, it is a great                 "surveillance" and communication platform--as well as a user-friendly place to record a research         journey).  I truly want the empathy gained from doing an assignment with them.  And, I always           thought, if I wouldn't want to (read, write about, learn) do this, I certainly cannot ask a group               of about 65 17-18 year olds to do it.
       2. Elementary Homeschool--the homework my kids are doing is getting a bit more manageable.
       It took the teachers of my children's school a little time to discover that they simply cannot                   replicate via "distance learning," what they accomplish in the classroom.  If there's one thing this         experience has taught me, it is that real learning happens in a classroom in a way it cannot                   happen at our dining room table--no matter who is involved.  The only recourse teachers have to gauge their students' learning is to administer assessments.  So, teachers have then effectively turned school into the one thing all students hate: homework and tests.  Barf. Rinse. Repeat.

II. Housekeeping: The thing about staying home all time --trash, laundry and dishes . . . in SPADES.  I've never had such difficulty stuffing trash bags into the bin while waiting for pick up day to roll around.  I've never had so many conversations with my children about rewearing pjs and other clothing.  And I've never washed so many frickin dishes in all my days.  It's an interesting glimpse into what life would have been like for the typical middle-class "housewife" of bygone days.

III. Self-Care:  This has been trickier than I thought it would be.  It seems reasonable with nothing but time on our hands and nowhere to go, there would be plenty of time for reading, exercise, meditation, journaling, constructive Netflix documentary binging, etc.  Not so, as it turns out.  There is some nefarious codependent core to my being that concerns itself entirely with managing everyone else's moods and recreation.  When we are all shut up in a house together, that's a lot of other-people management.  My hair has been grayer, my body heavier, my teeth scuzzier in "quarantine," than in any other time of my adult life.  The one thing I was able to do--the ultimate act of self-care--was voice my desire for a divorce.  It's the least codependent thing I've ever done.

Courage to Change

(I began composing this entry in May of 2020--just before I told my husband I wanted a divorce.  As things go, I became consumed by that process and in April of 2021, returning to the blog for probably the first time in almost a year, I finish :-))

I'm in the process of constructing another post specifically about the COVID-19 experience --because pandemic.  But I felt compelled to share on a narrower point that I can only imagine the whole world is facing in this moment-- change.

When is the best time for change?  I think the correct answer to this question is "When you are brave enough?"  None of us was brave in adjusting to pandemic conditions.  It's the same courage it takes to brace for a hurricane.  You do it out of survival.  I'm talking about elective change.  The kind of change it can take a lifetime to enact (or deny) because it entirely hinges on an active choice and consequential force of will.

Through the course of my life, I've generally allowed outside forces to direct my decisions and actions.  As a middle child of five, there was little opportunity to exert my will and be taken seriously.  I came to believe at a young age that decisions were best left to others.  As an adult, I can now see how protective that way of life was for me.  Nothing was ever truly my fault because (I told myself) I was always following someone else's plan.  If it went south--well, at least I couldn't claim "mastermind" status.  As an adult, I can also now see how much this modus operandi hinders me from coming into the fullness of my life and God's plan--the only one that works.

In a secret society I habitually frequent, we open (and sometimes close) meetings with the Serenity Prayer, originally composed by Reinhold Niebuhr in the early 1930s.

God, grant me the serenity

to accept the things I cannot change,

courage to change the things I can,

and the wisdom to know the difference.

I'm quite sure the timing was related to the state of the world during the Great Depression.  Those living between World Wars and in a time of utter economic collapse had no choice but to befriend acceptance --or just off themselves.  The prayer conflates character traits (serenity, courage, and wisdom) with actions (accept, change, know) to produce a handy, portable sanity saver for those in crisis.

Accept the things I cannot change:
Growing up as a middle child in a large family, I never felt I had any power over what was happening "out there."  Someone said "Be at this place, at this time, wearing something like this, and acting something like that," and I pretty much just went along.  We'll call it a survival skill.  It was part of my chameleon costume.  I'll adapt to you.  I'll become whatever it is you need to see to make our encounters as pleasant and conflict-free as possible.  Imagine my surprise, then, when I finally entered a recovery program and someone said, "Part of your problem is your failure to accept life on life's terms."  Whah?  All I do is accept and adapt.  Rinse and repeat. 

Well--not so, it turns out.  I have a major problem accepting what I cannot change--so much so that I would rather numb out to "life on life's terms" than accept things as they are.

Acceptance is a cornerstone of the spirituality I work daily to cultivate.  It is the founding principle of most eastern philosophies and fundamental to the notion of Christian Love.  How can I pretend to love God if I cannot accept His creation or His will?  That kind of conflict of interest can make people crazy, I'd wager.  In need of a step that can restore someone to sanity, even!
What are the things I cannot change today?

• other people (how they think, how they act, what they want, what they say -- none of it)
• a pandemic ravaging the physical, emotional, and spiritual state of the global body
• other people
• the cost of living in the San Francisco Bay Area
• other people (how they think, how they act, what they want, what they say --worth repeating)

Acceptance, like love and service and faith and hope, is a choice I make.  Therein lies my power.  I can choose to accept the things I cannot change and breathe easier as I trudge my way through that process.  Or.  I can fight and resist and kick and scream and cry and lie and steal and cheat and not be any better off, but have caused a lot more wreckage I will need to clean up eventually.  And once I can accept the things I do NOT want to accept -- only then am I free to make a change that might benefit me, and thus, those around me.

Change the things I can:

Three categories surface under this heading and within the realm of "the things I can [change]": Me, Myself, and I.  I struggle with this reality on a daily basis because I continue to bump into others' codependency (a fancy word for the spectrum of human control issues).  So the "changes" I believe I am effecting out there are a delusional fiction.  The only real change, in which I am in need and of which I am capable, is within me.  As the ubiquitous "they" proclaim: "It's an inside job."  

• I can change the way I perceive events.  
• I can change the way I react to the world.  
• I can change the food and media I choose to consume.  
• I can change the people with whom I surround myself.  
• I can change my daily schedule.  
• I can change my spending habits.  

And the most efficient and effective manner in which I come to make these changes exists in a daily prayer routine.  Herein only may I garner a wisdom to know the difference between those things I have a possibility of changing and those resembling a snowball's chance in hell.

Know the difference:

After a lifelong desire to never have a tattoo (primarily, I think, because I was inspired by nothing so much as to have a need to permanently ink it on my skin), I saw one on the inside of a woman's wrist and I immediately knew I needed to have it.  Two words.  Biblical in nature. Be still.  I have heard the quotation countless times, "Be still and know that I am God." The latter part of the excerpt always turned me away from it, but thereIN lies the difference--the knowing--between what I can and cannot change.  I am not God.  I never have been and I never will be.  Whatever God is, I am not it.  After all this time, I have come to know this.  My job, then, is to simply "be still" until I KNOW in which direction I am to walk.

A recent favorite author and fellow secret society member, Glennon Doyle, writes eloquently about knowing.  She devotes an entire chapter to it in Untamed (*shameless reading plug):

                 "[The sage wisdom here doesn't say] 'Poll your friends and know" or "Read books by experts                 and know' or "Scour the internet and know.'  It suggest[s] a different approach to                                           knowing:  Just. Stop.

                 StopMovingStopTalkingStopSearchingStopPanickingStopFlailing.

                 If you stop doing, you'll start knowing . . .

                 What I learned (even though I am afraid to say it) is that God lives in this deepness inside me."

My spiritual malady (otherwise known as the absence of a conscious contact with my higher power) is directly proportional to the amount of external sources from which I am seeking validation and guidance.  I do believe that it is healthy to consult others and bounce my ideas off of a sane and serene sounding board--but, at the end of the cliched day, it is MY life.  And no one can live it for me.  Terrifying :-)

Herein, however, is my saving awareness.  As Cat Stevens melodically sang, "The answer lies within, so why not take a look now."

Too Busy to Be Busy

This piece was published in my school's newspaper as a "teacher column" :-)

Last week, when a beautiful Lancer editor (and former student) approached me and asked if I would like to write a “faculty column” for the newspaper, my first thought was, “I would love to do that!”  My second thought was, “Oh dear Lord, I have zero time for such shenanigans.”  So, of course, I responded, “I’d be happy to.”  After a brief rundown of the specifications and then granted the freedom to write about whatever I want, I smiled and walked away with an old southern self-reproach, “What the heck and the hay are you thinking?”

            Although I frequently recalled my oral agreement over the ensuing days (they aren’t binding, are they?), I put off any actual work on this assignment until—the day it was due.   Every time the task flashed before my mind’s eye, I was obligated elsewhere:

·         tweaking a new research project in my senior class,

·         convincing my sophomores that Nathaniel Hawthorne was not engrossed in some sadistic social experiment when he published The Scarlet Letter,

·         grading essays that were submitted mid-September,

·         writing letters of recommendation for a November 1^st application deadline,

·         finalizing my family’s Halloween costumes,

·         helping my daughter track down sources for her third grade project on Central Plains Native Americans,

·         indulging my five-year old son’s constant desire to have a family Nerf war,

·         apologizing to my dog for another day with no walk,

·         apologizing to Mr. Battle for another day with no run,

·         fielding 25,000 emails

·         cooking, cleaning, laundry, eating, sleeping, driving, voting, and other essential tasks

            I have one burning consolation in this.  I know I am not alone.  The details of “swamped” may vary, but ask anyone you know, “How are you?” and if he or she is willing to honestly go there with you, the response will sound something like, “Good. Really busy.”

In a space and time where what we “have” to do cannibalizes the time we would surely devote to what we “want” to do, there can be only this solution:  you must want to do what you have to do, and you have to do what you want to do.  There is no wiser sage in this than Ferris Bueller who quipped during his famous Day Off from high school (a movie you should definitely take time to watch!), “Life moves pretty fast.  If you don’t stop and look around every once in a while, you could miss it.”

We have an amazing community at Saint Francis—there’s always something fun going on.  And we all have very full lives outside of Saint Francis—family, sports, art, hobbies, spiritual practices, etc..  If, today or tomorrow or any day hereafter, you feel you are stretched too far, spread too thin, headless chickening, or the like, please pause, breathe, and ask yourself, “If the world ended tomorrow, would I consider this a waste of my time?”  If the answer is “yes,” drop that junk like a sack of potatoes.  If the answer is “no,” lean in and have a blast with it.

As I wrap up my miraculously on-time column, I can say with some measure of confidence that I am a better person for taking a few minutes to write, to meet an obligation (would that they were all so pleasurable) and to share myself with my Saint Francis family.