Just Faith, Everyday

Being in the presence of deep and abiding pain side by side with utter joy and openness is a disconcerting experience. Or perhaps it’s awakening, sobering. On a trip to Little Five Points and the Variety Theatre I witnessed both, and felt a bit like I was a traveler moving from the depths of hell into a kind of heavenly door, just witnessing what was before me, attuning myself to my experience. We’d gone into Atlanta to see Foy Vance, and had to our surprise gotten there early enough to have a pre-concert drink and a quick bite. Anyone from Georgia who’s been to Little Five, as most lovingly call it, know the atmosphere is like a pumped up Athens, and the bar/coffee shop we dipped into was a perfect example of that: Java Lords, connected to the side of the theatre. Dark and cozy and strange in its decor, there was something about being in the space that felt both like a circle of hell and a party all at once. A couple of older gentlemen were overtly aiming to get full on drunk for the ...

Sometimes goodbyes just suck. There, I said it. I do know I learn something which each of the many, many goodbyes I have said in my life: the ephemeral of it all, the desperate need we should all have to cherish, the deeps of the darks and the brights of the lights—all of a piece. When I think of all the goodbyes my family alone has said, across ocean and continents, I still feel humbled, even as I feel my farewells with the pain of a thousand needles. That saudade , that old friend I want to kick out the door when she comes ringing. Sometimes I wish I didn’t know what I know when it hurts as it does. Still, every mile, every encounter, every sharing, every gift, every holiday and illness, every loss and gain—all of it—matters. Molds me in ways I have yet to understand. And that will have to be enough. Is enough. Is the best and worst gift, awe-inspiring.

I find myself in a cacophony of ideas stemming from so much newness in my life, and I’m pausing to consider it. By the end of my reflection I hope to get to this: that life is not about fixing but about serving. But we’ll get there. First, my littlest has gone to school—willingly, excitedly, and wholeheartedly, the way I wish I could be with all things. She’s become an example to me in this endeavor, and a surprise. I love surprises. So I relish it, and I take pictures of them walking into school, big and little sister; they will only cross paths these two years of their little lives. It’s precious, in more ways than one. And I get to witness this. I get to be thankful for this, too, and that gratitude is washing over me right now in a way that allows me to open my eyes to other things less beautiful, dark. My deepest misgivings about children who have been orphaned lay side by side with these images of my children entering their school with teachers who care about them in a place they...

There’s honestly too much to share, too much breathless heartbreak in the world today, so I won’t pretend to be able to address even half. Where I find myself today is in a space to recognize the notion, if not the reality, of miscommunication, something so central to our daily ills I feel like I have to address it. It’s been my year to sit up and pay attention to this problem especially, because it’s multifaceted, and not what it looks like on the outside so often, it’s a wonder we’re all not disowning each other on a  daily basis. I know that my pitfall comes with the expectations I was brought up to have, something ingrained in me even after years of being a full-on adult, and I find this tension in the way I parent. It’s forced me to come to terms with seeing others—my children, my students—as they really are. To meet them and accept them as they are, where they are, instead of as I wish them to be. When I don’t do this, and see in my mind only my sense of who they should be, t...

This weekend I felt moved by Fr Frank’s admonition to use our tongues wisely, inspired in part by today's readings and the gospel finial: Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give it to you. Do not let your hearts be troubled or afraid.  Indeed we can get into the excesses of gossip, eating, and hurting each other, but equally we can draw each other up from our darkness, or speak up for the right thing. I puzzle over the fact that lately no one seems to agree on what the right thing is—or, more accurately, on what the wrong is. There is an outpouring of action, and this gives me hope—I especially love the pouring out of beauty into the world, and though I am a huge proponent of action (I am passionate about being active in my community school, helping local homeless families by spending time with them, and the like), I want to pause today on the power of beauty in its various forms. It seems like nothing to post on the effect of soul-l...

Happy Easter—to all, even those who do not necessarily celebrate it: I wish you the joy of the 50 days of celebration I’m aiming to stay present for—but life certainly has its distractions. I had a number of interesting observations I wanted to write about, mostly involving my children’s cute way of looking at life that has given me some perspective, sometimes, even when things are at their most chaotic. Thing is, something happened this past weekend as I hurried through grading essays and practiced music for services and met with students and played with my daughters. Something which reminded me of the tenuousness of life, and of the importance of a reflection on what will come beyond this earth on which we stand. I can’t shake the feeling of it, and somehow I want to try and tie it in to these other neat observations during a kind of life-changing Lent for both myself and my husband, one in which we grew exponentially from within. I learned that a friend named Bill, who was once much...

In 2000 or 2001, before 9/11 and before I moved well past my graduate school days, I went with my friend Iyabo to Barbados for a conference at which each of us would present. We made time for the conference (being the nerd I was I wanted to meet some of the big literary critics at this event), but definitely made time for leisure (thanks, Iyabo, for pulling me away). Top of our list was the beach, particularly one called Enterprise (Miami) beach in Oistins, where there was a food truck and men played dominoes on a card table at the edge of the sand, which itself was fine and easy on the feet. The waves rolled in shades of pale and medium bright blue, and patches of that color gave way to turquoise and lay ahead for the eyes toward the horizon. That water on my skin has become a core memory for me. I didn’t and still don’t know how to swim, but I do wade—over the years that fear has abated some. That day we alighted upon the beach I had fear and curiosity on me. Iyabo and her friends ha...

Beginner’s mind. The ability to approach life from a fresh angle. I’m striving toward this daily, and know it’s a daily practice, not something you achieve and finish, swipe your hands and call it done. In the earthly form life is ever-shifting, and embracing the shifts— the movement under our feet—is the only way to go. My favorite thing to do now is to read like I am drinking deeply from a well of the good stuff: books by mystics and visionaries, by humans who speak truth to power, who see the world in terms of what we cannot see as much as by what we can. Evelyn Underhill tops my list lately, especially her reflection on the “Our Father,” entitled Abba: Meditations on the Lord’s Prayer. In it she says “Love is a grave and ruthless passion, unlimited in self-giving and unlimited in demand….May all my contacts and relationships, my struggles and temptations, thoughts, dreams, and desires be colored by this loving reverence.”—a reflection upon “hallowed be thy name” as “the first resp...

Trying to look at everyone with new eyes, with the eyes of God. I don’t mean that in a trite way, in the generalized “call if you need me” but then not really pull through kind of way. I mean this in a radical way: looking to someone I loathe or struggle with and seeing the arm of God wrapped around him or her and considering what it is that God can see I can’t. God nurtures all. It’s not that God doesn't incite or instigate or inspire or create change in the hearts of the worst—that’s happening, too. I’m trying to figure out my place in helping that along, in bringing goodness to the world. Admonish the sinner. Instruct the ignorant. To not know is the Latin base of this word  ignorant —so many do not know. I do not know—I cannot possibly know all that comes with the suffering in this world. I do know that I suffer, members of my family and my friends suffer, and when I am compassionate, and suffer with them, meet them where they are, I come to know that all over the world there ...