Just Faith, Everyday

I’ve been hobbling like Quasimodo for too long--it was really doing a number on my self-esteem until I finally broke down and went to visit with my doctor. I hurt my knee pivoting the wrong way, and between this and back pain, work stress, and personal demons, my life has been a little tumult of calamity, which of course descends all at once. Isn’t that how it usually goes? A little soul therapy along with referrals to anti-inflammatory medicine and PT helped. This month, therapy was watching a movie with friends: the recently acclaimed Of Gods and Men, about a community of Trappist monks living in Algeria in the 1990s enduring the terrorism there at the time, witnessing the extraordinary ordinary of everyday life for the villagers there, and confronting their own personal demons. Their monastery was a place for villagers to come and receive medical care. Just that--the compassion with which the Trappists shared with their Algerian community--was inspirational enoug...

Once during yoga class at the Y, I was struck by the oddity of our situation--inside our instructor serenely intoned "breathe, stretch..." and just outside our doors, the summer camp leader repeated in monotone to six year-olds "shoes by the door, shoes by the door, shoes by the door, stop...stop! Stop! Stop!" It was farcical--but something of a reflection of life, true to form. This can be how my brain operates depending on the day--within, I am calm, and from without, shouting and the noise of life compete for my attention. Or vice versa. Sifting through this messy cacophony is priority one. I keep thinking I have to separate the two, but maybe it's best to have both that inner and outer world competing for my heart and soul. I was irked at the noise from the YMCA camp, ready to register a complaint, but had I followed through on this, I wouldn't have this lesson: let one inform the other. Let the noises and distractions of the world inform my choices...

This is going to sound gross--you’ve been warned--but today I nearly left a piece of myself behind: a broken toenail. I have this bad pinky toe, and it’s always been painful to consider removing, but today it decided to remove itself painlessly on the edge of a soft couch. I was grateful it didn’t hurt and took the ugly away! So of course I got to thinking about needless worry, about pain taken away, about the things we leave behind, the bits and pieces of ourselves. I marvel to think about the sheer amount of pieces--the bits I didn’t like, and some grudgingly taken away. I’ve left pieces with friends who needed consoling, bits throughout my graduate career at various classes and in various administrative offices, crumbs after capstone moments like graduations and weddings and baptisms, chunks after disagreements and gatherings. Giving myself to life, if I am really giving myself to it, involves necessarily leaving myself behind, both going into and out of the situation at hand. La...

I'm flashing back to childbirth, to the experience of pain. It was excruciating, but it was mine to have--I was bent over with it, then straddling bedside, stretching, rocking back and forth, and always, always breathing, breathing with stride. Exercising patience with breathing, with being present; with my husband's help, I was able to do both, and possess my pain. Hold it and practically admire it. Oddly, it was awe-inspiring even as it broke me down. I'll never forget that day--now it's been almost a year, and yet feels like a lifetime. Through initial feeding problems because of her cleft palate, litany of doctor consultations, surgery, fevers and colds, and then watching her learn to become human, we have come to know our little Peanut. Have I come to know myself in a new way? The answer came in the death of a friend, in the mundane of life. When our friend--our favorite lector at church and weaver of stories at social functions there--died, I felt the sorrow an...

Well, here we are--the first day of summer, though in Georgia arguably summer's been here for a month (soooo hot). I've been appreciating those cool mornings in Massachusetts on my recent adventure there to visit with my parents. They're undoubtedly the most proud grandparents at the moment, and it was something else to watch them with my daughter, to think of the way they must have felt with me and with my siblings, watching them grow, learn new things each day, from the moment eyes open to the minute they drift off to dream land. As much as I love and adore my little one, I enjoyed stealing away several times for a little quiet--and my favorite instance was visiting a favorite beach with my brother. It was, as he said, "like visiting an old friend." We prayed and meditated there for awhile, letting the sound of the surf, the warmth of the sand, and chill of the breeze become like prayer to our senses. Being present in that moment was soul-quenching. I had a...

I'm amused whenever I hear Isabella cooing and babbling to herself in the backseat; I can't see her but I know what state of mind she's in from the sound of her voice, or her cry, or even the kind of breathing in her sleep--measured, easy, peaceful. It helps me feel everything is alright in the world, regardless of my stress level. Thinking this through, I placed myself in that spiritually: I believe God understands and listens to the stirrings of my soul, when all is sound and babble. I have days when that's ALL I sound like, and knowing someone's listening is the source of comfort. I know some find this support in the ear of compassion, and we can all be a source for others by our silent listening, wise words, or compelling action. We can reflect our Creator's mercy in this world by our presence to others. Consider that next time you're traveling along your way, and listen to what comes back to your soul.

And I’ll rise again. Ain’t no power on earth can tie Me down. Yes, I’ll rise again. Death can’t keep Me in the ground. "Rise Again," a traditional Spiritual It occurred to me, sitting and listening to Good Friday unfold this year amongst my friends, that what we celebrate is something of a funeral. This seems obvious, but it's not until you have experienced death first-hand, and considered what it means to rise from the depth of that sadness--or watch a child go through this. When my uncle died I watched his daughter go through a significant change in her life, watched it sap her energy and addle her mind, never mind my own. It's hard to relate if you feel wrapped up in the death of things--the potential "funerals" we can experience each day, be that of loved ones or of things ended, like relationships, jobs, dreams. Those things we cling to can feel much more important than what the big picture of life's meaning can offer us. As our choir director ...