Just Faith, Everyday

Sitting here listening to the winds draw in 20 degree weather, I am grateful for this new space we've been graced with. I've decided to leave our Christmas stockings up, and haven't finished unpacking, but am nearly full speed into a new school year, and into the daily rumble that is our life. I always feel a little tinge when the Christmas season ends, and the songs remind me why: a mixture of this heady, comforting, joyful celebration, this warmth from within which protects us from the cold which blows on and on outside. So many of us long for the true peace that is "silent night," and those of us paying attention to the solemnity of the season catch in the lyrics of long-hallowed carols the purpose of the child born. "We Three Kings of Orient Are" captures this in a haunting way. The warmth of the manger, its bare protection for this little family who is in for so much more as this child grows, draws us into the song; what we get as the carol win...

I read recently some interesting article about faith that reminded me of my Latin language skills, recalling the base for the term religion: religio-- to retie, to bind . This idea of re-tying, binding yourself to something--like the climber who adjusts carabiners while scuffling over the sheer face of rock--struck me as especially appropriate an image during Advent (or at any time the practice of faith and contemplation leads us to look inside ourselves). Of course there's the meaning of binding oneself, of being bound, which connotes negatively, of course. I don't see this so much as the deeply personal experience of free will in the climbing that is human life. I tie myself back to God again and again, even as I fall or slip in the climb. In fact, I am utterly grateful for each carabiner, the length of rope--moments of grace, depth of mercy--which the relationship I cherish with God affords me. In the quiet stillness I find the spirit enters, creates realization in ...

The other night my husband asked me what my favorite Christmas movie was, and I had to answer the George C. Scott rendition of A Christmas Carol. His Scrooge is the Scroogiest, and the whole atmosphere of the filming accentuates the Dickensian: the ghostliness, the spiritual, the festive. The story itself is filled with the idea of mercy and compassion as the true spirit of Christmas. The curmudgeon's conversion reminds us that even the most lost soul has a home to come to. In my umpteenth time watching the movie, I saw in a new way how Scrooge chooses to move forward during the conversion process, even when he is afraid and resistant. Isn't it that fear which often keeps us from confessing, as Scrooge does on his grave at the end of the story, faults and misgivings? When he says "Why show me this if I am past all hope?" In this hopeful statement is that bit of grace, a moment of clarity--he becomes self-aware that the horror of what he sees he might change by...

Is anyone out there noticing an uptick in meanness these days? For example, I find disturbing the ways in which people vault their expectations online on comment boards in mean-spirited, uninformed, and utterly cynical sharing. I rejoice when I see both balanced and fair understanding in commentary, and when I see the positive (since it seems so rare these days). I am wondering--why does it seem so hard for people to find joy in the world and too easy to find fault? I understand there ARE some things that really do rot out there--I'm not so naïve that I cannot see there's a need for critical perspective. My point is, there seems a lack of real--well, perspective. Rot can and will always exist--can we bring some kind of constructive rather than destructive perspective to it at all? Look at almost any commentary on news, writing, art, etc which exists online and you will find a bevy of commentary from bored, hung-up, perhaps disgruntled people who spend so much time onli...

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...