It Is Seasonal

For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven...
Ecclesiastes 3:1

The other day, I was out for my walk, going along one of my favorite routes. This route is alongside a pretty major road in town, and it leads to a major intersection. As I approached this intersection, I noticed a bunch of birds up on the wires above the intersection. As I got to the intersection, I found myself walking on their shit.

This shit, like so much other shit, is seasonal.

These birds only sit up on these wires in the Fall. I guess the winds are just right and bring those yummy bugs right to them, or something, but for whatever reason, there are the birds, up high on the wires, every Fall. And their shit lands below.

I began to think about the seasonal shit and how the seasons change in our lives. Some seasons are beautiful, wonderful, and full of all kinds of love and peace and harmony. And some seasons are covered in shit.

Notice I said they are "covered in shit" - not that they actually are shit. There's a huge difference. Sometimes, the beauty and wonder and love are still there, but they get encrusted, much like the sidewalks under the birds on the wires. Some seasons in our lives, we have to look through the shit in order to find the beauty or wonder or love underneath.

This is not a fun task, friends. It's icky and hard and takes some work and effort - and isn't it just easier to walk a different route for a while, avoiding the shit altogether? Well, of course it's easier. But where on earth did we ever get the idea that easier is always better?!

Sometimes easier is better. Easier is better when we are trying to be efficient, for instance. But easier doesn't always mean that we will learn as much as when something is difficult. Easier doesn't always mean that we will grow as strong as when something is difficult. Difficulty can be really shitty, but it is in difficulty that we learn how to be creative, how to persevere, how to find hope. It is in difficulty that we discover that we are stronger than we ever imagined. It is in difficulty that we learn to trust God.

When I was on internship, I had a parishioner - a retired pastor - who kept goats. One day, he and his wife had us over for lunch. He then invited me to take a stroll out in the goats' area - specifically, to walk in a circle in the area where all the goats would shit. And then he looked at me and said, "Sometimes, you're gonna have to walk through shit, and I wanted you to have some first hand experience."

How I wish every season was free of shit. But shit happens. Strap on some good shoes, and crunch on through. God is with you.

Joy to the world…

I've been doing more baking lately - the captivity of ice storms and the push of cookie exchanges has seen to that. It's such a busy, chaotic, and even painful time of year - for lots of people, not just clergy - and there's something relaxing about putting ingredients together and waiting…waiting for them to bake, smelling wonderful smells in the interim.

I grew up baking Christmas cookies with my mom. We used the same recipe every year - a recipe she'd cut out of the Little Rock newspaper when I was very little - a cutout cookie recipe for lemon-honey cookies. Every year - the same wonderful dough that we'd mix and eat before putting it into the fridge to chill overnight. One year, we forgot to make the dough ahead of time, and we figured out we could chill the dough in the freezer for a while instead.

We'd flour ourselves up, pull out the yellow rolling pin, and get to rolling and cutting. We had plastic cookie cutters that had some detail to them - detail we never worried about too much. We had aluminum cookie cutters in very simple shapes - we gravitated more to these the older we both got. We'd eat more dough. We'd bake the cookies and let them cool and decorate them. And then for a while, anyway, we'd have this delicious pile of lemon-honey cookies that tasted the same every year.

After I moved out of my mom's house, baking these together got more complicated. Between my travel schedule and Mom's work schedule around Christmas (she was clergy, too), sometimes she'd mix up the dough and put it in the fridge, and there it would sit, awaiting my arrival.

Mom would do other baking, too. She'd put on the local classical music station that played lovely choral, organ, and orchestra pieces she adored, and she'd move around the kitchen, quietly pulling things from the pantry and putting things into the mixing bowl. The house would begin to smell fabulous, and at this busy, chaotic, sometimes even painful time of year, she'd find some peace making goodies for those she loved (and herself).

Today, I had some time and began making a batch of chocolate cookies for a cookie exchange. I began with some annoyance - it's a busy, chaotic, and sometimes painful time, remember? To bake cookies felt frivolous. And so I began slowly - I put on my own classical Christmas music, began pulling together my own ingredients, quietly moving in and out of my pantry. I put things together into bowls, tasting less cookie dough than ever before in my life. And slowly, I felt the knots unwinding.

Not lemon-honey…but still smelling great!

I also slowly became aware of an old grief re-emerging.

Even after eight years, this is the one time of year that I can scarcely believe that Mom is gone. At this time of year, her loss sits with me more heavily than any other time of year. She can't really be gone, can she?

And the grief comes back, surprising me with its force, sneaking up behind me like a thug while I'm putting towels into the washer. It crams its fist into my stomach until I am doubled over, crying. And all I'm doing is baking cookies and getting a load of towels into the washer, for goodness' sake!

And I begin to hear the words of the songs and they become more poignant than ever…

"O come, O come Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here…rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!"

Sometimes, I really want grab the joy and cast it away, into the outer darkness. Sometimes, the mourning in exile is so much more appealing.

And yet, the joy of God is a relentless thing. It comes to us, too, when we least expect it. It comes in the rising of a beautiful moon, or in the neighbors turning on their Christmas lights just as the darkness threatens to overtake us all.

Light, light, and more light.

Sometimes, joy is quiet. It moves around, putting things together with peace, until we realize that we are still OK, in both our grief and our joy. Until we realize again that Christ was born to make all things new, both our grief and our joy.

Joy to the world, the Lord is come…let heaven and nature sing!

Words with God

Storm clouds rolling in.

Earlier this evening, I was sitting in my office at church. My preparations for our evening worship service were complete and so I sat, casting about for the next task.

A storm was rolling in, the thunder beginning to rumble over the trees along the back of our property. Normally, I'm someone who stays inside whenever thunder is rumbling - I've always had a fear of lightning. But tonight, the thunder beckoned me outside - outside, across our parking lot, down the long path that takes you to our Outdoor Chapel. 

This path changes seasonally, and it has been several weeks since I had wandered down to the Chapel. The wildflowers are wildly in bloom along the path, so I paused to take some pictures. All the while, the trees blew in the wind that was gaining strength. All the while, the thunder continued to rumble. And my anger built.

I got down the path to the Chapel. The benches are surrounded by trees and more wildflowers but they sit in a clearing, so I could easily see the storm clouds approaching. They didn't scare me. I sat for a few minutes, and then I took a few more pictures of wildflowers. The thunder beckoned me over to face the clouds once again, so face them I did, full on. I closed my eyes so the thunder and the wind rolled over me.

I began inwardly screaming at God: "SCREW YOU!" 

"SCREW YOU!"

"SCREW YOU!"

Over and over, my inward cries to God came forth - my lips unable to utter aloud the anger I was feeling about the loss of my friend, the loss of so many others I love. 

"SCREW YOU!*"

Eventually, the inward rage was stilled by my words of remorse, words that came only after I could get to and through the words of anger. I left the Chapel, and walked back to the church building, thinking as I crossed the open parking lot how easy it would be for God to zap me, then and there - if only I believed in a God that did that to people. (I don't.)

A few minutes later, I left for a bit to run an errand. The storm arrived while I was gone, and was fully raging by the time I came back. I found myself being pelted with baptismal waters from heaven, waters pelting me hard, whether I wanted them or not. Waters reminding me of new life - new life given to me, given to my friend, given to all those I have loved so deeply who have died "in the Lord." 

=============

* This is the PG version.

Sing me to heaven...

Adding their song...

The story of our little birds continues...

Today, I have heard them adding their song - noisy, urgent chirping - to the cacophony of birdsongs around us. There is something beautifully fitting to me about hearing their song for the first time today because I found out a little while ago that a dear friend and wonderful musician died last night.

Ashlyn was one of my piano teachers in college. Ever patient, ever encouraging, she brought joy to playing the piano that I had never had before. I wasn't her best student - nowhere even close - in terms of ability, but she encouraged me anyway. Beyond that, she challenged me to think always in terms of the Bigger Picture. It was Ashlyn that introduced me to a wider world of music - music as ministry to people's souls. As I grew as a choral conductor and as a minister of music, Ashlyn was one of many who stood beside me - or, more accurately - followed my lead while sitting at a piano or organ console.

Much like the birds today, giving me their new song, Ashlyn gave me my song, in many ways. I had never felt very confident musically before knowing her. I had never felt very brave. She was one who instilled both confidence and bravery in me - drawing them out from...someplace.

And now, she is gone. I am left weeping for the void, weeping because she was truly one of the most beautiful people I have ever known, weeping because her earthly song has been silenced.

Joy will come in the morning because we teach and believe and confess that at the grave, we make our song, "Alleuia! Praise the Lord!" Even at the grave, we are led to words of praise - words that seem strange coming from trembling lips - words that seem raw upon our hurting hearts. Thank God that he hears our hurting cries and our angry cries before the cries of praise come forth.

Joy will come in the morning.

Holy low blood sugar, Batman!

So, I started another anti-diabetes pill today...

By the way - tangent here - it's "anti-diabetes" pill, not "anti-diabetic" pill. Let's just say the pill is working against the diabetes and not the diabetic! :-)

Anywho...

I say "another" pill because, like many diabetics, finding the right combination of medication is quite a challenge. You want lower blood sugar, but not plummeting-to-the-center-of-the-earth low. So, I've been taking one medication consistently for several weeks now and it's been doing an OK job. My new doctor added another one and because of general life craziness lately, I opted to wait to begin taking it.

SO GLAD I WAITED.

If I had started right away, my first morning to take this pill would've been a Sunday morning. I would've been up in the front of church, leading worship, or preaching, or handling a chalice of wine over the pretty white linen when my blood sugar decided to plummet.

SO GLAD I WAITED.

I started the new pill this morning. And - oh my fricking word - sure enough, even after eating breakfast and lunch, I started feeling strange. Then I started getting shaky. I checked my blood sugar, and - holy cow - below 100 for the first time in quite a while. (My verbal exclamation startled the dog.)

The trippy thing about diabetes for me has been this damn numbers game. For years, my doctors have told me that below 100 is where my sugar needs to be. For years, that number was creeping up, until it finally stopped creeping and started shooting, higher and higher. So now that the number is creeping lower (or plummeting, like today), it affects almost everything - my energy and focus most of all. My body has gotten so accustomed to operating at the higher numbers, that this lower number throws everything out of whack. And so begins the balancing act...once again.

So, what I've realized again today is that this isn't going to be easy. But I also realize again that it is manageable. It may not always feel great, but it is manageable, and I am, in fact, managing.

"Be gentle with yourself..."

That's what a friend told me recently - to be gentle with myself. He said this after I had told him about my particularly difficult week - a draining week, one that zapped me almost completely. "Be gentle with yourself," said this friend, who knows me well enough to know that I am (like many), my own harshest critic.

So, here's a problem: it's harder for me to be gentle with myself when it feels like life is beating the crap out of me. When there's anxiety around almost every corner - in so many worried eyes and concerned hearts.

But, here's some good news: I have wonderful friends. I mean, wonderful. This friend's beautiful words of encouragement came as I was packing to travel to visit some of my wonderful friends over my days off. On a whim. Just...because. Because I needed to be wrapped up in the particular love of these particular friends, and let them enfold me. And enfold me they did.

I felt my energy returning on my drive to their house. I blared Bach and Beethoven and Sting and conducted or sang the whole trip. I only cussed at the other drivers a little bit. I felt like I did the summer that I was seventeen, in my Granny's Buick, on my first solo road trip - free, free, free.

I arrived into the arms of my friends, welcomed by plans of dinner and conversation. Welcomed by a lack of agenda the next morning. Welcomed by both their gentleness and their laughter. And I remembered again how to be gentle with myself.

Sometimes being gentle with ourselves is so. very. hard. But if it's one thing I've learned, it's that when I am gentle with myself, I'm somehow more gentle with others, too. And I really do think that more gentleness in the world is a pretty good thing.

So, thank you, friends, for loving me back into gentleness.

Ups and Downs

Oh, it is so very difficult to be patient with ups and downs. It doesn't matter what the ups and downs are referring to - money, blood sugar numbers, energy levels, motivation levels - it's the ups and downs that get me.

The thing is, I'm not so sure that we're created to be at the same level for very long. What I mean is, it seems like most of human history has been a series of ups and downs - and so, even though I've only been diagnosed a diabetic for less than two months - the concept of ups and downs really is a quite familiar one to me. I've lived it!

I guess like with anything else, it's what we do with ups and downs that make us who we are.

Today has been a strangely emotional day for me for different reasons. I'm at a conference, and we have some down time right now before dinner tonight. These conferences can be killers for introverts like me. I get to a point where it's a constant battle of wanting to see and be with my friends and not wanting to see another person - PERIOD. (Like, seriously - get the hell away!)

So, during our down time today, I headed back to the hotel. How I wanted - in my emotional place - some kind of sweet munchy thing! Give me some damn M&Ms - an old favorite pig-out food of mine.

I came up to my room and remembered I had brought some pre-portioned crispy-chocolate things with me but before I even got into those, I checked my BG level, just to be sure. With a good level, I ate the crispy-chocolate things and enjoyed them, and somehow doing the whole process (rather than submitting to my down feelings) settled my heart tremendously.

It is so very hard to be patient with ups and downs. But I really believe patience is worth it in the end.