Marks and Scars

It has been a while... The forty days of optimism stretched into many more than that and continue to weave a fresh pattern in the fabric of my life. Lately, the topic of brokenness has been on my mind. We all experience it. We all have choices about what we do with it -- how we use it.

One of my favorite books is Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan. It's not on the New York Times best seller list -- in fact it's not new at all. It's not a fast-paced, action-oriented potential script for a Hollywood movie. But it is something that keeps drawing me back, year after year. A favorite character is Mr. Valiant For Truth. As his pilgrimage draws to a close, he offers some parting thoughts. Here is the well-loved excerpt:

"After this it was noised abroad that Mr Valiant-for-truth was taken with a Summons by the same Post as the other, and had this for a Token that the Summons was true, That his Pitcher was broken at the Fountain.

When he understood it, he called for his Friends, and told them of it. Then said he, I am going to my Father's, and though with great difficulty I am got hither, yet now I do not repent me of all the Trouble I have been at to arrive where I am.

My Sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my Pilgrimage, and my Courage and Skill to him that can get it. My Marks and Scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me that I have fought His battles who now will be my Rewarder.

When the day that he must go hence was come, many accompanied him to the Riverside, into which as he went he said, Death, where is thy Sting? And as he went down deeper he said, Grave, where is thy Victory?

So he passed over, and all the Trumpets sounded for him on the other side."

There it is -- that line that makes me tear up every time, "My Marks and Scars I carry with me, to be a witness for me that I have fought His battles..."
Everything else was given away, but the marks and scars -- the defining experiences, emotions, events that left visible evidence were carried on as a reminder that there was a greater purpose.

The marks and scars of my own life -- like those of may other people -- are deeply carved on my spirit. They are not beautiful, nor poetic, but they have deep meaning and are continually at work shaping who I am and how I relate to other people. The important thing seems to be not what they are as much as what they mean, whose battles they represent, and how I allow God to use them for purposes that may have nothing to do with me.

As the years unfold, one begins to realize that it is not our wholeness, but our brokenness, not our perfection but our imperfections, not our successes but our missteps that set our pilgrim feet on the path to true fulfillment. Brokenness and imperfections and missteps are not the fun part of the journey -- especially in the immediate experience. But in the restoration of those things, in the realization that experience (even the heart-shattering kind) can be redeemed, we find the real juice and joy of life which is getting out of ourselves and aligning our purposes with those of One with scarred hands and feet.

40 Days of Optimism

In the Christian tradition, Lent is the 40-day period that represents a time of prayer, fasting, and self examination leading up to the celebration of Easter. A time of preparation, it provides opportunity for reflection and self denial. Lent traditionally commemorates the 40 days that Jesus spent in the desert -- that time of temptation and testing of faith and commitment. Different faith flavors embrace their own details concerning Lent, but most come down on the side of making ready and making room for Easter. In simplest terms most agree that Jesus was tempted with demonstrating his power (doubting his position), pride (questioning his confidence in God's provision), and significance (challenging his importance). In each situation, Jesus responded by reciting scripture. Not being a theologian, these are rough interpretations -- but interpretations that speak to some basic human insecurities nonetheless.

As a lifelong PresbyLutheran with Scottish and Norwegian roots, every year. for the last 40 or so, I have tried to take the idea of Giving-Up-of-Self during this time period very seriously. Annually, this effort has extended to three or four days -- five at a maximum. Frankly, it is exciting at first. Doing without chocolate, ice cream, steak -- loses its romantic charm in less than a week and soon, the idea of treats or a substantial meal becomes more of a focus than sacrifice. It isn't long before the idea of preparation flies out the window faster than one can say cupcake.

This year, my desire was to come up with a sacrifice that was truly significant. After much reflection, the thought came to me that one of the biggest challenges might be giving up my propensity to analyze and complain about people, circumstances and Life In General. (A very cushy life, by most standards.) A confession here -- I did consider giving up going to the grocery store in my bedroom slippers. But that seemed superficial. Taking a deep breath and whispering a God-help-me-prayer, my mission became: to give up complaining.

More Cynic than Saint, my stubborn nature predicted that this might last about 12 hours. But I decided to give it a sincere try. In order to increase my chances of fulfilling this Impossible Dream and curious about what it might accomplish, I asked myself, "What would it take to ensure success?" And the answer seemed to be -- prayer, perseverance and a whole lot of accountability. So, I enlisted the help of God and a few other friends.

My best-friend-step-daughter was the first person who heard me out. Her response was, "What a great idea! You are launching a journey into Forty Days of Optimism!" That young-old-soul-wise -woman possesses unique perspective. Fresh in her faith, she really inspired me to a deeper commitment. Further, I shared this with a few colleagues and asked them to call me on any slip ups.

Lent is not complete yet -- it culminates on the Saturday before Easter, but already, I have experienced at least a dozen Little Easters as a result of this journey. It has not been without a bit of stumbling and staggering; it has not been without daily (and sometimes hourly) prayers for persistence; it has not been with out much tongue-biting. In certain ways, the challenges that have come my way have been greater than ever before -- ill health, unfulfilled plans, mistakes. But these days since Ash Wednesday have resulted in some of the most profound, transforming experiences in my recent life. It has sent me on regular treasure hunts for those things that are going well, for those things that are life-affirming, for those things that lift people (and me) above life's lowest common denominator. Those Things are all around us -- look deep and you will find them.

Yes, there are still bleak moments in life. There is sadness. There is imperfection. There is evil. But without becoming too glib or superficial -- the promises of God come alive in new ways when we look through the lenses of appreciation. Somehow, the giving up has become a perpetual means of receiving -- more than I ever "asked for or imagined."

The story is not over. Can't wait for the next chapter!

One of Them

Yesterday spun out of control. After a week away, unanswered emails totalled 97. Add in 17 unreturned calls and three telephone meetings on the schedule and voila -- an outline of the work day. The tyranny of the urgent was upon me, punctuated by a small mountain of undone laundry, dust galore and a nearly-empty pantry (which would be another great blogrant because what most of us consider an empty pantry would constitute a feast for 2/3 of the world!)

In addition, yesterday was the day appointed to install new tile in the laundry room -- the freshly painted laundry room, thanks to my wonderful, handy-man-husband. In the last several months we have become quite the do-it-yourself-ers... well, he has anyway. In my case it has been more the 'watch-it-happen-while-he-does-it-himself' with the occasional 'hand-him-the-_____ (wrench, pliers, light bulb, paint brush)' role. But back to the tile-- the tile installation was to be my small contribution to the gradual transformation that he is accomplishing in our home. We finished about 7:00, all but the crooked crannies, which were his, upon which to wield his magic.

At 7:30, it seemed as though we might need food, so I bundled up and headed into the night -- hunting and gathering on my mind. Realize, dear Reader, that this red-headed-rick-rack-girl has always, always been concerned about the way things look. Clothes, hair, shoes -- the total package communicates many things from respect to style (or lack thereof!). It is rare to leave the house without at least a thought toward appearance. (And there are reasons for that, having been in Public Life where the smallest wardrobe infraction is subject to critical comment.)

But last night was different. Last night was about one tired out gal jumping in the car, dashing into the store for supplies and rushing back to the refurbished nest in hopes of throwing in a load of laundry before pumpkin-time.

It was at the check out counter that the most egregious of errors was noticed. Dropping the car keys and reaching to retrieve them, my heart skipped a beat as my eyes focused in on the toe of my... bedroom slippers. Oh dear! I have become one of Those Women. Bedroom Slippers In The Grocery Store. Things have gone too far. My white-gloved Grandmother would have swooned. I died a thousand deaths in that moment -- face burning with a stealthly look around to see if Anyone Had Noticed.

Hmmm... no one was looking. There was one person in line eyeing my purchases, but otherwise no interest. Slipping out to the car, glad for the cover of darkness, I unloaded my cart and headed for the safety of home.

It is a downhill slide from here. This morning found me at my desk by 8:45... in a track suit! Yesterday the slippers, today sweat pants and who knows -- perhaps pj's tomorrow. And flip flops! What is the world coming to -- or should I say, to what end is the world coming? Isn't it nice to know that No One is Looking? Isn't it refreshing that the inside matters more than the outside? Isn't Life Grand?

Currency of the Heart

some spend wildly,
lavishing descriptors to purchase
attention.
some hoard wealth,
privately counting the cost of the meanest
expenditure.
some watch and wait,
measuring the return before
investment.
squander,
simper,
sequester,
words are the currency of the heart.

La Pintura de Dios

Perched above the Pacific this afternoon, light lingered over the water as waves beat steady time on the shore. Silence raised her head between the surround sound of surfers and seagulls. Time suspended, except for the in and out of breath.

Walking back from the beach through a maze of casitas, a blue and white message was baked into pristine tiles..."La pintura de Dios es el mundo."

Strolling through God's gallery, is there anything better?

Poems

Love words. Love poetic expression. (Although my mother would remind me, one cannot love inanimate objects or abstract ideas. Oh well -- she is also the person who with disgust, corrected me for using the word 'fun' too much... but that is for another blogrant.) Began writing poems at the age of 12 -- really bad ones. Continued through the years -- hopefully better ones. This one was written in April 2006 and posted on a poetry blog I'd started. Became friendly with some of the other poet bloggers. Then I noticed that one person had 'borrowed' some of my poetic expressions -- flattery or thievery? Not sure which, but bothersome. Finally came to the place where I learned to let go of my little wordchildren and fling them out there, regardless of the result.


Inblognito

fling and furl
words
out into the great
cyber abyss
capturing consciousness
describing destinations
finding feelings
poking at pasts
testing tomorrows
meandering through meanings
what do all these
rants
really represent
except
a way of writers
traveling
inblognito
known only
through the
random reactions
of resonating readers
who
ooo, aah, argue, exclaim --
new definition
of community
a bringing together
in this
falling apart world

Ordinary Genius?

Last night while perusing the aisles of a local book store, The Einstein Factor by Win Wenger and Richard Poe caught my eye. The first chapter begins with the simple question, "Are You A Genius?"

"Each of us does indeed possess a thinking machine vastly superior to our
feeble conscious minds. The mathematician John von Neumann once
calculated that the human mind can store up to 280 quintillion -- that's
280,000,000,000,000,000,000-- bits of memory...Estimates of the brain's
speed of operation have ranged from 100 to 100,000 teraflops ( a teraflop is
1 trillion flops, the standard measure of computing speed.) Compare that
speed to the world's fastest supercomputer... which clanks along at an
arthritic 100 gigaflops or 100 billion flops..."

Wow John von, I've heard of a gazillion, but had no idea about a quintillion (much less 280 of them). And teraflops, well the concept of 1 trillion flops is one with which I can identify!

The book goes on to discuss Einstein and his early life -- he was considered a slow starter and learned with difficulty, had poor language skills, suffered from dyslexia and in his mid-twenties "seemed destined for a life of mediocrity."

Apparently, his ability to freely imagine, "unrestrained by conventional inhibitions" was what enabled him to develop his brilliant theories.

Surely, we all have untapped intellectual resources hiding within... but could it be (as the authors propose) "that geniuses are little more than ordinary people who have stumbled upon some knack or technique for widening their channel of attention, thus making conscious their subtle, unconscious perceptions."

Could it be?

What an intriguing thought.

Bought the book.
Reading it now.
Storing up a few quintillion bits that may increase my teraflopping... but the jury is still out.