Rhythms of Grace

I’m reading this great book, Traveling Mercies, by Anne Lamott.  I just read this most awesome passage from it and had to share it with all you music lovers out there:

She recounts a moment in her church.  A very Southern Baptist Choir member lady had been having a difficult time accepting another member of the church who was dying of AIDS.  She would barely look at him, judged his lifestyle and was herself afraid of catching the disease by simply being around him.  One Sunday morning he came to church so weak he couldn’t stand.  During the first few hymns the judgmental lady began to watch him from up front in the choir and her face began to soften.  This is the rest of what she writes:

“…and she went to his side and bent down to lift him up – lifted up this white rag doll, this scarecrow.  She held him next to her, draped over and against her like a child while they sang.  And it pierced me.
I can’t imagine anything but music that could have brought about this alchemy.  Maybe it’s because music is about as physical as it gets:  your essential rhythm is your heartbeat; your essential sound, the breath.  We’re walking temples of noise, and when you add tender hearts to this mix, it somehow lets us meet in places we couldn’t get to any other way.”

Isn’t God just beyond generous to give us all the gift of music – even if we can’t sing a note?  Wow.

I read somewhere once that the quality of your life is based on something like 90% attitude and 10% everything else.  I think there is much truth to that.  My attitude has been terrible lately.  I’ve been sort of “poor me – why? – but if only – it’s not fair – ” blah, blah, blah…  I’m starting to wear myself out with it.  So yesterday someone who doesn’t let me get by with that for very long got real quiet with me.  That’s all it took.  And then someone else suggested I read something – and not just any something – Oswald Chambers something.  That always hurts when you’re feeling sorry for yourself.  By the end of last night I found myself feeling pretty lousy about my bad attitude and pretty ungrateful for all the good stuff around me.  I began to beat myself up about it and then remembered that Jesus already died for it, so I probably shouldn’t act like that wasn’t good enough and instead I should pull myself back up & get on with it.  So I did.

I began THIS day much differently than I have in a while.  I decided that I was going to look for the good stuff and I was going to speak positive things into people.  I chose not to be cynical and to speak the truth in love.  I determined to do my best at every little thing, no matter how insignificant it seemed.  Sadly, I know these are all things that should come naturally to someone claiming to be a Christ follower and all, but when you’re soaking in a pool of self-pity for weeks on end it kind of takes your focus off of the One you’re supposed to be following.  (Thus the reason for beating myself up last night…)  It’s crazy how easily we can become distracted by ourselves.  It always makes me mad when I am.

Anyway…I’m not trying to wear rose colored glasses or anything (what exactly does that phrase mean???), but all I know is that I feel much better tonight than I have in a while and I feel like I was less horrible to be around today too.  I still have questions and concerns and annoyances.  They don’t just magically go away that easily.  They’re just a little more in perspective now and seem much less significant.

Oh – and the next time I start down the “it’s all about me” road – I hope someone will refer me back to this post before I go very far. 

A couple of posts ago someone commented with the question “Do you think we’re burdened with this need to be so introspective all of the time?”  My answer is yes.  I do feel burdened by it.  I love to write and would do it every night if I thought I had anything of substance to put into words.  The problem is that sometimes I go through seasons of numbness and I’m not introspective at all – which leaves me with the desire to write but no material to work with.  So allow me to write about nothing for a change…

I heard an old song on the radio this morning that took me back to a happy time in my life.  It made me smile.

Someone had made coffee when I got to work. It wasn’t just any coffee.  It was Dunkin’ Donuts French Vanilla coffee.  Mmmmm…

I had enough “free” time at work that I was able to finally organize and clean my office.  Things are in places that make sense to me now and it’s beginning to feel more like my space and less like a different planet.

I met a really nice lady from the corporate office today that explained a new part of my job to me in a way that I completely understood.  I feel like I learned something.  That’s always a good thing.

Ethan had a great day at school.  He LOVES his teacher – for the first time in three years.  He aced a test, brought home homework that he allowed me to help him with and finally pulled a tooth that has been loose for over six months.  He didn’t argue a single time with me about anything this evening and went to bed on time.  Ah…..

I went for a walk with John and the dogs a while ago after the sun had just set.  The temperature was cool and the sky was beautiful.  We walked really fast, our steps in unison, and didn’t talk much.  I watched the dogs run along ahead – but not too far – and listened to the crunch, crunch, crunch of the gravel under our feet.  When we turned around to make the trip back home the slight breeze caught me by surprise and it sort of seemed to blow any cares away.  It may have been the best part of my day.

I’m going to go curl up with a good book now and read until I fall asleep.  I have the day off tomorrow and will use it to prepare a meal for friends tomorrow night. 

If there is any truth to the saying that God is in the small stuff (and I totally believe there is)…He has been a HUGE part of my day. 

There seems to be a common theme running through my brain and those of my friends lately.  It feels like nearly everyone I talk to is wondering what their purpose is.  I find that fascinating.  Is it just because I’m dwelling on it myself that I’m noticing it in others – sort of like realizing the 50,000 other G6’s on the road as soon as I bought mine?  Or am I being allowed this dialogue for a reason?  For instance:

Yesterday I had this awesome conversation with a great friend.  I was telling her of an incredible experience I had had the night before while teaching.  She shared similar experiences of her own.  We wondered together how we are to reconcile those experiences with the whole of our lives.  Then another great friend posts her own blog entry today on the same topic.  In it she asks this very simple (but I think profound) question, “When are you the most ‘the person God created you’ that you have ever been?” Good question.  So – if we are able to answer that question, then what are we to do with it?

I look around and see millions of people rushing through their lives working so they can pay the bills, support their habits, finance their hobbies, save for retirement (so they can “enjoy life” for a few years before they die) and educate their children so they can repeat the cycle.  Is that really what God has in mind for us?  Seriously?  I can’t accept that.  I think He intends so much more…

Someone told me yesterday that I need to know I’m making a difference.  They were right.  I do.  I don’t want to come to the end of my life and wonder what I could have been when I grew up.  I want to make a difference in this world today.  I know God has equipped me to do that and yet sometimes I feel completely inept at seeing the opportunities.   Maybe I should re-adjust my thinking a bit.  Making a difference can be a pretty simple thing, but I miss it because I expect it to be more complicated.  Is it right in front of my face?  Probably.

My prayer for all of my fellow purpose seekers is this:  God, show us Yourself.  Help us see you in the places we are.  Help us see the opportunities that without You we would gloss over.  Acquaint us with your Son in such a way that we would naturally find ourselves emulating Him – much like we would any other dear friend.  Cause our passions to burn through us in such a way that will not allow us to contain them, but rather force us to live them out.  And in all of this Father – may YOU be glorified by our lives – the lives you’ve created us to live.  May we be fulfilled not by our own pleasures, but by the satisfaction that comes from living in the fullness of Your Spirit surging through us.  And may this world be transformed by Your power as it is displayed in the authentic lives of your children.  Amen.

I did something new to me tonight.  I registered to participate in a 5K next weekend.  Maybe it’s because I’m facing my 20th high school reunion in a couple of weeks and want to prove to myself that I’m not that old.  Maybe it’s because I am a fierce competitor and heard the word “awards” somewhere along the way.  Maybe it’s because I want to help a good cause with my registration fee.  It’s probably a combination of all of the above, but regardless – I’m left with a dilemma.  Do I walk it or do I try to run?  I am not a runner – but if I run I can walk some too.  If I walk – I can’t run.  Hmmm…  I don’t train.  I don’t work out.  I take occasional evening power walks down the gravel road if that counts for anything though.  I’m leaning towards the walking.  My knees will surely explode if I surprise them with 3.1 miles of running after years without so much as a jog.  Either way, I’m looking forward to it.

When I was a senior in high school we all had to write a research paper for a final grade in Senior English class.  Mine was called “The Grieving Process”.  I suppose I felt a little like an expert on the topic given the events of that year.  I remember getting an A on that paper.  But even more vivid is the memory of the healing that I experienced from writing it.  I learned that I wasn’t crazy or alone in my reactions to losing Mom.  Sitting throughout the entire funeral dry-eyed, consoling others who had come to console me, and serving food at the dinner afterward – normal.  Going back to school the following Monday and resuming regular activities – normal.  Oh – and the night I totally lost it while leading cheers in front of a gym full of people because I realized she wasn’t sitting in the stands watching me – turns out that was normal too.  I cried for three straight days after that.  I had moments of rage at the cancer that took her, at my dad who wasn’t really present for my sister and me and at God for allowing all of it to happen.  I went to college, drank myself into denial, and returned home to find that it was all real despite my attempts to pretend otherwise.  And eventually the pain eased a little.  My life settled into a new kind of normal.  Different people slowly filled in the spaces left by the loss.  New opportunities offered hope that my life would still continue even though hers wasn’t allowed to.  Day by day I learned to apply the wisdom she had instilled in me to the newness of my future, and I was able to celebrate the past without feeling actual physical, piercing pain in my heart.

I’ve decided that we must be genetically wired to handle grief in our own particular ways.  Each time I’ve experienced a loss since then has been eerily similar.  I am stoic and emotionless in the moment when others are crying.  I melt down when it isn’t remotely logical to do so.  I get really, really mad and curse whatever seems to be the cause of my loss and after a while I accept it and move on.

I’ve been grieving over a change in my life lately.  I recently hit the melt down part.  The anger still comes and goes.  I think I’m moving towards acceptance though and I’m looking forward to that.  As much as I hate change and fight it at every turn, experience has taught me that it’s an unavoidable part of this life and depending on our attitude, can make each moment all that more precious.  Living my life with the realization that nothing is guaranteed to be there tomorrow or the next day has made me appreciate the good things while they last.  For now there is still a dull ache in my heart each time I recall what I’ve lost.  But I have hope and anticipation that soon it will be replaced by joy and celebration for what was and what will yet be.

And MAYBE once I’m on the other side I’ll be able to write a happy blog entry.  That will be a welcome change.