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Cave Walls

I am reading a book on Mother Teresa.   She is a mysterious woman, not much is known about her early years.   She spent nearly the first 20 years of her time as a nun working behind closed walls of a school in India.   There is no record of her venturing out into the slums and working directly with the poor during this time at the school.   One day, she had a vision to venture out beyond the walls of her comfort zone and live side by side with the poor.   It more time of formalities and bureaucracy before she was permitted to start her own Order, The Missionaries of Charity, and move outside the safety of her walls. I have spent the last few weeks meditating on my own walls.   More specifically, meditating on the walls of the wolf cave I find myself in (see the last blog for more details).   I have continued to meditate on “The Lord is My Shepherd” and experienced shifts in my soul.   I started with an image of me being alone in a dark, col...
Recent posts

Holy Thursday; Wholly Present

Today is Holy Thursday, the day the disciples reclined around the Passover Table with Jesus – leaned with their whole selves and listened to the words, “This is my body . . . this is my blood . . . eat and drink in remembrance of me.”   This is the day Jesus took off his garments and washed the feet of the disciples.   This was a humble gesture, Jesus making himself a servant and cleansing the dust trodden feet.   A symbol mercy and forgiveness and instructions to do the same for one another.   I try and picture myself in this story.   What would I do?   How would I react?   What would I do with the words I heard?   I find it easy to wash the feet of strangers.   As a nurse, I have patients come in soiled and dirty and I find it a privilege to help clean each person up in their time of need.   They are vulnerable and helpless, and I can help.   We have homeless come into the hospital with dirty, calloused feet and mud-caked b...

Healed Enough to Keep on Healing

U2 wrote the song “40” inspired by Psalm 40 in the Bible.   The Psalm goes like this, “Surely, I wait for the LORD; who bends down to me and hears my cry/ Draws me up from the pit of destruction, out of the muddy clay, sets my feet upon rock, steadies my steps/ And puts a new song in my mouth, a hymn to our God . . .”   U2 adds, “How long to sing this song.”   To listen, click here .     How long to sing this song?   In my search for perfectionism, “40” is the theme song.   How long until I am healed?   Until I feel this drawing out of the muddy clay?   Until I feel the firmness of the rock under my feet?   Until I have that new song in my mouth?   This is the last week of Lent – 40 days of spiritual cleansing.   40 days Jesus was tempted in the desert.   40 years the Israelites wandered in the desert working their way towards the Promised Land (40 years that should have only taken a few weeks at best.)   My i...

Losing my cool

If I could be any character in a play, it would be Jo March from Little Women.     Feisty, opinionated, tom-boy, not enjoying the dress-up activities that come with femininity, a closet writer . . . characteristics I know well.   There is a beautiful scene where Jo loses her temper (for the hundredth time) and Marmie comes to her side and talks about her own struggles with controlling her temper.   We never see the fighter in Marmie, but with her words she assures Jo she understands all too well her temperament.   I had a Jo and Marmie moment with my oldest today.  Ironically, her middle name is Josephine naming her after Jo March.   She lost her temper and threw her brother’s hair gel across the room leaving a trail of goop long and wide.   I saw the mess, grabbed paper towels, and firmly directed her toward the destructive path that was her responsibility to clean.   This then triggered a meltdown in the midst of the morning hustle o...

Shitholes

For the last year, I have been shaking my head.   #45 opens his mouth, blasts a tweet, and continues to display rash, impulsive, racist, sexist, narcissistic behavior and I shake my head in disbelief.   Am I in a horrible dream?   Is this man really our president?   Is there still an enthusiastic following that justifies and excuses his behavior because he will bring socially conservative Supreme Court judges and tax breaks?   My heart breaks.   My soul aches.   Yes, this is the country I live in.   Yes, world, this is the one chosen by the electoral college to represent who we are.   I am embarrassed.   I can no longer sit back and shake my head.   I am looking for a new verb of social action to define my response to this nightmare. We as a nation are sitting upon a wealth of potential to end poverty and economic disparity, but we are choosing to blame the poor, the broken, the impoverished for our economic woes.   Germany...

Eating Crow.

Insert foot in mouth, followed by ankle, calf, knee, oh heck, just swallow the whole leg.   This was me earlier this week.   In an attempt to fit in with the group and bring humor to the table, I ended up being completely insensitive and ate a whole lot of crow.   My obsessive brain replayed the tape over and over again for hours.   I go home, sleep, wake up and the tape started yet again.   Then the shame voice, “You are an idiot.”   The rationale voice tried to talk louder than the shame tantrum.   It was a mistake (a big one), but no one died.   There will be opportunity for repair.   I am human and I errored.   After 24 hours, my rational brain won and the obsessive loop of shame settled down.   The whispers of shame are still there, but it is no longer the dominant voice. I spent a little extra time this morning reflecting on what exactly happened that led up to the tasty crow and the subsequent obsessive loop.   A...

Survival

I had an unhealthy obsession with all things Holocaust as an adolescent.   Much of this obsession centered around understanding resilience in the face of the unthinkable.   I cannot remember which I read first, The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom or The Diary of Anne Frank , but both works completely changed my life.   It set a trajectory of many term papers to come along with reading the wisdom of Eli Wiesel and Victor Frankl.   And for years, the fascination remained – why did some not only survive, but also maintain hope and compassion? I have a recurring dream where I am some type of resistance worker being chased by secret police.   I am always wary of my surroundings and keenly attuned to the fact that I carry papers that represent peoples lives.   I often am searching for food and safe hiding places.   I connect this dream to seeing myself as a rebellious survivor.   Recently, I was commenting on this obsession and it was suggested ...