Avarice.

Looking at sin, especially the sin in my own life has historically been a signal to bring on the shame. I might as well have stood in front of a mirror and waved a wagging finger in front of my face. It is no surprise that thinking of an examination of conscience would bring about feelings of dread and avoidance. Lately I have come to see this assumption as an irrational belief. Looking at my own sinful ways is actually a gift. It is an invitation to set aside my false self and become more of the person I was designed to be. It is an invitation of movement closer to my True self; toward the better me.

This brings me to an honest confession. In my own examination of conscience I have looked at the role of vices in my life. Pride and envy are obvious, though I certainly wish they were less oppressive. But, I have maintained a blind eye to presence of greed in my soul.

It was easy to ignore avarice. On the surface I am generous with my possessions -- with my material goods. I have been generous with my time. Weeks and months at a time spent on the mission field; years running a not-for-profit. My time and small monetary compensations served as justification that I was avarice free. I had pride regarding my "giving" heart. This egomania worked well to support my false-self beliefs. I was awesome. I was not corrupt like the greedy that kept the poor oppressed. The poor whose conditions I was working hard to eradicate. I was not like "those" people. I was good. I was not greedy.

Last fall, I facilitated a "Now Living Your Strengths" group. We spent 7 weeks discovering our unique gifts and talents and then discerning how to share them with the Church and community around us. It was here I discovered a word to name my strength, input. I renamed it the "hoarder."

I am not like a hoarder you see on tv. I follow the one year rule and get rid of most things (books are my weakness.) Lately, I can longer ignore the avarice in my heart.

I struggle with a stinginess of emotions. My tendency is to hide my vulnerabilities behind a fortress of rocks and steel. I fool myself that I can hide the secret chambers of my soul from God. Silly, I know. I fear being hurt, misunderstood, or my shames being exposed. I hoard the longings of my heart from those around me. My fear turns to greed. I am not free to give of myself to others. I am not free to connect with the community around me. I am the opposite of hospitable.

Hospitality is the practice of being fully present with others. Seeing my hoarding of thoughts, ideas, and emotions as greed increases the severity of it. It raises the importance of doing something about it. It robs me of true joy -- of deep intimate connection with God and my fellow friends. It robs me from deep connection with my kids. In my greed, I must disconnect. I float through life safe and distant, but away from where the real love happens.

My greed, the stinginess of my emotions and thoughts robs my friends, family, and the community around me of the gifts God has granted me to share with others. I hide the True self I was made to be; the true part of the Body of Christ I was called to play. A light hidden under a lamp is useless.

Unexpected visitors.

A week ago, I spotted a new bird sitting on our fence.  I was struck by his beauty.  His song, one I had never heard – a sweet cackle.  He presented as friendly, allowing me to approach him with only a few feet separating us.  Curiosity grabbed hold of me.  I researched.  He is a common house martin.  I began looking for him.  I found myself needing to see him.

I continued to see him.  And then she joined our party of curious encounters.  It seemed as though we studied one another.  I sat in frequent anticipation hoping to have just one more look.  One more moment of watching, hearing, and noticing them.  They were doing something for me – giving me something I could not quite put my finger on.

I continued to anticipate their presence.  These past few days, they have joined our home.  Just inches outside our porch, they are building a nest in an ugly, old birdhouse.  I almost threw it away (it’s that ugly!)  Now, I find it the most valuable thing on our property.

They are amazing, there is no doubt about it.  But I began to ponder more why it is that I am so captured by their presence.  What exactly were they doing for me?  Why do I seem to need to see them?  Need to know they are there?  To answer that, I need to back up a bit.

The past month or so, I have had a case of the “pricklies.”  This is my term for “I AM READY TO BUST OUT OF MY SKIN WITH BOREDOM, ANXIETY, AND IMPISH DESIRES.”  And there are some legitimate reasons to have some angst.  And the boredom, well, life has settled down.  The kids are more independent.  My job has taken roots and settled down.  As someone noted to me yesterday, “You have become too domesticated.”  Meaning my adventurous side, my wild and silly tendencies have been far too confined over the past couple of years.  I am feeling the cage walls of seriousness, deadlines, and responsibility.  The imp and the pioneer-adventure woman parts of me are screaming to be set free.  I need two things to mend the pricklies.  One, give myself permission to play and be appropriately impish. This I can do.  But two, I needed to find some serenity and re-center myself.  This was the problem I could not fix on my own.  I even repainted my living room and dining room shades of slate gray hoping this would create some order and calm in my environment.  The house looks nice, but the peace I was looking for did not come.

So I surrendered.  SERENITY NOW! (Those who love Seinfeld know what I am talking about.)  Seriously though, I began praying and asking for help with the pricklies.  This is probably the first “selfish request” I have made to God in several years.  My prayer life still has a ways to go.  As I figuratively begin to open my eyes, I am coming to believe the martin nest is an answer to this prayer.  They are nesting just feet from where I sit on the porch.  There is great serenity in watching and observing their patterns of nesting, guarding, and protecting their territory.  And there is a deep spiritual quality to what is occurring between us – we notice one another and remain respectfully curious.  The invitation to be a part of their lives is truly a gift and a blessing.  As my eyes opened to the immediate wonders around me, I found peace and serenity.  

Fighting the pricklies creates an angry tension within me.  Trying to stomp down desires for wild play crushes my spirit.  When I stop trying to control my world so tightly, when I recognize I cannot do it alone – that I need connection with God, friends, and nature, I always seem to find exactly what I am looking for.