Bees in My Bonnet

 "Oh teach us to pray!" the disciples yearned: As children try on language, stumbling, awkward, We long to speak with words our God, our Maker, will hear. In settled calm, He teaches us, "Pray:     "Your will be done. Here in me, on this earth,     Do as You will, as it goes in Your homeland." First He teaches; then, He shows, "This is how:     I come to a Garden. Remain with me, Pray for me.     Pray with  me. My prayer is still, 'Your will be done.'" To stay with Jesus, here, now, in darkness, uncertainty,     Can I  pray, "Your will be done." ? "You found me sleeping," I confess. "Your spirit is willing; your flesh is weak."     My struggle is held with grace. He taught us once to pray, "Give us this day our daily bread." Then later, He breaks the bread: "This is my body: I am the manna."  I need this daily bread! The bread given.  In it, I am for given. How God is for  giving!! He gives His...

 How can we talk openly about our lives and experiences? I think this is my driving need, my yearning, longing, deep desire. I want to write and share what is in me - for real. But I fear. I want to tell the truth of what I've known, seen, understood, and have yet to understand. And I freeze. There are other desires that lie buried in us - in me. One desire is that I can frame and shape my telling to in some way absolve myself of responsibility. To explain my own shortcomings. To make it look like even in my failings, I did the best I could. And there is a temptation to lie - to say, "I had this awful experience (or interaction or breakdown), but they were doing the best they could." What if we could simply own up to the truth. I DIDN'T do the best I could. So much of life seems to be about improving - my abilities, my status, my spirituality, my relationships, my diet - you name it - there is a beckoning from without and within: Be the best version of yourself.  I he...

 Is it audacious to pretend that God has a birthday? Today the whole world seems to pause and recognize...some thing , if not, some ONE.   Those who come to adore the Christ-child and those who merely tip their hat in token reverence - most of the world will in some way commemorate the coming of this newborn baby, come to make all things new.   And how will we honour Him? In the markets we will purchase. In our homes we will decorate. Some will travel far and wide to gather together with family, whether natural or chosen. There will be food, feasting, desserts, fun, simple gifts, abundant gifts. We will honour the birth of the holy child by honouring each other.   Don't you think the God Who made us, delights in our  delight in good gifts - the gift of each other, yes, but also the new fluffy blanket, new notebook and pen, new robot vacuum, new piano books, new dollhouse, new art kit, new socks, new bouquet of flowers? Aren't these tangible pictures that hint to...

 I just began to journal...and it made me realize I never concluded the previous saga of the lost wallet. There is more  to that story, I tell you.  My journal began..."Sometimes I think my brain got fried. The ability - really, the capacity - of my soul to hold grief, pain, trauma, suffering, silencing - I'm guessing has been greater  than most. I used to think of myself differently; blaming myself for being weak, fragile, IN-capable. But if I honestly look at my life journey, I must arrive at a different conclusion than before.  I sacrificed myself on the altar of survival ." I stopped there.  Yes, that last line describes decades of my life. I needed to find a way through, a way to cope and survive as a mother of young children, in a struggling marriage, in a world that has normal everyday demands that a severely depressed person can barely hold up underneath. It's not the world's fault. It's not having children, or a husband, or any of these things that...

 Infancy is weak, fragile, cute, maybe even a bit scary. I know infancy. Not only holding my own infants, but the infancy of hope in my own soul: the infancy that seems only a tiny spark of light in a long, dark, tunnel - this is a fragile and even scary dawning of hope.  These 24 hours are some of the hardest of the year for some: there are hopes, fears, expectations, longings, moments of despair, regrets, losses, hardships - this list is not exhaustive. And somehow the hopes and expectations seem to all land on this day, and how easily we forget space must be made to accommodate the losses and hardships as well. In fact, even the lack of fulfilment of hopes needs space to be grieved on a day set aside for celebration and joy.  "The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight" - and as we sing this Christmas hymn, we mean it. The hopes AND fears - of this loooooong   year - these meet together in this infant child, Jesus.  I imagine the time of J...

 The existence of fairy tales and their universality tells me something about the condition of the human heart: We love neatly contained stories with closure. It comforts us to feel the end of a story coming, and to know there will be a resolution, even if imperfect, brings a kind of relief. Most fairy tales have happy endings, some have gloomy endings, but they all seem to have a kind of solidly-footed ending. It wraps up the package, the telling: the journey for the hearer is complete. And I wonder if this universal yearning isn't also re-worked within Christendom to promote ideals that may yield fervour on the one hand, but despair on the other. For our fervour, consistency, zealous striving, and success are all prone to wane at times, and we may expect more from ourselves than is possible or realistic. Yet that doesn't stop Christian publishers from churning out books that beckon more from each seeker.  Who am I to complain? I wouldn't read such things anyway - though I...

 Part of being highly distractable is that when something is mentioned that has a whole category of memory or feeling, the mind takes a small hiatus - a short adventure into the realm of everything-in-that-category. This happened to me on Sunday when the sermon was regarding the 10 lepers (or, more accurately, the 9 and the 1). He was talking about what gratitude looks like, and trying to help us appreciate, in some small measure, what having leprosy was like in those days. He started saying how it was a socially isolating disease, a disease of separation, loneliness, scorn, rejection, humiliation. They had to walk about if they encountered healthy others, by calling out, 'unclean' to warn people to stay away. And he went on to focus on the theme of his sermon, which was gratitude. But I was already captivated, and brought to tears.  (There is something very healing about church: I go there to cry, then wait a whole week to return, only to cry again).   I believe God...

 Sometimes I wonder about things...random things...things that I then wonder if anyone else wonders about. Lately I've been with people in their pain, and with myself in my own, and finding my own pain somewhat inescapable, I began to wonder more about pain - what it does to me, to others, and where does God fit in all this? I haven't spent long on physical pain (" such a bother," I tell myself). Instead, I've allowed my (admittedly very small) encounter with physical pain to launch me into exploration of emotional pain.  Here's the thing: I have a wound on my forehead, covered by a bandaid, and a blog and facebook page where I talk about my wound, and people ask me about it, and it's kosher to talk openly about a physical pain because of the thing on my head. Now let's imagine it differently: what if my pain were in my soul, where I find immovable burdens press down on me and I spend every un-spoken-for-moment in a desperation I can't explain? Wha...

  Sometimes I'm just tired. Tired of trying to figure it out, and when I don't feel like figuring it out, tired of just knowing that the world is full of pain, loss, suffering, grief, heartache. I'm tired. It's Thanksgiving week and I want to be thankful. I want to reflect on all God gives, does, Who He is, the ways He blesses. But then I just cringe and think: an SUV plowed into a group of people. There's anger, there's rage. There's confusion. And it all just makes me tired. And it isn't even MY pain, MY story, MY suffering. And my son goes to a funeral for a guy who accidentally overdosed. 'Poor choices' some would say. 'It was bound to happen someday.' And true enough. That is so. If you mess with drugs, you take huge risks. But what of the pain, the waywardness, the lack, that brings about a yearning to self-medicate? What about that? It makes me tired just thinking of it. And I don't even carry this grief. Not much anyway. This ...

 Yesterday I was tired...you know, the kind of tired where you have 20 minutes before picking up the kids and you wish you could just lie down and take a nap. Thankfully, I have a friend who lives just near school, so I went to see if I could just lie down for a quick rest. And we got to talking. She happens to be single (and available!!) and shares her longing for a husband."I do still have this deep longing - but when I pour my heart out to God and I realize He sees me, and His love is precious to me, I tell Him, 'I still want a husband, but I want this deep connection with You more.'" She shares her journey - her ups and downs, how she moves from anger over being single, with a 4 year-old, to grieving what isn't, what is missing: the husband, the father for her child. This grief moves her to union with the Heavenly Father Who sees her. Who knows what is missing. And Who can hear the anger, the hurt, the longing and hold it all - Whose Son holds it all in outstr...

  Though I am not in the professional realm of psychology, I am in the UNprofessional realm of it. And I'd like to propose a new diagnosis: Self-Curiosity Disorder.   There are those walking amongst us who seem like well-adjusted adults. Citizens held in high regard. Kind and loving and decent people. People you'd like to know better and some who you'd like to not know better. They walk amongst us, and often they are busy doing good things and serving in some capacity. Keeping busy helps with this kind of disorder. Now, a disorder is only labelled as such because it is disruptive to life. And some disorders lie beneath the surface - they are rather hidden, and only show up in intimate family relationships.  I'd say this new disorder could be co-morbid with clinical depression, anxiety disorders, and personality disorders (there's a whole cluster of those).  The main tenet of this disorder is a surprising lack of curiosity about onesself. And it is rampant most l...