Some Days Are Signs

Friday evening, the Stevenson High School football game was delayed due to lightening. We all huddled in the school to wait it out. Actually, huddling was not really necessary. This school is so ginormous, we could have fit the surrounding suburbia and their pets in there.

In the hallway, I shared a nice conversation with one of my daughter's fellow band members. This young man has been classmates with my daughter for years.

As we talked, he said he remembered that I knew sign language but that he could not remember why I knew signing. He explained that he was taking a sign language class. We proceeded to communicate to each other with basic signs. Me: "Wow"  He: "Yes"  Me: "Very good"  He: "Thank you"

How amazing that a 14 year old ninth grader is learning sign language!  I am not pompous enough to think that this Freshman boy is learning sign language because of my influence. He is a very bright kid. One of those curious about a lot of things kids.

However, I have zero recall of ever talking to him about signing. Maybe my daughter told him something. Sign language has always been in my speech pathologist toolkit. So my daughter knows some signs. Even some she really should not know.

This Friday-night-in-the-hallway experience has me thinking. We never know what we could say (or do) that another person may hold on to.  We may never know if what we communicate - by speaking, writing, smiling, or signing - is a life changer for someone, for better or for worse.

We CAN be the change we want to see in the world, even when we are totally oblivious we are doing so. Maybe especially then.

Some Days Are Living Questions

When I was growing up, we did not have dogs or cats for pets. This was a good thing for only one reason. I was a curious and sensitive child. If a cat died on our family watch, the saying "curiosity killed the cat" would have  devastated me. 

I know I was not one of those intellectually off-the-chart kids.  These are kids who are constantly curious and questioning because it is cognitively within their grasp. It is not possible for them not to grapple. I was probably in the category of "learning sponge" which accurately could describe all children. But I did entertain questions, multitudes of questions, mostly in my mind.  I was delighted the day my folks purchased a set of encyclopedias. 

It was winter of the seventh grade when I became aware that my questions needed some answers. Almost like built up steam needs an escape valve. I had questions like, "Why does the air rising from the heaters by the windows in the classroom make the outside look rippled?"  I was grateful my Mom and Dad purchased those encyclopedias. Until I looked it up, I was a little concerned the ripples I was seeing were apparitions. It was a Catholic school. 

Also in the seventh grade, my questions took on more complexity. I began having questions about God. Never about the existence of God. I was a believer.  But I was a curious believer who was perhaps ready for some twelve year old depth. It was a long time ago. But I do remember the classroom and the tone in the responses I received from my home room teacher (a firm but lovely nun), a priest (scary and intimidating) and my folks (who were faithfully committed to raising Catholic children).

My questions to the adults in my life started simple.  There was the one that asked, "What do you think Jesus wrote in the dirt with that stick?" Then they got more complex, "Why will only Catholics
be in heaven?"

I was not interested in debating, just wondering about God.  I was a bit obsessed.  A cult could have sucked me in rather handily.

To be honest, it was the adult tone that unnerved me more than the questions. I do not remember any exact responses. To be fair, the adults may have been working hard to help me see the omnipotence of God. But to this day I can viscerally remember how I felt after asking a question. I felt small and shamed and silenced.  I felt my questions were displeasing.

In high school, I took Religion classes, including one on comparative religions.  I joined YCS (Young Christian Students). By Junior year, I was done.

I believed in God, a Divine presence. But I knew something was wrong if questions were not good. So I basically checked out.

In college I went a couple of times to the campus Newman Center. I believe I did this as a social activity, similar to hanging out with friends at the lagoon.

So there was this intermittent constant in my life. Faith would come up at Christmastime and HolyWeek, or when someone shared they were "born again" or asked if I was "born again."

It was my perception that, when I was in conversation about faith and I shared a thought or asked a question, I needed to put on a mask. ASAP.  My masks ranged from being a compliant listener to being a judgmental bully. My masks hid the emotional flood I was experiencing.  Invariably, I felt small and shamed, silenced and displeasing to their God.

Then the day I said aloud in a group, "I believe in God. But Jesus, I don't know...I really struggle with this."  And Kathy Collier, a pastor, did not shame or even talk.  She gave me a copy of a quote by Rainer Maria Rilke.  This is the quote:

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”

The sky did not open, angels did not sing, and apparitions did not ripple.  But I heard the words my soul had longed to hear: Learn to love the questions.

Now, even in the middle of all that is joyful and all that is painful in life, I am okay with the questions. Because....

I know I am living into the answers.  And in that, God is well pleased. 

Some Days We Laugh

There is a wonderful saying, that begins "In our home, we do..." It goes on to list things a family does that makes them real.

In our home, we do laughter. Jay has a creative sense of humor. Our daughter, Zena (more on her name in future posts), is a fun person, always quick with a joke or a quirky video to share. Both Jay and Zena can make me laugh every day of my life. Lucky me.  I can laugh even when things are not funny.  I have been known to laugh inappropriately during tense staff meetings.

Laughing comes in degrees. There is laughing on the inside, with no discernible behaviors.  Then there is smiling, grinning, chortling (as in "HA"), chuckling, giggling, laughing, and belly laughing.

Then there is this other phenomena many people have experienced, especially when we are young.  It is when you laugh so intensely that you lose touch with your surroundings.  You become one with the laugh.  It takes over your mind and body. If you are standing, you sit. If you are sitting, you lie down.  You cross your legs because you just might pee. You snort. Or you make no sound because you can't catch a breath. Tears run down your face. It is truly an out of body experience.

This is not an everyday experience at our home which is probably a good sign of our emotional health. But it happens. And when it happens, it is pretty much out of the blue. It might be inspired by events in our lives, good times or stressful. Hard to know the precipitator.

When we get caught up in the way I have described, it is like our souls are speaking, with no words. No way to talk when you are laughing that hard. The closeness that is experienced  is almost impossible to put in words.  We become one. It is a melding of our spirits. And there is an aura that stays with us, that I believe becomes a part of who we are from that laugh forward.

Some Days Are BLIS(T)S

Yesterday was an active day. I started a blog! This included choosing this platform, deciding on a title, writing a brief bio, and posting my first entry.  The fun part was sharing with friends, "Guess what I did today?"

One of my friends challenged me, in a good way. She asked my what I was hoping to accomplish with my blog. Very good question from a very savvy thinker.

I do believe I started an online blog because it is trendy. Sounds rather shallow, but honest. But wait, there's more. I also did a little research.  Close to 40 million people blog in the United States alone.  Blogging started in 1990 as a tool for online expression. It was a place for folks to share interests, hobbies, and stories. Through the years, blogging has expanded into a major publishing business and marketing tool.

I can list trends that have become mainstays in my life. I shop Groupon, read off a Kindle, have a Facebook page, and wear leggings. Admittedly, I failed to develop a taste for kale and quinoa. And I have never been to a Zumba class.

So in my own mind, I am totally trendy and cool. Do not pay attention to that 14 year old behind the curtain.  Here is my first BLIST. A BLIST is a blogging list. That could be a term. Or it could be something I just made up.

MY TOP TEN REASONS FOR BLOGGING

IN NO SIGNIFICANT ORDER

1. I love words.
I often pause on a sentence I read or hear. I marvel at the construction, at the picture that was painted by these words in my mind. It can give me goosebumps.

2. I have intimate relationships with writing.
Books have been my companions at times in my life when I have been alone or in need of escape.

3.Many writers are my role models.
Harper Lee, Leon Uris, Harlan Coben, Liane Moriarty, Jana Oliver, Glennon Doyle Melton, Brene Brown, Richard Rohr are but a few.
In my imaginary life, I want to be one of these folks.

4. I want to be better at writing.
To be a better at it, I need to do it more. Writing is an action word.
Actually, writing is a present particle, the -ing form of the verb write.
I want to be a better and more interesting writer...

5. I want to continue improving my communication skills.
Writing helps me sort things out and put words to my experiences and emotions.

6. I want to be a better thinker.
Aging both helps and hinders that process. To me, it's a balancing act. We age, we have lots of experiences.  The trick is remembering the details.

7. I want to be more disciplined and make a commitment to healthy life habits.
Important since I can't tolerate kale and quinoa.

8. At different times in my life, I have journaled. Blogging, for me, is just that, journaling.

9. I love that moment when you are sharing with a friend and you connect, you understand each other on a deep, spiritual level. So maybe this is about a desire to share my ideas, thoughts, expertise and
make connections.

10. In the words of a dear college friend, Clarice,
"If it feels good, do it!"

Some Days Are Dark

Oh crap.

Thus begins my first blog entry.

The crap is everywhere: chronic illness, terminal illness, mental illness, pain, suffering, disorientation, scarcity, hopelessness, invisibility, shame, grief, abuse, secrecy, silence, judgment, ignorance. It's sad, dark and hard to escape.

So maybe an escape plan is needed. A focus on raindrops on roses. Sleep. Eat. Drink. Check off a list of things to do; so much to do, you know. Be happy. Be the light. Stay in the light. Be present to the Presence.

Author Barbara Brown Taylor wrote "Darkness is not dark to God. The night is as bright as the day."

Oh.

Rather than escape, I am trying to stay with the dark. By that I mean I'm trying to remain open to thoughts of people, places, and circumstances that are beyond crappy.  Trying to be mindful of the dark as well as the light.  Dark has much to teach.  Many times it has been in the dark where I have learned to be a light.