Birthdays

 

Photo by Isabella Fischer on Unsplash

This week I turned 62.  I suppose it’s time to make peace with the reality that I’m in my sixties now and into the third trimester of life.  I don’t feel old, really, but my body does.  We don’t need to talk about that.

It’s a odd point in life. Am I gearing up for the next season or planning for retirement?  It’s too early to retire but too late to start planning for it financially.  Isn’t that weird?

I haven’t done everything I’ve wanted to do.  I’ve thought about taking some classes and learning how to do some things better or learn how to do some new things, but not seriously enough to actually take steps in that direction.

When Rob and I were in our 20s, an older gentleman at our church took us to lunch and told us about his three careers, all of which required going back to school.  He was a lawyer, an architect, and . . . well, I don’t remember what the third thing was . . . but his point was that we don’t have to feel stuck in just one track.  I suppose I’m in track two right now, so maybe I need to be looking for track three?  That sounds like a lot of work, to be honest.

The other piece of advice we got from that gentleman was to never miss a chance to pee.  We thought that was hilarious at the time, but it’s turned out to be the best advice ever.  Just so you know.

But, about being 62, I’m still so often just tired.  The way ahead is unclear.  The one lesson I hope I have learned well over the past five years is that God will make the way clear in due time.  Meanwhile, wait and watch and keep checking in with God.

So, God, here I am, checking in again.

Still waiting.  Being still.  Knowing you are God.

Thanks, God.

Topsy Turvy Birthing Chaos

I don't know why it is, but we seem to forget how difficult it is to have babies.  I remember thinking that getting to delivery was like sliding down into a canyon, and after the baby was born I'd be climbing back up from the bottom.  That was the way I managed my brain for dealing with how uncomfortable I was, how much pain I knew there'd be, how much work would follow, and how none of it was forever.  Because birthing new life is hard and in the midst of it life feels like topsy turvy chaos.

I'm the grandma who's just part of the support team for the two families having babies this summer, but I still get to experience the chaos of toddlers and all their wild energy, and family tensions, and extra hospital stays, and trying to continue jobs and school and whatever else keeps going as if nothing significant is happening, and trying to be ready for both the expected and the unexpected.

In other parts of my world it's not babies, but life is still changing, evolving, growing, spinning, topsy turvy.  Fresh starts are not easy. Leaving old things behind is not easy. Finding what's real and lovely underneath the masks and pretense is not easy.

I don't suppose it's supposed to be easy. I keep having to remind myself of that. And I wonder how many times I'll have to remind myself before I'm done with this life that controlling any of this is mostly illusion, or, perhaps more accurately, delusion.

I'm tired, but maybe that's just because I'm old, and maybe still carrying some of the weight of the past.  I'm not afraid of the future, though I'd love to have a clearer picture.  I have Psalm 46:10 on my office wall as a perpetual reminder to "be still and know" that "God is God, and I am not," as the Steven Curtis Chapman song says.

Today the words from the wall at my daughter's house (pic above) seem to fit better. "Mind my business, leave it up to God, he will make no mistakes."

Maybe the hardest part is figuring out the difference between my business and God's business.  I guess I have to trust God for that, too.

And so it goes.

Thanks, God.

---

Pic: Raegan Cannon 

Soul-Soothing

A couple of months ago I was at a training week for pastors that started each morning with worship. While we waited to start, the musician sang to help us prepare.  One of his songs struck a chord with me (pun intended), so I put it on my Spotify favorites playlist. Today as I was driving, I listened to that playlist, and this time I connected with that song even more than I had before.

The song is Weary Traveler by Jordan St. Cyr. It came out in 2022. Here's what the chorus says:

Weary traveler, restless soul
You were never meant to walk this road alone
It'll all be worth it so just hold on
Weary traveler, you won't be weary long

My prevailing status for more than a year has been tiredness, so you can see how this fits me so well. I have been working on relearning how to connect with God and how to feed my soul. Today it is this song. The words are exactly what I needed, so this song got some repeat plays.

There's another song on my playlist that also got repeat plays. It feeds my soul in a different way. The song is Symptoms of Life by Willow. The lyrics don't come through as much in this one, but the way the song is constructed is amazingly complicated and enjoyable. I have no idea how to classify it. It's on my playlist because one of my adult children sent it to me with the question, "What is the meter of this?"  After one listen, I decided not to try to figure it out,  and instead just to enjoy it.  Today I wondered if I could find sheet music for it, and if I did, would I be able to play or sing it? I think I would like to try. 

I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with music.  Sometimes it soothes my soul, and sometimes it's a source of pain. Maybe someday I will be brave enough to dive into that with a therapist. Meanwhile I'm thankful for the days when music soothes, so, for today I will just say...

...thanks, God.

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PHOTO: https://unsplash.com/photos/a-piece-of-paper-with-musical-notes-on-it-re89ogJ1Wn0?utm_content=creditShareLink&utm_medium=referral&utm_source=unsplash

True Confessions

Photo by Stephan Widua on Unsplash

My husband Rob is in the early days of addiction recovery and working on his "fearless moral inventory."  When I said I hadn't done my writing yet for today, he suggested I confess something. I didn't think I had anything to confess, but I have been reticent to tell people what I read just for fun.  

I read lots of theologicalish books, because it's my job to keep learning, and also because I'm curious about what I don't know, but I rarely finish those books.  I read what I need and then I move on to the next one.  But fiction I finish.  

I keep it light with romance or light mystery, sometimes both of those combined with some fantasy.  That's the case for the book I'm reading currently, Wild Irish Eyes by Tricia O'Malley. Her books are free on Kindle Unlimited, which is how I got started on her series. 

In this book, the main character Cait has the ability to read minds, something that has been a lifelong source of shame and concern, especially since her mother is convinced that Cait's ability is from the devil.  Her mother is being narrowminded and fearful, of course.  Cait discovers that she can use her gift to help people.  That's as far as I've gotten with this book, but it has me thinking about my own intuitive abilities.

In the book, Cait is tormented by everyone's thoughts until she learns to put up a mental shield.  This is something I work on as well.  I don't hear people's thoughts, but I feel their moods--their sadness or anger or joy.  It gets confusing when I'm experiencing a mood that doesn't match my own thoughts, especially in a group of people where there can be a variety of moods.  It would be easier to hear actual thoughts, in my opinion.

I do get a sense sometimes that's sort of like hearing a thought.  I've assumed that's the Holy Spirit.  It's not always clear, and I don't always pay attention.  When it is clear and I do pay attention, it can be quite helpful in navigating a situation.  Sometimes I get it wrong, though. And sometimes I just ignore it.

Is this what people sometimes call women's intuition?  Or is it like Isaiah 30:21 says:

 If you stray to the right or the left, you will hear a word that comes from behind you: “This is the way; walk in it."

Or maybe I'm secretly a Mandalorian.  "This is the way."

Nah, I don't like wearing helmets.

Prayer and Breathing

Day 3 of writing daily. I decided to use the analytics on this blog to see which post has had the most hits.  Turns out it's one I wrote in 2017 entitled Job One: Prayer.  2017 seems like eons ago, and the confidence and idealism of that post feels like a different person from the one writing this today.  I'm not as resilient as I was then. Maybe it's the effects of aging, or remnants of experiencing the COVID pandemic, or watching the genocide in Gaza and Ukraine, or the upside down nature of our current politics, or just plain old depression.

Honestly one of the hardest practices to sustain through all those years has been prayer.

It's not that I have lost my faith in God.  I've learned that even though there have been moments of wondering if God is real, I had a deeper sense that I didn't need to wonder about that, that God is still with me, being patient with me, even when I had trouble saying much more than "hey."

Over the past several years of trying to keep seeking God, I've found that shorter readings connected with me better.  My go-to morning app has been Everyday Sanctuary.  There's just a sentence or two of scripture, a thought, and a word or phrase for meditation.  Mostly just breathing.

Breathing is always my homework from therapy.  Practice breathing.  This goes well with the words on the wall of my office, "Be still and know that I am God." (Psalm 46:10)

After I wrote that just now, I had to take a break and do some deep breathing with that verse.  Did you?

Maybe this is what Paul was talking about when he told the Thessalonians to "pray continually." (1 Thess. 5:17 CEB)  With every breath, be still and know that God is God.  With every breath, give thanks for life.  With every breath, let go of whatever gets in the way of joy.

To be honest, I was agreeing with myself wholeheartedly until I wrote that sentence about joy.  It feels a little self-delusional.  It's one of my sticking points. People keep telling me to work on finding my joy.  

Ugh.

It's much easier to practice breathing.

After all, breathing is one of those things that just happens anyway.

Maybe someday, joy will be like that for me, too.

Kansas Driving and Sky

Photo by Rodion Kutsaiev on Unsplash

Day two of my commitment to myself to write every day.  The fact that I started with that sentence tells you how it's going. I had the idea yesterday that today I would write about whether concentration camps are biblical, or in other words, whether there are concentration camps in the Bible.  But there aren't. So there's nothing more to say about that.

So instead let's talk about driving in Kansas.  I've had to go to Wichita twice this week.  The people I'm meeting with are quick to say how grateful they are that I'm willing to drive more than an hour to meet with them, which is nice.  It's not the most interesting drive because it's long and straight and flat, nostly fields, some trees, and a few buildings once in a while. But I'm often the only car on the road, or one of only two or three.  So it's not a hard drive.  It's actually quite nice. I can be alone with my thoughts.  I've got satellite radio and I like to flip around the stations.  I've got an FM transmitter so I can listen to the music on my phone, or books in Audible or podcasts (Hidden Brain is one of my favorites), and it's a bonus if I can hit NPR when Wait Wait Don't Tell Me is on.

Another fun thing about driving in Kansas is that the sky very often looks like the sky in the opening of The Simpsons. Deep blue with lots of little puffy white clouds.  We call it a Simpson's sky, and we never get tired of pointing it out to each other (my husband and I).

The sky is one of my favorite parts of Kansas.  I can't see it as well from my house because of trees, but I love the trees, so no complaints about that.  But out driving, there's nothing obstructing the sky.  Sunrises and sunsets are especially beautiful when you can see them right on the horizon.  And since we live in a small town (one square mile), most of our driving is on rural roads with no traffic and lots of sky.  What could be better?!

So there we are.  Today's ode to Kansas driving and the sky.

Thanks, God.

Faces

I hate talking on the phone. One reason is that I need to see faces. When I talk with people, their expressions tell me so much.  Nods and smiles are wonderfully encouraging.  Eye rolls are annoying but informative. Quizical looks help me know I need to explain more.  Then there's the sort-of blank and confused look.  I get that a lot.  It tells me that I'm sounding like someone from another planet to them, whatever that would sound like.

Yesterday I got that look from my therapist, followed by an eye roll.  She'd asked me to talk about how I decided to go to seminary and become a pastor.  I wanted to write, and considered going for an MFA, but, I told her, that seemed too self-serving.  That's when I got the look.

It does seem more silly now.  If I could go back and do it over, would I choose differently?  Maybe.  But maybe not.  At the time, I was writing lots of blogs about scripture passages that piqued my interest.  So seminary seemed like the more logical choice, I suppose.

Now all I write are sermons.  I rarely post on this blog, and I haven't been journaling much either.  Why?  It's complicated.

But today I am writing.  And my plan is to do this daily.  Anne Lamott, the beloved writing mentor (see Bird by Bird) says that's the way to do it.  Write every day.

So we'll see how this goes.

(face(s) did you make while reading this blog?)

___

Photo by Christopher Campbell on Unsplash, Photo by Zulmaury Saavedra on Unsplash, Photo by Jota Lao on Unsplash, Photo by nrd on Unsplash but not necessarily in that order.