Month: March 2014

Empathetic Spirit

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“The commitment to help our poorest sisters and brothers is not an option, but an expression of our love for G-d.”

“…but also a turning toward our neighbor with a generous heart and empathetic spirit.”

“I will do a random act of kindness as an expression of my love for G-d.”

(the Living Gospel, March 28, 2014)

 

I’m having such a hard time concentrating on today’s readings. I read them easy enough, I had feelings that I thought I could express and then I started answering asks and reading things and getting frustrated.

I think the most frustrating thing is being called a liar. If only it were that easy to taint someone. Actually, it is that easy if you say it enough times. But the truth is, I’m not lying about this. I would even check my facts and have no problem admitting if I’m wrong, but lying? Really? Why would I want to have this argument when there are so many easier ones? Not to mention that the difference between my number and theirs doesn’t make a difference in what we’re discussing, and if you want to get into a pissing contest, I have absolutely no problem putting my integrity up against the other party.

And sadly, this is all in my head when I should be concentrating on G-d and Jesus and the next three weeks.

I have so much on my mind – that nervous excitement about the next few rituals. Will I trip? Will I be able to kneel this Sunday? My knees suck and I only fell over last Sunday. Can I carry the oil on Holy Thursday without dropping it? Will everyone come who I want to be there? I still need to send messages to four people. We’re going to visit our families before Easter. I have two doctors’ appointments and a mammogram that needs to be scheduled. My memoir workshop is starting next week. The workshop teacher has a book published so I need to come up with money to get that.

On the other hand, my almost-godmother keeps sending me inspirational cards that make me smile every time I read them. I’ve had more signs of hope this week than in the last two months. Doesn’t take the worry away but I’m in a better place. I printed out all those wonderful messages for my First Scrutiny and they also make me smile whenever I look at them, and I have all of the post-it notes from the likes from my becoming an Elect. (I’m going to do that again for the Vigil by the way.)

I have three books that I’ve taken out of the library for my Kindle and I bought a book that was on sale (free really because I still have a gift card) about baseball by David Halberstam. He was the commencement speaker for my college graduation.

Today’s act that they recommend is a random act of kindness. This was a nice reminder that I have promised my soda money to Random Acts, and once this posts, I will donate the $15 to them. As it says above, “a generous heart and an empathetic spirit” is really the way of Random Acts as well as their “commitment to help our poorest brothers and sisters…” If I have taken anything away from Supernatural it is finding this charity co-founded by Misha Collins. They embody everything I want to stand for in my life, and are a worthy place for my money (and yours). I won’t say extra money because no one has extra money, but what little I have goes to them, my church and our local volunteer fire department. We can all spare something. Give up one coffee or lunch per week. It’s not much, but for a small charity or organization, it adds up.

This Lent I am taking who I was, who I became when I joined this vast family and who I will become after my transformation at Easter. It is the one thing I can truly grasp about Easter. It was always something I tried to do in the Fall during Rosh Hashanah, but it wasn’t until attending and participating in Mass for the last two years and taking the examples of friends who showed me so many things and mixing that with the amazement I feel when a Scripture literally speaks to me, I have no doubt that I am finding myself and my place in the world.

Part of my path is of course, being vocal and open and talking about all of this and writing these posts that just flow from my mind and my heart.

I am getting ready for my first confession, and in the class on Salvation, I was told to kind of run down the Ten Commandments and that would give me an idea of what I need to ask forgiveness for. In reading today’s excerpts that I’ve shared with you, I also realize that I need to show myself some empathy and compassion. I am often hard on myself when I don’t need to be. I think we all are like that with ourselves, but I should show myself the compassion that others show me.

I have to find confidence in myself as well. There are things I want to ask for but I honestly don’t know if they are selfish or intrusive, and the waiting stirs up so much doubt in myself and in my relationships. I’m always afraid to step on toes, to say the wrong thing, to ask for too much. Waiting is not easy, but it can often be a constructive place to be for a little while.

The last time I waited for a long time, I read The Count of Monte Cristo. Today I am reading many books that are weirdly interconnected even though they really don’t seem like it. I think I want to do a writing exercise next week. I just have to figure out a day and a town to go to. If I do, I’m sure I will tell you all about it. In the meantime, I guess I did find something to write about. I hope it means something. Sometimes I never know.

On the card I just received there is a St. Francis deSales quote: “When you come before the Lord, talk to him if you can. If you can’t, just stay there, let yourself be seen. Don’t try too hard to do anything else.”

Don’t try too hard to do anything else. I think I might try that; not try too hard. Let’s see how that works.

It’s Not Easy Letting Things Go

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Yesterday’s reflection was about forgiveness.

Today’s homily was about what is most important and Jesus says: Above all else, love G-d with all your heart, mind & soul and second take that love and love one another.

My devotional asked: How do I make decisions about what is right and what is wrong?

I worry about this all the time.

How do I put things or actions in the right column or the wrong column, and not everything is so cut and dried, is it?

I’ve mentioned before in one of these that I do hold grudges. I still get a twinge when I think of certain people, and I’m not feeling particularly charitable, and that makes me feel bad. I try to let things go, but sometimes it’s not easy.

I’ve confided in people and then had them betray me with that information. I had a woman yell at my infant son when he was learning to walk and would fall down on the carpet in our second floor apartment above hers. This is no exaggeration. I have finally let it go, mainly because it’s not worth holding onto.

A few years ago, I met someone with this generous philosophy, and it was foreign to me. I mean, no, of course, don’t have a grudge, but if someone wrongs you why is it wrong to be angry and to hold onto it for a little while? In the last few years, I’ve seen my way and this more compassionate way side by side, and I will tell you that I’ve been the one to change. I have changed, and definitely for the better.

That doesn’t mean perfect; it does mean better.

I can see more clearly the rationale of not holding the grudge, of not having anger be the default, of letting things go when you can, and of compassion and forgiveness, which I’m finding seem to be running themes during this Lenten season.

I’ve always been able to see the other side, but putting myself on the other side to see what’s happening and why things are happening – well, it’s much harder, but it is better in the long run for my friendships, my personality and my blood pressure.

I will still get angry. I will still feel entitled, and want to argue or lash out or say it’s not fair when it’s not. But I have also learned to take a deep breath.

I have learned to look through other people’s eyes.

I have learned to listen.

I have not learned patience – that is one of the three things I pray for every day.

I have learned to be selective in what I do get upset about: choose your battles wisely we are told.

Yesterday, I talked about signs of hope. I’ve seen at least three this week. That doesn’t make what’s going on with me easier, but it pushes me out to the next day, and lets me calmly assess and calmly question, and every day is a new day.

A clean slate.

At least I try to wipe away yesterday’s hurt, or yesterday’s wrong, and move forward.

I will ask for answers. I will hope that I can continue to speak my mind. I’ve always been allowed to, and I will hope that hasn’t changed.

At the end of the week, I will ask for forgiveness on things that I have done and more than just apologize for them, a deeper apology will be offered and forgiveness will be sought.

This is more than just getting ready for my first confession. There are real people who I owe things to. I’ve reached out to some already. There are still one or two more.

First, I need to look at myself, and see what I’ve done that’s right and wrong and then I can seek out, and hope that it will all be okay.

Love G-d and love your neighbor. I’ve seen it done by people I’m close to. It’s not impossible. I can do it too.

Rite of Election

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I posted some pictures but I didn’t write much about last week’s Rite of Election. As I was reminded of today, and pretty much any day I’ve been in church since, I am now an Elect. My name is in the book and in five weeks I will be fully joining the church. I still need to try on robes, although they have a different, official-Latin-type name; alb. I’m both nervous and excited and only apprehensive of the ritual itself.

Last week, my nerves only extended to looking funny and being the center of attention which I abhor. I was still excited despite hoping that with all of the steps I was supposed to take that I wouldn’t trip and fall or do anything else equally stupid.

It was a full day of the Catholic Church in all its glory beginning with the first part at my local church for the Rite of Sending. My congregation said blessings over me and extended their prayers that things continue to go well. I was up there with J, who was standing in for my godparents and sponsor and she walked me through it all, making sure I knew where to go and when to stand up, when to speak and all that technical stuff.

While Father J was asking the questions of J and myself and then saying the prayers, I watched a beetle crawl around the steps of the altar avoiding looking at the packed pews. It was strange to look out at people and even stranger to be able to tell who the devout were as opposed to the obligated, although thankfully no one looked at their watches that I noticed.

They dismissed me from the church during Eucharist, something they will do for the next three weeks after the Scrutinies. I stood in the gathering space for the rest of the Mass. As the rest left, people would look over and wave, smile and nod. A few came over to shake my hand and congratulate me on getting this far and wishing me luck for the rest. One woman was in the RCIA program fourteen years ago and one man was a catechumen last year. They were both still very excited with their joining the church and were very excited for me as were their spouses, all four shaking my hand and glowing with happiness. I couldn’t help but let the happiness warm me.

The second part of the day was the Rite of Election at the Cathedral. The Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception is in downtown Albany, and is the second oldest Catholic cathedral in the state. St. Patrick’s in NYC is the oldest. It is also the third oldest in the country. It is of the Gothic style taking your eye upward, bright light coming in through the stained glass windows and outside the buttresses and spires add to the medieval world feeling. (I would add an author’s note that if you’re interested in church architecture to find David Macaulay’s Cathedral. It’s a magnificent artist’s rendition of the building of a medieval Gothic cathedral.)

Arriving, we were almost late. I misunderstood where the parking area was. While it was physically on the left side of the church, there was no entrance on that side and so we had to drive around the governor’s mansion, the park, the state museum until finally figuring out where the entrance was. The church itself was much smaller than I expected, but the vaulted ceilings and pillars made it look huge. We came in a side door, so we entered about halfway up the aisle. I had been told that our seats were in row 5, so as I began to count back, Deacon M came over to meet us and showed me to our seats with my family following.

It may have technically been row 5 but in fact it was front row center. I might have had to catch my breath. The only one sitting ahead of us was the Bishop.

When Bishop Hubbard was appointed thirty-seven years ago, he was the youngest bishop in the country and is currently the longest serving bishop in the Diocese’s 162 year history. He tendered his required resignation in October and will be replaced the week before this upcoming Easter.

This service included a Liturgy of the Word but no Eucharist. There was so much to see that I spent a lot of my time looking around. Stone walls, large and small statuary, stained glass windows in every spot they could fit them, pillars. The Cathedral’s Tabernacle was gold and three times the size of the one at my home church.

Once I settled between Father J and J, again standing in and guiding me, my nerves left me. I let my husband take care of the kids and I listened to the service and let my eye wander. The ambo was up a circular stair, all made of polished wood, reminiscent of the ones I saw at the Burton Parish Church in Colonial Williamsburg recently. (After it was all over, my daughter took the camera, climbed up there and took selfies. She also took one on the altar and when I said I was glad she didn’t sit in the bishop’s chair, which looked more like a throne, she smiled and said that she had, and then skipped away to find more cookies and juice.)

After the godparents answered that the catechumens had been studying and were ready for this next step, we were asked if we accepted and wanted to continue to join the church. The only answer is “I do.” I was one of the first ones called to greet the Bishop. He took my hand, shook it and welcomed me into the church. I think I said thank you, but I was trying to imprint the moment on my memory and also not trip on the steps. He had this soft smile and a sturdy voice, and while the whole time I knew I was doing the right thing, this was one of the confirmations of that. It all felt so right. No hesitation, no mental missteps, no questioning. Once I made the choice to become Catholic, I have never wavered. I have been nervous about telling people for fear of offending anyone or saying the wrong thing, and not knowing which things I know from others and which I’ve learned from doctrine, but the choice itself? Never a question; not one.

I signed my name in the book, and that was where my hand didn’t work right, but I managed it and looked at my family, and I could feel the grin on my face with the overwhelming excitement of this moment for me.

There were more blessings and then we were back in our seats for the rest of the Liturgy and the other candidates who had been previously baptized. We took pictures on the steps, and I got a nice one of the kids outside. I’ll have to remember a list of pictures I want at the Easter Vigil because I know I forgot to take some.

We were able to wander around the Cathedral afterwards, but I plan to go back and do some more wandering and picture taking. There was a short line by the Baptismal font where the Bishop was receiving people and taking pictures.

That kind of thing usually makes me nervous, but I really was in a very good mental place. I’m surprised at how little anxiety this whole thing has caused. There is a calmness that is just there, a comfort and the knowledge that this is so much the right thing, probably the only thing I’ve never wondered about if I were making the right decision.

All of my feelings, as I learn more and more through the RCIA program, I realize that much of what I had in my belief system matches perfectly to what the Catholic Church teaches and the words of Jesus Christ. It surprises me that I’ve waited this long to find this out, although I suppose things happen the way they do for a reason. Something will be said by a friend or one of the program teachers, and my response is almost always when I was a child, I thought….

It still knocks me back a bit, but that is the presence of the Holy Spirit always being there whether I felt it or not, but always being there to guide me and put the right questions in my heard at the best times to search out the answers.

I can only hope this continues over the next few weeks as I approach my first sacraments before my family, friends, godparents and church family. It’s not long now.

Cardigans

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“Take this and wrap yourself in the love of strangers and friends whenever you need warmth.”

This was part of the message I received on a recent gift given to me and I was reminded of it when it came time to write about cardigans. When I was a kid I never liked them. I don’t know why. At some point, that changed, but it took forever to find one that worked for me. I didn’t want zippers or hoods. Those were too much like the sweatshirts I wore all the time as a teenager. They were a reminder of something not quite right.

The cardigans I was looking for had to have buttons down the front, no pockets, no hoods, no ski designs. I worked in a sporting goods store. I hated ski designs. It took forever, but I finally found the perfect one. It was a green, but not the green that I liked. It took so long to find; I bought it anyway. Ironically, the color was a sage green, a color that I now love most of all. It had wide and thin knitted stripes and some kind of design every other strip. It was a crew neck collar, and it buttoned all the way to the top, although the top button was hard to do on the thick double-knit collar. I loved it. There was something writerly about it; the imaginations of going places. I can’t quite explain it. I wore it long after I wore it out. I think I still have it, but I couldn’t find it for today.

Oh, and cardigans don’t mess up your hair.

Now, however, I do wear hoods and zippers, and pockets are a handy addition, but I’m still averse to jersey/sweatshirt fabric. I like wool or wool-like, small knits rather than cable knit.

The one I’m wearing right now was a gift for Christmas, and it is the perfect color to go with anything and everything and the perfect weight for every season. Light enough for a summer sweater, just enough warmth for under a winter coat or heavier sweater and shawl.

If it is somehow too warm, I have taken to wrapping the sleeves around my waist and wearing it that way, so it is always handy and ready for the chill of an air conditioner turned up too high. I am never without a sweater. Well, almost never. And cardigans are always my preference.

My favorite part of the cardigan is pulling it closed. Not buttoning it, but pulling it tight like a hug, like that message I wrote at the top of the page. There is something extra in being wrapped in a cardigan. It brings me memories of Welsh mountain fireplaces and stories under a lamplight, even though in most of those memories I have no cardigan, only its feel.

Some of the warmth I know comes from one of my favorite people known for his cardigans and his tennis sneakers: Mr. Fred Rogers. There is no one warmer than Mr. Rogers. His daily welcome into his home, his soothing voice, his wise and kind words, and of course the feeling that you are the only one he is talking to and that you matter just because you’re you. You felt his love and wanted to visit forever. I don’t know if he made cardigans both uncool and cool again for me, but he is the warmest wearer of them all.

My oldest son, who will be seventeen at the end of this week, was not a huge fan of cardigans, but he loved Mr. Rogers. Unfortunately, iconic Mr. Rogers passed away before my two little ones were born and sadly, they don’t know him as well. Zachary watched Arthur (the cartoon aardvark) and Mr. Rogers every day on PBS. It was a glorious day when Mr. Rogers appeared animated on the Arthur series.

We once wrote a letter to Mr. Rogers, asking for his television schedule and thanking him for his daily friendship. We were both surprised and not when he actually answered. He sent us a packet with the television schedule of topics he would be sharing with his viewers and two separate letters; one for my son and one for me. He signed my son’s “Mr. Rogers” and mine “Fred”. It was wonderful and I still take it out and re-read it now and then.

Cardigans have a feeling all their own and like fresh-baked cookies are better when shared.

Elen of the Hosts

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St. Elen (Elen of the Hosts) (St. Helen of Caernarfon – English)

Everyone keeps asking me about my choice of saint for my confirmation name. I thought it might be easier if I wrote up a little bit about her since she is an unusual choice. With a person so far back in history, there are many things that are conflated and confused, especially with so many having the same names and much of the history and mythology being intertwined as one, not to mention that it was an oral history with bards and storytellers, and so what was remembered may be less than accurate to what actually happened, but some of Elen’s life is well documented through The Mabinogion (known as Elen Luyddog) and the writings of St. Gregory of Tours and Sulpicious Severus.

St. Elen is known as Elen of the Hosts or Saint Helen of Caernarfon.

She is a Welsh Catholic Saint and is often confused with Helena of Constantinople because of their similar names and the similar names of their sons, both of whom were named Constantine. Helena’s son was better known as Constantine the Great although Elen’s son was called Custennin Fawr, which is Welsh for Constantine the Great. This was not helpful.  St. Helena of Constantinople’s son is the famous one.

It is also possible that the sons have been confused over the centuries and they did not both have the Great descriptor and that was added later. There are other sources that describe nearly every royal house in Britain traces its lineage back to Elen and her husband Macsen, 4th century Emperor of Rome.

Elen’s feast day is May 22.

It is said that through her association with St. Martin of Tours, she brought the monastic church to Wales with her sons, Custennin and Peblig (who is also a Welsh saint known as Publicus.)

Elen is also named on several Roman roads in Wales and is known to be the patron saint of British roadbuilders and the protector of travelers. Roman roads in Wales are known as Sarn (au) Elen or The Causeways of Elen and she is said to have commissioned the road themselves to be built, but it is more likely that the roads were named for her after her death as their existence is much older than she. There is recent discovery that there are even older roads in Ireland, showing that the Celts were proficient roadbuilders, so who know?

Initially, I was seeking out a Welsh saint because of my long spiritual connection to Wales and the Celtic peoples, but upon discovering St. Elen, I discovered that there were several other reasons why I connected to her.

First and foremost, Ellen was my mother’s middle name and it gives me a connection to her as I join the church. My first teacher, who taught me lessons of generosity and the importance of family.

Secondly, Elen is from Caernarfon, the town in which I stayed for three nights in 2009. It hadn’t been on my list of places to visit until a Welsh friend randomly suggested it that I should go there and see the castle.

Her daughter is said to have married Vortigern, the only source for their marriage being carved on the Eliseg Pillar which is very near Valle Crucis Abbey, another Welsh place I gravitated to.

Ellen is also one of my favorite television characters: mother, business owner, independent, smart, how could I go wrong?

As I mentioned earlier, St. Elen is also the patron/protector of travelers, and more than anything else I consider myself a traveler. It is always my choice for being and writing and seeing and I love that this saint has a connection to something I love so dearly despite the anxiety that accompanies it.

 

*sources are limited and all the ones I used are second hand sources. I tried to use only the information that was known in more than one source.*

Lenten Reflections

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Lent is a time of introspection, something that I’ve done much more in the last couple of years. I know I seem sadder or more upset, and there is not any one thing causing that. I put this note here because I do tend to say things that are just below what I really want to say or I lean towards the passive-aggressive, and this series, 40 Days of Lent explores a lot of deep seated feelings and emotions, and when a scripture or reflection hits home, I just go with the flow. I don’t want anyone to jump to conclusions when they read my innermost thoughts. They’re innermost for a reason. That said, any personal questions may be directed to me if you think that I’m referring to something specific that you’re concerned with.

These meditations are for me and sharing them benefits me with your feedback and love, and they may continue beyond Lent, but it is too early to say anything on that subject.

 

 

“Our needs are provided for when we provide for the needs of others.” (Living Faith, Mar. 17, 2014)

“Stop judging and you will not be judged. Stop condemning and you will not be condemned. Forgive and you will be forgiven.” – Luke 6

“…quick to condemn and slow to retract…”

“I will pray for a generous and more compassionate heart.”

(the Living Gospel, Mar. 17, 2014)

 

I read these after an internal monologue of hurt and anger this morning. Getting up an hour before I needed to and on the wrong side of the bed after a freakish dream that wasn’t over will certainly do that to a person. Not to mention that in addition to whatever, my son missed the bus and his grades came in email. No one was a happy camper this morning.

Then I took a deep breath and sat down to remember why it was internal and not out loud and I re-read today’s passages.

Judging for me can be a reflex action. It just happens when feelings take over. I still feel like the last kid picked for the team, except I’m not the last picked – no one actually wants me; they’re just stuck with me. I can tell you countless times in the last six months that it’s felt this way despite any contrary statements. I’m not the life of the party, I’m barely noticeable and I really am out of sight, out of mind. After a couple of years of this, it makes me feel just a little bit paranoid.

I’m always on the peripheral, left out, an afterthought. It’s probably not even on purpose; I just don’t leave an impression.

When I do finally become included, I like it to continue. I give my whole heart. And when it’s not reciprocated or taken away, I’m afraid, and it makes me feel upset over little things, to parse every syllable, to analyze every comma in a message, to add tone where there is none, and more problems ensue; some of which can’t be fixed.

I know that I’m guilty of knee-jerk reactions, but the longer I meditate on my reasons, I see that a deep breath and a short wait brings about a little more clarity than what I started with.

To be fair, understanding something doesn’t always change those judgments I made. It’s easy to give advice and less easy for me to take it. It’s also possible that my judgments are correct, but it’s unfair to expect anything to change because of my feelings or desires when there are other, more important, factors.

I would consider myself a compassionate person. It’s definitely more of a natural fit now, but even so, my heart tends to be more compassionate than my actions. Even if I know what’s right, I still might need a push in the right direction.

I need to stop the knee-jerk reactions, the judgment and the condemnation even if it’s only in my own heart, and be more generous with my understanding and reaching out as its needed, not as I want to be needed.

I don’t count to ten, but a deep breath held for an extra moment or two does wonders to stopping the misplaced anger.

Reconcilling Church Beliefs and LGBT Issues

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I was recently asked how I reconcile church doctrine and my faith with issues like LGBT and I didn’t answer the question very well. After some time to think, I realized that it’s easier than you might think.

First, I try not to inflict my views on others. If I’m asked, I will say. Obviously, this is my blog and I give my opinion freely. I’m willing to engage in debate, and on some issues there is no middle ground. I also try really, really hard to keep an open-mind, much more open than many I know and I hope that people will listen to my views as deeply as I listen to theirs.

With LGBT in particular, I don’t see a conflict at all. The Bible isn’t written by G-d; it is an interpretation of G-d’s laws and a historical primer. It’s well established, including by the church that the four Gospels were written well after Jesus died and by people who did know him personally. After reading Reza Aslan’s book, Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth, I wonder how different the church would be if James had lived to be an elder in the church and Paul had been executed, but that is a different debate.

Sexual orientation is not mentioned in the Bible and anywhere it’s inferred, it is ambiguous at best.

Any parts that talk about man lying with woman or marriage is between a man and a woman discounts polygamy and concubines as well as if a woman was barren (or presumed barren) as well as if the man died and his brother married the widow. Some consider the deep abiding friendship between David and Jonathan to be a tacit approval of homosexuality, not to mention that same-sex relationships have been around since the beginning of time. Most marriages were a contract with the end result being progeny. In fact, when Jacob was deceived and married Leah without knowing it, he was permitted to marry Rachel after seven years of work. Clearly that marriage was not one man and one woman and he was an indentured servant to pay for his bride, which is a whole other can of worms.

My second point, and more importantly, LGBT is not an ice cream flavor. You don’t walk into Baskin’ Robbins and choose one or two or however many scoops you want. Whether or not someone is LGBT is a biological fact. Gender is biological. Orientation is biological. It, like race, cannot be changed or adjusted to someone else’s liking.

Marriage equality, employment hiring and firing practices, housing, medical treatment – these are all things that every single person is and should be entitled to.

LGBT is not a gay issue. It is a civil rights issue.

When you have a great civil rights leader such as John Lewis agreeing on this issue, it is easy to see the comparisons to the rights of African-Americans in the 1950s and 1960s.

When 38 states can fire you for being transgender, when your legal marriage isn’t recognized in another state, when the military had been turning away qualified men and women because of something biological but not detrimental to their service, it is easy to see how this is a civil rights issue.

Equal rights for everyone benefit everyone.

As far as the church goes, I believe in the separation of church and state. What this means is that the church can’t inflict its doctrine on my civil rights and the civil authority cannot force religious institutions to provide for things not in their doctrine. I would not tell the church to start performing same-sex marriages, but the church should not be telling the state that they can’t be done in a civil venue.

The topics of reproductive rights and gynecological and medical procedures that conflict with religions and health insurance is a different debate and one that I would write on in the future if anyone is interested in my opinion.

Reconciliation

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“…go first and be reconciled with your brother…” – Matthew 5

Next week is my class on reconciliation and salvation. I think they will teach me how to do my first confession, and Lent is chock full of reminders to become reconciled. In addition to the verse above, there is also the Scripture about the plank in your eye. I had to hear that one three times before I understood what it meant. I interpret it as another way to say ‘let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’

One of the biggest problems I had as a teacher was forcing kids to say they were sorry when they hurt another child. I would never do it. What’s the point? They don’t mean it. I felt it was always better to explain to them how the other person felt and ask them what they thought about it. Nine times out of ten they apologized on their own or made some other gesture that expressed sorrow. I’ve tried this with my own kids to limited success. You have to model and hope it sticks.

I am also a grudge keeper; was. It’s a short list, but a fist-clenching one. Over the last few years, before I found my way to the church, I began to change. Not so much more forgiving as much as letting go more. I cannot express to you the positive change in me. Letting go of the grudges took so much anger out of me; anger that I didn’t know I had. It was just lying there barely below the surface, and it was a relief to be able to say that it wasn’t that as significant as I was making it out to be. It should not, and would no longer have a stranglehold on me. It didn’t deserve that much power.

Just as Lent started last week, I sent out three emails. I still have one to do, perhaps more than that. Two of them were an attempt at reconciliation. I’m waiting for a response from one, but for me the point wasn’t a response. The point for me was to express where I thought the trouble was and how I wanted to fix it along with a regret for where we are. I hoped as I re-read them that it wasn’t one of those I’m sorry if you were offended apologies. I don’t like those. It has nothing to do with if you thought you were offended; it was that you were offended. Or hurt. Or insulted. Or anything that was felt by the other party.

The other email sent was one that I don’t send often enough; the expression of how much someone means to me. I don’t often say it to all of the people who deserve it. I pray daily for a select group of people. They have their individual slots when the Father recites the intercessions. I’ve decided to continue to do emails like this one as signs point to certain people. Again, it isn’t for the satisfaction of an answer, it is for me to know that I’m expressing my gratitude in ways that I should do outside of Lent.

Of course, I get angry. Everyone gets angry, but now I have perspective. One of my problems with thinking about forgiveness is my long memory. It is a curse when there are things you want to forget in order to forgive and can’t get rid of them, but I still try to put them aside, and for the most part, I can do that now. I credit two people in addition to my walk with Jesus and G-d.

It was a long time coming, but in the last three years, I’ve found it a much better path to travel. My peace benefits everyone around me. I’m less likely to jump on every word, I think before I speak, and I let things go that are so inconsequential they shouldn’t bother me in the first place.

Lent is a time for me to think about who I want to reach out to, whether I’ve treated them badly or not as good as I should have. It allows me to think about how I approach things and gives me the chances to fix them, to adjust my thinking. It lets me appreciate and show my gratitude for people who are there for me who I don’t thank as often as I should. I think of them often. I’m grateful to them. I ought to say it more often.

Fucking Roundabouts

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We recently got a roundabout in town. It took the place of a traffic light that created more trouble than it was worth. The roundabout really helps. Unfortunately, a lot of people don’t know how to use it. It’s a one lane circle with four exits. That whole yield to traffic in the circle thing has them baffled.

Let me tell you a thing, townsfolks – this is the easiest traffic circle, roundabout, devil’s trap you will ever find anywhere in the world. It’s well lit, signs are posted, it is now literally the easiest intersection I have ever encountered.

As some of you remember, a few years ago I went to Wales, and I spent a week driving there. Having never driven on the left side of the road was bad enough, but the fucking roundabouts! Holy mother of Satan! I should warn you now for language. There is no language that is off limits in describing the Welsh roundabout.

It’s a rural country, Wales is. I almost never had a car behind me or was in any traffic to speak of. Unless of course, you are in a roundabout. Then, every fucking driver and his brother are so close up your arse that they should buy you dinner first.

There was one roundabout, just to interrupt; they call them roundabouts. Sounds civilized, doesn’t it? Much like the Scottish version of ‘hills’ which are really fucking mountains. (Look up Craigower Hill if you don’t believe me.) Cunting roundabouts! Traffic circles from Hell! This is no exaggeration. Driving in Hell would not be this bad, and that includes not having air conditioning down there.

As I was saying, there was this one roundabout; one of many really, but this one really stands out. Plenty of traffic; of course I’m the only one who doesn’t know what they’re doing.

First, you enter the roundabout when there’s a lull. There is no fucking lull. It is four lanes of fucking no lull. But wait, there’s more to ‘first’ than meets the eye. When you enter, you of course, enter to the left. The steering wheel is on the right side of the car and you enter from the left when there is a lull.

Good fucking luck.

You enter the circle and you look for your exit.

This fucking roundabout – did I mention that it has four fucking lanes?! This fucking roundabout has signs, but they’re useless. I don’t even see how native Welsh drivers can understand them.

All signs are in both Welsh and English. This isn’t a problem, but one example I’ll share that I ran into more than once is ‘men working’ in Welsh is something like five words. Construction ahead took two signs and that was just for the Welsh portion.

These signs for the circle, in the circle: do they say: Bangor, 10 miles with an arrow pointing the way? No, of course they don’t. They say something ridiculous like A4 with an arrow.

A4?!

Fucking cuntswallop! Is this Bingo?! I didn’t get my Bingo card when I entered the roundabout – who do I see about that?

So I go around again, hoping that the car riding my arse isn’t going to hit me even though I’m going twice the speed limit since I still don’t know if it’s miles or kilometers and I’m hoping for the best. (It’s miles by the way.)

There is a sign detailing all of the exits. There are seven spokes to this roundabout. SEVEN!

Four of them say Bangor. Bangor is about the size of Central Park. Alright, maybe that’s a slight under-estimate, but it’s a smallish college town with basically one road through the whole of it.

Now, the fun begins.

To exit, you need the left most lane. Or do you? When you exit, you are exiting from this four lane monstrosity to a two-way, two-lane, no yellow lines, bordered by ancient or at least medieval stone walls that barely give your side view mirror room to scrape by.

And scrape by I did now and again.

To digress, on a one way street, it’s even worse. And that’s assuming you’re driving the right way; you never know with the GPS piece of conCRAPtion. Modern compact BMW versus thousand year old wall? Scrape the wall. After a thousand years, that wall isn’t coming down. Trust me. Besides if I don’t scrape that wall, I scrape the church on the other side. St. Mary’s. Also about a thousand years old.

And now back to our regularly scheduled rant. Now you hope that this is the only roundabout, but it’s not likely. They like a series of them to keep you on your toes. I think it’s a Darwin test – survival of the fittest. Or the luckiest.

Roundabouts are the reason there’s a church on every corner. If you’re not praying while you’re driving, you’re clearly not stressed enough. Most of my time behind the steering wheel included my white knuckled clutching until the final stop when I could barely uncurl my fingers and heaved a sigh of relief that I was still in one piece.

Often I would burst into tears upon stopping simply at the thought of having to go back the same way, but there was also the release of tension with the tears. And then a deep breath.

For about three weeks when I got back, I needed a sedative to be a passenger in a car that went through a roundabout.

Roundabouts are the devil’s spawn.

A Door Opens

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I am still impressed with how many individual pieces are put together to create an easy meaning in my daily life.

From today’s Psalm: “Lord, on the day I called for help, you answered me.”

This one is actually not so surprising. When I arrived in church two years ago, I was looking for help and I was answered. Over the last two years, I have continued to ask and I have continued to be answered in different ways, not always the ways I expected.

“Ask and it will be given you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” (Matthew 7)

We are told that when one door closes, another one opens and to be on the lookout for the opportunity when it does come knocking. So many clichés in one line, but we remember them because they mean something. They give us something to look for; to prepare for.

As part of the meditations for today, I am reminded that there are things that shouldn’t be hurried including opening a door that’s not ready to be opened. If it’s locked, it won’t open easily, and if you force it open, it might slam shut in your face. When that door finally opens, we will know it’s the right time and we are relieved. If we open it too soon, we are not always ready for what lies beyond the threshold.

I’m also reminded today that when I ask for help, the answer doesn’t come immediately. I am impatient. I need immediacy. But waiting does have its advantages.

There is a bit of time to think. There is time to find more questions for when the timing to ask them is right. There is time to pause and prioritize. For the most part, time is on my side. I just have to trust that.

I pray for some things and some people daily. Among my faults that I try to rectify through G-d’s intercession is asking for help for myself especially for patience, courage, and strength. These three things can get me through, and when they can’t, I ask for more and it is often given. Not always right away, but meted out as I need it.

Today, I was given something that could have hurt me, but it left me with hope and imparted the strength to go one more day. It was a small thing, but it meant something.