I realized recently how much I've allowed myself to stray. From people and relationships I once highly prized. How much I've let others down. How much I've unintentionally changed. I've become a judge of others' loyalty but thought very highly of my own sense of loyalty without realizing that I have been as loyal to some of my relationships and commitments as a twenty year old gold digger in a retirement home. How much I have failed.
I can't be any more loyal than I perceive others have failed in their loyalty to me. Perhaps loyalty doesn't exist. Like moths, we are drawn to the light that is the brightest, until we get so close we are burned up in the flame-- wherever that light comes from, we go. We don't stay with a dull light when there's a better, brighter one attainable.
What can I say except that I am sorry, so sorry for neglecting my commitment? What can I do besides try to repair the damage I have created, avoid recommitting my former neglect? Cease to judge the disloyalty of others to myself and remember that just as grace is received, grace must be extended? There is nothing left to it.
Perhaps it's also time for me to make some long-term commitments to myself, as well. It's not so different to let myself down as I disappoint others. I'm always happy with myself until I'm not and then the self-loathing... it's so antithetical to the way I normally feel, but in those moments I can find the resolve to change rashly. Why does the long-term commitment to change disperse so quickly? And where is the investment in myself as a person, to avoid feeling like I've been unfaithful to myself? Tonight, I'm singing a little Ingrid Michaelson as I contemplate a REAL season of change. Especially the beginning lyrics of her new song, "Everybody," which go like this:
We have fallen down again tonight
In this world it's hard to get it right
Trying to make your heart fit like a glove
What it needs is love, love, love
Time to love myself, and love others. And not stop.
Hear for yourself: click 'audio' at the top of the widget, then play "Everybody."
Monday, September 28, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Saturday, September 12, 2009
aware
This morning when I woke up, I was slightly chilly. I sleep with the windows open, now that I can stand the cicadas and noise of traffic I hear falling asleep (the firehouse chatter somehow doesn't wake me), and I have to say that this morning feels more like fall than any of the reasons I've already said 'it's fall!' in the past week.
The thing is, I've never been aware of seasons before. I grew up in Texas, and truth-to-God, our only seasons are 'unbearably hot' and 'less hot'. I have memories of wearing shorts throughout our 'winter'. And then I spent a year in Indonesia, which is has tropical, equatorial climate and doesn't have four seasons, either. Which can certainly be nice. Then I moved to DC, and, well, I guess I'm slow on the uptake. Because I remember being absolutely awed by snow, my first real snow, sitting in Philosophy class, and seeing those magic little flakes fall from the sky and cover the world while I watched out the window. And to be taken surprise by true 'winter,' must mean that I missed fall the first time around. And the second.
But this fall, I am aware of the change of the seasons. Almost like my 'first snow' that first year, this fall feels like a first. I am shocked how quickly we moved from mild summer to chilly-nighted fall, and I have to also say that it wasn't until this summer that I was even really able to express my love for summer nights in DC. I am becoming aware of the change of the seasons, and at 25, it seems like just a shame that I wasn't able to understand before now. My friend E likes to say that I frequently dress myself 'seasonally-inappropriately'-- and in my own defense I believe it is because I did not understand what seasons were. When you can basically wear the same clothes year-round in Texas and Indonesia, it doesn't at first make sense to have a 'hot' and 'cold' wardrobe. But now I begin to understand.
I like that this dawn of understanding is holding hands with my learning about where my food comes from. I so appreciate being able to identify what foods are in season, but I just hate that it also comes with the knowledge that those foods that are not in season, which are still being sold from our produce stores have been genetically altered to withstand out-of-season temperatures and conditions, or were shipped in from hella-far away, which means that the price we pay for food (not just as individual consumers) is more expensive than any of us can afford. Practically none of which would return back to the farmers. Listen to me, I sound so earthy-crunchy-hippie. But responsibility is a beast, and once you know, you just know, right?
Anyway, I think that's enough waxing on about Fall. It's time to go enjoy it, starting with a trip to the farmer's market to pick up my weekly produce straight from my farmer. I hope you're enjoying fall as much as I know I will today!
The thing is, I've never been aware of seasons before. I grew up in Texas, and truth-to-God, our only seasons are 'unbearably hot' and 'less hot'. I have memories of wearing shorts throughout our 'winter'. And then I spent a year in Indonesia, which is has tropical, equatorial climate and doesn't have four seasons, either. Which can certainly be nice. Then I moved to DC, and, well, I guess I'm slow on the uptake. Because I remember being absolutely awed by snow, my first real snow, sitting in Philosophy class, and seeing those magic little flakes fall from the sky and cover the world while I watched out the window. And to be taken surprise by true 'winter,' must mean that I missed fall the first time around. And the second.
But this fall, I am aware of the change of the seasons. Almost like my 'first snow' that first year, this fall feels like a first. I am shocked how quickly we moved from mild summer to chilly-nighted fall, and I have to also say that it wasn't until this summer that I was even really able to express my love for summer nights in DC. I am becoming aware of the change of the seasons, and at 25, it seems like just a shame that I wasn't able to understand before now. My friend E likes to say that I frequently dress myself 'seasonally-inappropriately'-- and in my own defense I believe it is because I did not understand what seasons were. When you can basically wear the same clothes year-round in Texas and Indonesia, it doesn't at first make sense to have a 'hot' and 'cold' wardrobe. But now I begin to understand.
I like that this dawn of understanding is holding hands with my learning about where my food comes from. I so appreciate being able to identify what foods are in season, but I just hate that it also comes with the knowledge that those foods that are not in season, which are still being sold from our produce stores have been genetically altered to withstand out-of-season temperatures and conditions, or were shipped in from hella-far away, which means that the price we pay for food (not just as individual consumers) is more expensive than any of us can afford. Practically none of which would return back to the farmers. Listen to me, I sound so earthy-crunchy-hippie. But responsibility is a beast, and once you know, you just know, right?
Anyway, I think that's enough waxing on about Fall. It's time to go enjoy it, starting with a trip to the farmer's market to pick up my weekly produce straight from my farmer. I hope you're enjoying fall as much as I know I will today!
Monday, September 7, 2009
a million things
There are a million things I did not do this weekend. Starting the list with laundry, sweeping, and bed-making, I could go on for quite some time. Let's see. There's the supper co-op supper I've yet to cook. The mounds of reading I've yet to do. That bag business I hoped to start. The bathroom I meant to clean. Etc, etc, etc.
But let me tell you where I am right now. I'm sitting on my front porch. There's a big mason jar full of sweet, iced black tea on the table next to my cushioned chair. The sun is setting, and dark is coming on. Candles are lit. The rain brought in the breeze. Ingrid Michaelson is playing (thank you for taking me back, Pandora). And I've got an acorn in my hands (currently set on my keyboard) that tells me that summer is over... and Fall has come!
Despite the million things, there were important milestones passed this weekend. I celebrated, and took my first breath since the start of my third year of graduate school. I took time to be with friends that make life good. I cared for others. I labored over the word of God, and I let the Holy Spirit in, to speak through me-- and together we moved (quickly!) through my first sermon. I've become a preacher (broad claim-- SO much more work to be done, areas to improve!). I continued in certain commitments to be a better steward of creation, and I began thinking of new ones. I dreamed big dreams.
Sometimes I think it doesn't matter how many lists that I make to keep me 'on track': it's the moments that I can't think to list that make life worth living. It's not taking out the garbage, changing the oil, or working on the degree plan that keeps me going. It's the impulsive things, the things we do at the urging of the Holy Spirit, or a sense of adventure, or a need that cannot be explained but must be acted upon.
It's deciding on a drive home that it's time to make a bold statement of commitment, and then walking into Tattoo Paradise in my Sunday best, nervously declaring, "I'm here to get my nose pierced."
It's leaving a meeting with a million new things to add to the list in progress, but ditching the responsibility to climb in the back of someone's truck to enjoy the beauty of the end of day with friends.
It's reaching across the table to uncover Scripture and understanding that it's time to take a bold step ahead on an uncharted path: then agreeing to preach with no preparation but the assurance of the Holy Spirit.
It's sitting in a car in the rain. Hearing a story of hope. Renewing my belief in the existence and power of love.
It's whatever grand gesture it takes to remind you of the grandest gesture of all: your own creation. It's the big things, or the big little things, or the unexpected things; it's the forgotten things, the take-you-by-surprise things, the remembered things. It's the changing of seasons. The changing of minds. The changing of hearts, and the decisions made in response, shared with others. It's whatever it takes to remember you're alive and living!
Every so often, I understand the need in my life, to participate in a grand gesture. It's so easy here to do so much without doing anything at all, we talk and don't act. We push paper but don't see people. I used to feel bad for the things I would do every so often in response to these areas of disconnect in my life, explaining them away as my three-month need for craziness, or saying "I don't care." But I will own them now-- those acts of minor insanity, yes, desperation, they were responses to my inability to communicate my need to connect with existing as a creation of God. They were all about me making a change, or seeing a change; all frustrated attempts because I got so caught up in the millions of things I had to do, I couldn't see and I couldn't hear and I couldn't feel the millions of things I am. I am. I exist. I will be.
I'm going to change those frustrated attempts. My three-month act of craziness this time will be to rest in the stillness of my own understanding. To make grand gestures, but not out of frustration or misunderstanding. To make them out of readiness to take risks for all the good things in life that make it worth living. To continue to connect with my understanding of creation by taking time to sit on my porch with a glass of tea. I commit myself to celebrating the seasons of my life and all creation-- and all the beauty, hope and a million promises that such celebration will bring.
But let me tell you where I am right now. I'm sitting on my front porch. There's a big mason jar full of sweet, iced black tea on the table next to my cushioned chair. The sun is setting, and dark is coming on. Candles are lit. The rain brought in the breeze. Ingrid Michaelson is playing (thank you for taking me back, Pandora). And I've got an acorn in my hands (currently set on my keyboard) that tells me that summer is over... and Fall has come!
Despite the million things, there were important milestones passed this weekend. I celebrated, and took my first breath since the start of my third year of graduate school. I took time to be with friends that make life good. I cared for others. I labored over the word of God, and I let the Holy Spirit in, to speak through me-- and together we moved (quickly!) through my first sermon. I've become a preacher (broad claim-- SO much more work to be done, areas to improve!). I continued in certain commitments to be a better steward of creation, and I began thinking of new ones. I dreamed big dreams.
Sometimes I think it doesn't matter how many lists that I make to keep me 'on track': it's the moments that I can't think to list that make life worth living. It's not taking out the garbage, changing the oil, or working on the degree plan that keeps me going. It's the impulsive things, the things we do at the urging of the Holy Spirit, or a sense of adventure, or a need that cannot be explained but must be acted upon.
It's deciding on a drive home that it's time to make a bold statement of commitment, and then walking into Tattoo Paradise in my Sunday best, nervously declaring, "I'm here to get my nose pierced."
It's leaving a meeting with a million new things to add to the list in progress, but ditching the responsibility to climb in the back of someone's truck to enjoy the beauty of the end of day with friends.
It's reaching across the table to uncover Scripture and understanding that it's time to take a bold step ahead on an uncharted path: then agreeing to preach with no preparation but the assurance of the Holy Spirit.
It's sitting in a car in the rain. Hearing a story of hope. Renewing my belief in the existence and power of love.
It's whatever grand gesture it takes to remind you of the grandest gesture of all: your own creation. It's the big things, or the big little things, or the unexpected things; it's the forgotten things, the take-you-by-surprise things, the remembered things. It's the changing of seasons. The changing of minds. The changing of hearts, and the decisions made in response, shared with others. It's whatever it takes to remember you're alive and living!
Every so often, I understand the need in my life, to participate in a grand gesture. It's so easy here to do so much without doing anything at all, we talk and don't act. We push paper but don't see people. I used to feel bad for the things I would do every so often in response to these areas of disconnect in my life, explaining them away as my three-month need for craziness, or saying "I don't care." But I will own them now-- those acts of minor insanity, yes, desperation, they were responses to my inability to communicate my need to connect with existing as a creation of God. They were all about me making a change, or seeing a change; all frustrated attempts because I got so caught up in the millions of things I had to do, I couldn't see and I couldn't hear and I couldn't feel the millions of things I am. I am. I exist. I will be.
I'm going to change those frustrated attempts. My three-month act of craziness this time will be to rest in the stillness of my own understanding. To make grand gestures, but not out of frustration or misunderstanding. To make them out of readiness to take risks for all the good things in life that make it worth living. To continue to connect with my understanding of creation by taking time to sit on my porch with a glass of tea. I commit myself to celebrating the seasons of my life and all creation-- and all the beauty, hope and a million promises that such celebration will bring.
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