Listening when your head is screaming...

Not too long ago I preached a sermon about prayer...prayer as a practice in listening.

Well....I happen to be failing as a listener right now.  I am a 'doer' when there are things to be done.  My prayer life feels like a woodpecker picking at a tree over and over again.  Like I just keep shooting thoughts, worries, concerns up at God... peck, peck, peck.

This morning as I was doing this, I was so frustrated with myself.  I felt like I was participating in everything that I feel prayer is not - basically 'telling' God what I think God should do....leaving no room for God to speak, act, or even breathe.

My prayers were making me more anxious.  So - I began to pray about this.  Pray about my anxious prayers.  It was then that I realized that as much as I believe prayer is about listening, sometimes it's hard to get into a listening frame of mind when one is carrying around so much.

I was in a quandary.  What to do?  I needed to voice stuff, but I needed to slow down to do that, so that I could listen.  What I needed most was not answers, but rest.  I needed my brain to chew on something that wouldn't make me think of my 'to do' list.

Something (or someone) said, "Chant".  Now...let me tell you, there's no way I could do Gregorian chant while running.  Plus - gotta say, with a nod to the Church Fathers, that Gregorian chant is just not my thing.  At least not normally, but there was something about the humidity, rain, and steam of the morning that felt a bit like a hot yoga studio, so I began to chant [in my head] the words to "Jesus Remember Me" in conjunction with my breathing.  This was as close as I could get to a chant.

"Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom..."  Over and over it went through my mind.  I had heard it last week during the offertory during worship and it seemed so fitting now.  An offering, a prayer, a chant, a plea, an acceptance.

Eventually, my brain did become occupied with these thoughts...I did feel a space open up between my temples.  "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom..."

Listening is so hard, when there's so much to say.  But it's hard to listen if all we think about is what we have to say...  Today was my very first realization of what a chant actually provides, beyond being 'traditional church music'.  The chance to listen while speaking.

Form

I bought new running shoes recently.  They are the same brand and model I have been buying for 5 years.  So, they are new, but not different.  This is such a 'girl' complaint, but they are always blue or teal or...some boring color.  So, while I was waiting for my 'same-old/same-old' to be brought out of the store room, an exquisite bright orange and pink shoe caught my eye.

The salesclerk brought my shoes out and I said, "What's with this shoe?  I've never seen it before."

He responded, "Oh, it's totally new.  It's designed to keep you on your toes while you're running."  [For those of you who don't know...the 'proper' running form is on your toes, not rolling through your heel.]

I responded, "It's soooo CUTE!  I've been buying the same shoe for years, maybe I will check this one out."

I'm pretty sure he was rolling his eyes as he said, "Well, you better try them on and get on the treadmill over there before you buy them.  They really feel different."

So, despite the fact that I was in a skirt, I laced them up and got on the treadmill and.....HATED THEM.

I wanted to like them so much, but they felt so wrong.  And the reason they felt this way is because they were forcing me into the right form.  Now, I normally maintain very good form - for the first 5 miles or so, then I start to rest back on my heels because it's easier.

"So, what do you do when you get tired in these shoes?" I asked.

"You're supposed to work up to your usual mileage, because it's going to be harder, but it's almost guaranteed to help you run faster, because you maintain form."

Well...I didn't buy them.  I wanted to.  They really did help.  And they really were super cute.  But I didn't think I could live up to the shoe's expectations.

Actually, I didn't think I had it in me to maintain proper form the whole time, like when I got tired, which I knew would happen.  So, I've been trying to work on my form without the shoes.  This morning I tried to stay on my toes the whole time...and I did go faster and I did enjoy my run more.

All morning I've been thinking about those adorable shoes.  Not that I'm going to go get them, but more about 'form'.  How when we maintain form, we function better.

So, what's the proper form for a human?  I guess we all have different answers to this, but I've been thinking a bit about mine, as much of my life seems dismantled right now.  My form...the things which make me really feel like I am functioning rightly revolve around: morning runs, real conversation with people, honest prayer, a good book, weekly worship, a few of my favorite foods (which aren't fancy but are comforting), and lots of hugs from my children.

Honestly, my form was a lazy.  It was like I thought because I was tired I couldn't maintain the form, so I scaled back to self-preservation mode.  No good books, less prayer, no time for friends...  Not really that bad, but certainly not what I know I need.  In the past week I've been thinking that my form is what helps me function...my good form.  I do have good form.  I know this.  I know that these are good things which help me to thrive...sometimes they are just a bit scary or intimidating or force me to stay on my toes.

But...life on my toes is much better than just rolling through - heel to toe.  And, it helps if your form has some cuteness involved too.  Good thing I've got my kids.
What's your form?

Secret Language

This is a disclaimer...not so much for my thoughts, but for the fact that I struggled to get the thoughts out of my head and into type.  Maybe a first for me - at a loss for words.  Basically...this whole blog boils down to: we need to talk, really talk in real and intimate ways, to get to know one another.  That means, we will have to learn to really talk.  Someone said to me today: "Do I really know you?"  It's made me think...


My kids have a secret language.  Maybe secret is not quite the right word.  People know about their made-up words.  They have special words for orange juice (and apple juice - because these are hot commodities in my house), happy/good; they each have nicknames...there's a whole host of words which escape me.  They talk with one another using this language, interspersed with 'normal' verbiage.  It all makes sense to them.  The funny thing is...it sort-of makes sense to me too.  Even their babysitter has picked up on it.  But to someone from the outside, it would not make sense at all.

Sometimes their dad says to them, "Remember to use regular words when you're talking to other people."  I don't really think he has to say this, because they only use these words around people they know.  Actually, not even just around people they know...they use this language around people they feel safe around and love.  The language is more of a shared experience between brothers who love each other.

Today I heard a report about relationships that last...how nicknames and inside jokes are good for relationships, because they help bond people.  I think this is really true.  And...I've been thinking about this in terms of my relationships.

I have many names: Weeze (this is what my dad calls me and how I sign all my letters to him), Chris (this is what my family calls me), Christine (my grown-up friends call me this), Mom (Obviously, my children refer to me as this), ex-wife (my former husband and dear friend), Pastor (people in my congregation)...  Now these aren't secret, except maybe Weeze.  And...if you really know me, then you know how I got my name Weeze.  These are names, which say something about my relationship with these people though.  Words that by themselves mean very little, but when experienced in context express almost everything there is to me.

The reason I really am thinking about this though is in terms of theological words.  Do we have a 'secret code' of words?  And, if we do (which I don't necessarily think is a bad thing) are we using those words to connect us or divide us?  My kids will teach anyone their language.  Like, when I was learning the word for orange juice (orankdid), I used to always say, 'oink'.  They would laugh and remind me.  Even that brought us together.

As I think about words we toss around so freely in the church...I am wondering if we know what the words mean...to us each, personally.  Really, what's glory?  What is it?  And...reign, and sacrifice, and Son of God, and resurrection, and salvation, and atonement, and omnipotent, and transcendence, and....See what I mean? I like these words, actually I love them.  I like that I don't fully understand them, because no matter how hard I try, I do not and just flat out can't, fully understand God.  But, I would like to be in a conversation where we let down our guards and talk about what these words mean.  What they really mean.  Not what we think they mean, or what we were told in church they mean.

But what do they mean to you?  What do they say to you through your life?  I'll tell you something about me...I mostly think the glory of God often takes up residence in a shower stall.  You'd have to know me really, really well to know why, but it's the truth.  And, I don't know if I really think God is all-knowing.  There you go.  It's better than me nodding my head like I agree.  And - a whole host of other things...

If we (either you and I, dear reader OR you and your best friend or mom OR me and a friend - whatever), if we started talking about what our words mean, then I bet our relationships would be a whole lot richer.

We'd have the words to say..."Yes, I need a friend."  OR  "My life is just in the biggest shambles right now and could you please help me?"  OR "The other day when I was praying...I saw the glory of God."

Afraid to Hope

I've been through this before....nursing a dying lizard back to health.  Last time, although we tried, we prayed, we went to the vet - we were unable to save my middle son's leopard gecko.

Back then...we were nervous when we walked into the vet, but when I asked in a hushed whisper, so my son could hardly hear, "So, do you think he's gonna die?"  The vet responded, "No, he should be fine.  This is fairly common."  We were hopeful.  Confident.

When Stripe (the first lizard) died, my son said he wanted to wait awhile before having another one.  He waited about 9 months before he thought he was ready.  Jackson loves lizards.  Actually, he loves all living things.  He has a connection to the inner beatings of creatures.  He is the most himself when he's outside in the forest or digging in the ground...anything God created, Jackson loves.

So, when he said to me a few weeks ago, "Mom, something's wrong with Norbert (the new lizard).  I think he's sick.  You have to take him to the vet," I couldn't help but feel the injustice of it all.  Jackson coos over this lizard, feeds it, turns it's lights on and off.... He does every single thing we were told to do to care for Norbert.

Turns out...we didn't have all the information.  We hadn't been caring for him as well as we should have been. Jackson was scared.  And - Jackson was livid, because in his words, "All the pet store cares about is the money.  They don't care about the pets."  Hard to argue with that.

I took this little bearded dragon to the exotic pet vet where he received a shot, a bath, an eye treatment, calcium, and a super-duper vitamin boost.  I was 'taught' how to syringe feed him at home.  How to bathe him and help him shed.  How to give him calcium and put ointment on his eye.  How to rub his belly to help him poop (Yup - the things a mom will do for her children).

As Jackson watched me do all these things, he said, "It's worse than I thought, Mom."  Hmmm....me too.

"Is he going to die?" he asks.

"Oh, Jackson, I don't know.  It's 50-50.  It's a precarious situation.  We'll do everything we possibly can but there's no guarantees."  I didn't want to promise him anything.

Every day we've been going through this regimen.  And...he's been getting better.  At first, I didn't say anything about it to Jackson.  I didn't want him to start to hope and then have his hopes dashed.

Jack eventually noticed and said, "I think h'es getting better."

"Yes, it looks that way.  But...don't get you're hopes up too much.  You never know," was my response.

But Norbert is getting better.  He ate live food yesterday - crickets dusted with calcium.  I've begun to hope myself.  And, I've begun to realize..what is life without 'hope'?  And why did I try to take that away from Jackson?  If we hope, we may get hurt.  But if we don't hope, our hearts still may break.

Hope doesn't guarantee...but hope is what hanging onto life is all about.

Am I afraid to hope still?  Maybe.  Maybe in many, many areas of life we all are a bit afraid to hope.  Discovering what it means to hope is probably about as close as we get to discovering what it really means to live.

Come on, Norbert!  We're all hoping and praying for you.

Trash or Treasure

I'm moving. Moving...
It still sounds strange for me to say it.

But, I'm actually not moving yet...because I have to pack.

I'm packing.  Packing, packing, packing...at least I am trying to.
I'm not so good at packing because I am not a pack-rat.  I do not by my very nature keep things that I do not think I need.  Most things I own because in some ways they are special to me.

So, when I sat down this afternoon to go through the FIVE large shopping bags filled with artwork my children made... WOW!

That may be all I can say- WOW!  I looked at all their 'All About Me' books from pre-school and their hand-print turkey pictures and their funny chalk self portraits.

I don't need this stuff...it's been in my closet for years and I haven't peeked at it, but oh, did my heart just swell.  Swell with happiness when I thought about how Cooper used to want to be an astronaut; swell with longing for those tiny baby dimples of Carter's; swell with joy at the "You are the Best" cards from Jackson.  And then I saw this scrap...this tiny scrap that I had saved and I remembered it immediately.

It was just a piece of computer paper, with two red stick figures, standing by a little yellow stick figure baby.  Above it were 3 blue candles and 1 pink candle.  And I remembered this picture.  I remembered the day that Cooper brought me this picture and gave it to me with a huge smile on his face.  And he told me to hang on the fridge, because that's where all the best art goes.

That was a day when I knew that God had been working in Cooper's life and I didn't even know it.  That was a day when the Spirit was manifest and I thought, "Oh - this may be what being a mom is all about....a scrap of paper, a few crayons, a giant smile, an outstretched hand with a gift just for me."

If I'm being honest...I almost have tears in my eyes now.

I need that picture.

I can't recycle it.  I must pack it up and take it to our new home.  There are many of those pieces of art which will not make the journey (because, let's be honest...I really only need one bag - not five!).  But I think, that scrap may find a new home...

It's a home we don't know yet, but I have a feeling that when I hang that picture up it'll feel a bit more like home.

But, in the meantime - I will have to continue to pack...maybe I will find more treasures.

The Look of Love

Lately I've felt my oldest son pulling away...this doesn't really bother me because I know he supposed to do it.  And - he still talks to me - sorta.  And every once in awhile he'll send me a text that's a smiley face or something  - so I know we're good.

Today he and I were in the car alone together and I was goofing around with him.  I said something like, "Oh, you know Bud, this is what mom's do.  We are supposed to act silly and embarrass you.  It's just because I love you."

He rolled his eyes.

I continued talking about an idea I had to do at church...something I thought he would like.  Something I thought was "cool" enough for him...

He laughed and rolled his eyes.

I teasingly said, "You used to not roll your eyes at me, you know?  You used to snuggle me and look at me like you loved me."

He rolled his eyes and said, "Oh, Mom, don't worry - this is just the new way I look at you to tell you that I love you."

Then he rolled his eyes again and went back to looking out the window.

I'm glad he said that.  I didn't need to hear it, really.  He and I have a fun relationship and most of the time I look at him and think he's amazing.  But, I'm glad he said it to remind me (and himself) that love looks very different and varying points in our lives.  And not one of them is better than the other - just different.  And harder to appreciate sometimes.

The look of love - look for it, you may find it in unexpected places...like in a van on the way to a birthday party.

An Amazing Time

Recently I ran the Boston Marathon, which has been a dream of mine since the 10th grade.  When I returned many, many people asked me, "How was the race?"

My response was almost always something to the effect of:
"It was GREAT!  My time wasn't that great though.  I ran 8 minutes slower than my usual marathon pace."

And then I proceeded to talk about how exhilarating it is to stand at the start line with 25, 000 other runners, to run the oldest marathon around, to struggle and conquer Heartbreak Hill(s), to spend the weekend with one of my best friends, to have a chance to relax....

It isn't often that I wake up and know that today a dream will be fulfilled.

One time I went through this - reliving all the amazing pieces of my marathon experience and ended it with, "So, it was great even if my time wasn't."

The person responded, "Sounds to me like your 'time' was amazing."

Hmm...that's right.  That is spot on, I thought.  My time was amazing.  Bookend life with that...you can't actual quantify 'time' if you look at it that way.

So, yes, I was a bit slower - chalk it up to really steep hills or taking in the scenery.  Whatever.  I had an amazing time.