Griefwalking

My mother died a week ago today and I've been living in what I can only describe as GriefTime. The hours have taken on a peculiar fluidity which sometimes feels like it has been forever ago and at other moments seems like it just happened.  Long past memory blends and blurs with current time and recent events to form a sort of hazy melange in my mental subduction zone. I griefwalk through the motions of the day, sometimes feeling very focused and then, at other times, realizing I've put the coffee cup in the refrigerator and the cream in the dishwasher.

It's a time like no other that I've experienced, even though I have experienced death before.  I think it is because my life and my mother's were deeply enmeshed, by her deliberate choice and intent from the moment of my birth. For her, the boundaries between mother and daughter were a permeable membrane and having grown up with that as my default normal, I never truly understood the extent to which the threads of her life were woven through every aspect of my life, forming an integral part of the design of my existence. For most of her life, until dementia began to confuse her, I knew what she wanted, without her having to articulate it and would simply provide it for her.  When, late in her life, I sometimes failed to anticipate and provide, she would say in frustration, "You always used to know what I wanted!!!" And I did.

For my entire life, I was Eileene's daughter, first and foremost.  Even when I was a wife and a mother myself, I was always Eileene's daughter first.  Now her death is forcing me to reidentify myself.  While I will never cease to be her daughter, it is no longer the first and most prominent of identifiers. I do not really know who I am anymore. Her death striped me of the one identity that I have carried since the day I was born.  I am having to ask the question, "Who am I?"

I believe that I will find the answer, but for now all I can see and feel is the hole where the identity once was.

Oddly, the hardest thing so far has been going online and realizing that I can use the money in her account that I always so carefully preserved for her bills for myself if I choose. I was always excruciatingly careful to keep her funds separate from mine, even  when I was in need and to think now that that what is there, even if it isn't a lot, is mine to use is disturbing in ways I never anticipated or even considered. It somehow feels like I'm doing something wrong, even when the use is for her last bills and expenses. The sense of duty, of doing the right thing by my mother, is deep within the marrow of my soul.  I suspect it will take some time before I understand on a soul-level that I did the right thing until the very end and now there is a new right thing to be done.


The other thing that I am noticing is that the emotional elements of grief are being superseded by genuine physical pain. This part of grief hurts, not just intellectually or emotionally, but deep within my chest cavity, within my bones and tendons and muscles. 

Mourning is hard work, physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually.


So I griefwalk, reminding myself that "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens..." This is my time to weep and mourn, but I have to believe that there will come again a time to laugh and dance.

A Life and a Death

My Mother died last Friday at age 92.  Even though the death was expected, since she was in hospice, it still has come as a shock.  I am now an orphan, the last bastion before death for my own son.  I am still processing my feelings and the change that this has created.

Eternal Rest Grant Unto Her, O Lord.

Mary, Undoer of Knots

I recently came across a devotion to Mary that I had not know before:  Mary, Undoer of Knots.

The official website says:

To show us the mission granted to the Virgin Mary by Her Son, an unknown artist painted Mary Undoer of Knots with great grace. Since 1700, his painting has been venerated in the Church of St. Peter in Perlack, Germany. It was originally inspired by a meditation of Saint Irenaeus (Bishop of Lyon and martyred in 202) based on the parallel made by Saint Paul between Adam and Christ. Saint Irenaeus, in turn, made a comparison between Eve and Mary, saying:

"Eve, by her disobedience, tied the knot of disgrace for the human race; whereas Mary, by her obedience, undid it".

In this angelic court, two angels stand out. One of them holds on to a ribbon, the ribbon of our life, which is full of knots big and small, loose and tight. They are the knots of our life, the knots of anguish and despair of separated couples, the dissolution of the family, the knots of a drug addict son or daughter, sick or separated from home or God, knots of alcoholism, the practice of abortion, depression, unemployment, fear, solitude, etc.

The good hearted angel looks to our Queen and holding onto the ribbon of our life, presents to Mary, the Undoer of Knots and says, “We trust you, Mother; You can help us. Undo, then, the knots of this life!”
Then, Mary takes our life into Her compassionate hands and with her long fingers of mercy goes on to undo each knot, one after the other. Look at Her. Feel the attention, love and tenderness with which She does this, hearing our plea, the supplication of a beloved child!
See what happens?
This ribbon becomes free of any type of knot, reflecting all the mercy and freeing power of the holy hands of Mary Undoer of Knots.
Another angel comes over, then, and taking the ribbon of our life, freed of all knots, looks at us and seems to say, “See what She did. Look at what Mary, through her intercession can do again. Trust Her, place your problems and afflictions in Her hands!”

 I know that there are many knots in my life that seem to defy untangling.  The same may be true for you.  If you want to know more about the novena, click here.

Worry and One Day at a Time

Although I'm not an alcoholic (I rarely, if ever, even take a sip of anything alcoholic), I get a daily communication from AA from a friend. In this email, one of the most common themes is to take each day as it comes, not trying to live in the future and not dwelling in the past.

It's a good reminder for me because I'm guilty on both counts. Today, I find myself fretting about paying the taxes in April and cleaning out my mother's apartment when the inevitable day comes that she dies, while regretting some past decisions that, with the wisdom of 20-20 hindsight, I realize were wrong. I careen from worry to regret and back again.

I'm not alone in this perverse tendency to attempt to live sometime other than the here and now.  Oddly enough, someone just told me how upset they were because they had taken a cruise that left from the same port that the fated, capsized cruise ship Costa Concordia left from.  The part that would be funny if I didn't understand the thinking so well is that they took their cruise a year ago!  On a totally different cruise line!  

 I can hardly point fingers. My stomach is in knots, I can feel a headache creeping behind my eyes and I am having trouble concentrating on the work I have to do today. All because I'm worrying about the future and fretting about the past. I might as well be a cruise ship listing on its side for all the forward momentum that I'm creating.

What's really odd is that for several years, I thought I had banished worry. In fact, I even proposed writing a book about Conquering Worry which, fortunately, the publisher turned down. If I had written it,  today I'd be having to admit, like St. Thomas Aquinas, everything I had written was merely straw. 


I know for me worries tend to cluster around finances and health.  Well, not health so much as how to pay for a major illness if I happened to get one.  So I suppose my worries are really just about finances.  I could say that that's a common worry in this economic climate, but most of the people I know well aren't really feeling much effect from the recession.  Thinking about  how they planned better than I did doesn't help much. Nor does comparing my situation to theirs. It simply leads me back to regretting my own past decisions and perpetuates a vicious circle. 

So, because I do have some things that must be done today, I am going to make a deliberate attempt to "take all thoughts captive" and return to the present moment.  Because in this moment, this very minute, I am fine. I don't know what will happen 60 seconds from now, but for now, there are no wolves gnawing at my feet, I am still breathing.  Heck, I'm not even hungry!

Of all the commands that Jesus gave us, one is the most direct:  Do not worry or be anxious. Isn't it odd that we hear about so many other things, but when was the last time you heard a homily preached on the sinfulness of worry? Have you ever considered that worry could actually be a sin?

I find that somewhat sobering. 

Could it be that Jesus actually meant what he said?

"Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own" Matt 6:24.

One day at a time.

Asking for Help

I'm always sort of reluctant to ask for help.  Do it yourself or don't do it at all is sort of my family motto. But today I had three interesting lessons in asking for help.  And since I tend to believe that when things come in threes, you should pay attention, I paid attention:

1.  A friend told me that she had been in credit card debt.  Since I knew she had a great financial manager, I asked her how that happened.  She said she didn't consult him until after the fact.

2. Another friend who is a mortgage specialist told me that her daughter and son in law just lost their home to foreclosure.  When I looked puzzled, she said that they never asked for help or mentioned they were in trouble until it was too late.

3. I spent time with my mother who is in hospice today.  She drifts in and out of alertness, but when I gave her her Ensure drink, she promptly said, "Help me!" in a tone that indicated I should comply immediately.

As I sit here, eating some peanut Satay and thinking about how much I hate grey winter days, I also am wondering if the reason that it sometimes feels like God isn't answering my prayer is because I either fail to ask or wait until it's too late.

Something to consider.

A Statue and the Importance of Symbols.

Not the statue from the ship

I just sort of liked this story:

Jan 21 (Reuters) - She was found inside the ship's chapel, submerged up to her shoulders, but in one piece. Fire department divers wrapped her in a white towel, and used a nylon belt to hold it in place so she would not be damaged as they pulled her out.
On Saturday, the plaster statue of the Madonna from the doomed Costa Concordia cruise liner stood in a white tent on the port of Giglio, still wrapped in the same towel.
Found early on Friday morning, it was only shown to reporters on Saturday. Orange and black equipment bags were piled next to it, and helmets and diving gear hung behind.
The man in charge of the team which rescued the statue said he had taken the time to recover the relic when there were still 21 people missing because "it seemed like the right thing to do."

Read more here.

The divers also rescued the Tabernacle, the Hosts and the Crucifix.

I realize that there are still bodies to be found and probably other objects to be located, but as the leader of the team who rescued the statue said, "Symbols are important."

Yes, symbols are important. As I look around my kitchen, where I write this, curled up before the pellet stove, I seem a variety of symbols of my life: an icon from Turkey, a plate from Egypt, an African violet that finally bloomed, cup of half-drunk coffee, a broken arrow.  From these things, someone could glean a certain understanding of what must be important in my life since these are the things that I choose to keep in my daily view.

The problem is, of course, when the symbols begin to blend so much into the background of life that they cease to have any impact on our lives.  So what do these symbols that I see mean to me?

Not my icon, but close enough

The Turkish icon is a reminder, not just of the Madonna and child, but of the power of the feminine, the Divinity that each one of us carries within. It is also a sign of the power of art to transcend centuries and a call to me to honor the gifts that I have, gifts that I may have denied or buried.

Not my plate, but almost identical

The plate from Egypt is a recollection of past bravery and call to say "yes" to future adventure; a spiritual ship that says, "You have sailed into the unknown before.  You can do it again, no matter how you are feeling right now.  Just trust and hoist anchor."

Not my violet.  Mine only has one blossom.

The African violet says to me, "All things have a season.  There will be happiness in your life again. Just keep your soul watered and your face toward the sunlight."

Obviously not my arrow, but I needed a picture.  I could not find one of a broken arrow, however.

The broken arrow is a symbol of conquering fear, of facing terror and breaking through it to accomplishment. Its red feathers and silver tip say, "Remember.  Remember.  Remember."  This year I had almost forgotten the arrow, since it hangs above the door, in a place where I have to look up to see.  But even I didn't remember it, it was still there, a silent signal that once upon a time I had the courage to do what I didn't think I could do. 

Um, what do you think?

As for the half-cup of coffee, I think it's just a reminder that deep down, I'm a really lousy housekeeper.

The Siren of Suicide

 I was in my 20s when I first encountered suicide. A co-worker took his own life and the entire office was shocked and stunned.

In his later life, my father used to talk about suicide, although, to the best of my knowledge, he never  attempted it.  I was horrified whenever he brought it up.

But now I understand.

The pain and pressure of the past 12 to 18  months has been unrelenting. As my year of debridement wore on and on and indeed as it has continued into the present year, I can understand why some people consider suicide to be a viable option. Trying to be my mother's sole support on her final journey, attempting to make a living as a free-lancer while trying to find a real job in this area (since I can't readily move with mother in hospice) and battling some chronic ill health has been like a steady downpour of icy rain on the spine of my soul. Even when the cascade slows, as it does now and then, I am still clad in soggy clothes and feeling chilled to the marrow and beyond. The future does not appear to hold bright sunshiny days, but simply more and more rain until the house of my being is flooded and washed away in the deluge.

That's when the siren of suicide sits on the rock and bats her beguiling eyes: "Come see me," she whispers.  "I have a solution.  A real solution. No more struggling with finances.  No more waiting at hospice bedsides.  No more trying to figure out how to get through one more day.  Just come see me and I will take care of it all for you."

I sometimes stop for a moment and listen to her, but then I have to explain that first of all, I cannot take the easy way out for me because it would be the difficult way for my son.  I remember all too well the horror I felt when my father would talk about the ways he could die.  The legacy of a parent's death at her own hand would be the ultimate unfair inheritance.

Then I go on to explain that I'm a wuss and anything involving blood, pain or that horrible moment "twix saddle and ground" are just too scary to consider.  What if, in the last second, I changed my mind?

Finally, there is the karma thing.  While I don't know that suicide would condemn a person to hell, I do believe that there has to be some repercussions to an action that would cause so much pain, confusion and anger in those like my son who would be left behind. It would truly suck to take one's life only to find out that you've committed yourself to a whole other level of pain and suffering in the next life.
 
 It would be horrible to take an action you think is going to relieve suffering only to find out, as one of my friends said to me,  "That siren is Satan with a fishtail, and the next life will have pain, daily migraines, huge, huge mounds of paperwork, income tax to file every day, not just once a year, plumbing problems you won't believe, sick cats including some that aren't yours, a couple mothers to shepherd besides your own and they're even bitchier. And that's just for starters."

So when the siren makes an appearance, I tell her, "No, I understand your offer, oh do I understand your offer, but I can't take you up on it."

She shrugs, flips her tail and dives back into the depths.  And so  I brew a cup of tea and say a prayer that tomorrow will bring some answers and some relief.

If not, I always make sure there are plenty of teabags in the pantry.

Sunday Gratitude

I made a promise to myself to post the things that I'm grateful for each Sunday.  Even when, like this last week, it's easier to find things not to be grateful for than to be grateful for!  But here are three things that I can say I'm honestly grateful about.

1. Nefer and Basti. 

Despite driving me crazy a lot of the time, they do make me laugh.  Like today when Basti got ahold of a sucker and walked around the house with it in her mouth like a pacifier.  I let her do it for a little while, but then had to take it away since sugar isn't good for kitties.  But it did amuse me.

2. Advil
I've been nursing a headache for several days and after having done all the "natural" things, I finally opted for Advil.  Sometimes modern pain medication is a very very good thing.

3. Cell phones
My son has been traveling across country and thanks to cell phones and texting, I was able to keep in touch with him.  It wasn't all that long ago when such real time communication was in the real of Star Trek communicators.




As for the rest of it, I'm having a bit of a hard week, so prayers and good thoughts are most welcome.

The Metaphysics of Plumbing Problems

I have been plagued with plumbing issues for the past month: the Great Sewage Affair that necessitated replacing flooring (and for which I got yet another bill, which was more than double the estimate), an upstairs toilet overflowing and today a leak under the kitchen sink.  Not to mention that the toilet in the office where I was yesterday kept running and running.

Since I do believe that what happens in our lives is an opportunity to learn a lesson, I've been trying to figure out what lessons might be involved in having plumbing issues.

Now some friends have suggested that the only issue is that the plumbing is old, but that's not the case with the kitchen sink.  It's relatively (less than a year) new.  So whatever lesson is to be learned has to applicable to both new and old plumbing. And clean as well as dirty water.

Water is symbolic of life and other things such as:

• Transformation
• Subconscious
• Fertilization
• Purification
• Reflection
• Intuition
• Renewal
• Blessing
• Motion
• The Feminine
• New Life aka Baptism
• Cleansing
• Stagnation (if water is blocked)

 So what lesson is there in the broken, dripping, blocked plumbing that I need to pay attention to?
 
I'm honestly not sure.  But I'm willing to listen to the small, still voice within and see what answers might "flow" to me.  As soon as I have a clue, I'll be sure to let you know.
 

Aligning the Fulcrum

My son’s best friend’s older brother was a very precocious child and some of the things that he said would astonish me. When he was about 6, he informed me that I shouldn’t be letting my son and his brother play on a make-shift teeter-totter because “the fulcrum wasn’t centered.” He was correct; it wasn’t centered, but because I was older and a bit wiser, I knew that it didn’t have to be precisely balanced to be safe.

I often think about that when I consider finding the balance between work, personal, and family. It isn’t always a matter of having the fulcrum perfectly aligned, but it is important to find a safe balance.

Of course, that sounds very good when you read it, but it’s much harder in real life. People and projects have a way of taking as much time and energy as you are willing to give them. And the squeaky wheel really does get the grease a lot of the time.

Here are some the questions I've been asking myself this January:

Work: Can I separate your home life from my work?  Do I spend all my time either at work or thinking about work? Or conversely, do I try to get by doing as little as possible and cut as many corners as possible?

Personal: We are taught to be self-sacrificing, but sometimes we forget that we have to have something to sacrifice. Even Jesus went off by himself or with friends for renewal. He wasn’t always at everyone’s beck and call. Do you take time every day for myself? Even if it’s reading the paper with a cup of coffee or spending an extra 2 minutes in the shower, it’s important to give myself permission to have a slice of the day.

Family: This is a tough one for most of us because it never seems like we are giving our families enough time or enough quality time. I really struggle with this because my mother is in hospice and while she is slowly making her journey to the end of life, it is a slow journey. Nevertheless, I often fell that I should be with her 24/7, even though that simply isn't possible.

I wish I could offer you a neat formula for achieving these balances, but like the off-center fulcrum that I knew was still workable, finding that balance is something you have to do for yourself. 

Just like I have to do.

Catching Healing

I came home last night to a cold house, two very hungry cats (who have continual access to dry food, but really only consider wet food worth eating) and a massive allergy attack.  At the time I wasn't quite sure if I was coming down with a cold, since I had the proverbial chills/fever/runny nose or just a very nasty allergy from something.

I had several things I had to do, like feed the beasts and cook some chicken breasts before they spoiled, so I wasn't able to head immediately to bed.  When I finally got upstairs, I was downright sick.  No SICK!!  I curled up in bed, feeling perfectly miserable and feeling perfectly justified in my misery.

But somewhere in the middle of the night, 2 a.m. I think it was, I remembered what a good friend,best-selling author Lauraine Snelling always says, "Never say you are getting sick.  Say you are catching healing." So I told myself, "You are catching healing.  You are feeling better.  You are feeling fine."

I didn't feel particularly fine and I didn't feel particularly healthy.  But I clutched my box of kleenex, put the cool cloth on my head and the hot water bottle on my feet and went to sleep.

This morning, I feel somewhat better.
I am catching healing.

Patron Saint of my Year

Several people (forgive me if I don't name them all) recommended this Patron Saint Generator to me. Now I've spent a good deal of my career writing about saints and I have a few special favorites, but the idea of randomly being assigned a saint for the year appealed to both my hagiographic and my geek side.

So I'm writing this in one browser window as I get ready to click the button in another.

And the winner, er, patron is.....

St. Elizabeth Ann Seton

She is the patron against In-Law Problems; against the Death of Children; against the Death of Parents; People Ridiculed for Their Piety and widows.

I almost chuckled when her name came up because in my upcoming book I write about her struggle with finances and this past year has been a financial struggle for me, as it has for a lot of people.
One of the things I wrote about her was:

A final lesson from Elizabeth’s life might be categorized as a cross between a warning and an encouragement. Earlier we talked about how sometimes our suffering can be self-generated. Even saints aren’t immune from this. At least some of St. Elizabeth’s financial woes were created because she went against her own better judgment. When the doctor suggested a trip to Italy might help William’s failing health, Elizabeth had her doubts, but she sold all their possessions anyway. Had she not done so, had they not made the voyage, her life might not have had as many financial stresses. However, “we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28), and had she not made the voyage, she might never have converted, never have founded the Sisters of Charity and never have become a saint.

Her example can be a comfort to those of us who have made inopportune financial decisions; even in the midst of our trials and suffering, blessings can still emerge. We may have to endure the consequences and subsequent pain that results from our choices, but, in Elizabeth’s words, “We know certainly that our God calls us to a holy life. We know that he gives us every grace, every abundant grace; and though we are so weak of ourselves, this grace is able to carry us through every obstacle and difficulty."

Even finances.

Lessons of Loneliness Part Deux

Yesterday I talked about how, in this past year, I have become, inexplicably and unwantedly (Not sure that's a word, but it should be...) visited by the spectre of loneliness and its conjoined twin, fear. Since I wrote that article, an interesting thing has happened. Nefer, the ever clever escape artist, has been right at my side.  When I least expect it, he reaches out his paw and pats me on the cheek.  Just a little pat, no claws.  As if to say, "How can you be lonely when you have MEEEE????"  I have to admit that it makes me chuckle just a bit.  But it also makes me wonder just how sentient animals are.  Certainly they can be empathetic, as Nefer is proving.

On the other hand, Basti couldn't care less.  "Food?  You gonna give me wet food? Or do I have to keep searching in these darn bags for something yummy?"


 Havng said that, because I both try to learn lessons from the events of my life as well as be aware of the synchronicities, the little miracles, that happen, I want to share one more thing from the past 24 hours.

During the GSA (Great Sewage Adventure), I had to dismantle a bookcase that I thought contained mostly lives of the saints and books on writing. (I don't know about you, but I don't cull my bookshelves nearly often enough and so sometimes there are books lurking that I don't know I have.) The books were stacked on a sofa and I decided that perhaps I could use the sofa to actually sit on, so I began putting the books back on the shelves.

As I did, I found a slender, brown book that I remembered from my childhood.  I don't remember my mother reading it, but since the copyright is 1954, it had to be hers.  I sort of vaguely recalled reading parts of it when I was in my 20s and going through a rough patch, but I had forgotten about it.  Now here it was again--My Daily Bread by Anthony Paone, S.J. Apparently it has been in print all these years and I just happen to own a first edition. (Woo Hoo!)

My Daily Bread is a set of daily readings on various topics intended to inspire and guide one in listening to and following the words of the Christ. It's divided into several sections such as Conversion, After Conversion, Temptation and Bad Habits.  Each section consists of a meditation written in the first person as if Christ were speaking to you, a brief reflection and a prayer.

The ribbon bookmark was still in place, so I decided to open to that section and see what it had to say.  I was a little surprised, but not completely, to see that it was on fear, loneliness's conjoined twin. In part it read: (Many) do not think with their intelligence, but with their feelings...they are slaves of their fears...." The prayer of the day added, "Let me not offend you by a lack of confidence. I trust in you. I will do my best to remedy whatever difficulties arise, but whatever be the results of my efforts, I will accept them as your holy will."

Somehow the message from that little book from my past seems very appropriate advice for my future.

Learning Lessons of Loneliness

I've never felt lonely.  Growing up as an only child in the country in Montana, I suppose I could have felt alone, but I never did.  I never felt lonely, even after my divorce and my son's going away to college.  I never minded going out to eat alone, seeing a movie alone, going to the theater, shopping, walking, traveling alone.

But in this past year, my year of debridement, I became acutely and painfully lonely. The spectre didn't just knock on the door.  It broke the door down, tossed its bags on the floor and camped out. I was continually aware that I was alone.  Day and night. Every day and every night.

And, concomitant with loneliness, came its conjoined twin--fear.  Things I'd never thought about before became frightening.  For instance, going up in the attic. Should I have an accident, I might not be discovered for days, even weeks.  Making sure I had my cell phone with me at all times suddenly became paramount.  At least I could call 911!

Loneliness penetrated other areas as well. It became painful instead of pleasurable to go to a movie and sit in the dark by myself. Same for going out to eat or shopping.  And a hike alone in the wilderness held no appeal.  Even going to church brought no comfort.  I would go Sunday after Sunday and not have one single soul speak to me.  Eventually, it became easier to just leave early rather than be constantly reminded of just how alone I was.

I have done all the "right" things to combat loneliness--become involved in activities, reach other to others, make connections, plan ahead.  But underneath it all is still the constant awareness that I am alone...and lonely.

Now this is the place where I'm supposed to tell you about some incredible turn of events, perhaps talk about how I realized that I was never alone in the presence of God. How I was overcome by the light. Blah Blah Blah. The fact is: No  miracle has occurred.  I'm not suddenly dancing in the joy of the presence of the Lord. For the first time in my life, my default position is to be lonely.

However, what has happened is that I am willing to sit and observe the loneliness. Recognize her for what she is.  Let her simply be a part of my life. Give her a name. Let her sit on my chair and drink my tea. Ask her why she has come. Listen for her answer.

Apparently there are still some lessons I need to learn...and loneliness is one of my teachers. I just hope and pray that I can learn her lesson and incorporate her wisdom into my life soon.

I am Grateful--Sunday Gratitude

What are you grateful for this Sunday?

I am grateful:

1.  For a flock of robins that hopped and pranced on my lawn, looking for earthworms.  I counted at least six, the most I've ever seen at one time.

 2.  For pumpkin spice latte.

3.  For a bargain matinee price to see the movie Hugo which, incidentally, is a mystical and magical meander through time, both literally and figuratively.  Well worth seeing.

4. For Words with Friends and especially for having finally won a round!

5. For being on the right side of the winter solstice, with the days getting longer minute by minute.

6. For a pellet stove when the temperature is below freezing

 7. For Nefer and Basti, even though they do drive me crazy at times.

8.  For chocolate.  Some things are always on the list.

9.  For Bach Flower Remedies. (I'll have to write about them soon.)

10.  For the promise of a new day, no matter how many struggles there have been in this one.

Criticizing Saints and John Carter of Mars

I just saw a trailer for the upcoming Disney movie on John Carter of Mars, which excited me to no end.  I totally loved the original novels, which were my introduction to classic Fantasy Sci Fi. I've been waiting for years for the books to be adapted to film. I think there was some horrible, cheezy version, but they really needed modern CG to make Barsoom come alive. Incidentally, the original novels were written by Edgar Rice Burroughs of Tarzan fame.

While the plot and the characters of the books held up extremely well, even after 100 years (They were first published in 1912.), certain underlying societal attitudes fare less well. Some of the language, especially in reference to Native Americans (you have to read the books to figure out how Native Americans figure into a story about Mars!), is racist by today's standards. And, although the books do a remarkable job of seeing beyond skin color for their time, there is a subtle undercurrent of superiority that still flows through the ink (or electronic pulses, since I reread them on my Kindle).

Which brings me to saints.  In particular, the criticism of saints from our modern vantage. A couple of days ago, I quoted a bit from my upcoming book on another way to view Mother Teresa's apparent lack of modern painkillers in his homes for the dying, saying that one has to understand where she comes from with regard to suffering before you judge too harshly.

This is a problem with many saints.  A lot of them would not fare well in today's world. For instance, St. Rose of Lima would probably be under psychiatric care for her propensity to self-mutilate. Others were accepting of norms we reject today, like slavery. Still others were so single-minded in their pursuit of the Divine, they were socially inept and even rude at times (the Cure of Ars, comes to mind.)

As we look at these people through our own lenses, we can be tempted to decide that they weren't really all that holy.  But we have to remember that they were living in their own time and place. We need to judge them, not by our standards, but by the standards they judged themselves.

Just as the John Carter stories need to be judged by the standards of the turn of the last century and appreciated for what they are, not what they should be today.

The Wonder of Facebook

I think everyone has moments when they think "It wasn't like that when I was a kid..."  With the world changing as quickly as it has, even people born 20 years ago can say it and mean it. 

One of my favorite changes is social networking.  I really love Facebook, not just because it allows me to pretend I'm being productive when all I'm really doing is reading other people's walls, but because it affords a way of connecting that was never available before.

Through Facebook, I've found two people I've wondered about since I was in high school.  I had lost track of one when we were freshmen and her family moved from California to the East coast.  Another I never saw again after graduation.  But both flickered in and out of my mind over the years and with the help of Facebook, I was able to reconnect.  It felt almost like a miracle.

And through Facebook, I've been able to dialog with people I'd probably never have a chance to meet in my "real" life, like authors Anne Rice and Fr. James Martin, as well as people from all over the world. Because of Facebook, I was able to get real time pictures of the revolution in Egypt when it happened, for instance.

The reason I'm mentioning this today is because of my 2012 commitment to becoming more aware of things to be grateful for in my life.  Who would have known that a social network site on the internet would become such a major source of thanks? 

But it has.

And it is.

The Legacy of Mother Teresa

Recently on Facebook, noted author Anne Rice linked a  Forbes article about Mother Teresa and allegations of less than sterling care provided by her houses and sisters.  Thiis controversy really isn't new; The medical journal Lancet wrote something similar several years ago. While I haven't devoted time or energy to determining the validity of these pieces, I did write a chapter on Mother Teresa in my upcoming book Facing Adversity with Grace. (I've also written  a book of her quotes, linked to bible verses called Listening to God with Mother Teresa.)

In the upcoming book on Adversity, I wrote:

As we look at the life of Mother Teresa, there something else about her attitude toward suffering that we need to examine, a feature that has generated some criticism from her detractors and that is her so-called “theology of suffering.” It was widely claimed in the medical press that because she believed ‘the most beautiful gift for a person (is) that he can participate in the sufferings of Christ,”[1] she did not do as much as she could to procure medical treatment for those in her Homes for the Dying and even subjected the patients to such practices as cold baths and the withholding of pain medication.

Whether or not they are true, these accusations remind us that saints are recognized for their passionate love of God, not for their infallibility. In looking at Mother Teresa’s life and the mental suffering she experienced, it isn’t difficult to see why she might have developed a particular theology that almost relishes suffering. She knew that she was offering her entire life to God as a gift and she also knew that she was in great mental anguish for most of it. She had to also have been aware that her “dark night” was like that of John of the Cross who, as an antidote to the pain, recommended, “Do the most difficult, the harshest, the less pleasant, the unconsoling, the lowest and most despised, want nothing, look for the worst”[2] for she clearly modeled her life and that of her sisters on that credo.

The problem is that one of the greatest temptations for all of us to assume that our personal experience is universal. We tend to generalize from our specific experiences. This may be what happened with Mother Teresa. Since she experienced her suffering as a blessing, it’s not hard to imagine she believed that similar suffering it would bring blessings to everyone. Because she was able to transform her pain into a love offering to God, it’s not out of the question to think she might assume that would be equally true for everyone else.

From believing that suffering is a great gift that you can give to God, it’s a very small step to wanting to make sure that others have ample opportunity to give that same gift to God. Thus, Mother Teresa might well have had an aversion to painkillers and a desire to implement stringent self-disciplinary practices in order to insure that the people she served were given ample opportunities to offer up their pain just as she did.

Here is where we can use Mother Teresa, not so much as an example of what we should do, but as a caution against what we might be tempted to do. God deals with each of us as individuals, including the suffering that he allows in our lives. We should be wary of extrapolating our unique experience into a generality for all people. Mother Teresa was a remarkable icon of holiness for our time. But she was also human and subject to assuming that the way God dealt with her was the way he deals with all people. This is not to say that her desire to offer up suffering was bad. It isn’t. In fact, offering up pain is one of the major lessons we can learn from the saints. But it’s not our job to see that others have a chance to suffer in order to offer up that suffering. What that means on a practical level in our own families is that while we may undertake certain disciplines (such as rising early for prayer or fasting), it’s not our right to insist that our spouses or children share those disciplines. All suffering, both that allowed by God and that created by our own choices, is always unique to the individual. Because of that, we have no right to try to “help” others find ways to suffer. Rest assured, they will find ample opportunity on their own.

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[1] http://www.mukto-mona.com/Articles/mother_teresa/sanal_ed.htm

[2] http://www.innerexplorations.com/chmystext/stquotes.htm, op. cit.

Are We Ready for a President Mittens?

In the nation's first primary, Mitt Romney took New Hampshire. Rather he will be the GOP candidate or not is still a long ways off, but what's really essential to know is that 2% of voters nationwide think his first name is....

MITTENS!!

According a 60 Minutes/Vanity Fair poll, a 20 percent plurality of us thought that "Mitt" was his real name and not a glove-like nickname. 18 percent said "Mitchell"; 8 percent, Milton; and only 6 percent correctly said "Willard." But the most important stat from the survey is that somehow, in some way, 2 percent of real-life adult voting Americans believe that his name is "Mittens."

 AND....Another 2 percent thought his name was "Gromit." As in, apparently the cartoon characters  Wallace and Gromit.(Given the state of American politics, perhaps a cartoon isn't so far off after all.)

 
However, as the article points out, any of the above are better than the connotations associated with Newt Gingrich. Who was born Newton Leroy McPherson.  I'm not sure that Leroy is much better than Newt, to be honest.

(I think the lesson here is to be careful what you name your children.  Oh, and Mitt's real first name, Willard, is that of a horror film about a rat.  Perhaps he is better off with the image of nice, warm, fuzzy hand-coverings.)

Serious ponderings will resume tomorrow.

Coping with Fear

One of the unexpected effects of my last year was the decidedly unwelcome visitor of fear.  As in heart-pounding, mind-swirling panic.  As an adolescent, I had experienced panic attacks, and again, but I had, erroneously, assumed that they were part of the past. When the first one came, it was an old familiar and most unwanted guest.The only good part about it was that I knew what it was, so I didn't have the "second fear" that often accompanies the physical sensations.  I knew that it wasn't fatal, wasn't going to last forever and I even knew what steps to take to mitigate it.

However, fear still entered through the door, dropped its coat on my couch and sat down for a long visit.  In fact, it still pops up now and then, as if to remind me that it hasn't quite gone south for the winter.

I've researched fear and panic from psychological, physical, mental and spiritual perspectives and I still don't completely understand what causes it.  I understand the biological changes, the adrenalin surge and all that.  I comprehend the erroneous thinking patterns that create F(alse) E(evidence)A(pppearing)R(eal). And I get that fear is the antithesis of love. But I'm still not quite sure why it would surge back at this time in my life. Or, more precisely, why I would be allowing it to return.

The only thing I can figure out is that, in its presence, I am being forced to take a long, hard look at my life. Fear is like a scalpel, laying bare what was under the surface. It is making me examine what I was doing and face the fact that a lot of it wasn't working.  Oh, it appeared to be working and I had convinced myself and a lot of other people that it was working, but under the razor-edge of fear, I am having to face the fact that things have to change.

I have to change.

Now I'm still working on what those changes are and how to bring them into my life, but along the way I have figured out a few things about how to use fear and panic to facilitate change and not let them totally use me. I hope that perhaps my experience will help you, if you find these unwanted guests shoving their way into your life.

Keep Active
If you let fear and panic have their way, they will take over your entire life. Especially if you just sit around. When I feel them creeping up, I do something, even if it's just the dishes. A little activity goes a long way.

Don't Isolate

The more alone and isolate you are, the more fear and panic can grow. So force yourself to get out. Make a phone call. Visit a friend. Confide in someone you trust. If necessary, get professional help. Just don't let fear and panic be your only companions.

Find a Spiritual Practice that Works for You

For me, returning to some of the prayers and rituals of my Catholic childhood has provided a grounding.  I don't know what will work for you, but I do know that reaching out for help from God has been a life-saver.  Just believing that I am not alone in this, that there is a light on the other side and that I can find Divine guidance has given me the courage I need to get through the day.

Accept What Is

This is the toughest for me, but it is absolutely vital. Much of what creates my fear and panic is an unwillingness to accept the reality of the moment. I don't want my mother to be in hospice.  I don't want to be looking for work. I don't want to be struggling financially.  I don't want to be alone.  But right now, the reality is that my mother is in hospice.  I am looking for work.  I do have financial issues.  I am alone.  The reality of the moment doesn't mean that the situation is permanent, but if I am to make changes, I have to accept what is right now.  

Believe in Positive Change

I truly believe that we get what we believe in.  As long as I believe that things are bad and going to get worse, that's what will happen. So each day, sometimes many times a day, I remind myself that each little step I take toward a more positive future is helping create that future.  And with each positive change, a little bit of the fear gets replaced by a little bit of hope.