People keep saying that “Life is a Journey”! The object being that we should savor the moments as they come to us. “Stop and smell the roses,” they tell us. It’s all part of the “journey.” To be sure, I really like that metaphor. It clears my head of any illusions that I have somehow made it to some terminus or completion. There is always another step to take; another rock to step over. Along the way there are people, places, and events that affect us. Some for the good. Some for ill. In either case, our journey continues, helped or hindered, until we walk on from this world into the next.
Julia Cameron has been one of those people who has been a boon to me on my journey. Many years ago I came across on of her 40 odd books entitled, “The Artist’s Way: A Spiritual Path to Higher Creativity.” The book is like so many others the have been written to help creative people do what they are called to do…Create. Julia’s book arrived in my life at a time when I was struggling with my own creative direction. I am a musician. Have been for nearly my entire life. I spent a lot of time in various bands playing all kinds of music. From garage parties to venues seating thousands and everywhere in between. However, at a particular point in my life, I noticed that the music had gone. Just up and disappeared. I don’t know where it went. Maybe someday I’ll find it again. I did find something else, though. When I was in seminary I found that I could put words to paper. Not just jotting random characters to fill page count requirements.I could mold and fashion them. I was what some people call an aspiring Wordsmith. So, I wrote. I wrote papers and essays. I began this blog. I journaled as part of my daily devotional practices. But, I was also unskilled in the craft of writing. I wasn’t sure where the inspiration for consistent writing came from.
Enter Julia’s book!
It appeared at the right time. Julia took me by the hand and led me forward until the weeds cleared a bit and I could begin to make out the path ahead. So, first of all… Thank You, Julia! Your words helped to prod me forward on this Artist’s Way. I hope that I can continue treading on it until my feet grow too weary to carry me. Then, I will crawl until my hands and knees give out.
There are still times, though, when it seems that the words are gone. I look for that Creative Stream that courses through the Cosmos so that I can dip my toe into its living waters. Yet, it is nowhere to be seen. Those are the days when I must press on anyway. Pull out the machete and hack at the brush and weeds to find my way forward. One tool that I have developed to do that is called, “Letters to Julia.” During my morning quiet time I purpose myself to write in my journal. My goal is to fill at least three pages with whatever comes to mind. Most mornings are filled with reflections and prayers. My deepest thoughts, fears, and joys find their way to these pages. But, on those days when my brain is foggy or I am unable to put to cogent words together, I write a letter.
Dear Julia… I begin. Then, I tell her what’s going on in my life. I share some of my thoughts and concerns. I tell her about the weather in Northern Ohio. Nothing is out of bounds. And, the words begin to come. First, a trickle. Then, a small rivulet. Eventually there is a stream flowing from my heart, my mind, to my pen, and then the page.
After I walk on from this world, whoever may read the journals that I have filled will find many letters to Julia. She has been an ever present ally, mentor, inspiration, and friend on my life’s journey.
Over the millennia people have tried to figure out what God is like. They argue about this attribute or that word in order to prove that their personal idea of Divinity is the most correct in the Whole Wide World. Systems have been contrived and erected for the sole purpose of explaining the inexplicable. Perhaps the greatest error of all is to think that we can glean reality from ancient texts that have no foundation in our own reality. (I’m looking at you Fundagelicals!) If God cannot be envisioned and understood within that context of our lived existence, then what good is it to even seek to know anything about this God? It seems an exercise in self-aggrandizement. Perhaps, it’s more appropriate to try to understand the Divine through a process of negation. What is God NOT like? What are NOT divine attributes? At the end of that exercise we may have, instead of a God-In-The-Box of our own thinking, a God who has infinite possibilities to Be and Exist in an ever more complex Cosmos.
With that said…
God is NOT sitting in front of God’s computer with a finger hovering over the “Smite” key. In other words, God does not kill. Period. God does not cause earthquakes, famines, droughts, hurricanes, tornadoes, or any other natural disaster. They’re called NATURAL disasters! They are not called SUPER-Natural disasters. What may have appeared as a divine intervention 2,500 years ago has been proven to be the result of conditions that appear in our natural world. Plate tectonics, weather systems interacting with oceans and heat from our Sun, and other phenomena are the cause. Not some kind of Divine anger.
God is NOT the cause of diseases and plagues that sicken and kill people. Again, something that our ancient forebears credited to God, or the gods, has been proven to be caused by natural agents. It is called “Evolution.” Viruses and bacteria have evolved over hundreds of millions of years to attach themselves to other living organisms in order to survive. The results are usually benign and symbiotic. Sometimes, however, they are not and illnesses result. Perfectly natural. God’s not sitting on some Cosmic throne saying, “Take that, you sinful humans!” No, if anything, God is Present to comfort and heal those afflicted by these diseases.
God is NOT a Cosmic Killjoy. God doesn’t get the Divine rocks off by decreeing that everything that could possibly be pleasurable is a Sin that God is only too happy to punish. People who find pleasure in being human, who enjoy life and love with one another, cause God to be pleased as well. For those who hold the position that God somehow cracked the code to become Incarnate, this should be no surprise. In the life of Jesus God experienced Being Human. Church people don’t discuss this too much. They’re usually too worried about maintaining control over people’s minds and bodies. But, it only makes sense that God learned about the human condition by Becoming Human. You know that fear that you experience? Jesus experienced fear. God gets it. The pleasure of human affection and touch is part of God’s own Felt Reality. Anger? Yep, God understands. Hurt, sickness, hunger and thirst are all things that God experienced through the life of Jesus from Nazareth. And, like the writer of Genesis recorded, “And, God saw that it was Very Good.”
God does NOT play favorites. This is really basic. God doesn’t care whether you are Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, Jewish, Jain, or none of the above. All are loved and welcomed. This is the part that sectarian folks don’t want you to know, however. All are welcomed, JUST AS THEY ARE! There is no reason to change our basic selves or beliefs in order to be part of Team God. God seems to desire that we become more ‘divine’ in how we relate with one another and the Cosmos around us.
We all like to think that we are on the winning team. So, we erect boundaries to define who we are in opposition to those who are Not Us. It’s only natural, then, that we use this same idea of separation and exclusion to define God. The problem with that is, God won’t play along with us. God seems to be more interested in our relationships with each other, the planet, and ALL who we might consider “Other.” Perhaps we are all part of God’s process of Creation in some way. Perhaps we’ve got to be active in our pursuit of a World where we accept who and what we are. We are Natural and we share in all things Natural. In a way, we are also Divine. I think that God has somehow been wired into our DNA in such a way that we can truly be called Made in the Image of God, or Ikons of God.
Is there a new step in our evolution waiting at the door? Are we destined to become something more like Homo Empathicus?
Yesterday I had a good time talking with some atheists. Well, not really “talking.” We were on twitter. No one can have a real conversation on that platform. But, it can quickly get main points out there. “Out there” being the twitterverse where all kinds of magical, (not necessarily good), stuff can happen.
Simple thoughts can become cannon fodder used to destroy anyone who dares to question your very deeply held beliefs about yourself. Or, beliefs about your beliefs. Even those with whom we seem to be allied may turn on you with rapid ferociousness. I don’t know, that may even be part of the thrill. We don’t know for sure how anyone will respond to the stuff we toss out there.
This happened to someone that I follow who is an atheist. And, this person has some very good reasons for thinking that way. I will not be a judge. Not my job.
The idea that we as humans should embrace pluralism was up for discussion. Apparently, some folks don’t think that people who oppose this can be rational atheists. They feel that only the religious can be anti pluralistic. So, of course, they took exception to being lumped in with the religious. In fact, they went so far as to claim that pointing out that anti pluralism can be an overall Human thing was an attack on them personally. It wasn’t. It was simply an observation that fundamentalists, religious or non, tend toward exclusivity. They deny that pluralism is even a possibility. And, the observation was absolutely correct.
Some of the most vicious attacks on those who are deemed “Other” come from avowed atheists. In many cases the “Other” are religious people. Vague generalizations get made that try to make sure that all religious are cut from the same piece of cloth. That’s the same way that many religious people view non-religious folks. I don’t know, maybe it makes it easier for their tiny minds to grasp the simplicity of certainty and absolutes. Nuance takes way too much effort.
Anyway, as the thread grew and more people weighed in, I was very happy to see that we are surrounded by people who DO get it. People who understand that we are complex beings. Our thoughts and beliefs are like the many facets of a fine gem that refract and reflect the light creating myriad colors and hues. This is the true human condition. The ability to grasp the dignity of each and every person and honor them for simply being.
No, we don’t need to all think the same. No, common belief does not necessitate sameness. Yes, we need each other. Yes, we must accept the failures and foibles of those who are NOT US!!!
Yesterday, I found hope in that twitter thread. Hope that maybe, some day, our species will finally find unity in our diversity and completeness in the “Other.”
Ok, I’m going in a little different direction today. I want to take a moment and introduce you to a couple friends of mine. They lived in Southern California. Or, maybe New England. I haven’t quite figured that out yet.
The first person’s name is Marc. He’s a data analyst for a consulting company. The company does work for some Silicon Valley companies. They help glean data and sift it in order to find trends that their clients can exploit in order to up their ad revenue. Marc also has training in programming.
The other person is Ann. She is a co-worker of Marc’s. She is a math prodigy. Numbers speak to her like music or art speaks to other people.
Marc was raised by a single parent. His father, like so many others, ghosted his family when Marc was young. His Mom worked two jobs to support them. That left Marc with considerable time on his hands while Mom was away. To keep him busy, his Mom enrolled him in Martial Arts at an early age. This gave him a community to belong to and role models that he could follow. He also enjoyed attending and involving himself in his local church parish. He had a fairly good relationship with the priest there. He had even considered entering the priesthood before he fell in love with computers and their potential as useful tools for life and commerce.
Ann came from an abusive home. She and her siblings were continually berated by their alcoholic mother and a father who simply didn’t seem to care. Ann, as the oldest, took the brunt of the abuse. At the same time, however, she worked hard to protect and support her younger sister and brothers. She found escape and peace in numbers. There was beauty in the patterns that they formed. Rather than being the drudgery that most kids experienced, Ann saw purpose and order. Her mind was wired in such a way that equations and formulae became friends she could count on to always remain consistent.
These two are not real people. They are characters in a story that I began a little over a year ago. After I completed the original draft of the story I set it on the corner of my desk. And, there it sits.
There are many times that I considered shredding the story. It was a valiant first attempt. But, it’s really not very good. I thought that perhaps I’d just start a new project and build upon my initial experience.
However, Marc and Ann keep coming back into my brain. The premise of the story seems sound enough. I just need to reconsider my approach.
So, with that in mind, I thought that I would breathe some new life into this tale. I’m not sure what’s going to come of it. It may still simply crash and burn. If I can introduce these characters, though, perhaps they, like Pinocchio, will come to life and become real people.
Well, as of today I have 9 weeks and a day until I retire. That amounts to 9 more tanks of gas. Not that anyone’s counting.
I had the great honor and joy over the weekend to help celebrate with one of my best pals in the whole world. She is, shall we say, a unique person. It’s that uniqueness that is so damned endearing! So, to you, Keri my pal, May you and Martin have the joy and happiness of learning to love one another. May your days be long on this Earth. May all of your hopes and dreams find fulfillment as you walk together in Love. May God Bless You Both Real Good!!!
Yesterday I attended my first ever Parish Annual Meeting at St. Barnabas. I gotta tell ya, I’m not a numbers person. They say a fool and his money are soon parted. So, by that metric, I am a fool. Or, maybe the money just realizes that it is free and can go wandering off wherever it likes. In any case, business meetings are not my forte. However, there was an air of optimism present that was palpable. I watched as people laughed and joked. They applauded one another and offered vocal encouragement. Everyone, (and there was a good room full of folks), shared in this moment the joy that only comes after deep hurt and conflict. This church has gone through a lot over the last 15 or so years. They experienced a heart-rending split in the 2000s that left the church a ragged mess. Both the building and the congregation suffered through the abuses of former leadership. The damage was severe and the cuts ran deep. In 2012 there were roughly 26 people attending services. Through the foresight of the Bishop and diocesan leadership, St. Barnabas was spared dissolution. I say foresight, because in 2019 the church had about 140 people attending. And, this growth shows no signs of letting up. So, there is reason to be optimistic. There is cause to celebrate. We cannot stop here, though. There is still much to do in order to become the people that can join with God to usher in God’s reign. We have miles to go before the Light of Christ illuminates the World.
I have not mentioned anything about the loss of Kobe Bryant. My thoughts and feelings are somewhat mixed about this. Yes, Bryant was a special athlete. The talent and drive that he brought to the basketball court revealed a giftedness that most people will never experience. Those who follow are set a high bar to shoot for. Most will not make it. So, thank you Kobe for sharing your life and gift with us all. We are all better for having seen you. But, I am troubled by all of the attention focused on him. Is the loss of the other 8 people, including Bryant’s daughter, any less tragic? All of the news sources report that Kobe Bryant, his 13 year old daughter, and seven others died. I’m sure that we’ll learn more about those “seven others” as reports come out. But, the message seems to be, if a person is famous they are somehow more worthy than those who are not. Try telling that to the anonymous mom whose son just died from an overdose. Or, maybe say that the homeless person who died alone on the street was not as significant as the multi-millionaire celebrity. Something is desperately wrong with our sense of value when it comes to human life.
I came across that hashtag on twitter yesterday. Since I am one, I decided to see where it would lead. To say that I was unprepared for what I read would be understating things. The amount of hurt and anger radiating from these tweets would rival the sun’s heat. I was truly taken by surprise.
I didn’t experience the same emotions that many of these other adoptees did. As I reflect back on my childhood, I really don’t know why I didn’t have those feelings.
Abandonment. Loneliness. Isolation.
Perhaps my adoptive parents were just different than others. Maybe they cared enough that I didn’t consider myself anything less than their son. Even though they never hid the fact that I was adopted, they always treated me like their own. So, maybe I was special in that regard. I grew up with nothing but gratitude to them for giving me a chance at a good life.
I do remember asking about my birth parents. What I don’t remember are answers to that. Like many of the folks tweeting about this, my adoptive parents deflected that question. They tried to get me to focus on what I had with them. Not what I might have had in another life. I really can’t blame them too much for that. They had feelings that they wanted to protect. I suppose the prospect of rejection from the person that they felt they had sacrificed so much for was difficult for them. You see, my adoptive parents had tried for nearly a decade to have a child of their own. Physical issues didn’t allow that. They wanted to have children, though. So, they took the only avenue that was open to them. Adoption. For that, I should be grateful, I guess.
There was something missing, though. As a young child I had no idea what that was. I had neither the ability to process those feelings, nor the language to express them. So, for the most part, I stuffed them. I remember when I was 12 I was talking to friend who was also an adoptee. When I shared some of my regrets at not knowing anything about my birth parents, he told me not to think about them. His feeling was that his birth parents didn’t love him enough to keep him. So, screw them. They weren’t worth the effort to even consider. I accepted his logic. Hey, it made sense to 12 year old me!
And, I lived with that assessment. I never gave my birth parents another thought. Yeah, I was reminded that I was a type of singularity with no roots every time I went to the doctor and had to answer the question about family traits with, “I’m adopted.” But, even that became a point of pride with me. It made the doctor squirm a bit. I liked that.
When I got married I suppose my wife and I discussed the fact that we had no idea what kind of genetic issues might lie hidden in my closed adoption records. But, we didn’t let that stop us from bring new life of our own into the world. Yeah, it might have been helpful. We realized, though, that even in the most solid families with a great pedigree having children can be a crapshoot. Likewise, birth families with a history of physical and mental issues can produce a perfectly well-adjusted child. As they say, There are no guarantees.
What changed the equation for me was the night I received a phone call. The person on the other end introduced himself as the husband of my sister. Hmmm…I don’t have a sister. Or, do I? My first inclination was that this was a scam of some sort. Even though the voice gave me all sorts of details about the person he said was my birth mother, I had no way to corroborate those. I knew nothing about her.
We met that evening. I took my wife and we drove to the place that we had arranged. When we walked in I spotted them immediately. Over in the corner of the restaurant was a young woman who was more frightened than any deer caught in headlights. Yep! That’s her! We sat down and introductions were made all the way round.
The story of their surprise trip was, well, interesting. It turns out that our mother was emotionally handicapped. At some point she was, as my newly minted brother-in-law said, “Taken advantage of” by an older man. Voila! Enter Me. Our mother was living with her parents who were apparently abusive. They force her to give me up. Now, we need to understand that in the year that I was born was during a time when abortion was illegal. Mothers of children born in our circumstances were shunned and treated like whores. The social stigma of this was a price too high for them to pay.
So, I was placed in some kind of orphanage. At least,that’s what I was told. When I was 6 months old, my adoptive parents entered. I had a rather pronounced birthmark on my upper lip. So, at that time I was considered “handicapped.” That didn’t stop this couple from taking me in as their own. Again, I should be grateful. I could have easily languished in “The System” for years. But, I was placed in a warm and loving home. And, I never really looked back.
After I met my sister, the time came for me to meet my birth mother. You see, the whole reason that my sister tracked me down was because our mother, besides her disability, was overcome with remorse for her lost son. She lamented the choice that had been made for her by her parents. So, my sister and her then husband thought that if they could locate me that would bring some closure and peace to our mother. So, we drove to their place and met her. The meeting was good, I think. Our mother was overjoyed at finally finding me. We did all of the first time meeting stuff with hugs all around and tears and all of that. We set up a time for them to come to our place and visit.
Then, I told my adoptive parents what was happening. I’m not sure what they felt. Hurt? Anger? Fear? All of the above. My mom said that she had feared this day. She asked question about what I had learned. When I answered them, she admitted that she knew the answers were correct because she had the documentation that identified my birth mother. She had my original birth certificate with the name that my birth mother had originally given me. She knew these things and never told them to me. Again, I can understand her actions. I get it. I’m not sure that I will ever agree with them, though.
Be that as it may, this is the life I’ve been given. I have no choice but to accept it an get on with it. And, it has been a good life over all.
There were things, though, that didn’t seem to add up. So, I began to seek counselling. Over the years those folks I talked to have all stopped when I told them of my adoption. All of them point to that one event as being the primary shaper of who I am. And, in every case, I doubted them. After all, I was only 6 months old! How much could that short time be problematic?
Well, apparently a lot. The lack of emotional connection in the earliest DAYS of life can have devastating effects on a person. How? In my case it is most pronounced in my own inability to form and maintain any close emotional connections with others. This has snowballed into people considering me aloof, selfish, closed, and distant. And, people are right! I am all of those. And, more.
Are they a result of my separation and disconnect from my birth mother? Maybe. Or, do they have their roots in the fact that my adoptive dad was also aloof and seemingly unable to make deep emotional connections? Maybe, I got hit with a double-whammy!
In any case, here I am over six decades later still wondering…still imagining.
Will anything be proven by anger, hurt, or any other negative feelings toward either my adoptive parents or my birth mother? Oh, hell no. That would only amount to me punishing me for something that I had no control over.
All I can really do is try to live into the life that I have created with my wife and our family. No, I don’t do it all that well. Like I said, close emotional bonds are not something that I am capable of. But, I can’t blame those who came before me for what I have done with the raw materials that I was given by means of both nature and nurture.
I just finished reading Ta-Nehisi Coates’ novel, “The Water Dancer.” I’m not going to review it here. I found the story compelling even though, IMHO, the telling of it was lacking a bit.
There was one part of it that really did affect me. A look inside of Coates’ mind through the mind of his character, Hiram Walker. Let me summarize…
Walker is a slave on a Virginia plantation as the Golden Age of the Virginian Gentry is waning. He happens to be the illegitimate son of the landowner and a slave woman. Eventually, he became a part of The Underground. This network of people worked to smuggle slaves into the North and freedom. One of the chief instigators in this network is a white woman who is part of the Virginia Gentry. She spent time in the North and became enlightened to the plight of the slaves. The result was a deep shame in the system of slavery that demeaned her people and was a blight on their legacy.
Through the eyes of Hiram we get a glimpse of something that very few of us ever consider.
Objectification. To Objectify. To reduce a person to an object.
How did I get to this from that story? First, let’s consider why we objectify others.
Fear.
Yes, Fear. Fear of those who are Not Us. Fear of losing wealth; identity; power; property; self. Fear of being shamed. Fear of becoming Equal To.
I could go on listing things that we fear. But, I think you get the idea.
In the case of Hiram’s white benefactor, she feared the shame that was a necessary part of her complicity in owning other human beings. Don’t believe me? Who is the subject of her philanthropy? The slaves? Look again. Closer. She, and her people, are the subject. According to Coates’ portrayal, she works in order to assuage her own guilt and shame. She, and her white society are absolutely guilty of heinous crimes against humanity. So, she does what she can to combat that system. What we learn from Hiram is what she does not do. Perhaps, she cannot do. That is to see the slaves as Human Beings. Real people with real lives and real needs and real feelings. To her they are simply objects to be used in her personal battle against her personal demons. To Hiram, they are family.
Now, I want everyone to understand that I think that kinds of efforts that people like Coates’ female benefactor are good and necessary. Any and all efforts to alleviate suffering and instill a sense of humanity and self-worth to people is positive and should always be encouraged.
There is more, though.
We can still be what may be called ‘Good’ in our actions. We must also become Good in our Intent. Empathy is what stands against Objectification. Empathy may be defined as an ability to share and understand the feelings of others. I would take that a step further and say that Empathy is our ability to live in the skin of those who are Not Us.
We humans are naturally Tribal. From the first time we left the arboreal life and set out across the Savannah we have grouped together for self preservation. This is ingrained deep within our DNA. That is where Homo Sapiens came from. It’s time now for Homo Empathicus to emerge. Our survival as a species may depend on that.
For sure our identity as Image Bearers of God demands it.
Back in the days when I followed a rather narrow, evangelical theology, I was what we called a “Worship Leader.” For those not indoctrinated into that culture, a Worship Leader is the person who performs, leads the church congregation in music and praise before the main speaker comes on to deliver a sermon lecture. This person is essentially the warm up act before the headliner comes on stage.
When I had that job I did try to do what everyone thought we should do. That was to “invoke the Presence of the Holy Spirit.” Through music, prayer, and sometimes testimony, we sought “God’s Face” and “prepared our hearts” for the soon-to-be-delivered Word of God.
It was all very holy and, you know, uh, holy.
There were moments when it did seem as though God had condescended to join our little gathering. These occurred, not when the person leading yelled, “Hallelujah!” loud enough. Nor did God show up when someone or other began rambling in unknown ‘tongues.’ “Leaping and dancing and praising the Lord” didn’t usually attract the attention of the Lord of the Cosmos.
No. In those rare moments when it seemed that time was suspended and you could reach out and touch the Holy One, silence reigned. It was when we closed our mouths and put our emotions back in their storage unit that the Ineffable Presence of Yahweh walked among us.
I was reminded of this as I reflected on the time we shared last night at St. Barnabas. We began to learn how to be still. Sitting silently; expectantly. It was a good time. At least, I thought so. And, no one else complained. So, I’m going with that!
There is one song that I remember from my days of standing on the platform with a guitar in hand. It’s one that I still find myself singing to myself as I sit at my desk in the wee hours before old Sol raises his head above the Eastern horizon. While I know that this song, nor any song, can invoke God’s Presence, sometimes a song can touch a part of our own heart and mind to focus our attention and help us be intentional about God in that moment.
Here are the lyrics to that song. If you want to hear it, I’m sure that Google or YouTube can help you out.
In The Stillness of This Hour
In the stillness of this hour I worship you my lord Singing holy is the lord on high In the quiet of my heart I sing this song of praise Crying holy is the lord on high
And for all of my days I will bow down before you Giving glory and honor to your name And for all of my life I will worship and adore you Crying holy is the lord on high Singing holy is the lord on high
Hey, all! I’m going to divert just a tad today. Over the years I’ve attempted to write about, well, anything at all. Ok, I try to stay away from U.S. politics. That’s way to divisive even for me. That was one of the main reasons that I walked away from all social media a little over a year ago. The vitriol and hatred I witnessed was too much for me. I was loosing sleep and suffering from anxiety. So, yeah. I needed a season for self-care.
Recently, though, I returned to the fray. I am being far more selective of people and groups that I follow and interact with this time. I don’t want to end up chewing my fingernails and muttering to myself.
What I do intend to do, though, is utilize the wide influence of social media to promote my own writing. With retirement looming ahead, I am continuing to work through what I intend to do with my time. And, believe me, there are a multitude of options knocking on the door. I will not get bored!
My greatest hope is to step up with writing. Ever since I can remember words have been important to me. They are the clay with which I mold both statuary for aesthetics and beauty as well as the bowls and cups with which I eat and drink. In seminary I found that I could actually write well. Not great, by any stretch. But, I was adept at it and enjoyed doing it very much. So, to test the waters I began a blog. It wasn’t much to begin with. I jotted down thoughts and ideas that happened to be walking around in my brain. Now, over 450 blog posts later, I am more intentional about things that I write. I write with a specific audience in mind. Yeah, I still toss out the odd poem or essay from time-to-time. That’s just how my brain works, I guess. And, I will continue to do that.
So, back to the social media thing. I am going to use Facebook, tumblr, twitter, and maybe Instagram to post my work. My intent is to build an audience, a tribe, of followers who will be directed to my blog. I desire that people read, follow, and share with their friends what I write. Eventually, I hope to either morph the blog into an Author’s website, or create a new site as my home as an author.
Yes, I intend to use this blog and my social media accounts to write and promote my original content.
That said, I would not be disappointed if you all would ‘like,’ share, comment, or follow this blog and any content that I post to social media. Yeah, this is a brazen attempt at self-promotion. It’s awkward for me to do this. The page is turning to reveal the next chapter of my life. Using words to create worlds and universes are written into that chapter. I guess that I’m asking you to join with me as I journey into the unknown.
Yeah, that title doesn’t have the ring to it that The Bangles song did. But, for those of us in Northern Ohio it is appropriate. The Lake Erie snow machine fired up over the weekend to spill snow and yuck over many parts of the area. Snow, slush, ice, and road spray are ubiquitous during these events. Cars and trucks find it hard to stay between the white lines and ODOT has difficulty keeping up. So, it’s a mess. You’re welcome.
I spent a good share of the weekend catching up on some reading and study. Saturday and Sunday A.M. early I prepared for the weekly Bible study at St. Barnabas. We have been following the Revised Common Lectionary in the study since it began last June. It’s been a lot of fun digging into these ancient texts to see what nuggets can be mined for us today. If you’re ever in the area at 9 A.M. on Sunday, stop by!
Yesterday, after church, I got home and cleaned a bit. Then, built a fire because of the above mentioned Mess Maker that was happening. I sat in my recliner, (Yeah, life’s hard. I know it!), broke out my laptop and several books, and spent about 4 or 5 hours prepping for a class on Centering Prayer and Meditation that I will be leading Tuesday evening. It’s going to be a kind of Introduction to Contemplative Prayer 101. We spend so much of our lives rushing here and there. When we talk to God, IF we talk to God, it’s usually in a gush of complaints, wants, and desires. We seldom stop. Breathe. Sit. Shut up. Listen. The prayers that we are going to learn about, and actually practice, this week are designed to give us space to simply ‘Be’ in God’s Presence. So, for anyone who reads this and is in the area, you are more than welcome to stop in this Tuesday, Jan. 21, at 7 P.M. at St. Barnabas in Bay Village, OH. We would love to share time with you.
This morning in my own quiet time I was acutely aware of my own shortcomings and failures. They loomed in front of me like a wall of granite. I could not see the top of the wall, nor the ends of it. The barrier seemed insurmountable to me. So, I did what I do best. I whined about it. I know that I tend to say and do things impulsively that I immediately regret. I dwell on these until I have nearly convinced myself that God made a huge mistake letting me join the Club. Who would want someone like me around? Someone driven by desires and passions that are antithetical to all of the purity that the Scriptures seem to require of us. I have been, and continue to be a failure, unworthy to tie the laces to Jesus’ Chuck Taylors. That’s when I saw an image of God in my mind. Yeah, God is my imaginary Best Friend. Deal with it. Anyway, God’s eye had a gleam as God smiled and slowly shook God’s head. The God said, “You do realize that by My power I raised Jesus from the grave? And, that I formed a new body that He indwells to this day, right?” I stopped. The realization that my fears, failings, and foibles simply could not be as earth shaking as my mind made them suddenly came upon me. Yeah, I fail. That’s what I do best. But, God’s Good Grace and Mercy are more than sufficient to lift me and set my feet back on the Path. I God is able to do such for me, I know that God is more than capable to lift all of us.
Anyway, those are some thoughts that I have today.
What are some of yours? Feel free to share in the comments.
