Empathy

Dying, divorcing --

Friends' lives are unraveling.

My heart aches for them.

In the first few years after Nick's death I would have punched anyone in the face who mentioned death and divorce in the same sentence.  Or at least chewed that unsuspecting soul out -- and, in fact, I did.

But now, with the tenderness of years, I just grieve with and for my friends whose marriages are coming apart. No, death and divorce are not the same, but the English language doesn't have quite enough nuance to set the experiences, which seem to overlap and yet are quite distinct, apart. And yes, it is crass to compare the two.

But a broken heart is broken. Pain is pain. Loss is loss. Suffering is suffering. 

I have several friends whose lives have been shattered, some because of recent deaths, some because of impending divorces. My friends are hurting: Does it matter why?

Run Silent, Run Deep

Yes, it's a great movie, but I'm not talking about submarines!

Today is Forgiveness Sunday, the day on which the Melkite Church and other Byzantine/Eastern Catholic churches begin Great Lent. (The Orthodox Churches start next Sunday, while the Roman Catholics begin with Ash Wednesday.)

I mentioned a while ago that I've been more intentional about taking time to read and pray, to be quiet and listen.  It's been so long since I've taken that time, carved that space out, that mostly what I hear is myself, babbling and burbling and jumbling.  But there have also been moments of true silence, of hearing the still, small voice.  Great Lent is for me a time of listening, of ignoring the wind and the earthquake and the fire. It is a time of exposing myself and saying, "Here I am, Lord ... speak, for your servant is listening."

Fasting is a key piece of the Eastern churches' observation of Lent: The discipline gives us strength for the journey.  This year, our household is adding an electronics fast to our usual abstaining from meat and dairy. We won't be shutting down our computers entirely, but the time between dinner and the boys' bedtime will be screen-free. We are constantly assaulted by the media; just having a little break from that will, I think, be good for us all. It will be game-time, reading time, talking time, quiet time -- time spent anywhere but in front of a tv or computer screen.

I personally am adding a "Facebook fast."  No, I won't be completely off Facebook: Given that it is my primary place for interacting with friends and family, that would feel too oppressive and ultimately counter-productive. I will maintain contact with people through messages and playing Scrabble and the like -- actions that are true interactions. But I am blanking out my News Feed. I will not be reading all the inane status updates -- I won't even be seeing them. I won't be "Liking" posts or commenting on links. I won't be getting caught up in the brouhahas and kerfuffles.  I won't be sharing news items that have my blood boiling or posting funny quotes.  I don't think I'll be posting much of anything at all.

I'm not announcing this on Facebook, because in all honestly, most of my 293 "friends" won't notice. But I'm putting it here, because those friends who would notice will also read it here. If you need me, I'm available. If you put something on Facebook that I really need to see, send me a message or tag me. Otherwise, I won't see it. If you have my email address, use it.

I will be running silent and, hopefully, running deep.

A haiku for Valentine's Day

The online magazine Slate ran a contest, asking readers to submit their love stories in photographic form. Three photos, with captions ... a photographic haiku if you will.

And my entry was one of 20 winners.

I'm pleased.

You can see mine -- and all the others -- here.

Mine is the next-to-last one on the second page.  Regular readers of this blog will recognize all the photos. Only the captions are new.

The Truth, in 20 minutes

Excerpts from today's lectionary readings for the Melkite church:

2 John 1-13   The elder to the elect lady and her children, whom I love in the truth, and not only I but also all who know the truth, because of the truth that abides in us and will be with us for ever: Grace, mercy, and peace will be with us from God the Father and from Jesus Christ, the Father’s Son, in truth and love. I was overjoyed to find some of your children walking in the truth, just as we have been commanded by the Father. But now, dear lady, I ask you, not as though I were writing you a new commandment, but one we have had from the beginning, let us love one another.* And this is love, that we walk according to his commandments; this is the commandment just as you have heard it from the beginning—you must walk in it. ...
* For God is Love, as John said over and over and over in his first letter.

Mark 15:22-25,33-41   The crucifixion of Jesus 

Excerpts from New Seeds of Contemplation, by Thomas Merton, which I was also reading today:

To hope is to risk frustration. Therefore, make up your mind to risk frustration. (p. 104)

It is not that someone else is preventing you from living happily; you yourself do not know what you want. (p. 110)

I don't usually do this -- in fact I've never done it -- but a synopsis of my 20-minute reflection on these passages:

The truth remains... Hope... You don’t know what you want. You don't know what to hope for.  Yes, I do! I know what I want! I know what I hope for.  I want to love and be loved. I keep hoping that I will love again.  I want someone to laugh with and lean on. I want the intimacy of complete trust. I had it, and it was crucified in that f3cking ICU. I keep waiting for a resurrection that just hasn’t happened... The truth remains. Walk in it. God is love. Walk in it. Hope. I know what I hope for... I know what I want... I had it once... The truth remains. God is love... Walk in it... The truth remains. Walk in it.

Why, you ask, would I put this particular raw piece of myself out there? Because of these words from Merton that I also read today:

If a writer is so cautious that he never writes anything that cannot be criticized, he will never write anything that can be read. If you want to help other people you have got to make up your mind to write things that some men will condemn. (p. 105)

The truth remains. And that is all I ever need to know, ever need to hope for.

stirrings, n

1. a mental impulse, sensation, or feeling: stirrings of hope.  
2. a small movement: she pretended that her husband's nocturnal stirrings didn't wake her

Things are stirring within me -- and no, it's not the Chinese food I made for dinner.  I suppose things are always stirring within us, but we seldom take the time to notice them, to pay attention to them. Since shortly after the New Year, however, I have been making the time to notice them. I have been carving a chunk of time out of my day for quiet reading and reflection, making a deliberate effort to be silent and cherish the silence.

That probably sounds odd to my readers who know that my kids are in school and I'm home alone all day every day without the kids' hubbub anyway.  But it's ridiculous how easy it is to fritter away a day, how easy it is to be busy doing nothing, how easy it is to get caught up in the news or the radio or the computer or the housework and not even notice that you're alive.

Well, I am alive, apparently.  And I'm just now noticing. And it's really quite a remarkable thing.

It's been a long time since I actively set aside time for prayer and meditation. A very long time. So it can be hard for me to settle into silence. I feel like I'm learning how to do this all over again, even though it was once so natural for me.  There's a lot of clutter in my mind and heart, and it tumbles around all the time.  But every now and then, I manage to find my way through to a place that remembers.

What is it I remember?

I remember despair and grace, anguish and consolation, brokenness and compassion.  I remember the Divine, and the Human.  I remember that I am alive.

Something is stirring within me. Something beyond words. And I am grateful.

Back to words

While I enjoyed doing the photo challenge in January, I am glad it's over. I may be a woman of many talents, but photography isn't one of them. I love taking pictures, and I "see" great photos, but I can seldom get them from my mind's eye to the camera. 

Words. Give me words!

31. Me, again

Here I am, in my chair.

Today's picture was taken, by the way, from the chair in this picture.

I almost used a different photo for this post, one that's more flattering, but it was zoomed in a bit and you don't see much more than me and the chair.  I like my living room, and I think the environment I choose to live in says more about "me" than just about anything else.

30. Nature

My hellebores are blooming.

Too bad you have to get underneath them to see them!

29. Inside my fridge

28. Light

The morning sun, reflected off the mirror on the back wall of the curio cabinet.