Seeking Co-Author

Decided to write my own love story.  Serves two purposes: 1) fulfills a life-long desire: to have, albeit imaginary, a romantic, long-term, successful relationship and 2) to write again - something I haven't been done since........can't remember.  Check the date of my last blog entry.  I may or may not keep going.  I just happened to be desperate to creatively express myself today, and longing for lasting partnership/love was the only emotion powerful enough to keep me still and focused so I could write (yes, I know, it's only a single page.)  I may not find time in the near future to do anything with this, but it's a start.

CHAPTER ONE:

It is raining again, covering Oregon's green the misleading hint of fresh sorrel that turns to soggy spinach by mid-afternoon. A Gary Jules "Mad World" kind of day. It will be a clam chowder night, she determines, making her list for the trip to the grocery store ...which I need to get to before 4:00 or I'll run into traffic and be late to pick up the kids.

Planning her day is the one thing she looks forward to NOT doing when she retires - that and apologizing for past mistakes. Twenty years from now, poor decisions will look like gained wisdom. She'll be lucky to retire at 63. Her Ivy League master's degree in Africana studies is not turning out to be very profitable, despite what her educational debt implies. But she loves her job. She is making a difference, even if she doesn't see results of her efforts every day. Human growth is slow, progress arduous, never promised. In her field, hope in the promise is a barely visible fishing line that can either catch the 40 pound spring Chinook that will feed your family for a month, or snap fast and leave you eating ferns until another job bites; in her line of work it could be next fishing season.

She's had her coffee, minus the sugar. Sacrificing sweets is her latest attempt to subtract what might be the cause of her "pleasantly plump figure," a self-identified description of her figure on her peacock pride days, or "bubble butted heifer" on her drowned mermaid days. She's had the same 20 pound weight loss goal that would have been easily reached in her twenties, taken a few months in her thirties, but now seems to be an inverted and double number in her forties, gaining instead of losing, no matter what she cuts out of her diet.

It might help if you stop drinking, she scolds herself. But it's just wine, she whines. "You really need to stop talking to yourself," she speaks aloud.  Holding random debates with herself is surely a DSM IV condition, but she holds her head high, despite. Everybody talks to themselves in their own mind, she insists. She is wise enough to keep her diversified thoughts in her head, each voice conveniently organized for easy identification, simplifying the process of discerning who to obey and locking the rest away in their separate rooms: Mom, the billie goat gruff naysayer; Birdie the five-year-old dramatic but imaginative pretender; Hippie-child the nature loving, Spirit dancer who sings and paints and writes the pain away; Heaven, the exotic enticer at 20, the MILF at 30, the plus size retired ho' at 40+; Mrs. Right, the Baptist, Unitarian, Pentacostal, Non-denominational believer, full of faith, shaken, spilled, and running over with hopes and dreams and failures and pitfalls and "I wish I coulda, woulda, shoulda," and "Well...at least I tried" testimonies that will never be shared. Why should I? Nobody cares anyway. My life is shit. That would be EZ-E, the suicidal teenager. If there were a visual representation of the others mentioned, they would all express a collective sigh and shake their heads every time she speaks.

And then there is Ms. E, the chameleon with a professional title who can alter her presence to fit her environment. The woman who marches with merengue in her hips, the taste of Native resistance on her lips, the somber scowl of the silenced squaw. She has her nails done bi-weekly to hide the earth embedded beneath the tips that reveal her country commonness. And 'dat ass, the tell-all sign of blackness she can't hide, she never tries, resigned with a semblance of pride.

Ms. E is the "other" who sings Anita Baker in the spring, Billie Holiday in the summertime, Rickie Lee Jones in early evenings of fall, and makes up her own songs to get her through winters that are often unseasonably long, cold and quiet. With unconsented conception cradling her spirit, she determined that her life would have meaning, and so she committed to survival, hardly the fittest, but full of passion to fight for the underdog, trumpeting "Charge!" to all her other personalities as the situation required.

The dominant personality, Ms. E is competent, intelligent, and well traveled - Mexico, Cuba, Canada, South Korea, China, Costa Rica, Jamaica. Her map of "where next" includes unassuming places like Suriname, Madagascar. And countries either at war or nations that would be diametrically opposed to her liberated nature: Turkey, Israel, Palestine, Egypt. She wants to go because of the extremes, the spirit of resistance, and because she thinks it will be a pleasant respite to cover herself completely so men are only able to ogle her eyes instead of 'dem hips.

Ms. E claims many titles: mother, divorced single parent, educator, artist, a writer with no time to write, nature lover living in the 'hood cuz it's the only place she can find work to pay for life. Adaptable, a settler's spirit and a pioneer's drive, she's lived in multiple states and crossed country thrice. Yet as she gets older, she feels tired. The hinges that hold the doors to her rooms are loosening. The locks insecure. She longs for home, to come to herself, to be whole. To be known by someone other than God.

"To be loved," Birdie chimes. She is the dreamer.
"Hush, child. We got work to do," Ms. E interrupts and proceeds to type up e-mails and return phone calls through the last hour of morning.
"What's for lunch?" asks the teenager at 11:45.
"We should leave early and go on a picnic!" suggests Hippie-child.
"You need to call Patrick and ask him to take us out," Heaven tempts.
Ms. E shuts them all down. "I'm going to finish this stack of paperwork, and then eat the Indian food I bought from Trader Joe's. I have a budget and I'm going to stick to it this month!"
Mom and Mrs. Right agree with a curt nod while the rest pout in their respective rooms. The hinge on the door of an unknown room squeaks. Ms. E sighs. "No wonder I'm single. Can't no man handle all of me."

They all agree.

Dancing with Trouble

The word suffering usually brings to mind an extended period of pain or other unpleasant sensation. It’s the feeling associated with a bad situation, some sort of trouble, trial or challenge.  Not many of us would be willing to open the front door of our lives to suffering.  I know if I see trouble walking close by my first instinct is to bolt the door, close the blinds and pray it keeps on walkin’.  I had a pastor once who suggested that his congregation could use a little more trouble in life.   I was already going through it.  Recently divorced and struggling as a single parent, more trouble to be the last thing I needed. 

It’s not just the external situation that causes suffering but also the internal conversation that talks to the trouble, attacking my self-esteem.  The negative voices in my head play louder than the bass rattling the trunks of some of those cars in the hood. Fear of failure and self-doubt free-style a off-beat rap that pinches the nerves in my shoulders and makes my spirit slouch.  It’s difficult to see the benefit that comes from keeping step with trouble.   

There are two biblical promises that I’ve come to count on; one helps me deal with the other.  Jesus promises that we will experience trouble in this world.  It’s guaranteed.  But here’s the deal: the promise that covers this guarantee is God’s love for us.  Because of God’s love “all things  [yes, even that ugly “thing” hidden in the closet] work together for good to them that love the Lord.” (Romans 8:28)  Because of God’s love, Peter reckoned that “the suffering of this present moment is not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.” (Romans 8:18) 

When trouble is done with us, we are left stronger, glorious.  We are stiff and sore from the work-out, but the exercise has served its purpose.  Great suffering creates a lean, mean fightin’ machine and if we’re armed with God’s Word, we’re ready and able to “rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance character, and character hope.” (Romans 5:3)  I’m not saying I’m going to dress up and go looking for a night out on the town with trouble, but with God’s love, I’ll be ready to tango when trouble finds me. 

Reflection Questions:

1. How does self-esteem help or hinder your ability to persevere?

2. Consider the times you have suffered in life.   How did these experiences make you better?  How does the past suffering prepare you for the troubles ahead?

Prayer:

“Lord, you are the potter and I am the clay. Forgive me for thinking I know what’s best for my life.  You know what is needed to shape me into the image of your Son, Jesus Christ. I surrender my suffering to you to use for your purposes.  You are my hope.” Amen 

Living With Confidence In A Chaotic World by Dr. David Jeremiah

In Living with Confidence in a Chaotic World, Dr. Jeremiah tries to lift the weight of worldly worries with the Word, offering a constructive approach for those who trust their lives to the faithful hands of God, and encouraging those who have yet to turn over their fears to He who is always in control, even in the midst of chaos.  

Dr. Jeremiah offers a solid stone in the foundation on which we can stand firm: God's word. The key word here is stand, or "stay" as Dr. Jeremiah succinctly orders each chapter, followed by a level-headed "c" verb.  In chapter three, for example, "Stay Constructive" speaks of body building, like the man who builds his house on the rock.  

If the gates of hell have flung open into your living room, or if you know someone who is currently playing dodgeball with demons, Living with Confidence in a Chaotic World is a strong strap of truth to gird your loins. Though there were some parts within chapters that could have gone deeper, on the whole it serves as a useful tool, one I can pick up to whet my sword of the spirit in the days, months and years ahead.   

I received this book free from the publisher through the BookSneeze.com (http://BookSneeze.com) book review bloggers program. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255 (http://www.access.gpo.gov/nara/cfr/waisidx_03/16cfr255_03.html. “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.”)

Articles of Faith: I

The constitution of the human spirit balances between two states: that which is good, and that which the average person perceives as evil. This dichotomy is not so much opposing as they are two sides of the same coin. We cannot feel guilt without knowing shame. We cannot experience joy with out knowing pain. We must know darkness in order to recognize the light when it shines. The book of Ecclesiastes describes the struggle to embrace both, and assures the faithful that every moment spent walking in the shadows will be matched by clear skies. There is a time for everything in God's perfect plan: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to laugh and a time to cry - all are necessary, and therefore good. This is hard to accept when your stuck in the funky muck, but consider this: how else can we grow in faith if we don't go through tribulation? If the coal doesn't undergo sufficient pressure, how can the diamond be mined?

That being said, the first article of faith is simple: God is good, all the time. It is on this article that this blog is based. Interestingly enough, it is this first article that is most often attacked by the the enemy, especially during times like these. When doubt and worry bleed through the headlines, we hear hostile threats in our minds - "you can't" "it's impossible" "give up!" Oh, that devil - what a liar! Yet even obvious lies are believed when fear is at an all time high. People grow desperate; they'll believe anything, and do things they wouldn't normally do to get by. This is the faith test: what will you do when you are tried by fire? Remember, he who has faith without works is dead. In other words, what's the point of having faith if it is not tested?

We need to recognize that in order for faith to grow exceedingly, our trials must increase. It hardly seems fair, as if we are being set up to fail. But that, too, is a lie. The greatest stories ever told illustrate that though the antagonist appears to being winning in the middle chapters, the villain loses in the end. That's the good news - we are victorious in the last chapter! So keep reading, your life is God's on-going story. Be the character that refuses to surrender to despair. Secure your armour, strap on your sword, and dare the enemy to do his worst. Cry out name of Jesus and slay those minions - doubt, insecurity, worry, anxiety - bind them all up and cast'em into hell where they belong! You are greater than your circumstance; your circumstance is temporary, you are eternal! Fight with faith and you will receive your reward!

Nowhere But Here

"We like to think we achieve.  We want to know we have 'arrived'.  But the self is work in progress.  It is the spiritual fashioning of a soul.  And souls grow slowly.  We spend life becoming ready to be human beings worthy of life."  - Joan D. Chittister in Called to Question.

I have been in a constant state of arrival for most of my adult life.    The restlessness to leave started early, I hadn't even reached the second grade before I was ready to go.  Where didn't matter, anywhere other than where I was at the moment was good enough, that is until I learned what anywhere looked like.  

In the old farm house I called home there was a window by the front door.  A blue antique loveseat was placed conveniently in front of this large window.  I would sit on old blue and stare out the window on rainy days, which came to the southern Oregon coast as often as the sun shines in Florida.  I longed to walk out the door, step off the front porch, and disappear down the driveway.  I would have runaway if not for the douglass fir trees stationed like colossal sentinals along our country road.  They looked like trees during the day, but at night they came alive.  Shadows of giants with heavy arms waved warning - leave at your own risk.  I wasn't brave enough to take that risk until I was 15.   I have been leaving ever since.

Departure is easier that arriving, especially when the destination is anywhere - a place always unexpected and so exciting at first.  Everything is new, the people and places strange but familiar.  It is the familiarity that should have given me my first clue as to the limiting nature of anywhere.   Bandon, Portland, Eugene, Oregon.  Richmond, Oakland, San Diego, Los Angeles California.  Ithaca, New York.  Gainesville, Florida.  All places I have lived, some by conscious choice, others simply as a result of having no where else to go.  About four years ago I came to realize what it was that kept me moving every three years or so.  No matter what city or town I left, wherever I went I simply found more of the same - suffering, hunger, need.  But the familiarity was not in the location, it was within me.  I could be in Florencia, Cuba and still - there I am.  My surroundings may have changed, but without inner transformation, I would never arrive anywhere.  

I have grown with each move, though that growth is difficult to measure.  Depending what I am measured against, I could be a highly educated and skilled professional in education, or I could be the iconclast outcast who refuses to conform to societal norms.  The tool to determine where I fit between the two is based on societal rules, not one I choose to use, for neither label fits, nor does either amount to much on its own.  I suppose my refusal to use the world's tools for measurement inherently pushes me into the marginal space, a place that is like anywhere - nowhere but here.  I am comforted, however, in knowing that it is here where Christ took his stand.

As I prepare to make my next move, I enter the leaving differently.  I am fully aware of what anywhere looks like and still I'm prepared to step off the porch.  My confidence comes from what is growing inside, partially grown from my perpetual come and go pattern in life, but that is only the rain the comes and goes like the tide.  It quenches my thirst, but eventually the soil dries.  Continued growth requires the magic found in the mystery of God, the call to abide in Christ a spell that defies the laws of any place in time.   The mere promise of peace that comes from the King of Kings shines light on my "work in progess."  The seed of what is growing is my soul, and her longing within me is God gently beckoning, the passion that drives me to keep leaving so I can continue to arrive.  Where?  Anywhere there is a risk.  Anwhere there is suffering.  Anywhere there is spiritual hunger and need.  My step is no longer timid, uncertain. It is an intentional leap.   If I achieve anything, it will be responding to God's will, living a life worthy of his calling, from here to nowhere.

Thanks for at least....

"Whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virture, and if there be any praise, think on these things."  - Philippeans 4:8, King James

This is my favorite verse; it's the best reminder I have to practice the exact opposite of my thinking on gray days like today. Only moments ago, my mind was in repeat mode, playing "poor me" thoughts, triggering feelings of worthlessness, apathy.  Sitting on my white plastic patio chair under the three-foot awning, watching the rain stream down onto the oversized leaves of the bird of paradise that has yet to bloom.  Breath shows in the cold air,  steam from coffee rising like my negative thoughts. Another day, just like any other.  Me, just existing, wasting God's time.  Impatiently waiting for God to call with the good news:  "Congratulations, child!  Your wait is over.  I've got a job for you, you can finally use that ivy league master's degree that put you in debt all those years ago.  Your annual salary should pay it off in just a few years.    Your teenager's poor performance her first semester in college?  No problemo! She'll be on scholarship this time next year.  Husband left you for another woman?  Simple! We had a little chat, he's decided to serve me, and he should be calling any minute asking to be a family again.  Your grandfather's cancer?  Cured!  Your grandmothers hip? Healed!" No worries, God fixed it all.  Yeh, right! And I was the Queen of Sheba in my past life.

There, the winter skeleton of a tree supports one, two....seven birds, some shaking off the rain that's finally letting up.  I'm jealous that they don't have to pay rent for shelter.  Behind me, the front door of my neighbor closes anonymously.  I met her when I first moved in, haven't spoken since.  At my feet, my cat meows silently, is she getting sick or is she a reflection of me - going through the motions of living without a voice.  Three year old is at the front door, wants more rice and beans.  "In a minute."  Mommy's busy stewing funk.  "Close the door, you're letting the heat out."  Just paid $250 electric bill.  Another $50 to transfer billing to my new, smaller but cheaper housing arrangement.  At least it won't cost so much to heat this one.

That's the lesson here: think of the "at least....." in every situation.  Still working as a waitress, but at least I have a job.  Lost my child care waiver, but at least I get to spend more time with my child now.  Car needs work, but at least I have a car to work on.  True it's cold and raining, but at least I live in Florida.  The sun will be out tomorrow.  That's little orphan Annie's song.  "Gotta hang on till tomorrow, come what may."  Holding on, God.  Holding on.