Memories

I picked up a book at the Cokesbury store at Wesley Theological Seminary. It's by someone who was a student at Duke Divinity School when Jeff and I were there. I thought, "Oh, I need to show Jeff what Paul is up to." Then I remembered that I can't do that anymore. No tears were in that particular moment of remembering. It was more a sense of loss of shared memory. 

There are moments that I think of things I would like to ask my parents about--stories that they told, places we visited together, occasions shared as a family. Those moments are also losses of shared memory.

I know that we cannot retain all the details of all our memories. That's why it is helpful to have community around us. Last Friday, I was able to spend a few hours with Susan. We had not been together really for over 30 years. As we walked around looking at art, we talked. Different memories emerged that I thought I had forgotten. It was fun to keep remembering things together, and make some new ones for now.

I visit Fran who is still so sweet but whose memory has faded so much. Her husband remembers, but she doesn't. In a way, that is so sad, but are we just the memories we've accumulated? If those memories are gone, then are we too gone?

I don't think so. As Jesus prepared to leave his disciples, he promised them that the Holy Spirit would come and remind them of all he had taught them. So this Holy Spirit-filled community, this Body of Christ remembers. And even when we all forget, God does not forget, for we are written upon the palm of God's hand. 

Verbs

Last Sunday, Scott Tong shared three verbs from his perspective of twenty years of living after his cancer diagnosis. They were, with my interpretation of what I heard, invest: not in money, but in what is of lasting value, dance: celebrate in the midst of life and wrestle: grapple with the hard questions—with God.

Even though I haven’t thought of them as verbs, I’ve had right much time over the last few years to consider what are the really important values of life for me.

Love—I have to make a decision that seeks the best that is possible for the other, a reflection of the relationship that is God within the Trinity, and that seeks to draw each creature into it;

Hope—I believe that all life—yours, mine and ours together—has purpose, that at the heart of creation burns a furnace of purpose that comes before and goes beyond the span of my individual life; and

Sing—I have always believed that life is a musical—sometimes one where people burst into song, but more often one where the rhythm of God’s heart beats in the midst of life seeking to draw all creation into harmony and counterpoint.

These are some of the verbs that shape my life. Some days they are relatively easy to live into. On other days, I have to make a decision for them. They cannot simply be about how I feel, about my emotions. They are choices that I make and have to reaffirm each day.

Romans 12:12

Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer.

Oh, the Dash

Oh, the dash—the life that we live between when we were born and when we die. It could just be a way of marking time. It could be drudgery. It could be a celebration. I confess that at different moments it has been all those things for me.  

When I sit playing a card game on my iPad, I may well be marking time. That can be okay. Over the past nearly four years, I have spent a lot of time waiting in medical facilities. Sometimes the brain just needs to “veg.” There can be faithfulness in this.

As my father witnessed much of what he had been a part of in building at his company begin to be dismantled, he didn’t find nearly as much joy in going to work as he had previously. He talked about “beating that d… drum.” Sometimes we just have to keep putting one foot in front of the other in order to keep going. There can be faithfulness in this.

We often think of celebration as being occasional—birthday, anniversary, Christmas, and more. I would like to grow in the discipline of finding joy and celebrating in each moment. I believe this would widen my heart and my vision to seeing where God is at work in places that often appear hidden. Today the radiation machine “glitched” shortly before my appointment so I got the opportunity to talk with a woman for whom today’s treatment would have been the last of 47! She is a retired physicist. With the short time we normally wait, I would never have the chance to talk with her. I might get to see her tomorrow morning as we make up for today’s glitch.

May I live my dash fully and faithfully.

Re-entry

Our time in Texas was wonderfully relaxing. We didn’t keep a busy schedule. We basically chilled with my brother and sister-in-law, getting some time with my niece, her husband and their kids—the “gbs” as they are called (grandbabies).

Other than checking the church voice mail a few times a day to make sure there were no emergencies and getting my license replaced, I did little that was productive. I worked out at Curves, walked with Barbara and her neighbor, and ate too much. There were few demands on us and that was wonderful.  As we drove to the airport in San Antonio, besides being nervous about going through security with no driver’s license, I was aware that I was sad and reluctant to go. Not only would I miss being with our family, but I knew I was heading back into the storm in a way. Radiation loomed. The basement has to be waterproofed and everything in it moved. Things still have to be sorted. Coming back to my congregation was a joy; everything else felt like a chore.

In some ways, I would like to be an ostrich, sticking my head in the ground, ignoring what’s around me. I’m aware that there are times I do that—maybe not with everything, but with some things. If I ignore them maybe they will go away. I know, however, that’s not how it works. My Family Systems coach reminds me to make contact with what I find troubling. Facing it, rather than avoiding it, will be much better in the long run. So, I’m trying to face it, even when I have my ostrich moments. Thank you for your patience.

Psalm 131

LORD, my heart isn’t proud;

 
      my eyes aren’t conceited.

 
   I don’t get involved with things

 
   too great or wonderful for me.

No. But I have calmed 
and quieted myself

 
   like a weaned child on its mother;

 
   I’m like the weaned child on me.

Israel, wait for the LORD—

 
   from now until forever from now!