Running Up a Big Hill

There is a buzz in the back of my head making me feel like I should be chasing my tail. I did this week, as I drove to Chicago, back to Troy, home to Ann Arbor where others joined me and busied myself with the preparation of food. I even dropped a pecan pie and watched the glass base shatter. My three year old stood over me, saying, I want to eat it. To be honest, I considered trying to salvage a section just for myself.

It is Cyber Monday, Nano month is ended. I don't know what to do with myself in my free hour for the week. If you need anything, now is the time to pick up the phone, dial 818.4694 and ask me for a favor. "Yes, please," I will say to avoid the real work of writing goals, partnering with Christ in something bigger then my coffee mug, my feet pounding pavement for another 10 mile run, my long list of Birthday parties, Christmas presents and neighborhood commitments.

What I want to do is draw a bare tree in ink washes. Felt little animal heads I can mount on wood (as they have in this months Anthropology catalogue shown here). Drink latte's all day without feeling caffeine's dizzying effects. I suppose a massage would be nice as well. I have lost connection with myself, with my Chapel sanctuaries, with my words on a page, with myself present in the dialogue with anyone else.

I am at risk of falling into the abyss of regret, just considering the work undone, blank MFA applications, half started NANO. But I don't want to live in the rear, to look backwards, to see my shadow. Rather, I want some brilliant new mind, me living right now.

There is this poem sitting on my coffee-shop table that I love, with the following lines:

I’m tired . . .
of how the old beggar
makes me think that
rowing across the river is
somehow richer, more serious than,
the center of a pomegranate…

then later 

I want life’s ragged way
of getting along, the wasted
afternoon and empty morning, the
sloppy kiss. I want to stagger
along between innings. I want
the burnt toast, the forgotten note,
and the lost pillowcase, the dime
novel, and the Silly Putty of it all.

As I ran up a half mile hill in Barton Hills Saturday morning, trying to keep my eyes on my friend always just ahead, I decided that life is all about hills. It is running up something with no foreseeable top. I taste a bit of iron in my mouth, I see green bushes to my right, and I live within creation during this step. There is an energy in focusing on making my legs push off. I want to be in my penduluming arms and let their momentum propel my chest towards lasting hope. 

I pray that my hill could be a great one, ever reaching higher and a way to experience myself in God's world, with whatever upward grade he provides, trusting that I can enjoy the muscle burn in this step. 

Festival of Faith & Writers

I keep trying to convince anyone I see, know, or meet on the street to go to the Festival of Faith and Writers Conference at Calvin College in Grand Rapids, April 10th to 12th. To avoid the "Writers" part, I tell people they can just be readers, because many people who attend, do so for the authors and discussions and stories of 100's of great voices. I secondly tell them they don't really have to have "Faith," and brag that Anne Lamott is coming, because everyone loves Anne Lamott. I also mention the last conference, which featured people like Marilyn Robinson, Jonathan Saffron For, and Ann Voscamp.

This is the irony of my own story as I purchase "Stitches," Lamott's new book in preparation for the conference, which I still need to sign up for. I flipped through a few pages of that book and also, "Help, Wow, Thanks" and land in the vague acknowledgments of God, when her first pages say things like, I don't know much about God and maybe God has meaning in my life. It makes me pause before buying, which I do eventually do.

I hate the way I choose to skirt and avoid and pretend my faith, to avoid labels and association with rigid or labeled Theologians. I am always writing between the lines about why or how or what makes me believe, in such a way as to understand how one goes from ME as my own god, to believing enough to follow Jesus. I look at people who I admire in the church and think, why do you believe, and in the next moment at others to say, "why don't you believe." This always leads back to what makes me decide on Christ's death and resurrection as the crux of my own identity, my own ability to interpret God in the stars, to creating my arch nemesis in his image, and to pause before stepping on the first floor to ask God for a bigger view of love.

 My three year old came home from church yesterday with colorful paper chain links that said the following, "I'm thankful for's," with blue marker words, "my brother," on one, and "for piggies, kitties and dogs," on the second. The other six were blank. I thought, how nice, this is thanksgiving preparation. He looked at me and said, "God puts people in prison," and stuck his hands on the end chains, to which I said, "What?" My first response was, "God doesn't put people in prison." He then said "they have wood on their feet."  It made me nod as I thought, oh some disciple or follower must have been put in prison in the story they read. But who put them there and why, maybe it was in some way God?

I am in awe of the Bible stories that are all about people wanting to kill Christians. Why hate so extremely? 11 of the 12 disciples are murdered, and the last one John sits as a prisoner on an island writing letters towards the end of the New Testament. What of his belief and response to God? Obedience.

I started reading the Count of Monte Christo two years ago and am about half way at this point. It feels like hell to watch The Count spend hours calculating people's intentions and trying to help them fall into the darkest holes of hate, murder and greed and evil within themselves. I suppose that is the opposite in my mind of The Count living in prison with a man who loves him and believes in him. Where would he be best served? In relationships that are real! Not to spoil the ending, but my husband keeps telling me that it is worth reading, meaning there must be some redemption and better that comes of all the heartache.

I suppose this is where I end this post, both with the question to you of why you believe and what you pit your choices on, not just what you know or others tell you, but the moments that you jump in or out of choosing to trust another with your life.

Oh, and you should definitely go to the Faith and Writers Conference!!!

NanoWriMo- Take Four

Another year has past and today is the start of my fourth attempt to write many words over the month of November. I am already feeling defeated as I consider the new chaos that 1667 words a day creates for everything else. I consider characters, my favorite hobbies, running, guitar, camping and trying to incorporate my life onto the written page. Is that possible?

Over the month of November I read the new Jeannette Walls book, Silver Star, half of When Women Were Birds, finished Dave Eggers, Hologram for the King and Zeitoun, and several essays by David Sedaris. I keep wondering what they have to offer my work, what I love about their work that I can duplicate.

One thing I love is how much these authors seem to experience moments. They see their past and present as a field of wonder to be mined and appreciated. There is wild chance involved, based on each person they encounter, each location. Their experiences are shaped by bumping into others with stories, people with whole worlds inside themselves. For me kids with teachers and classmates, a husband with emotional patients, my neighbors the day after Halloween and the yes's and no's to be said to their dinner invitations (3 + for tonight), events for the weekend and my ability to make good choices. Do I apply for a third year to MFA programs? Do I write this novel? Do I host Thanksgiving, Christmas? Go to Chicago next week, when my husband has time off from clinical duties?

I realized yesterday that Chaos might be my idol. I cling to uncertainty as an excuse for not listening to what is important to me. My therapist asked me if I pray for clarity in my own mission. I don't even know if I can. That would mean believing I had one and then working towards it. But just realizing how foreign the request is, I am beginning to believe in praying it. Trying to trust God to provide me with a mission, pursuit of work and life with open hands and belief that I am worthy and capable of living out a calling.

I pray today that my characters will move me to see what God has provided. May he reveal my identity in him and make clear how I can experience joy in living in his wake.

Buying Time

Our small group looked at Mark 10 this week, where the rich man asks what he must do to inherit eternal life. Here's a link to the passage.  The passage is familiar but so complicated. On first read, we all panic about the idea we might need to sell everything and be homeless.  Then we can quickly move to the doctrine of prosperity gospel, where we interpret this to be if we give up X (in this case all our money), then we will gain so much more, as Job did. One person mentioned the idea that maybe giving up possessions  gains us community and time. A smaller house means less to manage. Commitments to others, means receiving from all they contribute as well.

We also talked about the fact that the rich man's identity was in his wealth, and that each of us creates an identity out of something. Another person talked about identity as what we stick our claws into, like a husband or kids or persona, and needing to actually take our claws out and stick them into Christ. With the rich man, he walks away saddened at the news that he would have to sell all he owns, but in reality he is walking away from being with Christ, because Jesu's final words are, "and follow me."

If we really believe that doing what Jesus says, "leaving everything that distracts us and following him," is the best way, do we leave the thing that we cling to the most and trust both that he will provide and we will be better off? In the passage it says to let go of, farm and family and I hate to think for me of letting go of my boys (all three), my legs to run, my fingers to play, my pen to write, my my. . . , but are they what I cling to for my hope? It is a lot to ask of them, to save me and for me to control? The result of having my claws there is that I worry they won't live up to my plan, and the truth is they cannot, because my vision and plan is not Gods.

This morning my son began making tickets, because he gets them at school and now wants to receive them at home, when he does a good job. I told him the ways he can earn tickets are by practicing reading and memorizing scripture. We started with verse one of Psalm 23. Is there a more prefect declaration of our faith, dependence and ultimate hope, dwelling with the Lord forever.

It also hits me as I constantly try to figure out why I would tell someone about God, why they are missing out without him?  Because with Christ, I can let go of trying to be everything to people, to save them or myself. To be enough. I am not going to survive my own expectations let alone others. God has them and will hold them better then I can.

And so, here is my prayer
What I hope is David's prayer
And ultimately, what God prayers for me and David and . . .

Psalm 23 (real version linked here)

The Lord:
I the Lord, am your shepherd,
You shall not want.
I make you lie down in green pastures.
I leads you beside quiet waters.
I restore your soul;
I guide you in the paths of righteousness
For My name’s sake.

Me:
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I fear no evil, for You are with me;
Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;
You have anointed my head with oil;
My cup overflows.
Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Deflectoman = BAD

I came to realize this week that I am amazing at deflecting everything, good or bad. My skill comes through an internal voice, i'll call "Deflectoman" who works as a consultant. This guy is great at hearing things and filtering them. For example if someone says, "Isn't it late to have your kids up," it responds with, "Well, I am trying to get their homework done , or I explain that I am trying to feed them or respond to some important email. (Then the voice says, "now Sonia, rush up and get them to bed, to avoid messing up more.") This voice also tells me: "Clean your garden," "this bathroom is filthy," "your roots are dark and you should dye them now!" and directs me towards avoiding the embarrassment that could come.

As I contemplated this, a friend said that "Deflectoman" is either a helpful coping tool that might just need to be turned down sometimes or not serving a function, and thus needing to be expelled. The idea of expelling something made me think of my friend Melissa's novel where there was an exorcism. I don't have much faith in Christian mysticism, but I like the idea of getting rid of this one.

I have spent a ton of time pleasing people. I anticipate criticisms and work hard to avoid negative attention which I imagine to be all attention, but am ready to live with less exterior ego and seek the light of God loving me without my doing or being or pretending anything. I no longer want to control how God sees me or ask him to come to me when I am "better," but to seek the reality of him being enough and letting him see me as the helpless flailing infant, I am.

After pondering this I ran into Isaiah 51. I keep wanting to find the one verse, but it's too hard, so here's the chapter.
1 “Listen to me, you who pursue righteousness,
          Who seek the LORD:
          Look to the rock from which you were hewn
          And to the quarry from which you were dug.

2 “Look to Abraham your father
          And to Sarah who gave birth to you in pain;
          When he was but one I called him,
          Then I blessed him and multiplied him.”

3 Indeed, the LORD will comfort Zion;
          He will comfort all her waste places.
          And her wilderness He will make like Eden,
          And her desert like the garden of the LORD;
          Joy and gladness will be found in her,
          Thanksgiving and sound of a melody.

4 “Pay attention to Me, O My people,
          And give ear to Me, O My nation;
          For a law will go forth from Me,
          And I will set My justice for a light of the peoples.

5 “My righteousness is near, My salvation has gone forth,
          And My arms will judge the peoples;
          The coastlands will wait for Me,
          And for My arm they will wait expectantly.

6 “Lift up your eyes to the sky,
          Then look to the earth beneath;
          For the sky will vanish like smoke,
          And the earth will wear out like a garment
          And its inhabitants will die in like manner;
          But My salvation will be forever,
          And My righteousness will not wane.

7 “Listen to Me, you who know righteousness,
          A people in whose heart is My law;
          Do not fear the reproach of man,
          Nor be dismayed at their revilings.

8 “For the moth will eat them like a garment,
          And the grub will eat them like wool.
          But My righteousness will be forever,
          And My salvation to all generations.”

9 Awake, awake, put on strength, O arm of the LORD;
          Awake as in the days of old, the generations of long ago.
          Was it not You who cut Rahab in pieces,
          Who pierced the dragon?

10 Was it not You who dried up the sea,
          The waters of the great deep;
          Who made the depths of the sea a pathway
          For the redeemed to cross over?

11 So the ransomed of the LORD will return
          And come with joyful shouting to Zion,
          And everlasting joy will be on their heads.
          They will obtain gladness and joy,
          And sorrow and sighing will flee away.

12 “I, even I, am He who comforts you.
          Who are you that you are afraid of man who dies
          And of the son of man who is made like grass,

13 That you have forgotten the LORD your Maker,
          Who stretched out the heavens
          And laid the foundations of the earth,
          That you fear continually all day long because of the fury of the oppressor,
          As he makes ready to destroy?
          But where is the fury of the oppressor?

14 “The exile will soon be set free, and will not die in the dungeon, nor will his bread be lacking. 15 “For I am the LORD your God, who stirs up the sea and its waves roar (the LORDof hosts is His name). 16 “I have put My words in your mouth and have covered you with the shadow of My hand, to establish the heavens, to found the earth, and to say to Zion, ‘You are My people.’”

17 Rouse yourself! Rouse yourself! Arise, O Jerusalem,
          You who have drunk from the LORD’S hand the cup of His anger;
          The chalice of reeling you have drained to the dregs.

18 There is none to guide her among all the sons she has borne,
          Nor is there one to take her by the hand among all the sons she has reared.

19 These two things have befallen you;
          Who will mourn for you?
          The devastation and destruction, famine and sword;
          How shall I comfort you?

20 Your sons have fainted,
          They lie helpless at the head of every street,
          Like an antelope in a net,
          Full of the wrath of the LORD,
          The rebuke of your God.

21 Therefore, please hear this, you afflicted,
          Who are drunk, but not with wine:

22 Thus says your Lord, the LORD, even your God
          Who contends for His people,
          “Behold, I have taken out of your hand the cup of reeling,
          The chalice of My anger;
          You will never drink it again.

23 “I will put it into the hand of your tormentors,
          Who have said to you, ‘Lie down that we may walk over you.’
          You have even made your back like the ground
          And like the street for those who walk over it.”