SOUL DIARY
For me, this time of social distancing provides stillness and a time for social noticing. I notice on my walks, so many neighbours are on the footpath outside their apartment blocks or houses. In hand, they have a broom or a rake. They tidy up the sidewalk gathering up the fallen leaves. They find satisfaction in cleaning up the way for others.
We do our part – tidying up and tending to the fallen while God tends to the roots.
Shalom
God is sufficient for all my needs.
I am excited to start watching an online course offered by my friend, Dan Whitehead and his team here in Vancouver at Sanctuary Mental Health. Now is the time to attend to our mental health and become equipped to help others who are limping through life sometimes or always. These times of strain and stress will take a toll unless we are proactive in finding time to enter into emotional. physical and spiritual practices that will help us cope.
Sanctuary as a gift is offering the course ( usually $100 ) free online. Please avail yourself of this fantastic offer and join with friends or family to do the course while you are at home during this time.
I nearly stepped on it
Laying there in the middle of the sidewalk
Right in the middle
I turned just as I passed it
Just to make sure
Yep that’s a dead mouse
Or a rat
If I stood on it
The bottom of my shoe would be in danger
A sole in peril
But then who touches the soul
We unlace it’s and put it aside
For freedom and want
I wash my hands anyway
20 seconds at least
My low maintenance faith has become slowly more complex as I unravel intricate pieces neatly stashed away at the beginning. Like looking through a jewellery box of single earrings, fragile gold watch bands, inherited shiny things, brooches never worn, hair clips and such, so is my search for keepers now alive and ongoing. The ‘keep it simple stupid’ and ‘fake it to you make it’ are long placed on the trash heap. The imagined trust and obey bonfire lights up the place. I blow off the soot and dust and sit alone trying to figure out how to use the new pieces in the old mechanism. Old wine skins. New wine skins. Baby and bath water. What a mess.
I don’t know the answers to everything but I do believe this time is one of invitation to be curious and leave the cabin. Using God as the wind He wanted to be, driving me and upturning me towards a restored innocence - second naïveté - and then ,me, taking my place with the throng staring upwards with squinting eyes seeking not as powerful and chosen but as children. A fist - a cloud in an otherwise blue sky.
Many years ago my mother sent over money for Christmas presents for our children. Against my better judgement and, swayed by a 5–part chorus of ‘Please Mummy’, we purchased The Mouse Trap game. An awful sense of foreboding came over me as we took our purchase home. On Christmas Day, frenzied little pudgy fingers opened the big box! The game came with masses of small pieces and takes the combined skills of a brain surgeon and architect to put it together. Missing parts could be avoided only with meticulous surveillance by Mummy, the Mousetrap Monitor! The game was a disaster for me. I had to watch every move, hover over every roll of the dice, and supervise every pack up expecting at any time the little white ball would be lost or the red basket snapped. Surely the blue loop-the-loop rigging wouldn’t last more than a few months. I was only satisfied when all pieces were packed up and the box neatly tucked away.
I should have listened to my gut and, instead, bought a new Atlas, a badminton set or a popcorn maker.
About 12 months went by. Pieces were lost. The game rarely left the cupboard that had became a graveyard for many games. In January, our annual council recycling drive was upon us and in a moment of Manic Mean Mummy, I decided to throw it on the junk pile. I loved that moment. I felt so powerful. I don’t remember anyone complaining too much. We all knew it was time for it to go.
I think of other things now lurking in my life that ought to be removed. Items that are high maintenance and serve only little or fleeting purpose.
I am reminded this week that I am a citizen of heaven already. I received my visa early. Citizens of heaven should be spending their lives maintaining the life-giving things. Maintaining friendships and fighting for justice. Promoting kindness and mercy. Maintaining health and care for others. I don’t want to spend my life maintaining the trap.
Contemplation is the act of taking a big breath and diving below the surface. The act of searching, as Don Millers book title suggests, ‘Searching for God Knows What’.
We have been told not to dive into shallow water as the risk of injury is high. We would take well to heed this advice in matters too controversial, too current and too political. Avoid the risk of injury. Don’t dive headlong into the crowded shallow end but walk up to the deep, find a spot where only you and the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob dwell. Take a big breath and dive in head first. That is the act of holy contemplation.
I long to stop worrying about God and my relationship with Him and his church. I am learning that Jesus came to show me how to be human far more than how to be spiritual. He is deadly serious when he says we must learn to love ourselves – this means getting over our piety, and our shame and get full-on into loving ourselves and others well. I want to be about that.
“
I buried me
Beneath the earth
From dust to dust
From death to birth
Or so I thought
Now labour pains
To move the sod
Now stretching out
To find my God
Its bright out here
But o so lush
I love myself
And my God crush
My limbs are sore
The muscles tight
The eyes grow squinted in the light
But o so lush
The earthy loam
I love this Eden
My soiled soul called home
”
“To end in grace you must somehow start with grace, and then it is grace all the way through.
Or as others have simply put it, “How you get there is where you arrive”. ”
For the first 20 years of my faith-filled existence, I carried a script with me, learned my lines and occasionally ad-libbed. That well-used script was lost - burnt, drowned, destroyed - for some reason, and I find myself on stage without words. There is no-one to prompt me from the wings — a scary place. I went from rock-solid performance to being unsure and doubt-filled. It had to be. The arrogance of a brittle scroll had to be adjusted. The judgemental one had to feel the scorn of judgment.
Jesus remains my brand.
Making his logo (logos) known, my project
Wearing the brand and being the brand. All sounds good. But my identity is shaped by faith and conversely, my way of being shapes my faith. I prefer to think of my ‘contract’ with God as being a living and growing matter rather than the result of a hot iron permanently scarring my flesh.
I look in the mirror and see the beginning and know the end will be that beginning. I am the swimmer struggling to get back to shore after being drawn out wide. I find some peace in going back to the place of my innocence.
Overshadowed by wings
An understudy for peace and mercy
Waiting behind heavy blood coloured curtains
Until all heaven breaks loose
I am home here and now
Faith on trial does have a purpose. Jesus' encounter with the Devil in the desert had a magnificent outcome. Our battles often demand that we undress our version of God, and in doing so, we offload some of our religious certainties that don't measure up under pressure. Unclouded sovereignty remains standing. We have to dig deep to find where He dwells - perhaps digging in way deeper than we thought necessary. So play with the concept of God being closer than you think - because maybe he is farther away. Yes and no.
They said
‘Don’t miss out on what God has got for you’.
Made me sort of desperate and frantic. Turned my pilgrim slippers towards the neon lights of the ‘Price is Right’ and away from the mystery. It’s just how I am wired - to please God and to get where the action is.
Now I sit by dim candlelight barely able to make out the river or the sky. Just boiling the kettle faithfully over the smouldering ashes. Warmed by holy smoke.
My shoe lace is undone. I know it.
Two strangers: ‘Hey, your laces are undone’.
The zipper pocket of my backpack is undone. I don’t know it.
Fellow walker. ‘Hey, your back zipper is undone’ .
Stroller getting off the bus. Big helpful commotion.
Passenger: ‘Driver, there’s a stroller getting off at the next stop’.
I’m lonely.
No response.
I’m odd.
Turn away.
"Sometimes we also get the impression that if we go across the ocean, it’s more noble than going across the street. I think all of Heaven is leaning over the rails hoping we’ll go across the room ... to someone who hasn’t been that easy to love" @bobgoff
It's an annoying job to dispose of soggy tea leaves. I have a beautiful little blue teapot, and occasionally I make myself a nice pot of tea. The act of brewing a cup of tea is just so soothing for me.
““When the world is at odds
And the mind is all at sea
Then cease the useless tedium
And brew a cup of tea” (Anon)”
Then comes the difficult job of cleaning out the tea leaves.
My musings are like used tea leaves – the tea has been drunk and enjoyed – that is found in the experience of life. The leaves are grown and produced somewhere else – not here. Like forefathers and traditions, I now try to discern what to make of it. What to do with those deep things. The residue of life.
God is in the tea leaves.
He is in the questions and the answers.
He is in the mystery.
He is in the wonderful traditions that make up our spiritual practices and in the haphazard sways between.
In his beautiful work, "I want YOU to BE', Tomas Halik says 'there are some questions that are too good to spoil with answers, that should remain an open window. Such openness need not lead to resignation but to contemplation."
The leaves look sad and used, but they have brought joy – rich is the experience of the cup of tea. Rich is my experience of the spirit. Although not always satisfying. Not ever complete with results or success.
My writing is a report on the Way – a mid-term paper.
We live in a world that likes things packaged up – neat – clear – finding the details are written down and itemized for every occasion. Survey results. Top ten lists for everything from public toilets in Moscow to Thai food restaurants in Brooklyn. The fine print is having its moment in the sun. Meanwhile, the mystery is the quiet winner. In the secret place, we find satisfaction in the questions without needing answers.
Thomas Aquinas strongly asserts that "God is not evident" He's not? Right? As much as our faith, (especially my faith practices of yesteryear) try to convince us to believe that,
'There He is'
'Right there'
'Don't you see him'
'Don't miss him'
Yet He remains elusive in many ways. Many religions try to convince us that he is closer than we think. Which is both true and not.
It's in the tea leaves. It's in the pot. A place that takes time to clean out. To clean out traditions and make way for new ones. A place to savour traditions and a place to throw them out.
