Chaos and Connection

I've not blogged lately. You may have noticed. I have been busy....traveling, painting, seeing and experiencing so many wonderful things. There was no time to sit and write. And now my time here is almost over. Just one more week. Where did the time go? I must say, I have gotten used to the quiet in the evenings--when I'm not on the phone. And it has not been too painful being away, because I hold you all in my heart, and I take memories of you out regularly, like favorite books, and turn the pages; studying the pictures in my mind carefully and warmly. So I don't feel so far away from you. I wonder if you are doing the same. I think about Paul in prison, thinking about his friends in the church. Longing for them, but comforted by the knowledge that they too were holding him in their hearts.

But I have also gotten busy again--falling into my old ways. I woke up late after hitting the snooze one too many times. I didn't have time for breakfast as I scurried to leave the hotel to get to a conference. I was feeling a little out of sorts and panicked about all the things I have been working on here. Will I have time to finish them? Will I forget something important? What should I do first? Work on the grants, finish the Bylaws, get the protocols finalized, did I remember to mail all the lab slips? Who haven't I called? When will I get to do Christmas shopping......oh no! The chaos is not really gone....it followed me here.

Tina asked me last night what was my closest to Christ moment this week. I told her several things, but the one that stands out is painting. Because when I am painting, I am emptying my mind of all the clutter, and simply focusing on a feeling, or a line of color, or a texture. I can't explain it. Can I do this with God?

I sit on the couch quietly, trying to find a peaceful place. I am thinking of you, and feeling such love. I see us together, and experience a gratefulness for you that fills me up. It is a joyful feeling that expands in my chest, pushing down on my diaphram, so that I can't take a breath. I feel extreme peace, a stillness that is a little scary and wonderful all at the same time. The stillness is so intense-if my brain asked my arms to move right now, I don't think they would. I think about God, and wonder about my love for God and my love for you, and suddenly, for just a moment, I see it. My love for you and my love for God is one and the same. We are connected. I have a vision of all of us standing in a circle, our chests and hearts opened up and pouring out in the center together, in a great light, and in the light we are all one, one with God. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. And I wish I could hold on to this perfect vision, but it fades and the world returns. I am calm again. It is advent, and we wait for God. But God is already here. Waiting to be discovered all over again. And I picture God's joy in our opening to The Gift.

Wanderlust

I learned about post-tension cables when we were having foundation troubles. Post-tensioning is a technique for strengthening foundations where cables are stretched under tension after the concrete has started to cure. This tension keeps the foundation from bending, because although concrete is great at holding up under compressive forces, it is not very resistant to deflection. So for some things, and people, I suppose, the forces of tension provide the means to stay in one place; to keep a foundation from cracking. But for some of us, the tension in our lives is moving--and directing us not only to bend, but to discover new places. I inherited this wanderlust, this overwhelming desire to roam the earth, from my father. My sister and brother have it too; it's too soon to tell about my own kids.

When I recognize the trait in others, I am drawn in--for better or for worse. At the New York State Museum, I was intrigued with the paintings of Rockwell Kent--even as I learned he was somewhat a cad. Married three times, and always with a mistress, Kent felt the need (and dare I say the right?) to experience life at it's fullest--sometimes at a great cost to those he loved. Kent's wanderlust took him to explore the great North--Alaska, Newfoundland, Greenland. And his paintings are beautiful and haunting, as he must have been. Oh how I wish I could go to those places. And although I feel at home in many different places (already my senses have become accustomed to Haiti: the hot breezes, smells of burning trash, sight of people spilling out of brightly colored tap taps), I feel most pulled by the northern latitudes--Minnesota, Canada, Norway...from the Land of 10,000 Lakes to the Land of the Midnight Sun.

So today, I abandon the safety of Albany for the unknown North. Up Interstate 87, to Lake George, the refuge of Georgia O'Keeffe and Alfred Stieglitz, I travel--just to be witness to the same beauty that inspired them. I park the car by the lake and get out in the cold wind to take a few pictures. The sun is bright, and the sky and lake are brilliant blue while the leaves on the ground are a rusty brown. Several ferry boats wait silently at the water's edge for the summer when the tourists will be back again. And I wonder what it would be like to go out now, in the freezing wind, to see this winter empress in all her solitary glory. It would be magnificent. But the boats have been abandoned by their captains, and so I get back in my car to venture further up the road. The map suggests a route through the Addirondacks up to Indian Lake. As I enter State Highway 28, I have no idea that in 30 minutes I will leave these rusty leaves behind, for a winter wonderland in white, and gray, and blue. As I ascend into the mountains, my ears pop, alerting me to the altitude, as if the color change alone wouldn't be enough. I stop frequently, taking every opportunity to park and see the frozen lakes and crystal steams from different vantage points. And each time I get back in my car, I am just as eager to be on my way to see what waits over the horizon.

During the past 3 weeks I have been exposed to an overwhelming amount of beauty--from the music of David Wilcox, to the paintings of Maria Katzman and Rockwell Kent, to the majestic vistas of the Catskills and the Addirondacks. What more could my heart hope for? And yet, there is still that hole, waiting to be filled. That hole in my heart the Bob Franke describes so eloquently in his song, For Real:

Lucky my daughter got her mother's nose, and just a little of her father's eyes. And we've got just enough love that when the longing takes me, it takes me by surprise. And I remember that longing from my highway days when I never could give it a name. And it's lucky I discovered in the nick of time that the woman and the child aren't to blame-- for the hole in the middle of a pretty good life. I only face it cause it's here to stay. Not my father, nor my mother, nor my daughter, nor my lover, nor the highway made it go away. But now there's too much darkness in an endless night to be afraid of the way I feel. I'll be kind to my loved ones, not forever, but for real...Some say God is a lover, some say it's an endless void, and some say both, and some say She's angry, and some say just annoyed; but if God felt a hammer in the palm of His hand, then God knows the way we feel, and then love lasts forever, forever and For Real.

So is there a purpose to this Wanderlust? Or is it just part of our human condition? Why do some of us have a need to be constantly moving, while others just want to put down roots? Indeed, some have a passion for owning the land that is equal to my passion for wandering. George MacDonald's chief in The Highlander's Last Song loved his land almost as much as his God. And when he was commanded to leave it for the sake of his people, it was as if he was tearing apart his own flesh. He knew every rock and stream and creature that lived upon his land, and he was their keeper. To abandon them to a new society who did not care for them was painful beyond belief.

Is there a purpose for this hole in my heart? David Wilcox suggests that The Lonely is our proof that there is more to follow....I guess we just have to be careful about what we are following.....and to remember that God is the Real Love we seek; not adventure, or romance, or fame, or fortune. And sometimes, I will be called to abandon my Wanderlust, to remain at home for the sake of those I love.

Discipline and The Parable of the Talents

"Discipline" to us baby boomers is a word that often invokes negative images--perhaps a black leather belt connecting with the back-side of an errant child. Miriam Webster defines discipline as "punishment; training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character." This word has been percolating in my thoughts for several weeks now because of a disturbing, yet thought-provoking conversation I had with the man sitting next to me during my flight to Albany. This young man (some 10 years younger than me) was an upper-level manager in a European corporation that operates in the United States. When the company decided to open a US office many years ago, it was to tap into the creative and educated US workforce. This gentleman, who is in charge of hiring, informed me that now there are almost no qualified US applicants left. In fact, he stated that he hires almost all his employees from Asia. He must interview 50 US candidates to find one person even somewhat qualified to fill a position. Why? He believes that not only are our children poorly educated by our public schools, but he went on to assert that they are essentially unteachable due to a lack of discipline. Whoa! Wait a minute. Could this man be right?

Remember that the British have long looked upon Americans as an undisciplined bunch of ragamuffins. And it was that ragamuffin, undisciplined, and unpredictable army under General George Washington that defeated the Red Coats--their superiors in almost every way--from training, to supplies, to experience in leadership. So, take that, sir....we don't want none of your discipline....or do we?

My pastor often talks about spiritual disciplines as a good thing to practice. Perhaps she is referring to "control gained by enforcing obedience or order." Or to self-control as in that "restraint exercised over one's own impulses, emotions, or desires." If the mission of Auxanomen is to help each other to be our best selves--the selves that God intended us to be--should we then strive to foster discipline in each other? Is self-discipline something we can teach, and if so, how? How are spiritual disciplines and self-discipline related?

The Reverand Denise Stringer gave me insights into discipline in her sermon today on The Parable of the Talents. Her message actually started with the Hebrew Scripture reading from Judges 4: 1-7: the story of Judge Deborah and General Barak. In that story she told of how the Hebrew people were able to raise an army and defeat a superior enemy. The secret to their success was not only the power of the Holy Spirit, but also the willingness of the Hebrew leaders (Deborah and Barak) to lead, and the Hebrew people to follow.

Some centuries later, the Hebrew people were again given a leader--the greatest leader of all the ages--Jesus Christ. These later Hebrews were not successful in their time because their leaders would not lead as directed by God, and the people ultimately refused to follow--instead they crucifed The Christ. The analogy to the parable of the talents was that the Hebrews took the greatest gift they ever had--the Love of God personified in the Word--and buried him as the servant buried his talent. The warning here is clear: that we must chose our leaders carefully: leaders who are grounded in the Holy Spirit, and who will not falter despite many secular pressures. And we the people, ever prayful and discerning, must be willing to follow; to take a risk, if you will, with our talents. To invest the Love of God into our fellow men and watch it grow.

So what does discipline look like in my role as a leader of this mission? Well, certainly I must be disciplined in my approach to my relationship with God and Christ though connection with the Holy Spirit. I am required to pray regularly (this includes listening) and to practice other spiritual disciplines that enhance my relationship with God. This may include sabbath time, journaling, and pursuing education to learn more about my faith and traditions. I must be willing to accept feedback from those persons I trust who are doing the same in their leadership roles. I must be disciplined about putting the needs of those I am serving ahead of my own emotions and desires when God demands it. And I must be willing to be a leader even as I know I will make human mistakes that will open me to criticism and sometimes ridicule. Finally, because the focus of my ministry is healing, I must be willing to model a healthy life-style; one that I propose to others is key to achieving the vision that God has for each of us to live healthy and productive lives. Each of these tasks is difficult in and of itself. To expect all from any one person seems an almost overwhelming request. And yet I see such a life modeled for me not only in Jesus Christ (nobody does it better), but in many faithful servants in the church. And thus, through discipline and obedience to God, we can achieve so much more than we can alone.

God, help me not to bury my Talent. Help me to be willing, on this day, to invest Your love in this world, in my brothers and sisters. Help me be willing to lead and to be led. And always keep me connected to you and your beloved Son Jesus though your Holy Spirit. Amen.

Filling the spaces

I find, suddenly, that I have a lot to say. Those of you who know my husband, Paul, may not be surprised by this, but it is surprising to me. For the next 6 weeks, I am working in Albany, NY, (not Albany, TX, although several of you have asked), and I thought, being a hip mom of teens, I would join the blogging community. Undoubtedly they will shudder, saying, “Mom, you’re killing it,” –and that is yet another perk.

Now there are many things that come up when one is working far away from home. Today I choose to write about “Filling the Spaces.” Quiet is something a mother of three boys doesn’t experience often, and I am finding that it takes considerable practice to get used to it. Some people never get used to it….these are the ones with the TV turned on loud, day after day, not really listening, but finding some sort of comfort in the noise. As for me, I have another goal—to learn to live in the quiet spaces. So yesterday, after waking, showering, and eating breakfast, I got on the internet to look for hiking trails near Albany. After perusing several, I chose The Christman Sanctuary. The website promised easy trails near a meandering creek that leads to a 30-foot waterfall, only 15 miles from town. Undaunted by the cool, drizzly rain, I got into my car with my coat (the one that makes me look like a pink Michelin man), scarf, and gloves, hoping to catch some of the fall color before it completely disappeared. While there are still some brilliant trees in the city, I found as I drove west on highway 20, the color gave way to a wet grayness. The website gave good directions, and I was at the Sanctuary in about 30 minutes. My silver Toyota Corolla was the only car in the small lot by the trailhead. Hmmm….I wondered how many axe-murders watch for women hiking alone in deserted spots. I hoped that the rain would keep them away. The ground was wet with mud and soggy leaves under my feet as I entered the trail. I could hear some birds in the distance, and after going about 500 feet, I could hear running water. Despite the rain, it was a beautiful hike. As I began to climb into the hills, I thought to call my husband and let him know where I was, lest I should slip and fall, breaking my leg, or hitting my head. I was violating the “buddy rule,” and it was somewhat disconcerting that not a soul (except God) knew where I was. Thankfully, I still had cell coverage as I left a message on the machine at home in Austin. Then onward I marched, toward the waterfall. There were other reassurances in the forest. Someone had carefully marked the trail with blue and green signs, so indeed, it was easy to follow. The sound of falling water got progressively louder, encouraging me to continue on. As I approached the edge of the small cliff near the waterfall, I again became fearful….thinking how very convenient it would be for someone to push me over the edge and into the swirling water. And I thought it was a shame that these irrational thoughts were interfering with the perfect communion with God that this beautiful piece of nature had to offer. I wandered some more through the trees, snapping pictures with my camera, wishing to preserve the beauty of this place for my loved ones to share; and enjoying the sound of the water, the smell of the pine needles on the wet ground, and the feel of the breeze on my face. As the trail meandered away from the stream, I ran into a family, complete with dog and children running to see what was ahead, and a feeling of safety returned….but with the return of safety, that special feeling of being alone in nature left. I got back in my car and returned to my hotel. For the rest of the afternoon, I experienced a restlessness I could not explain. While I had promised myself to work hard on paperwork in the afternoon, and to practice my medical Spanish, I could never force myself to turn off the television. I watched made-for-TV-movie after made-for-TV-movie, telling myself, “Just say no…turn it off…you can do it!” Although I didn’t do it until my telephone rang. It was my sister in Minnesota. We had a nice visit, remembering our time together this summer, and fantasizing about how nice it would be for us kids to bring our Dad to New York for a family trip.

Today I have another chance to practice being alone in a quiet space. I decided to attend worship at Emmaus United Methodist Church, a church I chose for its proximity to my hotel, as well as for the multicultural experience promised on its website. I left my hotel 40 minutes early for a 10 minute ride, so I decided to visit a nearby park before church started. The day was sunnier than yesterday, and in this city park, there were still many trees wearing their fall finest. I marveled at the colors, again snapping pictures, and thanking God for creation. When I arrived at the church a little bit later, I heard the sound of an African choir, not unlike the choirs I have heard many times during trips in Haiti. I felt homesick for my friends there, even as I enjoyed the simple, beautiful music. The air was filled with clear, strong voices, blended in perfect harmony. Next, we were greeted by a soft-spoken Asian woman named Genelin who introduced Pastor Denise, a kindly and reverent woman who reminded me of a Catholic Nun. We sang songs of faith that I recognized, and then Genelin led us in the Lord’s Prayer—significantly prayed by each of us in our native languages. I was reminded that when we pray in community in Haiti, the prayers are never translated. Because God speaks all languages, and prayer is spoken directly to God, there is no need for translation.

The scripture reading was in Swahili, the Gospel in Urdu. Pastor Denise reminded us that God requires us to worship God alone, and to give up the gods of this great land—gods such as capitalism and affluence. And those that come here as refugees to find the promise of liberty— bestowed by God alone—they must be careful not to adopt these new gods of prosperity.

The sermon was given by a remarkable young man from Houston, Wayne Kerr, whom I had never heard of, but have since learned is a fairly well-known Christian singer/songwriter. Wayne reminded us that God is looking to find all God’s lost sheep, and Wayne challenged us to give our offering— to give of our very selves to help in God’s quest. I was privileged to experience one of his original songs. (And I plan to be sharing some of his CDs this Christmas).

As I left the service, feeling very blessed to be in this vibrant Church community (I am speaking now of the greater Church), I wondered, what will I offer today. Perhaps it is to sit with God for a while in this quiet space and to reflect upon the many blessings I have received; to remember, pray for, and love those who are far away from me; to work on grants that will support our health ministry for the poor, and to practice Spanish so that I can better communicate and serve my neighbors. The TV is off….I plan to keep it off all day. I plan to practice being alone with God. I hope to get better at it. Thanks be to God.

Auxanomen, We Grow

Auxanomen is a Greek word meaning We Grow. Auxanomen comes from a Biblical language. Although the word doesn't appear in this particular form in the Bible, there are many references to growing in the New Testament that I find appealing.

Mark 4:8 Other seed fell into good soil and brought forth grain, growing up and increasing and yielding thirty, sixty, and one hundredfold.

I love that vision of good soil that encourages the growth of the seeds. (As opposed to the weeds, which choked out the seeds). I wonder what it means for each of us to have good soil in which to grow.

But it is vitally important to remember the source of our growth: 1 Corinthians 3:6 I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth. So while we can provide education, care, a healthy environment, and encouragement to one another, true transformation and growth comes only from God.

Finally, there is that lovely image of the tree that grew from the tiny mustard seed. Luke 13:19 It is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in the garden; it grew and became a tree, and the birds if the air made nests in its branches.

Auxanomen is the name I have chosen for our non-profit health ministry because I believe that our mission is to provide good soil so that each of us may, with God's help, become the best selves that God intended us to be. I envision our clinic as a tree, where people will nest for a while on their journey, receiving nourishment and encouragement for real growth from God. During this journey, we ourselves will undoubtedly grow and be transformed as we serve and are served by others.

This blog is about my personal journey as a part of the greater journey of establishing this mission. As I reflect, I hope to gain insights into what is helpful, and by necessity what is not helpful, along the way. I wish to share one story, and perhaps many stories of those who work to make this hope a reality.