The fine art of mulling



Cinnamon, Clove, and Orange by Petr Kratochvil

I've not been posting to my blog regularly (which is obvious to anyone looking at the dates). As I age, I've come to embrace the fact that I'm a "muller." Much of the writing process happens in my head as I think over my ideas. I still need to engage in the physical act of writing (or typing, in my case) and revising, but there's often a stretch between the spark of idea and a first draft, or two draft versions, where the work is internal.

I suspect that if I forced myself to write everyday, I would train myself to move from internal mulling to mulling on the page; however, I'm happy at this moment to know this about myself. No matter how many weeks, months, or years pass by, my ideas take on flavor while simmering in my mind.

I've been mulling quite a bit lately about the recent, large-scale acts of violence in my country. On July 20th, James Holmes entered a crowded movie theater in Aurora, CO and opened fire. He killed 12 people and injured 58 others.  On August 5th, Wade Page entered a Sikh temple in Oak Creek, WI, shooting 9 people. 6 of those people died. After exchanging fire with police, Page shot and killed himself.

What can you say about such acts?  Are people like Holmes and Wade insane? Evil? Both? If insane, why is it that their alternate world is one of hate?  As I posted earlier this year in Sadness: update, pray is my default mode when I don't know what else to do. Is this enough, though? I can pray for comfort and peace for shooting victims, but doing so is much like turning off the water after the tub overflows. Even if it's an appropriate action, it's too late to prevent damage. So then, do I include in my prayers those struggling with rage and hate? (I have to admit, this is one action I tend to forget.) As powerful as prayer is, is it enough? What actions must we take, in our world, to shift lives from hate?

In his blog entry A Fertile Summer for Violence, (on the Huffington Post's Religion page), Brian D. McLaren gave me much to mull over the past few days. In his entry, he recalls the teachings of Guru Nanak (the founder of Sikhism), Jesus, and Paul (of New Testament letter-writing fame). All three religious leaders use the analogy of harvest to remind their followers that actions have consequences. McLaren extends the famous seed-sowing metaphor and asks, "What seeds have we been planting to produce this bloody harvest?" (2012).

McLaren is able to find one answer: building identity from the outside in. Instead of learning about ourselves to form a stand-alone identity, we take the short-cut of defining ourselves through exclusion. We come to know ourselves by how we differ from others:

Hostility is a great short-cut to building identity. If we know whom we hate, whom we fear, whom we resent, whom we consider inferior, whose wrongs we will never forget, we know -- or we feel we know -- who we are. Religious and political leaders routinely build identity this way. Even parents and grandparents do it, albeit unwittingly. Because it works. And fast. (2012)

Certainly, building identity through exclusion is a developmental phase each of us repeats as we move from infant- and toddler- to childhood, and a final time as we pass from adolescence into adulthood.  First the baby learns he or she is not simply an extension of mother. Later, primary school children begin to see differences in gender and often choose to play with members of their own gender. By the teen years, the focus is less on gender and more on age--are you young and with it, or old and clueless? (I'm sure anyone currently at this stage in life is snickering at my use of the phrase "with it.")

Is the problem, perhaps, that as humans we're fairly good at maturing physically and socially (and, okay, even emotionally), but not very good at maturing spiritually? It's spiritual maturity--a true understanding of our worth and place in the world, nurtured from the inside-out--that helps us complete the final leap from exclusion to inclusion.

When McLaren talks about hostility, he's looking at the origin of the word:

By hostility I mean opposition, the sense that the other is the enemy. Hostility makes one unwilling to be a host (the two words are historically related). The other must be turned away, kept at a distance as an unwanted outsider, not welcomed in hospitality as a guest or friend. (2012)

When we mature spiritually, we embrace our roles as host, whether it's by welcoming refugees and immigrants into our community (this is a topic worth a whole 'nother entry, as my city has struggled with this), or welcoming a not-so-liked neighbor into a conversation. We often use "welcome" to mean greeting with gladness, but it can also mean we greet with politeness.  We greet and acknowledge the similar, instead of shun and hate the different.



Listen to the hand by Bobby Jones Jones




This is not a quick fix; I'm not claiming that either Holmes or Wade would have forgone violence if only someone had been nicer to them. Rather, I'm reiterating McLean's point that "when you plant hostility in the field of identity, the seeds will grow. And you get shooters in Colorado, shooters in Wisconsin, shooters in [insert next site of violence here]" (2012).

What will I do with this knowledge? For one, I will take to heart McLaren's comment that parents teach identity through hostility without realizing it. I'm good at being a host and being welcoming on a large scale. My children go to school with many refugee and immigrant children. When they've focused on the differences, I've pulled them towards similarities. For example, when my-then-preschooler noted that the new boy in her class "talked funny," I told her he was from a country in Africa and that he would learn English in time. I then asked her how it would feel to be the only kid in her class who didn't speak the same way as everyone else. How would she feel?

Yes, I've had practice demonstrating hospitality and welcome over the years; however, the small ways I fail are insidious and erode my message of hospitality. When my 9 year old hears me complaining about some member of some committee on which I serve, I'm sowing one moldy seed.  When I complain, I mean I'm frustrated and (most likely) things are not going my way. What she hears, though, is a mini lesson in turning the other into The Other. He's not with me; he must be against me! It's not that I'm frustrated and fearful that I won't get my way, it's that he's Wrong and Irrational.  Or, how about the times I unwittingly foster sibling rivalry?* The "your sister does x, y, z, so why can't you?" times. I'm encouraging them to build their identity through hostility. 

Of course, I'm not perfect and I know I'll continue to slip into "us" versus "them" mentality. I'm certainly struggling with this as the United States moves closer to the general election this fall. It's scary to think that the Other Guy (with his Other Policies and Priorities) could win. I'm being very careful to avoid political discussions around the kids; not because I want to coddle them, but because I suspect they'd only hear the anger and fear and not the ideas behind the emotions. After mulling the recent shootings and McLaren's blog entry, I don't want to sow hostility. Awareness will be my focus moving forward. Awareness and prayer, but prayer rooted in the present, prayer for being aware of my own thoughts and actions, for being a welcoming host and not a sower of hostility. Please God, when, in my human weakness and spiritual immaturity, I slip, make me aware. Let me notice that moldy seed and pluck it from my--my children's, society's--field of identity.

Will you, reader, join me in this awareness?

Reference
McLaren, B. (2012, August 8). A Fertile Summer for Violence. [Web log comment]. Retrieved from http://www.huffingtonpost.com/brian-d-mclaren/fertile-summer-for-violence_b_1753787.html?utm_hp_ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false


*Check out Siblings Without Rivalry by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish for tips on helping siblings build identity from within instead of through sibling rivalry. http://www.fabermazlish.com/index.php

While writing this entry, I had a certain song from the 1980s repeating in my mind. Perhaps it was in your mind, as well? http://youtu.be/zar_qHT9i_w

Excuses, excuses

It's been too long since I posted to this blog. I placed blogging on the back burner as I dealt with our family crisis, finishing the school year (kids), and starting a new batch of workshops (me). As is my pattern, I was slow to return to blogging after falling out of habit. I could have easily fit in a couple of messages in the past month, but did not.  Like a true pot simmering, my mind overflowed with thoughts and ideas fit for posting; somehow I lacked whatever was needed to move from thinking to doing.

I also failed to take spiritual actions to center myself. Outside of church and the typical outward-centered prayers for others, I did not pray. I kinda sorta meditated while helping another person learn how, but I never made time to fully meditate on my own. Gee. . .same old (in)action, same results. Baffling how that happens, isn't it? 

This message is not about making excuses. Rather, it's about reviewing the past two months and recommitting to changing old patterns. (At least this time when I was silent, it was due to inactivity rather than writer's block.)





Here's what I have learned:

• When the kids' routines change, I put myself last
• Work, while important because of the paycheck, should not usurp writing in my life
• Saving time for writing, later in the day, seldom works for me
• It takes nearly twice as long to develop a routine and writing habits as it does to fall out of said routine and habits

Going forward, I must remind myself of these issues and PUSH through them. I've shown myself, repeatedly, that I do not overcome the blocks in my life unless I pray and meditate. When I do these things, everything else seems to fall into place.

Time is on God's side

The past few days, I've been thinking about the passage time, both in my own life and in the greater society.

Once again, states across our country are debating and voting on gay marriage. For those of us who support gay marriage, the news from North Carolina and Colorado is sobering. There is hope for the future, however. In an interview with NPR's Morning Edition's Steve Inskeep, Andrew Kohut of the Pew Research Center shares some statistics about support for gay marriage (2012). Kohut notes that support for gay marriage has grown from only 31% in 2004 to 47-50% today (2012). When asked by NPR's Inskeep if "it's unusual to have that big a change on that kind of issue in a relatively short period of time?" Kohut responds:

Yes. On abortion there is no change. You can go back 25 years and you'll still see the same numbers we see today. What's happened here are two things. One is generational replacement. Younger people, who have joined the electorate, came of age accepting gay marriage, and 63 percent majority of those people currently favor.  And we also see people of all ages changing their minds a little bit, even the oldest people. But the big difference is that people under 35 are now more dominant than they were two cycles ago. (2012, emphasis mine)

It seems that time is on the side of gay marriage supporters; unfortunately, we need patience as we wait for "generational replacement" to complete. Eventually, those of us who are of Generation X will replace the Baby Boomers as society's elders. No doubt there will be some other issue we (the Gen Xers) oppose that our children will support, and generational replacement will play out again. Hopefully, as we saw with the civil rights movement (as the Baby Boomers replaced the Greatest Generation and the Silent Generation), the wait will not be long. To quote from Martin Luther King Jr's March 25, 1965 speech in which he answers how long it will take for the laws and attitudes of the United States to change: "Not long, because the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice" (as cited in Howe, 2009).

Arc of justice?
Image: Sky with rainbow by Jon Sullivan

How amazing that in our short lives, we can see "the arc of the moral universe. . .bend[ing]."  When we're in the middle of the fight, it seems long. In terms of the history of Earth and of human life on Earth (let's call this "God time"), it's not long at all.

Which brings me to my own life and current struggles. As I shared in my post, "I'm not dead yet," one of my children is going through a difficult time. In my own life, I've learned to turn to God (or at least I've learned I can turn to God--as this blog shows, I often forget to do the actual turning). My husband and I have shared with her how we pray to God for help, but she doesn't seem to take in the message.

I want so badly for her to feel comfortable using prayer for help--and I don't mean Help, as though prayer will "cure" her of her problems; rather, I mean short-term help, the comfort of reminding yourself that you're not alone and that this huge, barely know-able force loves you, no matter what your problems.

I want her to feel better now, today, this minute. I want her to know, as a young child, how to do what took me 25 years to learn. I don't want this to take God's time. Unfortunately, that's what it takes. Maybe, with her father and me trying to teach her now, she won't take 25 years to learn how to turn to God for help and comfort. It's unreasonable, though, to expect her to learn in one day, or one week, or even, I think, one year.

I took the above picture on Mother's Day, at York Long Sands (York, ME). When we arrived, somewhere between mid- and late afternoon, the tide had turned and was reclaiming the beach. As the tide pushed our tide-pool poking towards the upper end of the sand, we came upon a grouping of water-worn boulders. Erosion had formed a small gorge in one of the boulders; when the waves crashed, the force pushed water up the boulder and then the gorge funneled the water over the side. In that short moment between the wave's crash and its recession back to the sea, we witnessed an ocean waterfall. The sound of the crash, the push of the water, the forcing of the water into the gorge and over the side, to fall on the lower bolder; all of this happened again and again as we watched.

It occurred to me that it must have been just this action, over years (hundreds? more?) that wore out a thread of weak minerals in the taller boulder, creating the gorge.  Here was the powerful process that had created the grand canyon, playing out beneath our shadows and toes. What a humble reminder of God's time. When given enough time, the forces of nature erode stone; the collective consciousness of a society grows inclusive; the arc of the moral universe bends towards justice. What's the process of learning how to pray when compared to all of that?


References

Howe, A. (2009, January 19). The arc of the universe is long but it bends towards justice. Salon. Retrieved from http://open.salon.com/blog/arthur_howe/2009/01/18/the_arc_of_the_universe_is_long_but_it_bends_towards_justice

Inskeep, S. (Interviewer) & Kohut, A. (Interviewee). (2012). Pew Poll: More Americans Support Gay Marriage [Interview transcript]. Retrieved from NPR Web site: http://www.npr.org/2012/05/11/152480805/pew-poll-more-americans-support-gay-marriage



God thoughts on a good day

Allow me to set the mood with a little music: It's a Beautiful Morning  (Go ahead and let that play in the background while you read today's post.)

As I posted in late April (Ernowrimo and the anchor of prayer), I had great plans for May. A month off from teaching! The kids still in school! Lots of quiet, alone time to work on my book!  May was going to be Erica Novel Writing Month! It seems, however, that God had other plans for me; to quote the title of Julia Sweeny's memoir, "God said, Ha!"

In my most recent post, I'm not dead yet, I wrote about finding acceptance in the midst of a family crisis. I have no doubt that if I'd not come to accept the current problem affecting our lives, I would not be feeling quite so cheerful this morning.

The rainy week has passed into a sunny Saturday, leaving behind thick grass (and weeds!), trees nearly in full leaf, and my bleeding hearts, pansies, and creeping phlox in full bloom. 

Now that I have some calm and perspective about everything, I can see that under the flow of anxiety over my child, there was a smaller current of disappointment and frustration. I was supposed to be writing, darn it! I wasn't supposed to spend all of my "free," non-teaching time scrambling to find resources. May was supposed to be about my novel and making good progress on it before my next set of workshops and the start of the kids' summer vacation.

This morning, this very good morning, my mind clears as does the sky. Having May off wasn't about having time to write; it was about having time to mother when my child most needed me. I could be completely present for her and not have to hold any emotional energy in reserve for my students. What a gift! I know some amazing parents who work full time and manage serious issues for their children. I tip my hat to them. I know they are simply doing what needs to be done and if faced with full time work and a family issue I would as well. I'm beyond lucky that my child's crisis happened during my free time. Such serendipity! How can I rail against my lack of writing time when that time is spent, instead, being with my child?

Today is a good day. Yes, the sun is shining and the sweet smell of cut grass pleases me as I type, but the best part of today is my heart beating steady with acceptance, feeling gratitude for what is instead of frustration at what isn't.

Now, please excuse me as I end this post. I think I'll follow the Rascal's advice and go outside to take in some clean, fresh air. I'm already smiling.

I'm not dead yet! (A treatise on acceptance)

Wool Cart Replica

As is often the case, my title is both a reference to my current state of mind and a nod to popular culture. Bonus points to anyone who recognizes the movie quote (and bonus bonus points for those who say it with a British accent).
For those scratching their heads in confusion, check out:
"I don't want to go on the cart!"

It's been a week since my last post. As my title reassures, I'm not dead. At first, my silence was because I had to recuperate. It's been many years since grad school (and even more since college) and my last post, Fleeing the sheep rustlers, felt very much like writing a critical response. Frankly, it was kind of exhausting to my out-of-shape English-major brain.

This exhaustion only counted for a couple of days last week; sadly, the rest of my silence has been because I've been focused on a crisis with one of my children.  I don't want to provide details that would compromise her privacy and, anyway, the details do not really matter. What matters, in terms of this blog, is that I have been praying but it was only when I turned to prayers away from her and onto myself that things fell into place for me.

I was caught off guard by how quickly things escalated that the only words and thoughts I could pull together in prayer were "God, help her" or "God, help us." Slowly, I began to expand on what I needed help with, "God, please give me patience. Please help me know how to help her."

Then, the other night in bed, it came to me (and this was, perhaps, God helping me by giving me a nudge toward this insight). While it's horrible upsetting to see your child struggle, it wasn't only my sadness over her struggle that had me feeling all mixed up and confused inside. What was making my life difficult was my own struggle against the problem. I wanted to skip this part of our lives and go back to the ways things were before. I didn't want to deal with any of it (in fact, my Facebook status on the 3rd was "I do not want to deal with today"). I was stuck because I had not yet accepted the situation for what it was.

Just as we should not confuse humility with humiliation, so should we take care to see acceptance for what it is. Acceptance is not resignation or surrender; accepting a situation does not mean we have to like it (certainly it's much easier to accept situations that we do like!). Rather, acceptance is stillness. We stop railing against what we do not like. Instead of tantruming, internally, about the hardship, we relax into it. We roll up our sleeves with quiet determination and prepare to live fully, even in the midst of crisis. This quiet, determined "fight" is much different than the flailing, internal tantrum we have before we find acceptance.

I'm reminded of an incident early in my relationship with my husband. He was washing dishes and trying to balance a fry pan on the pile of dishes in the dish rack.

The pan kept sliding off the pile. In his frustration, he threw the pan on the floor, breaking the handle. (Yes, he's quite embarrassed about this.) 

Why does this remind me about acceptance? When I'm struggling against the realities of my life, I'm like my husband with the pan. I want unexpected problems to balance nicely on top of the rest of my life. I want to set them out to dry, with minimal effort. Of course, like the pan, they do not balance nicely. They slide off repeatedly, reminding me again and again of their existence. Without acceptance, I become frustrated and risk tossing them to the ground, where they break and cause yet more problems.

To carry this analogy further, acceptance is when I accept the problem/pan's inability to balance. Instead of repeatedly setting it, precariously, on top of the other drying dishes, I pause and survey the dish rack. Could I move this plate forward and fit the pan behind it? Could I finish drying the first batch by hand, thereby freeing the dish rack for the pan? Could I set out a towel and leave the pan to dry flat on the counter?  In order to problem solve, I need to accept the situation as it is: the dish rack is full and the pan does not fit.

Thanks to this epiphany, I was able to pause my racing thoughts and heart and center myself. My daughter has a problem that will not balance nicely on top of our existing lives. Now that I've accepted it, things feel better. Life with this problem does not feel easy, and I am not happy that she has to deal with this in her young life (it seems quite unfair). However, things feels manageable. My husband and I have not only marshalled support and help, we've allowed her to see us doing it (what a great lesson for her! We're showing her how to find and accept help).  Thank you, God, for the gift of acceptance.

Rock Balance by David Sky

Fleeing the sheep rustlers

I've been thinking about body image lately, not in a personal, "how do I look?" way, but in the context of understanding my body's function and appearance in spiritual terms. My pondering began earlier this month while reading a poignant entry (Poodle Head and other body issues) in my friend, M's, blog.

I recognized my 3rd-grade self in M's post (only it was my chubbiness, rather than a poodle-head hair cut, drawing negative attention to me). I also recognized my current self, a mother of a 9 year old, 3rd-grade girl. Like M, I want to "raise a girl who feels good about herself" and, like M:

I ask myself every day how I am going to do that for her. The bumbling answer is often to be a good role model: to fight, accept, ignore, and change the world when those things are called for. (M, 2012)

Chubby by magnetbox

In a follow-up post, Poodle-Head, redux, M. shares a less bumbling, more specific answer. To raise a child "who feels good about herself," we need to "make our bodies a worship of the world. . .[not] an enemy to be broken but a thing to be honored in every way" (M, 2012).



We need to, M writes, make a ritual of seeing the good in our bodies:

In silence

In the music of physical movement

In recognizing its boundaries and limits

In pushing them (scraped knees ARE an essential worship of this body)

In taking in what's good (food? ideas? emotions?) and being willing to let go of what's not. (M, 2012)

Poodle-Head, redux energized me, as a parent. I shared the post on Facebook, imploring my Facebook friends, "Can we PLEASE all do this?" I went to bed, thinking about the next day and how I would honor my body, and model that honoring for my children (take them on a nature walk?).  If you, dear reader, have read any of my previous entries in this blog, you will not be surprised to learn that morning's arrival signaled the end of my enthusiasm and by the end of the week, I still had not taken that nature walk with my girls.  This does not mean that I no longer felt concerned about fostering a positive body image in my daughters. Just as I want to write my novel but lack follow-through and focus, so do I lack follow-through and focus in this area of my life, as well.

Why? What makes it so hard to do the things in life we not only think or know we should do, but those things we even want to do?

Sunday brought me some insight. My pastor, Reverend Michael Lowry, spoke on John 10: 1-10. For those unfamiliar with this passage or the bible (or those, like me, who may recognize stories but not have any idea of their chapter and verse), John 10 is one of Jesus' famous parables, in which he likens his followers to sheep and himself as the shepherd, and even the gatekeeper of said sheep.

Lambs by Jon Sullivan

Reverend Michael built his sermon, "One True Voice," around Jesus' statement that the sheep know the voice of their gatekeeper but do not know the voices of thieves and bandits who wish to steal them. Luckily for me, Reverend Michael posted a copy of his sermon on his blog, so I can quote him directly instead of trying to remember his exact words.  Reverend Michael explains:

Jesus is not really talking about the risks of shepherding; rather about the risk to our lives that arise from the fake and hollow voices that seek to call us away from good and right pathways. Jesus does say that the sheep won’t listen because they know the voice of their gatekeeper, who is Jesus himself, who came “so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of,” as The Message translates it. Which is a beautiful assurance – and yet, you and I know that the sheep rustlers of this world are many, and oftentimes it becomes very difficult for us to know which voice is that of God in Christ and which is not.

Truth be told, some of those competing voices are enticing indeed – they emanate from our need for connectedness; for popularity; for security in life and living; the desire for wealth and power; sometimes it comes out of the warped view our modern culture has of what makes someone attractive or desirable or of value. (Lowry, 2012, bold emphasis mine)

As M noted in her blog, this is what we--parents like M, and me, and perhaps you, reader--are up against. These voices are everywhere, spoken from television screen and screaming from magazine cover and advertisement and even whispered by our own neighbors ("Mom, why does their lawn look nicer than ours? Why can't we drive a car like that?") Touching on this idea of how values permeate our daily living, Reverend Michael quotes theologian Debra Brazzel. In speaking about "'the casual decisions that we make which over time give expression to our values and shape the character of our lives,'” Brazzel says:

What kind of relationships we have; how we spend our time; what kind of work we do; how we spend our money; …how we get involved in our community; how we treat other people; what we keep and what we give away; how we worship; how we play. . .we are faced with choices about how we will live. And taken together, these decisions reflect who we are and the values we hold most dear. (Brazzel, as cited in Lowry, 2012)

M was on to something, wasn't she? When we make the decision to appreciate our bodies in all things, we are best able to "reflect. . .the values we hold most dear" (Brazzel, as cited in Lowry, 2012).

So how does this all tie in to PUSHing through life? I don't know about you, but I find all of those competing voices very distracting. They've been speaking to me since I was old enough to hear them, sometimes whispering, sometimes shouting. They were speaking to me before I was old enough (and wise enough) to see them as what they are: rustlers and thieves "only there to steal and kill and destroy" me (John 10:10, The Message).  Just because I'm now savvy enough to recognize them (usually!) does not mean I've been able to erase 30+ years of the sway they've had over me. These voices distract me from the things--the good things, like nature walks--I want to do.

The answer for me, once again, comes back to maintaining my spiritual center and I do this through prayer. I've also been making time, the past week or so, to do some form of meditation. I take to heart the old saying, "Prayer is when we talk to God; meditation is when we listen." I find I'm most centered and serene when I incorporate both practices into my life. Quiet meditation is very important because, as Reverend Michael notes in his "One True Voice" sermon:

It’s not that God isn’t loud enough for us to hear; rather it’s that we’ve become too loud to listen to God! Maybe this all comes down to getting out of the noise of our lives long enough that we might actually be able to pay attention to the presence of God and hear his voice. (Lowry, 2012)

The more I pray and meditate, the better I become at recognizing the gatekeeper's voice in the midst of life's noise. I'm able to become like the sheep in Jesus' parable: refusing to "follow a stranger's voice. . .because [I am not] used to the sound of it" (John 10:5, The Message). When I'm present, spiritually, and fleeing from those voices, I do a much better job of helping my daughters see themselves as "a reflection of all the beauty, all the joy, all the awesomeness (and I DO mean AWE-someness) of the world" (M, 2012).

As my children grow I not only want them to discern God's voice in the midst of all the other voices in this world, but also to have that instinct I've lacked, that of the sheep who know to flee from the strangers' voices. The louder my actions reflect God's voice, the more strange and wrong those other voices (the school bully's, the advertiser's, the young friend already talking about calories) will seem to them.


References

Lowry, M. (2012, April 29). One True Voice [Web log comment]. Retrieved from http://pastoralponderings.wordpress.com/

M. (2012, April 19). Poodle Head and other body image issues [Web log comment]. Retrieved from http://nowletmetellyousomething.blogspot.com/

M. (2012, April 24). Poodle-Head, redux [Web log comment]. Retrieved from http://nowletmetellyousomething.blogspot.com/

 

Pish posh pash push

What's with this "Pish posh pash push" title? It's true I'm a fan of alliteration, but I promise the title of this post is about more than that poppin' p sound.

I've not done much writing lately (other than posts on Facebook and assorted message boards). The obvious scapegoats are my two children, who have been home on spring break this past week. While I am, admittedly, slow to adjust to changes in my routine, I cannot place all of the blame on vacation week. I've managed to teach/write/blog with my children home at other times.

As usual, I'm the one to blame for my own failings.

To quote Led Zeppelin, it's nobody's fault but mine.  (Hey, that song rocks. Let's digress and enjoy some of Bonzo's beats:
Nobody's Fault But Mine )



Seriously, though, earlier this week, I was on top of the world. The week stretched ahead of me, open to many possibilities. Twice, I awoke and remembered to pray before leaving bed: Help me write, God; help me stay present. At first, it seemed to work. After praying Tuesday morning I was able to blog that night (ErNoWriMo and the anchor of prayer). I was on a roll! Except. . .I wasn't, really.

Two days have passed and I haven't had any desire to work on my novel. I've been trying to convince myself that since May is Erica Novel Writing Month, I don't have to work on it during April. (Yes, I am rolling my eyes at myself.) I haven't even been willing to open my novel and stare at the screen. What gives, God? I prayed on two days. Let's get down to business. Make me willing, ready, and able!

It seems I forgot what PUSH stands for: Pray Until Something Happens. It's not PASH--Pray And Something Happens. There's no immediate cause and effect here: flip the switch and the light turns on; press the button and a buzzer sounds. Rather, the PUSH acronym is all about build up, accumulation, small actions leading to larger ones: bake until done; drive until you see the gas station; study until you learn the formulas; pray until something happens.

It is with a gentle "pish posh!" that I reprimand myself for expecting more progress without putting in more work.  How slow I am to learn matters of the spirit! Why, just on Tuesday, I wrote about prayer anchoring me in humility. Humility? Pish posh! It appears after I clicked "post" on Tuesday, I forgot all about the time and dedication it takes to develop any kind of practice (be it yoga, writing, or prayer). Let's hope this lesson--PUSH, not PASH--stays with me long after I click "post."

ErNoWriMo and the anchor of prayer

No, that's not a typo in the title of this post. You have perhaps heard of NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). NaNoWriMo is an event held each November during which would-be novelists attempt the insane task of writing a draft of a novel in 30 days. (Click here to learn more about NaNoWriMo.) I've decided the next 30 days will be ErNoWriMo: Erica Novel Writing Month. There's nothing national about it--it's just me (and my cat, Mittens), here at my desk trying to make progress on my novel. 

Mittens says, "You no has plot."

I don't even need to complete a draft in 30 days; I'll save that insanity for November, thankyouverymuch. I simply want to have a chunk of my book written before I begin teaching again at the end of next month. By chunk, I mean that a hard copy, double spaced and single sided, would take both my hands to hold. Notice I say "my hands" because I have very small hands (so we're talking, what? 50? 100 pages?).

Not quite that small. . .

What does ErNoWriMo have to do with PUSH? In the past, I've needed the pressure of outside deadlines to help me focus my mind. Self-imposed deadlines don't work quite as well for me. . .when I know that no one else is waiting for my work, it's hard to sit and write. In the May 2012 issue of Yoga Journal, there's a section about author Ann Patchett and her yoga practice. Patchett describes the connection between yoga and writing like this:

It's about being able to sit in a chair all day. It's about being able to stay with one thought for hours at a time and yet have peace of mind. Yoga is a balm to antsiness. And antsiness is the foe of writing a novel. (as cited in Sexton, 2012, p. 100)

Yoga isn't praying, not exactly, but I find prayer and yoga work in similar ways. They ground me in my day. As yoga anchors my body in the moment, so does prayer anchor my mind. Prayer keeps me humble.

Don't confuse humility--the state of being humble--with humiliation. The latter is forced on us from the outside in order to degrade us; the former can only come from within us and is achieved when we're honest about our strengths and weaknesses. When I write from a place of humility, I recognize that my writing is a gift. I acknowledge not everyone carries stories and poems in their minds. I accept that I am not the best (or even one of the best) writers of my time and I do not feel ashamed by this. Uninhibited by fear (what if people do not like what I've written?!), typing my words feels nearly as effortless as breathing.

Later in the Yoga Journal piece, Pratchett shares about "coping with criticism":

Having a practice that helps you maintain a strong connection to who you actually are is essential to the creative life. Otherwise, you can lose your mind from the criticism and, for that matter, the praise, which can be equally damaging because it doesn't create a clear picture of who you are. You can't control what other people think about your art. . .Yoga and meditation can help. (as cited in Sexton, 2012, p. 100)

And prayer. Prayer is how I "maintain a strong connection" to my true, humble self.


Reference

Sexton, S. (2012, May). Express yourself. Yoga Journal, 246, 96-101.

Placebo effect?

You may wonder how I'll know if my prayers really work. What if any progress in my life is just coincidental? What if prayer doesn't really work and my progress is only a spiritual placebo effect?

I'm reminded of the stretch of postpartum depression I suffered after my oldest child was born. The first medicine I tried didn't help me. With the second medicine I saw slow improvement. I remember fretting about this with the professional treating me. What if the medicine wasn't really working and it was just the placebo effect? How would we know? The professional looked me in the eye and asked, "Does it matter?"

It only took me a moment to recall how bad things had been the month before when I could barely take care of my own needs, let alone those of an infant while working full time. Thanks to the medicine--whether true science and a balancing of my brain chemicals or mind-over-matter placebo effect--I was healing and life was once again manageable. No, it didn't matter. It didn't matter how or why I was healing. What mattered was the healing itself.

Does prayer work because God hears me and answers my prayers? Does it work because the act of praying helps calm my mind so that I can think more clearly? Does my willingness to pray coincide with a deep desire to change and is it the desire, rather than the prayers, fueling my progress?  None of the above? Some? All?

Does it matter? 

No. It doesn't matter to me. I'm beyond needing to know why, how, or if prayer works. All I need to know is that it works for some really awesome people in my life and I trust it will work for me, too. If, in the end, it's only a placebo effect, that's fine with me.

Pin spot spotlight against dark background by Leon Brooks

Of course, I don't believe it's "only" a placebo effect, but that's a post for another day. . .

Progress report

The good:

• I've written consistently this week (an article for the church newsletter, in my journal before bed, and my posts here) 
• Last night and this morning I included myself and my writing in my prayers
• Researched a bit more for my novel
• Walked once yesterday and twice today
• Today is day 5 of no refined sugar

The bad:

• Didn't write one word in my novel

The ugly:

What is this thing?!?
Free Images Collection

Sorry about that. I couldn't help myself. Here's a cute picture to take with you.

The cute:

Sleepy Kittens. All together now: Awwwwwww!

Sabotage

If you're of a certain age, I'm sure the title of this post has you singing the Beastie Boys right now while picturing a scene from their kickin' 70s-cop-show-homage video. If you've never had the pleasure, please click this link: Sabotage. (You're welcome.) 

But now to the real saboteur, my brain. I won't bore you with the details, particularly since the focus of this blog is neither food, nor exercise, nor weight loss. Let's just say that sometime between second and third grade I chunked up and my weight has been an issue ever since. In the past ten years, the only thing that has helped me stay at a healthy weight has been avoiding all refined carbohydrates. When I try to eat them in moderation (or not), whether exercising (or not), I get fat, mostly because the moderation never lasts long and I overeat them. Since the holidays, I've been eating them with abandon and not exercising. Surprise, surprise, I'm at my top weight. Again.

Sigh.

Once again I am going through the torturous process of breaking sugar's hold on me and my brain is.not.helping.   Instead of sending me supportive messages like, "You hate being this large! Please do not eat that!" it is sending me messages like, "See that leftover Easter candy? It will taste soooo good. It will send away all of the sad feelings about shootings and death and the bad news about your relative with cancer. Eeeeeaaaat it. Doooooo it."

Jellybeans by Steve Karg

Stupid brain.

I am happy to say that I did not succumb to the temptation Friday, yesterday, or (so far) today--no thanks to my brain.

People in my life with strong spiritual sides remind me to pray for help with this. They say if I keep my connection with God strong, it will be easier to eat the foods my body needs and to shun those it doesn't.  As I mentioned a few days ago, it is very easy to pray for those with real needs (the injured police officers, Chief Maloney's family, my ill family member). It's much harder to remember to ask for help for myself.

Do I think God really cares about what I eat? Well. . .not exactly. I do think God wants me to be the best person I can be and to use my talents to the best of my ability. When I'm obese and achy and tired and lack stamina, my usefulness in this world is limited. When I pray about my food issues, it's not about expecting God to send a lightening bolt from the sky--POW!--to knock the cupcake from my hand. Instead, it's about centering myself, spiritually, and viewing myself as the miracle I am (because we're all miracles, right? Even if we, as humans, are very good at messing up ourselves, we are born with potential and the fact that we're alive and interacting on this 3rd planet from the sun is pretty darn amazing).

Let's say you had a Ming vase, or a 1957 Ferrari 250 Testa Rossa. Would you leave the vase on a table in your child's playroom where, at best it would be smeared with peanut butter and jelly and at worse knocked to the floor and shattered? Would you leave the Ferrari parked in front of your house in Northeast, USA, for the elements to assail and where any rocks kicked up by passing cars would ding and scratch the body?  Why do we place our own bodies (and the talents we posses) below objects? Why do we take better care of such things as antique vases and classic cars--expensive, yes, but surly not as priceless as our lives?

No Johnny! Don't touch th---
I'll go get the broom.

When I pray, I open myself to God's reminder that I am as worthy of care as a Ming vase or classic Ferrari. When I'm reminded of this, it's much easier to tell my sabotaging brain to shut it. I can walk away from the package of cookies, brew a cup of decaf coffee, and come here to blog. (True story.)

Sadness: update

I hoped to write a longer message today, but, alas, not having my spouse home to run interference with the children makes for frustrating writing times. I did, however, want to post an update about some of the tragedies I mentioned yesterday.

Sadly, the 9 year old died in the hospital. There hasn't been any more information about the circumstances of his shooting.

As for the Greenland event, the results from today's autopsy show that the perpetrator, Cullen Mutrie, murdered his ex girlfriend, Brittany Tibbetts and then committed suicide.

These news updates coincided with the large gun show in town today. I had a moment of musing, imagining standing near the entrance and begging people to never use their weapons in anger and to always keep them locked up safely. Driving past the arena, it seemed ironic (an Alanis Morissette way) to see so many gun enthusiasts crowding the parking lot so soon after Cullen Mutrie's rampage. 

Sometimes I pray when I do not know what else to do. Some might challenge me and ask why I need to do anything. After all, I did not know the victims personally. For whatever reason, doing nothing never feels like an option to me. Does that show a lack of acceptance about how the world works? Perhaps. I'm not good at compartmentalizing and locking away the bad, shaking off the sadness so I can move forward with my life. The bad feelings hang on when I (try to) ignore them.

So I pray.

PUSHing through sadness

A confession: I spent the last hour playing around on Facebook instead of writing this post. Bejeweled Blitz, Solitaire Blitz, Hidden Chronicles, Slingo. . .my heart is heavy and words feel too hard to pull together tonight.

It's one of those days when the world seems particularly bad. The news is full of many bad things today, and many of them happened here in my small state. The biggest news is the death (murder) of Greenland, NH Chief of Police Michael Maloney. Five police officers shot last night (with Officer Maloney receiving lethal injuries). The suspect, Cullen Mutrie, his ex-girlfriend, Brittany Tibbetts, are dead--murder/suicide? Double suicide? It was a horrific act of violence that has shaken the state.

A few hours north of Greenfield in Dalton, another shooting on the same day. Christopher Smith shot two men (one of whom survived) and them killed himself.

Then, this morning, a 9 year old child is shot in the head in Hollis, NH. Thankfully, this child is alive and will hopefully recovery fully. No word yet on how this shooting happened.

Beyond the New Hampshire borders, the news isn't much brighter: in OH, a man shoot his estranged wife and two daughters (in the middle of a Cracker Barrel restaurant). The wife and one daughter are dead. The man was killed by police when he failed to surrender. In AK, two Coast Guard members were murdered.

With the possible exception of the child in Hollis, none of these shootings (murders) were accidental. It's enough to make me want to crawl under the covers and never come out.

But.

There's always good to balance the bad. Today I enjoyed the bright sun. I had fun picking out supplies for my garden. My children (and spouse) had fun setting up our new tent in the backyard. I walked the dogs and cuddled with one of the cats. Enjoyment tinged with sadness, and even a bit of guilt. Why was I enjoying the lovely spring day while Michael Maloney's family cried and grieved? He was 8 days away from retirement. Once again, the world reminds me that nothing is certain. Life (or death) will not wait for me to write the books and stories churning in my mind. 

It would have been very easy to skip writing this post. I made myself close Facebook, but I did not leave my desk or turn off the computer. I didn't even close my eyes or clasp my hands. I did, however, say, "Please God. Help me do this" under my breath. Do I believe that God stopped doing all that God does in order to fill me with willingness? No, not quite. Honestly, I don't think that God answers individual prayers in that way (at least not on a regular basis).

I'll save my thoughts about how praying works for another post, perhaps tomorrow or the day after. Right now, it's enough that I've written this much. It's enough that I'm alive and grateful, listening to my husband read to our two children as they drift to sleep.

Rest in peace, Chief Michael Maloney.

Copyright free images 

Perfectionism

I shared on Monday how I've trained myself to push through my perfectionism and "just" write. After years of scoffing at the writing process (during my youth and young adulthood), I now embrace it and love it. For those of you who think you are not familiar with the writing process, it goes a little something like this:

1. Prewrite
2. Write
3. Rewrite

Prewriting is the brain-storming, researching phase when you're allowed to do fun things like brainstorming, freewriting and creating, flow charts, outlines, and mind maps, like this: 

The good times of mind maps. And bacon.

The writing phase is when you write your first draft. For many years, I thought anyone worth his or her salt as a writer should write a perfect first draft, with no need for full revision. During this stage in my writing life, I thought of the rewriting stage as simple editing--fixing typos, and spelling mistakes, perhaps rewriting a sentence or two for clarity.

Now I understand this final stage to include full revision--almost a starting over, at times, when I re vision my piece and see it through new eyes. Sometimes this re-seeing involves a new draft approached in a different way (a story told from the third-person point of view, instead of first, for example). Only after the piece of writing has evolved is it ready for editing.

At this point, if you're still awake, you're either saying, "I think some teacher somewhere talked about that before," or "Get to the point, Erica." The point is that blogging in general, and this blog in particular, is much different than other kinds of writing I've done in the past. In order to post every day and to push through my fear, there's not a lot of long-term revision (re visioning) going on. It's like I'm back in high school, submitting edited rough drafts. I suspect anyone following this blog (and so far I have one reader. I think I can handle one) will see it develop and gel as . I'll slowly, in the first weeks, lay out my ideas about prayer and writing while I (privately) practice praying.

I'm learning that it's going to take time to develop the habit of "selfish" prayer. I'm quite used to praying for others--Your friend lost his child? You've got my prayers. Tornadoes in Texas? Prayers. Mother's health failing? Prayers. Mother's cousin's granddaughter broke her arm? (You get the picture.) But praying for myself?  And not about something "real" like the time a migraine gave me stroke-like symptoms and scared the pants off my husband and me. . .this is just. . .stuff. Silly stuff.  I need to remind myself that this is more than "stuff." This is my attempt to live life fully and to put my God-given talents to work.

This is only my fourth post and already I'm second-guessing my order of ideas and how I've introduced my thoughts. Unfortunately, there's no way to do this blog thing perfectly. I just need to do it. My imperfect, haphazardly-ordered posts will mirror my on-again-off again prayer practice. (An admission: other than the half-joking prayer I included in yesterday's post, I've not turned to God again to ask for help with my fears.)

How about I preview this, post it, and then pray? Sure, I'll pray for the ill and the injured and hurting among us (I would have done that, anyway), but I promise to keep with this experiment of PUSH by praying for myself.

Prayer mind map: Two topics of this post joined in thought-bubble harmony

So why blog about it?

Yesterday I posted about fears and my revelation that I could pray for help with them. What does my desire to practice "PUSHing" (Praying Until Something Happens) have to do with publishing a blog? Isn't prayer a personal, quiet thing? Why would I want to share this "experiment" with the world?  There are a few reasons I'm doing this publicly:

• I see this blog akin to trapping a claustrophobic ophidiophobe in a closet full of snakes. Face your fears! Terrified to share writing you care about with the world? Go ahead and do it on a regular basis in your blog.
• For a couple of years now, I've considered blogging about spirituality and religion. I'm interested in where different (even disparate) religions, philosophies, and moral codes intersect. I've wanted to have a conversation about what it means to believe in God while living in our current society.
• I want to spread awareness about prayer and spirituality. As I said in my first post, I'm concerned that many people, in rejecting organized religion, reject their spiritual sides. Why does it have to be all-or-nothing?

The physical sensations I wrote about in yesterday's post are back today. My heart, with its heavy beats, demands attention and distracts from my ideas. I pause my typing to attempt to rub out the creepy-crawly sensation in my arms, hands, and fingers (I think this must be what Restless Leg Syndrome feels like, only in your legs and feet instead of your arms and hands). I was doing fine when I wrote the first paragraph, but somewhere during the bullet list I realized that once I publish my post anyone could happen upon it and read it. To borrow from Scooby Doo's Shaggy: "Yowsers!"

Please, God, give me the courage to click the "Publish Post button." (But don't feel you have to help anyone find this here blog, floatin' about in cyberspace. . .these words are happy to be ignored.)

Why am I doing this?

Look at the date of my first post.

Now look at the date of this post.  I've been so nervous about putting my ideas out there, for anyone to read, that it took a month for me to write and publish this second post.

'Nuff said.

Seriously, though, I've had quite a few internal demons hold me back in my life, particularly as a writer: perfectionism; lack of focus; fear of failure; fear of success. . .

I've known since elementary school that I wanted to be a writer. My graduate degree is in fiction writing and literature; my professional resume includes a technical writing stint; my volunteer work often puts my writing talents to use. I've put off my dream of being a committed writer, first so that I could work in the corporate world and earn an income (helpful for paying off grad school loans and becoming a home owner), then so I could focus on being home with my children. My youngest is in half-day kindergarten and I'm feeling more and more of a pull to write. I also have some friends and family who have dealt with life-altering events and I'm more aware than ever that each day is a gift. I cannot keep putting off my writing (or, rather, I can keep delaying, but there's no guarantee that I have unlimited years waiting).

In the past 10 years, I've learned to "just do it," to face the blank page (er, screen) and type. This helps me push through my perfectionism and lack of focus; however, I'm finding that my "just do it" approach is no match for my fears. As I commit to living a life as a full-time writer--of giving my writing the time and energy it deserves--the fears paralyze me. The paralysis begins at my diaphram. Deep breaths feel impossible and I'm aware of my heart's beating. Vibrations from my heart's beats travel over my shoulders, down my arms, and settle into my hands as they hover in starting position over the keyboard.  My fingers feel restless, nearly "creepy-crawly" and I must pull them away from the keyboard, hug them to my chest, and clasps them, allowing my entwined fingers to massage each other. It's phsycially uncomfortable to sit and feel the physical manifestation of my fear.

Over the years, I've had contact with people working different 12-step programs and one of the sayings mentioned that stayed with me was "PUSH--Pray Until Something Happens." In the past couple of months, I've found myself thinking, "What if? What if I wrote just a page or two a day? What if?" Sitting in fear, failing to push through it, the PUSH slogan came to me. Could prayer help me push through my fear-induced writer's block? What if I prayed about my fear, every day? What then?

With this blog, I hope to chronicle my progress (or not) in writing and praying. I also hope to address bigger issues, such as spirituality and how it fits (or doesn't) with a modern life in a Democratic and free-market society.

My thoughts on prayer

I believe:

• humans are spiritual beings
• prayer is exercise for our souls
• anyone can pray
• prayer "works" but sometimes not how we expect

I worry:

• people disillusioned with traditional religions avoid prayer and ignore their spiritual side